As we picked our way over the slippery sodden clay underfoot, we were aware of many white clad people standing around the orthodox church in front of us.

The priest’s voice was being relayed to them through loud speakers that were fixed in a prominent position, high on a pole. As it had rained heavily earlier, water filled the rutted spaces between the dwellings created from tarpaulin, corrugated iron, wood and cardboard in various proportions.We had come to bring gifts of green coffee beans and sugar to two of our Y’tesfa girls who live in the most meagre of circumstances.

Immediately we reached the place where China, one of the girls lives, her mum stopped her chores and invited us in for coffee. We stooped through the doorway and were shown to the only bench in the living space. I was struck by the sense of pride this young mum has for her surroundings. There was a neatness to the small table and fading silk flower display. The walls had posters pinned to them. The one of Bob Marley in many guises shared a space with two female rock stars. Beside them were posters of orthodox saints carefully concealed by a translucent piece of cloth that was attached to the ceiling.

China’s Mum perched on an empty milk can. In front of her she placed the traditional tiny plastic table laid with cups for the coffee. She took a small handful of green beans, placed them in a pan and began the roasting process. As she worked, we tried to make conversation in broken Amharic. It was both tricky and frustrating, but we did establish that her husband had work that day although it was hard to feed China and her three siblings. To make a few birr, she buys incense sticks in the Mercato (market) then breaks them in pieces and bulks them out with bits of twig, small stones and other unidentifiable matter which she (and possibly China) sells in packets wrapped in scraps torn from a carrier bag. In fact I suspect that some of those pieces may have been crushed to an even size in the mortar and pestle that she was just about to use to prepare the now roasted coffee beans for us!

Jostling for position in the doorway were four children (not all hers), their thin clothing was streaked in mud. The youngest girl of two was sucking a piece of plastic torn from the outside of a football. The three year old boy beside her was taking his turn with this pass-time too. Jiggling beside them were two boys of about six and eight who had found a mud spattered broken socket with frayed wires protruding from one end. It also had a large red switch and it was this that interested the boys. They clearly understood the requirements of the occasion and disappeared outside, returning shortly with scraps of bread to offer us. We gratefully accepted the grubby bread but after a suitable pause offered it back. It was eaten by the first child to reach it, without any hesitation.

As we sipped the strong sweet coffee my mind was filled with images of my own grandchildren of a similar age. The contrast with the scene before me was difficult to comprehend. As we departed China’s Mum pressed a whole box of incense sticks into my hand. I felt humbled by her overwhelming generosity.

Yetemwork’s Mum was waiting next door and beckoned us inside. There was no seating so we peered through the gloom for the raised pallet by the wall that acts as a bed for Yetemwork and her two younger siblings, and felt for the edge to sit down on. The interior of this dwelling was more sparse and dishevelled. The scenario from earlier was repeated except the tiny table and cups were less clean. Mum indicated where she slept – on the floor on sacking in a doorway. She is nine months pregnant. We established that she has attended a local clinic. She showed us proudly, the blue tetanus card. A routine part of pre-natal care here.

At the end of our visit we were escorted across the mud to the road and hugged and kissed goodbye. I have remembered this visit since not least for its emotional impact but also for the dozen or so flea bites that now decorate my right leg and side.