The end of the first week already -- On the road in Morocco

The beautiful blue of Chefchouan -- a natural mineral colour found in the local stone

Day 8 18 March 2011

On our way into Rabat – again.. A bit of deja vu here – but that's the way of an expedition like this..

We drive in from one idyllic spot or another to the carpark at the Marjane – the big supermarket chain in Morocco. There we make our base for the dfay – do our washing (yes – our washing gets done in a car park with the line being tied from the truck to whatever is nearby and there, for all the world to see , our washing dried in the very welcome sun.

It rained from when wee arrived in Gibraltar, across the crossing and all the way to yesterday – wet, wet wet wet cold cold cold – today about half of us have the sniffles and coughs and splutters and feeling a little sorry for ourselves – but hey! Then the sun started shining yesterday and last night we slept on a beach west of Rabat – waking up this morning with mussel pickers down there om the rocks, two exquisite white herons wading in the water that remains on the rock ledge that juts out into the sea, the white foam from the waves crasjhi9ng onto the rocks floating off in the bree3ze, the reflection of the mussel pickers and white herons a perfect reflection of the themselves. Magic.

Kyle and Graham were responsible for .last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast and we started our day with a beautiful fresh fruit salad topped with fresh yoghurt, cinnamon and Moroccan honey.

The reason for our lengthy stay in Rabat is that we needed to get the visas we need here for nthe next few countries – Mauritania, Mali and Ghana. Burkina Faso we can get gt the border. The Ghanaian embassy had decided they are not issuing visas at the moment so we will have to get those in Bamako a few weeks down the line. The Mali visas were easy – the very tall, very big, very black very friendly Mali embassy officials busy having their buttery warm croissants over the morning's newspaper while flicking through the group's passports and asking about our intended trip through the continent, our first taste of black Africa. Then off to the Mauri5tanian embassy where the entire street is lined with cars with people sleeping there in the hopes of getting into the embassy the following day for their visas. Reminded me of my days sleeping on the cold grey wet dirty pavements of Brompton Road London at 4 am along with the dregs of humanity, waiting in hope to get into the French Embassy to get a visum for a trip to France across the Channel. We take turns to do the Embassy run, so it was Elissa and Suzanne who went to pick up the visas yesterday, only to return with all the passports except for Randy's – seems nondescript, non-est, non-anything Mauritania had decided they do not particularly want to welcome the only American in our group. My heart went out to him – he had a bad day all round – feeling flu-ish, stubbing his big toe and cracking off the entire nail – leaving a trail of blood behind him in Sale, and then to return to the truck to find he had been singled out as a dodgy applicant... However, we are now on our way back in to Rabat to go remedy the situation – and hopefully we will not have to leave randy behind to wait around until Mauritanians relent and issuer him a visa for their patch of sand on the African continent – while the truck continues south on our journey.

The cemetary in Sale -- across the wadi from Rabat. The graves all point south as the dead are lain down on their right sides in order that their hearts may point in the direction of Mekka.

It is Friday evening. We are parked in a huge quarry up against the foothills of the Atlas mountains and down below is a panoramic vista that stretches to forever. The sunset brought out a few cameras and put on a spectacular show for us. There is quite a bit of mud underfoot and no doubt the loose stones will add to an interesting night's sleep. It is David and Elissa's turn to cook tonight and the sizzling pots on the two charcoal braziers are emitting a delicious aroma. What awaits us for dinner tonight, I do not know yet, but one thing is for sure – we are eating like kings. I wonder how often it happens that everyone in an overland group is a good --- and innovative chef. Thjis group most certainly has a full complement of budding Raymond Blanc's and we are enjoying beautiful meals prepared on either the charcoal burners, the three-point gas burner or a wood fire.

Over the last four days since Chefchouan we camped twice in the spectacular Samaara forest of cork trees outside Rabat. Looking more like a parkland, ir offerend a tranquil and serene setting with masses of birds singing us awake in the morning. The second night that we were there the local police decided to pay us a visit. The man in charge obviously had had a bad hair day or had shoes on that were too small: he was just plain unpleasant,.

“You can't stay here. Go. Go Go Go.” Pulling our axe from a stump of wood and throwing it through the air to slide to a stop in front of our feet where we were sitting around the fire.

“No” said our intrepid captain, Mark. “We are not going. We are camping here for the night.”

