Always a hit, never a miss. This is by no means meant to diminish the terror and heartbreak that happened in Brussels this week – or Paris, or New York, or Madrid, or Ouagadougou or a very long list of tragedies. It makes no sense to me. I’ve lived and traveled in the Moslem world and been welcomed with open arms. So, the violence that is happening over and over is not the Islam that I’ve seen in my travels. I just wish the world had experienced my brush with Mohammed on my last full day in Zwedru instead of the news I just learned about.
As I strolled to the market in Zwedru, where I used to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer, a lot of changes have taken place. The city has multiplied in size and diversity. I learned that many of the people who fled during Liberia’s 14 year civil conflict did not return to Zwedru. There is an increased Moslem presence in the town now. But, what I saw on one street corner took me instantly back to the cafés and homes of my friends in Morocco.
In Liberia, almost all cooking is done with coal pots. They are kind of like hibachi grills and heated with charcoal. I’m used to seeing huge pots of rice or soups bubbling over these coals. But, on this stroll, I saw a tiny teapot about the size of an orange. It had to have mint tea! And, I’ve not tasted that in quite a while. So, I took a closer look.
Mohammed came out of his butcher shop, the M.K. Cow Meat Shop, to greet me. A relatively new transplant from Mali, he wasn’t comfortable with his English. He spoke French at home. But, I assured him that communication was all that was important. His English didn’t need to be perfect. And, we communicated just fine.
Tea is a procedure, a tradition, in the Arab World. You don’t just let a tea bag steep for a few minutes and stir in your sugar. First of all, there are no tea bags. Ground up tea leaves are heated over those burning embers of coal. When the water is hot enough, sugar is added. Now, in Morocco, the tea pots were about the size of grapefruits and the amount of sugar was about the size of an orange. With this little orange size teapot, I’d guess the sugar was about the size of an egg. Yep, it was sweet. Too sweet. But, on this day, I needed a sentimental fix.
Water was hot. Tea had steeped. Sugar had been added. You might think you’re ready for a hot brew, but you would be wrong. Here’s were some of that procedure kicked in. Mohammed poured some of the tea from pot to glass. It wasn’t done like it is back home where you put the lip of the teapot directly over the glass to pour. Mohammed placed the lip above the three inch glass, began pouring, and then raised his teapot at least a foot over the glass. I can tell you that it takes a little practice to do that without spilling tea all over the place, but I showed my Casablanca skills to Mohammed and he was pleased.
After the tea glass was filled, the tea was poured back into the teapot. And, you guessed it, it was also poured from a height instead of directly over the pot. The process was repeated at least four times. Every person who has ever fixed tea for me this way has explained how the tea tastes better if it aerates. I’m not completely convinced, but I have had a lot of mint tea regardless.
On this occasion, I was the guest and had the first glass. And, I thoroughly enjoyed the total experience. When I finished my tasting, Mohammed refilled the glass and gave it to someone else. And then, to three more people. (If you can’t do that, there are places in the world where you shouldn’t travel.)
It’s my understanding and experience that it is an Islamic tradition to welcome strangers and it’s usually done with tea. It was a special shared moment among thirsty strangers. I would have liked to spend more time with him. There must be a story why Mohammed ended up in Liberia all the way from Mali. I know it had to do with finding a job and better pay, but I’d love to know more. That would require more time than I had at the M.K. Cow Meat Shop.
I must say, I felt welcomed and I think Mohammed enjoyed the moment as much as me. I stopped by the next morning on my way out of town. There is always time for tea and Mohammed started a fire on his coal pot immediately. This time, I came prepared. I brought cookies and everyone had a good morning treat to go with their very sweet tea. I, however, left Zwedru with an even sweeter memory.
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