After 5 weeks on the road, visiting 8 planning schools in 6 countries (I would rather not calculate my carbon footprint....) I found myself in Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. My travel companions are mainly inanimate but nevertheless provide me with the comforts that reassure and reconnect. In addition to the yoga DVDs on my laptop, the small speakers that drown out disruptive hotel noises, the iPod that makes waiting in airports bearable and the odd cigarette (only when I am on the road!), I carry a small coffee filter. The morning routine of yoga followed by a cup of strong African coffee not only gives me that much-needed caffienne boost but also provides a consistency to what can often turn out to be a non-stop day; it somehow defines that moment when I connect...and collect.In Ethiopia, 80% of the coffee produced is consumed locally. The consumption of this wonderful beverage punctuated my exchanges with my colleagues, where several times throughout my short visit, coffee was brewed on a small stove, surrounded by greenery and flowers upon which rested fruit, honeyed seeds and sweet popcorn while the aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of burning insense. This is a ceremony, not a quick trip to Starbucks. Participants sit in a collective, reflect on the day, speeches are made when the occasion calls whilst small cups are circulated. Apparently this ritual is considered a barometer of household relations in the home; a rushed process signifies all is not well; badly brewed coffee served to a visitor is a social disaster.
I am not a fan of dogma (and saw much evidence of it on my travels) but I respect these structured moments when people take time out from sitting in somnolent traffic, battling disabling bureacracies, making a living with limited resources and finding a way in the day-to-day clustered exchanges of the metropolis, and just stop... This pause is a necessary sensory respite; the aromas, the sounds of gentle conversation, the taste of Arabica coffee, the tactile exchanges collectively contribute to what is integral to African urbanity: small spaces of order and routine in a seemingly chaotic environment.
