Coffee with Ethiopians May 2019

I just spent a week in East Africa. 
I went to serve but my last day there I was served by the sweetest Ethiopian couple; they’re people I’ve known for years but never really spent time engaging. 
True servant’s hearts displayed in simple hospitality. 
That kind of hospitality is strikingly inviting.

Upon arrival in Nairobi on the first night and also for my last night before returning home I stayed with an American missionary couple at a guesthouse—think sparsely furnished Airbnb apartment.

As I had one free day before the travel home I wanted to get some good, morning coffee and swing in to an authentic Ethiopian restaurant for lunch. Lunch like that, my friends, is a cultural experience. It’s communal. It’s ALL finger food. There are no utensils as you use Injera, a rice based sponge-y bread—think light pancake or crepe—as a means of scooping up the meat, vegetables and lentils. There’s a huge tray, lazy-Susan-like; each person gets a roll of Injera and you tear a piece big enough to dip up a bite. And no one rushes. And any ya-hoo who leaves an Ethiopian meal hungry is...a ya-hoo, because there’s always more than enough.

Tradition comes in to the meal with both pre- and post-meal hand washing and after-meal coffee. My friends and I went restauranting for the meal but an Ethiopian missionary couple wanted to host us for coffee that afternoon in their home.

The British do tea; Ethiopians do coffee. Ethiopians are my kind of people.

As we entered, the wife (we’ll just go with the initial T) was roasting her own coffee beans! A tradition (I did not know and westernly-flubbed) was observed once the coffee beans were sufficiently roasted and still steaming: T brought the pan into the living room to allow each person a moment to waft the aroma towards themselves with their hands. I managed to just stick my face near the pan of beans and wispiness as I had no clue what she was doing.
There was a gracious chuckle and she moved on to bean grinding.

But while grinding and boiling the water, I heard something popping...like popcorn?
Do Africans do buttery popcorn with black coffee?

That would be a NO, Starbucks. No marketing angle there. Whether it’s an always-kinda-thing or just generous hosting us that day, I tasted a bit of the Ethiopian flavor—they do lightly sweetened popcorn. Not-buttered, simply sugared, enjoyable. 

Then as G (initialed husband) chatted with us, his guests, T set up her real deal sit-on-stool-next-to-it, proper tea set in a box. As there were 7 adults present, 7 tea cups, 7 saucers and 7 spoons were carefully laid out. Each cup was sugared, raw sugared, and the pouring began. T let a few drops go into one cup then abruptly stopped as the mixture was not as steeped as she wished. Three minutes later, as she knew I wanted a picture, she told me to get my phone ready. The pouring of the blackest coffee re-commenced from her wooden pot and the most powerful sweet coffee was served. A single cup would be poured then she’d get up from her stool and deliver it to the oldest guests first. I was third in line and G and T as hosts were the last.
Very traditional.

Then in a wink, T was out of the room only to return 3 minutes later with a basket full of sweet bread (visually similar to cornbread) uniquely and secretly spiced.

So, if your keeping score of my afternoon calorie consumption, I ate my fill at the restaurant (because I’m no ya-hoo) to then be handed a full bowl of sweet popcorn to then be served a cup of SWEET, rich, thick coffee, to then be expectantly handed-and-watched-to-eat a wedge of sweet bread. Yep, it was getting hard to breathe. The belt needed a notch loosened, but the traditional ceremonial nature of it demanded I accept and enjoy each element.

At that point, from the moment we entered G and T’s home it had probably been one and a half hours and the conversation continued with zero rush. Then there was a brief lull as everyone reclined on the couch they were on, which then sent T into round two of coffee prep and pouring. Of course, we all obliged.

Ethiopian hospitality.

So attentive to their guests. 

So relaxed with 5 adults and 2 children as their guests, filling their space. 

There was no “gotta get other things done”. 

There was just caring for guests in their home.

The twist of the service moment came as we finished our time at about the two hour mark. One of the guests suggested G, our husband host, “pray for Joal as he travels home”.
He was momentarily reluctant then willing.

He sensed the reluctance caught us all off guard so he went on to explain that in their culture the Guest prays for the Host; I was to pray for G and T. 

What a tradition! 

You come to be served and you return it with prayers of blessing over the hosts!! 

I gladly bowed and prayed.

I don’t know all their story, but I know some of the backdrop. T was widowed very, very young. I met her first husband one time before he feel ill on the mission field and quickly stepped into glory. She went home to her family and people in Ethiopia and years later God brought G into her life. These years later yet they are in missions service again now with 2 beautiful children. They trust God to be their all in all.

I prayed for that family. 

I prayed God’s favor, blessing, protection and provision for them. 

I then was blessed to hear G pray over me in that beautiful African English.

Good food.

Good coffee.

Good people.

A Good, Good Father, who is perfect in all of His ways.