“It is too dangerous, you cannot stay here. Go Go Go”

“Where do you want us to go? “ asked Mark Berber women on their way home after a day of foraging in the maarmara forest.

“To town. There are lots of hotels there.”

“We don't have money for hotels,” said Mark “and there is nowhere in town we can park our big truck.”

In between this dialogue which was not going anywhere, the police officer was constantly on his mobile phone. A second car arrived. More police. This time all dressed as if on their way to a royal military parade, medals and shiny brass buttons.

“It is dangerous here. There are lots of bandits. In this forest”

“We can look after ourselves thank you”

One moment we realised we had no choice and some of us started to dismantle our tents. The next moment Captain Mark had dug in his heels and stood his ground and not even the tow truck and a third car full of officers could budge him. Custer's last stand. And this time Custer won.

Two of the smartly unformed and medalled officers stayed behind in one car for the duration of the night, spending a very uncomfortable and very very cold night sleeping in their car. (We did make them strong coffee with lots of sugar...)

A little kitten ran away with our hearts in the beautifully restored medrassa (Koranic school) in Meknes

21 March 2011 Old Medina, Fes

Already the 21^st! I cannot believe how time flies!

We arrived in Fes three days ago – staying at a lovely camp site outside the city, called Diamand Verte. Great to have hot water showers, but for some reason the nights are extra cold cold here – if that could at all be possible! I am now looking like the Michelin Man when I crawl into my tent at night – with every piece of clothing that I own on and a few bits and pieces more that I have been collecting along the way in the hopes of getting some warmth from them. But at least the rain has stopped and the days are glorious with the bluest of skies and almos t hot sunshine weather. Almost everyone in the group now has had or still have colds and there continues to be a lot of spluttering and sniffing and snortling going on.

But not even that can dampen the spirits of the group. Elissa continues to regale us with facts about Finland – with a quiz the following day to test our knowledge and a Finnish flag sticker to the person who gets the answers right the first. Slowly but surely we are getting to know each other better as little bits of information slips out or funny little habits and quirky little idiosyncracies starts manifesting themselves. (Still bet on this being a good group a ll the way – I know I tend to be a bit of a Polyanna in these matters, but let's see how long before I have to eat my words. I hope not before we reach Istanbul in January 2012...)

The road from Rabat to Meknes and then Volubilis was just so incredibly beautiful – breathtakingly so – with the majestic Atlas Mountains in the background, the green rolling wheatfields, Olive trees, Argan trees – and of course the decorative citrus trees, laden with rich orange fruit, enough to make your mouth water, and dotted along the countryside against the hills the mu d houses, women in the brightly coloured robes working the fields, and men riding their donkeys to who knows where. In fact, the road was so amazing that I threw a red button out the window! –

(Nici gave me a bag of red buttons – different sizes and shapes – with the instruction to leave a red button wherever there is a very special moment/memory/experience. My first red button was left behind at our fire pit in the Maarmara Forest where we spent two incredibly beautiful nights under the cork trees -- and in the rain...
I shall be leaving a trail of red buttons right through Africa – and who knows, whoever finds these buttons may then gain a whole lot of joy and pleasure from it as well!)

Question: If you lived in Fes and an old friend who is busy travelling through Africa and sleeps in a tent and has almost forgotten what it feels like to stand under a hot shower, knocks on your door to say Hi, wouldn't you offer that friend a warm bed for one night and use of their beautiful bathroom? I know I would. Perhaps that's just me.

A few glimpses of the colour and smells and sounds of Fes, the Medina and it beautiful architecture, its people -- and our own amazing photographer, Kyle who, with his South African smile, charmed his way right into the heart of the tanneries

And a last comment for today: This is quite a strange experience. Every day we are either
driving through the most amazingly Moroccan/African countryside, looking at the people who are so completely different to anyone we have ever encountered before, the houses which are so different from what we know, eating the food that have different tastes and aromas and textures, walking through medinas and experiencing a culture and traditions and hearing a language which is so foreign to where we come from, and then, every night, our little group gathers around the fire next to our truck – and we could really be anywhere in the whole world. When we sit around the fire after a good meal, the pots and pans washed, flapped dry and packed away, the rubbish cleared, everything neat and tidy, and we huddle close together around the wood fire somewhere in a campground or in a forest or in a quarry up against a hill, watching the flames and chatting about places and people that are far away, that in itself is another little world that only we live in, and that world could be anywhere, peopled with only us. Mmmmmmmm I shall try to word that thought a little more clearly at another time.

