Friday 2nd May 2003

Here’s me thinking I could avoid meat. As I walked out to get my fruit and veg, the butcher’s shops were all open and huge sides of meat were hanging in the windows and doorways.

Outside on the "pavements" there were sheep skins and various sized hooves scattered about here there and everywhere.

I did say I wasn’t squeamish didn’t I? Well, I did my shopping, got back home and cooked up my tomatoes and potatoes.

I was half way through my plastic plateful when there was a knock at the back door. I knew what it was. My neighbour, who is also my landlord, very kindly invited me to share his family’s Easter celebrations.

You can not say no. Imagine how rude that would be.

But as I walked round to the house I did feel a little like one of those lambs going to slaughter.

I was welcomed into the house like an honoured guest. The people are incredibly warm and generous. A huge table was decked out with every delicacy you could think of.

Plates full of Injeera, dishes full of meat, some cooked, some not. Dishes full of things that you don’t want to enquire too closely about just in case it turns out to be something worse than you are imagining.

The custom is to take an Injeera, roll it out and top it with a spoonful or two from each of the dishes. I followed the custom.

I seem to have developed a knack of swallowing some foods without tasting them. Most food here is washed down with Coca Cola. Not a mixture I would naturally choose but you can not say no.

Following the food the coffee ceremony was performed and very strong coffee was supped with popcorn.

I sat in the living room with the landlord’s wife, her two sisters, and their teenage daughters. Two young boys and a beautiful little girl also popped in and out.

The children were so well behaved and not a Game-boy in sight.

The women were dressed in traditional costume. The daughters were dressed in denims and cropped tops.

The men were all outside playing cards. It is difficult to describe a typical Ethiopian home but this one had a massive TV perched on a corner cabinet that seemed to take up a quarter of the room.

The TV was on and was broadcasting a live performance of something that looked like the Ethiopian equivalent to comic relief with a splash of Glastonbury and Billy Smart’s circus thrown in for good measure.

I couldn’t understand a word but the women and children kept bursting into fits of laughter and that acted as a trigger for me to have a giggle or two – bit like the laughing policeman I suppose.

Most homes like this have maids. You are considered rather odd if you don’t have a maid. I was asked how many maids I had.

This home had two maids. One is just eight years old. She's a beautiful little girl. She was dressed so differently from everyone else. She wore an old cotton frock that was four sizes too big for her and she had a pair of poorly fitting trainers on her feet.

She fanned the coffee brazier and served the coffee. She cleared up and was so utterly deferent, continuously watching to see if anyone wanted anything.

It felt so wrong to see a young child growing up with such a subservient view of herself. I am uncomfortable, to put it mildly, with the notion of maids and cleaners (of any age) but this was the first time that I had seen a young child as a servant.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her and felt so touched by her gentleness. I won’t be able to get her out of my mind.

Maybe I’m just an old sentimentalist but I keep thinking - poor little soul.

I feel so bloody useless and helpless. What on earth do you do in circumstances like this? Time I went and did a bit of thinking.

Lin
x

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