Habtam: Part III
This is the final installment of the Habtam series. Read parts I and II before you read this one.
It had been three weeks since we returned to Addis from our holiday break, and I was getting antsy. Patience is not my forte, and I still hadn’t heard from Habtam since that last, cliffhanger conversation I shared in Part II.
My exhausting, stubborn toddler was still walking around the house looking for Habtam. And as this boss baby of mine was growing more and more stubborn with each passing day, I was in parallel growing more and more anxious waiting for Habtam’s response. Here’s to an anxious mom of three sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear of a family’s deliberation on what would have otherwise been strictly family matters had Habtam not become family to us.
One morning in early February, I received a call from Habtam. She had once again walked about an hour to the nearest city where she had steady reception to call me. I had a dreadful feeling when I picked up, and the tone of her shaky voice confirmed everything I needed to know. After the greetings and niceties, Habtam informed me that her family had reached their decision.
“They’ve sentenced me” she said, sullenly. “I’m so sorry, Marti. I tried. I fell to their feet and begged them. I asked what I’m supposed to do to take care of my son in this desolate town. They just wouldn’t budge.” Habtam’s siblings had decided that she would have to be the person to stay behind to watch their blind father, who needed significant assistance. She explained it was a heated discussion and in between the tears and raised voices, she asked why it couldn’t be one of the other siblings.
“My siblings collectively reasoned that the rest of them all had more important things going on that couldn’t separate them from Addis. Three of them were married and had children and therefore couldn’t be tasked with taking care of our father. I asked why our youngest sister couldn’t support. She was working as a maid in Addis, but since she was going to night school and had reached the 11th grade, she was one year away from graduation. We asked our father to move to Addis, but he was not willing and given his emotional and physical state, nobody tried too hard to convince him. So, they decided since I am neither married nor in school and especially since I have a 4-year old son that lived with our parents prior to our mother’s passing, that I should be the one returning the favor now by taking care of our father.”
This news wasn’t surprising as I’d already reached the conclusion that she probably wasn’t coming back, but it was nonetheless heartbreaking. At the end of our conversation, Habtam said, “They promised me that next year, once my sister finishes 11th grade, she’ll enroll in 12th grade here and we’ll switch spots. I’m not sure whether this is legitimate or whether it is to simply pacify me.” I felt tears well up in my eyes. In today’s world, who the hell knows what next month will bring, let alone next year?
Alas, I’ve come to the conclusion that extraordinary human beings like Habtam come into your life as a gift from the Creator. From the day we moved to Addis, Habtam swept in and was a source of stability for our entire family. For that, I’ll forever be grateful.
Several months later, Habtam still calls us to say hello and check in on, “her babies.” She said she still has a few pictures of the kids on her flip phone, which she shows to her 4-year old son Dawit, whom she reports is doing much better these days. She shared that he often asks to see the pictures of “his siblings in Addis,” referring to our kids. Ok, tell me that’s not the sweetest thing you’ve heard all week.
Anyway, here’s to hoping we’re reunited again. Here is to hoping Dawit meets ‘his siblings’ and vice versa. For now, here’s to learning how to let go and let God.
Replacing Habtam was not easy. Let me rephrase: replacing Habtam was a nightmare. I’ll share how hard it was to find a new nanny, including a few tales of nannies and prospective nannies from hell (including the one who told me she’s climbed the ladder to work for white people and she’s never moving back down –oh, the gall!)
Stay tuned.