Time to catch up on a bit of letter-writing home, flapping dishes dry, waiting for the laundry to dry (at last -- sunshine and able to get some laundry done!) and sewing on a few buttons. (Randy, Orm, Graham and David)

The journey has started - smile and wave boys, smile and wave!

March 11-13 2011

Chefchouan, Morocco

Arriving at Gatwick airport on Friday morning (11 March 2011) at 5:00am after a night of no sleep due to a heart thumping like it was keeping the beat with this turmoiled world of ours. Walking up to the checking-in counter I caught a glimpse of a group of backpacked youngsters sitting on the floor and amongst them I immediately recognised Ben and Randall from their Facebook pictures. There were tentative smiles exchanged and I chirped out a cheery “good morning guys!”, not recognising my own nervousness and ending up sounding very much like a schoolmarm on her first day in a new class. I cringed – embarrassed at myself, embarrassed with my age (I knew they would be young, but at five in the morning after a sleepless night, did they have to be quite so young?) and embarrassed with my trolley load of luggage – backpack (17.7kg), roll (4.4kg) with sleeping mat (self-inflating!) and tent (intending to do a Marlene Dietrich when it came to sleeping arrangements) and lastly, my day-pack – its weight (don't ask) colluding with gravity, while supporting Terence, whom I was immensely grateful to have there to keep my kite string anchored to the ground for the moment. As to the embarrassment, I can now confidently report that it turns out that everyone was as nervous as I – and more, everyone is younger – yes of course, much younger, but then so am I since I have my feet were firmly planted back in my beautiful Africa, and everyone had trolley loads of luggage – far, far more than mine. So all is good.

“Smile and wave, boys, smile and wave!” Pierre and Nici's frequent quote from 'Madagaskar' makes me smile a dozen times a day. A smile and a wave is what is required when the plane tries to land in Gibraltar on a landings strip that looked like a strip floating on the rough see, the waves washing over the edges not 20 metres from where the plane was desperately trying to find a foothold on land, tossed about in the gale force winds, being lashed with torrential rain. Not a comfortable landing under the impressively looming grey Rock of Gibraltar. But then, on the other side of customs and baggage collection (that is where I saw that my luggage looked like I had packed for a weekend trip compared to some of the boys with their four, five, six massive bags that almost required a trolley each!), there waiting for us, the bright smile of our intrepid leader, Mark. A warm welcome in a very cold, very wet Gibraltar. Off we went to meet our truck waiting for us outside the building, all the luggage quickly unloaded into the truck by an impromptu chain gang of willing hands, all in a hurry to get out of the wind and wet, and before long we were all ensconced inside the truck where, for the first time, we had an opportunity to have a good look at each other whole Mark went back into the airport to look for two boys who had not arrived. – It turned out they had cancelled at the last minute – after having come all the way from Perth to London, and then cancel an expensive year-long trip? Strange.

Looking around me at my fellow-travellers for the next 43 weeks, the first thing I noticed, oddly, was that someone was missing --Angela wasn't there – the first fellow-traveller I had met on Facebook. Funny how none of us had ever met -in fact all we knew about each other were the names on our joint airticket and yet I already missed her when she wasn't there - that vibrant she came a cross on FB. But Angela is joining us in about a month's time after she has organised that which had kept her from being with us in Gibraltar.

So, our little group is down to 12, plus Mark our leader and driver and Kyle, an exuberant, live-wire bon vivant who kept Mark company as they drove the truck from Istanbul across Europe after the last expedition and is now doing the trip for the third time, but this time only going as far as his home, Cape Town. However -- the individuals in the group I will introduce to you as we go along as I am sure you will enjoy meeting them as much as I did!

