A Sandy Path to Coffee Heaven

One particular coffee memory impressed me quite early. I must have been 1 ½ years old – not yet a terrible two but typically open to whatever lay ahead in my little, unravelling world. My mother who was minding lunch preparations, put me down on the safer side of the kitchen countertop to look after her sizzling pan. While she and her helper were busy reviewing if all ingredients went into their  brew, I was myself kept preoccupied by the aluminum kettle which was just beside me. It felt cold to my touch – I knew I squirmed a little, excited quietly, as I didn’t want to disturb the fuss happening close by.

The two grown-ups were just a meter away from me, midway of the L-shaped counter. They were either standing facing each other with both the corners of their eyes on me, or standing shoulder to shoulder; one, my mother, quickly directing the other, Upeng, to stir the broth with a ladle, while mother spooned out a sip to taste. I also did not take my eyes off them – I was set on an adventure and neither did I want to be distracted.

Soon my fat little left hand gripped the kettle’s black handle. It was our kettle used for making coffee (the “kapetera”). It had that morning’s remaining coffee gone cold. In fact whatever drink was left had dried out, sucked by the brownish, black soft sand-like grounds lying on its bottom… These must taste like the sand from the front yard which I had tasted the week before. ( When I kept on getting fevers, the kindly doctor who made house calls advised that my mother should let me out of the house more often to strengthen my immune system...’Twas fun and I had since loved that doctor!)

I knew I had to be quick, and in a flash, my equally stubby right hand had removed the cover by pulling on its rounded glass tip and setting  it quietly on the counter. The same hand dipped inside, into the wet grounds and quickly scooped out a handful which quickly found its way into my mouth. I knew I was smiling broadly while chewing the wet sands which would not melt. It was my first taste of coffee heaven (do I see today’s connoisseurs squirm at the thought?). Chewing, smiling, in fact stifling the urge to chuckle, I scooped out more of the grounds and ate my first coffee.  Through the slit of my eyes, I saw two women turning and dashing towards me…My heavenly discovery was interrupted but it was a childhood memory that never left me.