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Get up early and drive around the city and have a
look at every nook and cranny along the sidewalks
and churchyards. You will see bundles of objects
lying on the ground covered in rags of varying
assortments. They are not objects.
A
closer look reveals that these are human beings in
deep slumber. Some may have come from the
countryside. Others could be runaways from their
homes or delinquent street children. But all of them
have one thing in common. They are homeless citizens
who ought not to be left out in the cold abandoned.
There is a shortage of proper houses to live in and
the government that seems to be doing much to
alleviate the problem of housing. Homelessness,
however, is not only the state of lacking shelter
but a demeaning situation that stands on the nerves
of every human being. In a world where even pet
animal has furnished bedrooms, it is tormenting to
see even a pregnant woman having no place to give
birth to a child.
A
fortnight ago, a community of homeless street girls
gathered around their friend Etetu, 25, who had just
given birth to a child inside an abandoned house
without a roof. It is a half-demolished shelter
condemned to make way for a new road project which
is under construction. Nobody knows when the
remaining half would be reduced to a shambles.
I
would not go into the saga of that house and the
good times it might have seen ever since it came to
be. The street girls cared little because they have
other options like ditches, ducts and manholes or
even sidewalks for want of better shelters.
They had come to see the newly born baby and
congratulate Etetu and spend the day with her. They
had brought with them some clothes and a big towel
for the baby, fruits, a few bottles of spirits, soft
drinks, cookies, a bundle of khat and several
packets of cigarettes to share while staying at the
shelter.
Their non-stop giggling and laughter soon turned the
“room” into a warm cosy house if I may call it that.
All of them made themselves comfortable stretching
their legs on an old mattress and began chewing
khat and smoking cigarettes. The little stove
set on the burning charcoal to make coffee added
some heat to elate their spirits. They were having a
good time cracking jokes and had fun.
A
bottle of liquor, gin of a local brand, was opened
to cheer them up. They toasted and drank to the
health of both the mother and child. Some of them
who were chewing khat filled their cheeks
until they were swollen like balloons. The slightest
touch like a landing fly for instance, looked enough
to explode their bulges.
Glass after glass was filled to “break” the
influence of the stimulating green leaves. The
little giggles developed into full-fledged yelling
spell of laughter where everybody uttered something
and nobody listened. Some of them began singing with
their coarse voices that sounded as if they included
a touch of fever or cold exacerbated under the
influence of alcohol.
Some were starving and finally called it a day and
left. I cannot say they went home and you know what
I mean by that!
Etetu was a runaway who
was raped and assaulted by a number of hoodlums and
was unable to tell who fathered the child. A feeling
of vendetta always occupied a space at the back of
her mind. She hated the society in which she was
forced to live. She always thought that one day she
would see her son growing to manhood and take
revenge on the society.
Her friends were making fun of her for not using
contraceptives and having unprotected sex. They said
that her son would grow from rags-to-riches if he is
lucky and would take her to the United States (US)
where the heavens are on earth. They were only
uttering such words to comfort her.
Etetu told them an
anecdote that she will never forget as long as she
lives. It happened at the crossroads near the Dembel
City Centre where she was watching two traffic
officers busy trying to streamline and marshal the
fleet accumulating at the lights.
She remembers that she was carried away by the
skills and agility of the traffic officers who were
enjoying the show and seemed to be conscious of the
admirations they were able to draw from onlookers by
the looks of things. Clad in uniform and holding
their whistles in one hand, the officers did not
look bothered by their bulging tummies when they
proudly walked across the road in high spirits.
They were showing their palms to bar vehicles coming
from one direction. They would then give their backs
to point their arms to let the waiting vehicles
coming from another direction pass by. The
synchronised marshalling had attracted Etetu to the
extent that she forgot where she was and what she
was supposed to be doing there.
When she came to her senses she saw that two women
sitting in their car were looking at her smiling.
The one sitting next to the driver looked no better
than Etetu herself by all accounts. She had dressed
her hair i n curls and had put on dark sunglass.
Thinking that the girl was smiling out of sympathy,
Etetu advanced stretching her hand for alms. The
young girl, however, pulled down the shutter and
closed the window and turned into a shriek of
laughter when she saw the disappointed face of Etetu.
The driver seemed to be angry with her friend,
opened the window and rolled out a note of five Birr
as if to make good for the folly of her friend.
Etetu impulsively threw
back the money at them and was still groping for
fitting words to retaliate the insult when the
couple drove fast. Etetu went away in dismay and
anger. She sat down under the shade of a tree; her
head covered with a red and yellow scarf and broke
in tears.
Years back I had written an article about a young
mother and her charming baby stationed at the little
green park opposite the National Bank of Ethiopia (NBE).
That place is now devoid of any beggar or street
girls.
Recently, I asked a regular shoe shiner always
available on the site if he knew what happened to
mother and son. He told me that the mother was
suffering from tuberculosis (TB) for long and had
“stricken the match” (charetch), meaning she
passed away in the parlance of that community. He
told me that an NGO is taking good care of the
charming baby boy who has now come of age and
studies in one of the colleges. Would Etetu face the
same fate?
De Gaulle Square, the hub of Piazza, is not only the
oldest modern sector of the capital but also a place
where you find young women engaged in not only in
the business of begging but also in one of the
oldest professions, prostitution.
There is a narrow path that crosses the park and
links with the wide road leading to St. George
Cathedral. You find a couple of young girls and
their children sitting stretching their legs and
chatting about the incidents they encountered the
previous night stand. They talk about drugs, khat,
alcohol and of course sex. They are chain smokers.
They use the area outside the Church as a sleeping
ground during the night when they go broke unable to
pay for night lodging.
They can either use the free public toilet in front
of the church on the way to Hager Fikir or the
charging toilet located in front of Cinema Ethiopia.
It is interesting to note that the homeless
destitute have forged strong alliances between
themselves and try to endure the plights and misery
that is currently aggravated by the ever-rising cost
of living. The increase in the price of bread in
particular has frustrated them, affecting not only
their physiology but also their psychological make
up.
In an agricultural country that claims to have
achieved double-digit annual growth in production,
it remains a mystery to explain the soaring of the
price of food at harvest time. Etetu and company
seem to be condemning their siblings to starvation
under no roof.
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