Smile and wave, boys..... Getting onto a ferry to take us across the ocean to Africa was probably a good indication of what an expedition like this is about. Then it was on, then it was off. Then we could go. Then there were no ferries going. Then we going to try a ferry port down the Spanish coast. Then we were staying in Gibraltar for the night. Then we were in the cue waiting to drive onto the ferry. And finally, at 4.45 the afternoon, we slowly manoeuvred our big bulk onto the ferry, was chained down onto the deck and made our way up to the warm, soft-leathered recliners of the lounge deck. Almost everyone in our group just sank back into that comfortable luxury and fell asleep, exhausted from the excitement and nervous energy of and sleepless night before. When we finally left the harbour, I was just so very grateful I had taken a Sea Legs tablet that morning in anticipation of the crossing, for I can assure you, there could not possibly be a crossing more turbulent than that one. The waves were crashing onto the windows where we were sitting on would be the third or fourth floor. Our soft leather recliners felt like water beds as we were tossed this way and that, forward and back and everyone literally held onto the arms to stay stable. A few were frantically fanning themselves with magazines and emergency instructions from the seat pockets to try to keep the nausea from overtaking them and across the aisle from me a young toddler was screaming blue murder at every adult a round it for bringing it into a place where it must have felt like a ping pong ball bobbing under a water spout. The 35 minute crossing took us just over an hour and the relief to reach the other side was visible on everyone's pale face. We all went back downstairs into the vehicle hold and flopped down in the truck, waited for the chains that had mercifully held the truck truck stable during the crossing to be released and, when the big diesel engines started up under us, and the truck started rolling forward toward the ferry doors, big smiles released the tension that must have been building up since each and every one of us signed on for this expedition. We were finally on our way!

Or so we thought... Smile and wave, boys...

We had of course landed in Ceuta, the Spanish enclave on the Moroccan coast, and we still had to get through the border post to enter Morocco. Well – I am sure there will be many accounts to come of the thrills and spills, the trials and tribulations and the agony and ecstasy of going through border posts during the next ten months of this expedition through the African continent, so let me not bore you with details this time, other to say we experienced all of the above.

By this time it was dark – and with the rain and wind still raging around us, there was a distinct apprehension in the truck as to where – and how, we were going to sleep that night. Mark told us afterwards how he and Kyle up front in the cab had considered introducing us to our first bush camp – which means setting up camp next to a road, but relented and drove us to a magnificently luxurious and comfortable camping site in a little part of the ongoing built up area along the coast, called Martil. (Of course it wasn't magnificently luxurious and comfortable, but itwas a camping site with facilities and a little restaurant where we did have a magnificently luxurious meal of couscous and chicken and vegetables and crème caramel – which none of us had had to cook over an open fire in the wind and rain and dark! Good call, Mark!)

A little aside here concerning our Intrepid Leader, Mark: Early days yet, I know, but I imagine to be a leader to a motley group of would-be adventurers, the provenance of which no one knows until the day they arrive tentatively at the starting point of the expedition, driving a massive truck – and believe me, it is massive – for 43 weeks across a very challenging continent and in most extreme conditions while keeping his passengers in one piece, physically and emotionally – such a leader needs on attribute more than any other: to be a consummate diplomat. Mark is that. Note the wise decision to herd his little troop into a safe have on stormy night one, and then his refusal to enter a debate on which is better: Marmite or Vegemite at our first breakfast the following morning... Kudos to you Mark!

On this first night in camp, I heard about the horrific disaster in Japan. We all felt so helpless -- cut off from the real world and no idea what is happening out there. I think this made us all think a little of what it is going to be like over the next year when we will often be out of all contact from the 'real' world where things continue as they do. Thank goodness for internet... We have been probably all been given a bit of a wake-up call as to the importance of staying in touch with loved ones and friends. All fine and well to take off for a year and disappear into the wild yonder, with the stars as companions and the newness of foreign places, new colours and exciting aromas to tittilate and stimulate, but in one way or another we are still all linked through love and caring and concern. It is therefore quite interesting too to see the quickness with which the different individuals in the group has already started to gel and settle in. We are reliant on each other for our survival. We have to work together to make the truck stay on the road, work together to feed our bodies and our souls. I could not help overhearing one of our group say that it would have been nice to have a little more diversity in the group. I wondered about this -- my first thought being that it is just as well that we all do seem so compatible as there will be ample diversity out there awaiting us, every region, every country, every daily encounter something completely different from anything most of us have ever experienced -- and no doubt will be commenting on it again soon. What is great though is that there is a wonderful dynamic in the group already and I think everyone feels a huge sense of relief for that. Being such a small group, but being in such a huge wide space out here, there is at the same time the feeling of safety being with others on whom you can rely but the welcome option of being able to leave the light circle of the fire and go be in solitude.

