
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.
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