Skip to main content

The Bakiga Window Vol. II: Jebena, Cini, Bunna!

Dawn in Addis Ababa. Walking from the plane to the terminal building.
The captain’s voice, lilting with a slight American inflection, crackles over the intercom and thanks us for travelling with Ethiopian Airways. The students, most of whom have slept solidly throughout the journey, look groggily around with the realisation that we are in Africa.

It is the crack of dawn on Friday 30th March 2012 and I’ve arrived, accompanied by a group of thirty-one others, in Addis Ababa. The air is still cold, by African standards, but is getting warmer as the minutes pass by.

Once again we are in Addis to change planes; the first leg of the journey having brought us from Heathrow, and the second taking us from here to Kigali, Rwanda. Unfortunately, such journey itineraries seldom match up perfectly and we have a four-hour wait ahead of us.

It is something of a cruel trick that Ethiopian Airways play on us annually as we are led to the smaller of the two terminal buildings, away from the spacious glass and steel, air-conditioned luxury of the newer building, to look at Africa from behind a window. As a result, the feeling that you are truly in Africa becomes suspended as you watch the vibrant orange hues of the early morning sun wash rapidly over the landscape outside.

There is one thing that redeems this situation for me every year though; the coffee ladies.

Paul, Jas and I separate ourselves from the main group and head towards the corner of the terminal. Here we make ourselves as comfortable as possible, sitting on the small wooden stools that surround our host’s podium, her legs about level with head height, and thus perfect for the control of overstimulated coffee drinkers.

She asks us how many cups we want, before setting about roasting the greyish-green coffee beans over a small coal fire, laden with frankincense. A few minutes later, emerging from the fragrant cloud that has enveloped us, are blackened beans. Next the roasted beans are crushed by our host in front of us using a pestle and mortar type implement called a mukecha.

Our host pours bunna from a jebena into a cini.
Finally, after being mixed with water and brewed in a jebena (an ornate, kettle-like ceramic pot), the coffee is poured from height by our host into the small, handleless cini cups. Mixed with brown sugar and accompanied with fresh popcorn, the airport behind us melts away.

Facing away from the hustle and bustle of this cramped little airport terminal, time seems to rush by in the silvery haze of the incense smoke. The three of us engage in increasingly lively conversations ranging from our looking forward to the real arrival in Africa in a few hours’ time, to the quite simply inane – perhaps there is more of the latter at this time of the day.

Needless to say, this rich, flavoursome, earthy coffee is very strong and four cups later our senses are beyond alert. Every speck of dust blown across the floor seems to attract my attention. I decide the best plan is to sleep for a small while to allow my mind to slow back down to its usual pace.

When we take our leave, our host, at the end of our two-hour besiegement of her coffee stand, seems to us like a long lost friend and almost appears sad to see us go, but it’s for the better. This relationship can't carry on this way.

Either way, we haven’t yet arrived at our destination, but this small prelude has piqued our curiosity for our impending arrival in Kigali later today.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

From a Crooked Rib by Nuruddin Farah

Cover image. © Penguin Books. I stumbled across Nuruddin Farah’s novels when searching for something written by a Somali author. Perhaps due to the conflict that has raged for years in Somalia, it is very difficult to find much from Somali writers published in English. From a Crooked Rib was published in 1970 and tells the story of Ebla, a young, orphaned, illiterate nomadic girl, who runs away from her encampment. She takes the decision to leave upon learning of her Grandfather’s intention to marry her off to an older man within their Jes (a group of families living in an encampment together). She firstly escapes to a town, Belet Amin, where she finds her cousin and his pregnant wife. She also finds a guide and confidante in a character known only as the widow. Things seem settled until, yet again, Ebla finds her freedom compromised by a male character – this time her cousin, whose wife and child Ebla has been nursing. In her haste she leaves Belet Amin with the w

The Bakiga Window: Taufiq Islamic Primary School: Part II

In a manner so typically Ugandan, Yasim approaches silently and politely asks whether he can have a word with me – it is one of those ironies that a word has to be had in order to have a word with someone. Irony aside, he has heard back from the Sheikh and arranged an appointment for me. It is Wednesday 20 th April and once more I find myself en route to Taufiq Islamic Primary School. The morning started in the usual way: waking up sleepy students, ensuring that everyone had 'taken' breakfast and had a supply of bottled water, and then walking with the group down the hill, into the town. At the foot of the hill, the group scattered into many fragments, with everyone off in search of their own adventures. I head straight on, past the noise of the metal workers, over to Taufiq. After having had to beat a hasty retreat last week , I was unsure of who would be in my reception committee. Teacher Bright was the first to greet me, before taking me inside to m

Beach Huts, Southwold, Suffolk

Sleeping beach huts on Southwold Beach, Suffolk. Safely back from my annual visit to Rotterdam, my parents invited me to spend a few days with them in a small holiday cottage in Southwold, Suffolk. Give or take driving through Newmarket a few years back when studying at Anglia Ruskin University, I'd never really seen much of the county. Southwold itself is a beautiful seaside resort which happens to be the home of Adnams , a well known brewery, which means that for a small place there are a healthy number of pubs - suddenly Dad's choice of location made sense . On the early afternoon of Wednesday 20th February  I took a walk to the Harbour Inn to meet my parents for lunch. The pub was just under two miles away from Grace Cottage , where we were staying. This gave me the opportunity to take some pictures of the sea. On our way towards the see we also spotted  Georgie Glen  from Waterloo Road humming happily to herself on the High Street. Southwold is lovely,