Yesterday was our first experience of a Moroccan town -- and there probably could not be a better town through which to meet the beautiful kingdom of Morocco than exactly this town of Chefchouan , nestling here against the foothills of the top beginning of the great Atlas mountain range. With its exquisite cornflower blue painted buildings (the blue coming from a local stone that contains this amazingly coloured blue mineral), narrow winding alleys, splurges of flamboyant colour of the Moroccan wood carving painters, the local berber rug dealers, the goat and sheep wool garments, the spice pyramids and abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables in the market, and of course the quiet moment sipping mint tea or the noisy laughter of the encounter with a group of young girls on their way to the hammam, the rug dealers trying to get you to buy the best kif if you are not going to buy that rug, the old men in their Ewok-meet-homeboy hoodies, -- ah! so much to tell, so much to share.

But, for now, I must end this session and go find a little warmth to thaw out and then I will be back soon with more!

Hamba kahle my friends!

Tickets in hand, fellow travellers revealed, ten days to go -- ready to roll!

The barcode of my ticket to Adventure!

We received an email with our tickets for the flight from Gatwick to Gibraltar -- the journey is about to begin! And by 'we' I am talking about the fifteen people who will be sharing with me the truck, the dust, the heat, the cold, the cooking fires, the canopy of stars at night, the endless blue dome of the clear skies during the day, the adventure, the awe and the wonder for the next ten months.

And now I know the names of those fellow travellers: Mark, Joel, Andrew, Elisa, Angela, Brian, Graham, Ben, Suzanna, Zachary, Joshua, David, Randall, Jescoe, Emelia....

And I wonder who they are, where they are, what they are doing right now...

Are they as excited as I am? Are they too feeling a little apprehensive, wondering what it will be like, what awaits us?

Three years ago I set off on the Camino -- on my own. This time I set off with 15 other people with whom I will share a lot of hardship and a lot of joy, 24 hours a day, 365 days in the year, in a small, confined space -- a completely different experience. I don't know where they are from, what ages they are, what their backgrounds are, which languages they speak, what their fears are or their pleasure, their favourite food or their pet hates or their hobby horses or their quirks. All I know is that they must have the same sense of daring, the same adventurous spirit, the same yearning to experience new things, to get to know a little more of the vast continent of Africa, the same willingness to share their space and energy as I do.

A different pilgrimage.

A different challenge.

A different journey...

Mark, Joel, Andrew, Elisa, Angela, Brian, Graham, Ben, Suzanna, Zachary, Joshua, David, Randall, Jescoe, Emelia -- I cannot wait to meet you all! I know it is going to be a fabulous group and that we will all make good traveling companions. I just know...

See you all on the 11th!

Reach out and touch : How I will be saying 'Hello!' over the next year!

Angola

Portuguese: Bom Dia (Good mor­ning), tarde(Good afternoon), Boa noite (Good Boa evening)

Botswana­
Setswana: Dumela mma/rra (to woman/man)
English: Hello

Burkina Faso
French: Bonjour
Dioula: in-i-che

Cameroon
French: Bonjour
English: Hello (in the west of Cameroon)

Cote d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast)
French: BonjourDioula: in-i-che

Egypt
Arabic: salaam aleikum
English: Hello

Ethiopia
Amharic: teanastellenEnglish: Hello

Gabon
French: Bonjour

Ghana
Twi: ete-sen
Ga: meeng-gah-bou (spoken in the capital Accra)
Dagbani: Kawula (good morning - desibah,

good afternoon - anteray, good evening -ana(w)ula
Hausa: sannu (spoken in northern Ghana)
English: Hello

Kenya
Swahili: Salama/Jambo
English: Hello

Lesotho
South Sotho: Dumela
English: Hello

Libya
Arabic: salaam aleikum

Madagascar
Malagasy: Salama
French: Bonjour

MalawiChichewa: Moni
English: Hello

Mali
French: Bonjour
Bambara: i-ni-cheh
Tamashek: met-al-ee-khah(Tuareg language)

Mauritania
Arabic: salaam aleikum
Hassaniya: sa-la-mah ah-lay-kum

MoroccoArabic: salaam aleikum
French: Bonjour

Mozambique
Portuguese: Bom Dia (Good Morning), Boa tarde (Good afternoon), Boa noite (Good evening)

Namibia
Afrikaans: Hallo
Damara/Nama: !gai//oas (spoken in the south and southeast)Herero/Himba: Tjike (spoken in the north central and northwest)
English: Hello

Nigeria
Hausa: sannu
Igbo: ee-bow-lah-chee(southeastern Nigeria)
Yoruba: bah-oh
English: Hello
French: Bonjour

Rwanda
French: Bonjour

Senegal
French: Bonjour
Fulfulde: no ngoolu daa
Wolof: na nga def

Sierra Leone
Krio: How de body?

