Kahawa
One of my favourite things about Stone Town is the coffee. Forget Starbucks, Delanys, Steve-O-Renos, and Just Us (though I do love the last 3) and their 4 dollar concoctions whose names I can never utter without throwing a soy-non fat-no whip-half sweet-extra hot in the mix. A tiny cup of dark, Arabian heaven setting you back 50 shillings (about 35 cents) is “where it’s at.”
Scattered throughout the narrow winding streets with the most beautiful doors one has ever seen, are large metal teapots sitting atop burning hot coals that keep the precious kahawa (coffee in Kiswahili) piping hot. Nearby at most any time of day you will find a small table or ledge with a plastic bin of coconut or peanut treats, around which men (though some women, mostly elderly women in their traditional Zanzibari bui bui dresses can also be seen) sit, chat, and watch the world go by. The coffee? Amazing. Served in small dishes which fit perfectly in one’s palm, it is a reminder to slow down and savour, as a paper cup is no where in sight.
I am lucky enough to have one of these sidewalk cafes no more than 30 seconds from my house. After greeting the kanga and Quran merchants each morning who sell their wares outside of my front door, I turn a corner to pass the fruit and vegetable market on my right (often not without seeing a carcass or two making its way to the nearby meat market). One turn left and there is the giant teapot just waiting to deliver to me the perfect kick to start off the day. After greeting the group of anywhere between 5-10 familiar faces also beginning their day with a cuppa’ jo with “asalamu walaikum” (a most beautiful greeting that I will surely miss when I return to Canada and am no doubt reminded that it is not the custom to greet Starbucks’ patrons in such a way), I am given my little cup of gold by the same man each morning. In between sips I ask him about his home, his wife and children (who he promises I will meet one day), and he asks me about my work, my family in Canada, and sees just how far my Kiswahili will stretch that particular morning.
And then, with an “ahsanteni” (thank you), I am off on my way to work, my office being located just a few windy hops, skips and jumps from my home. Not a bad way to start the day. And how lucky am I that this interaction has become normal…routine? Very lucky. Ahsante sana, coffee Gods.
