A Beautiful Soul: Habtam (3-Part Series)

Habtam & our kiddos at a park

This is Habtam, a beautiful soul whose name translates to “wealthy” in Amharic.  When Habtam first told me her name, I was intrigued. I curiously asked how she came to be named Habtam.

She shared that when her mother was pregnant with her, her father fell deathly ill. Miraculously, the day that she was born, his health unexplainably improved. Her mother figured, “this child is going to be my ticket to lots of good things: health and even wealth” hence the name “Habtam.” A relative hired Habtam to work as our family nanny a few days before we arrived to Addis. Though I didn’t know how she found her, I was so, so grateful she did.

In a few short months following our move, Habtam became our rock. Our whole family fell in love with her beautiful soul. Habtam’s energy was magnetic and her smile contagious. I left my then 13-month old baby & my two preschoolers in her care and felt completely confident that they were in the hands of someone who was capable, and someone who loved them deeply. My God, did she have love in her heart.

Habtam learning about Snapchat filters for the first time :)

I admired and watched how she interacted with my kids. In fact, she called my children her children. She’d often say things like, “oh, my babies haven’t eaten” or “my poor children are tired.” She loved my kids as though they were hers, and B and I grew to love her as though she were a sister.

Slowly, Habtam began to share pieces of her story with me. I learned that she came from a town in the outskirts of Lalibela that had been ravaged by the civil war in Ethiopia’s northern region. I learned that she had five siblings, that her older brother was “blind in sight but had brighter vision in his heart than most people.” I learned that she came from a family of farmers. I learned that her family’s cattle and crops had been burned down and destroyed during the war. I learned that she cried at night for months on end, wondering if her family was alive, but showed up to work every morning with that same joyful, magnetic smile on her face despite her aching heart. With the phone lines cut, she couldn’t reach them and any news she heard about her family came through those who had managed to sneak into Addis. I learned about her ex-husband whom she was married off to at 20-years-old; a sorry excuse for a man who left her upon learning she was pregnant. And I learned that she had a 4-year old son who was living in Lalibela with her parents.

After 6 months with Habtam, we left to go home for the Christmas holiday. She helped me pack all of our suitcases for a family of 5. When we were leaving, the children and I enveloped Habtam in a big, long hug and she cried so much. She was sobbing hysterically. I pacified her, and said, “stop that, you big baby, we’ll see you in a month. Take care of yourself.” 

While I was in America, I called Habtam several times, and I was more often unsuccessful than successful. One day during one of these lucky calls that got through, she excitedly told me the phone lines in Lalibela were finally restored and that she had gotten a chance to speak to her parents and her son. She was so joyful; she was giggling like a young schoolgirl, and I could hear her smile through the phone. I hung up feeling lighthearted and genuinely happy for her.

Two weeks later, I learned from our housekeeper that several days after Habtam had spoken with her family, she received a heartbreaking call. I share about that call in Part II. Read it here.