South Africa
Zulu: Sawubona
Xhosa: Molo
Afrikaans: Hallo
English: Hello

Sudan
Arabic: salaam aleikum

Swaziland
Swati: Sawubona
English: Hello

Tanzania
Swahili: Salama/Jambo
English: Hello

Togo
French: Bonjour

Tunisia
French: Bonjour
Arabic: salaam aleikum

Uganda
Swahili: Salama/Jambo
English: Hello

Zambia
English: Hello
Bemba: Muli shani

Zimbabwe
English: Hello
Shona: Mhoroi
Ndebele: Sawubona

As I wait for the African journey to begin...

...and while I am waiting to start my journey through Africa, a few of the daily pleasures in my life on another beautiful continent...

The first Herculean task: Finding backpackers' insurance for a silverback, and then the bonus: finding out more about the Ethiopian coffee ceremony

There is something seriously wrong with this world. Just when you are old enough to start enjoying the excitement of travel, you are no longer an 'infant' and your parents have to pay for your air tickets. Just when you are confident enough to go really really high on the swings in the park, you are not allowed on them any more because you have had your 12th birthday. Just when your business reaches a peak in its success, you don't qualify for the Young Business Person of the Year any more because your are over 30. And just when you have finally organized your children and grandchildren and home and ipod and potplants and debit orders for the gas and electricity and want to leave on a truck to circumvent Africa, you can't get travel insurance because you are "not of the age when you should be doing things like this".

Every company I have gone to has shut the door in my face. Amazing! getting medical insurance for this trip sorted was not a problem (a zillion tests and scans and screenings and jabs and more tests and interrogations and x-rays and other unspeakable things later, but still, not a problem). But getting someone to sell you travel insurance for a trip that will last 11 months if you are not living where you are a citizen and do not reside where your address is, if you are not young and tanned and tattooed and pierced and bearded and plugged into your ipod, is downright impossible. And the company with which I am going won't let me on the truck unless I am insured against theft and loss of luggage and passport, legal expenses, personal indemnity, cancellations and the such.

Mmmmmmmm...

But -- this morning I felt that familiar flutter of excitement about the trip again when a friend pulled out an Ethiopian jebena she had bought as a gift and wondered at the strange design of it. I googled the Ethiopian coffee ceremony to share with her -- and realized once again that this was just one of the many many fascinating things I am going to be seeing and experiencing on my trip!

The Ethiopians have a lovely coffee ceremony that is part of their daily lives. A little like the Japanese tea ceremony, there are certain procedures to follow and traditions that have withstood the test of time.

The coffee is brewed by first roasting the green coffee beans over hot coals in a brazier. As the coffee begins to crackle as it is roasted, the hostess may add cardamom, cinnamon and cloves to the mix. Once the beans are roasted each participant is given an opportunity to sample the aromatic smoke by wafting it towards them. This is followed by the grinding of the beans, traditionally in a wooden mortar and pestle. The coffee grounds are then put into a special vessel and boiled.

The boiling pot or jebena is usually made of pottery and then stained almost black, has a spherical base, a neck and pouring spout and a handle where the neck connects with the base. When the coffee boils up through the neck it is poured in and out of another container to cool it, and then is put back into the boiling pot until it happens again.

To pour the coffee from the boiling pot, a filter made from horsehair or other material is placed in the spout. At this point, the coffee is ready to be served. A tray of very small, handle-less ceramic or glass cups is arranged with the cups very close together. The ceremony performer pours the coffee in a single stream from about a foot above the cups, ideally filling each cup equally without breaking the stream of coffee. The dregs of the coffee remain in the pot. This technique prevents coarse grounds from ending up in the coffee cups.

In some cases, the youngest child may serve the oldest guest the first cup of coffee. Afterward, the performer serves everyone else.

Guests may add their own sugar if they’d like. Milk is not typically offered. After adding sugar, guests bunna tetu --“drink coffee” and praise the hostess for her skill and the coffee for its taste.

After the first round of coffee, there are typically two additional servings. The three servings are known as abol, tona and baraka. Each serving is progressively weaker than the first. Each cup is said to transform the spirit, and the third serving is considered to be a blessing on those who drink it.