Of Coastal bees, cursing cats and shared wives

By HAMZA BABU

In the days of Vasco da Gama, long before the advent of these new overrated coffee houses where everyone pretends to be rich and a mug of coffee is the equivalent of monthly rent in an average slum, we were enjoying our cup of Kahawa Tungu down here in Mombasa.

The great thing about our culture is that we are still sipping away, a gazillion years later, even as all the garbage choking our towns erodes the allure of devolution at the Coast.

And maybe in miraa, the UK is picking on the wrong poison to ban because kahawa tungu can be quite addictive and intoxicating. A doctor friend of mine confided in me that the caffeine level in the drink, which is often stabilised with herbs from as far away as Zanzibar and fortified with amphetamines (stolen from the local mental institution), is worse than miraa.

I am the fourth (my grandfather says fifth) generation Kahawa Tungu expert to pour the hot drink to thirsty customers and can positively confirm that I love my job with a passion. It’s, however, a pity that my son is most likely going to break the family tradition and become a bribe taking cop or some other louse that lives off the blood of hard working Kenyans. What a shame. Had he known the nobility in this profession, he would have followed suit. But from a guy who is a scout at school and his hero is Police Inspector General David Kimaiyo, what do you expect?

Courage

Anyway, mine is a pocket friendly establishment they all visit to unwind, revitalise and catch on the trending gossip. I even suspect that some of my patrons are visiting just to gather the courage to face their wives back at home. I tell you Kahawa Tungu maketh a man out of a lily livered, yellow-bellied coward within no time. Ha!

As for me, if Zaharia ever sits on me, I will call myself a pretty girly name like Barbie, dress in a skirt and shave my beard. But if you sit around waiting for all that to happen, I will tell you Jipe Shugly (get busy).

Anyway, I serve them and they keep coming for more. They call me Kahawa Tungu after my famous beverage and we watch the sun set amidst a backdrop of all the politics and events being witnessed at the coast. The ordinary, spooky, bizarre and outright mystical. Yes.

Curse

“That cat is a Paka Mwanga (enchanted cat),” claims Hamisi as I place a kettle of the darkened drink on his table. “The cat that had been sent to curse its victims from the safety of a jerry can was a big joke.”

“Why are we talking about cats when jinxed husbands who taking turns at their ‘wife’ are giving all Coast men a bad name?” poses another, his face furrowed as the last sip of kahawa tungu rolls down his throat.

“I don’t understand why everyone is kicking a fuss over that story. Men have shared one woman since time immemorial. Those two only came out of the closet and should be congratulated for leading the way,” another pipes in.

“Time to close!” I order as I loudly bang the nearest pot with my big spoon. I’ve heard enough.

There is only so much of cats, bees and sexual debauchery involving threesomes that a man can take in one day, so I close shop.