In Search of The Zanzibar Coffee House

As this account of my search for the famous coffee house is lengthy, I have divided it into chapters for easier reading.

With a gruelling week of work with our students behind us, and eight weeks of summer holidays ahead of us, my friend Jenni sat opposite me and said, “Time for the big one Ingrid. A road-trip through Africa is what we need.” 

I looked across at the packed coffee shop with its devoted coffee drinkers. Each one pounding away on a laptop - oblivious of the fact that they were surrounded by other people. Humanity lost in the world of technical wonder. I felt an urgent need for real people. People who sit and listen to each other. Who connect with the world. People who understand the value of being in the moment. The thought of staring at wide-open spaces whilst sitting on a rock with the African sun on my back and that heavenly smell of African soil after a real thunderstorm with real rain, brought a sudden chill to my spine. I thought too of sipping hot coffee with condensed milk out of a tin mug.

I mention real rain, as in China, even the rain is made to order. My body also needed to breathe oxygen again. I was very keen to get away from the deadly pollution of the past few weeks. My girls had both taken off on adventures of their own to South Africa and Holland respectively. Alone and homesick in China, I set off on my bike in search of tubes of condensed milk for my African adventure. 

Waiting to board our flight, Jenni and I were pulled aside by Egypt Air officials at Beijing International and told to empty our rucksacks. I wondered if the South African passports were a problem. After all, of what could two innocent Toddler teachers be guilty? Officials searched our bags and confiscated the four very precious tubes of condensed milk. Devastated, we wondered just how sticky a bomb made of condensed milk would be. Or, did the official know of the sheer pleasure the sweet liquid can offer when combined with steaming hot coffee?

The flight to Cairo took ten hours and the captain put down the perfect landing. Note my childhood influences from having both parents as pilots… We arrived in the early hours of the morning and already, the temperature was a horrific 37C. Our guide comforted us by telling us how the day before it had reached 47C and that we should be grateful. Within the first six hours of being in Egypt, Jenni and I had explored the Pyramids at Giza, admired the Sphinx and gazed across the mighty Nile. The sheer magnificence and size of these wonders held us captivated. 

Standing in the scorching sun, I was overwhelmed at exactly where we had found ourselves. Having lived in a foreign country for the past ten years, I thought I had experienced so much. However, it is only when you move into yet other cultures – different from your adopted one – that you realise what diversity is about. I found my rock at the foot of the 5000-year old Pyramids and felt the sun on my back. I sat motionless. In awe of the bluest skies. Camels covered in richly-woven textured cloths and Egyptian men in flowing robes, wandered around in silence. An aura of serenity prevailed. The rock ignited my desire to learn about Cairo. A strong sense of being at one with the history of the world filled my every cell.

Our incredible lunch consisted of couscous, eggplant drizzled in fresh lime, mouth-watering lamb and Egyptian noodle soup. The view from the local restaurant overlooking the Pyramids was unfortunately marred by the presence of a huge western fast-food outlet. Needless to say, the sinfully sweet Baklava and fresh dates brought us comfort. 

We fully celebrated our only day in Egypt. Till then, Beijing peak-hour traffic was the ultimate form of traffic congestion. But it seemed that the Cairo drivers were masters of chaos on the roads. The 300-year old market with its dark, narrow alleyways filled the dense air with exotic incense. Wrought iron lamps, jewellery and a sense of wonder, lured us deeper inwards to savour and experience the riches on offer.

Walking amongst Tutankhamen’s masks and learning of his story (he died at only eighteen years of age from malaria) in the Cairo History Museum brought the past to life for me. The actual building is incredibly beautiful. The grandiose stairs and a strong Roman-Greek influence add a sense of mystical intrigue. There was no air conditioning. That would have a negative effect on the mummies. The heat was intense. The horrendous crowds and white-uniformed police, armed with heavy weapons mingled. The atmosphere was vibrant. I experienced sheer exhilaration at being part of the scene playing out in front of me.

That night, exhausted, we boarded our flight to Nairobi, Kenya. I observed the many facets of humanity in the international lounge. People were washing their feet in basins. Others slept in the most fascinating positions on every spare inch of space. Some literally prepared their meals on the chairs. The super-rich splurged with their credit cards in the duty-free section. To our utter joy – we discovered endless ‘Vuvuzelas’ (musical instrument from South Africa) on display amongst the treasures of Egypt. A reminder that the soccer world cup was in progress in South Africa. We were getting nearer to home.

On landing in Nairobi at 03:45, Jenni’s worst fear had come true. There was nobody to meet us as organised. Not a great situation for two ladies in which to find themselves. We figured it best to sit tight until dawn. Numerous men in suits harassed us, with promises of keeping us safe. “We know where you are going,” they added. We remained rooted to the spot. A reminder of just how safe living in Beijing is. Hours later, a lady sleepily approached us. Yelling our names, she showed us to our hotel transport. She had fallen asleep on the couch in the arrival’s hall ….

The hotel in Nairobi proved to be a most interesting place. A sign above the toilet read, ‘Flush with force.’ There was no handle for the shower tap. No hot water. No lights either as the generator was out of order. The bathroom door did not close. The room smelt acrid. We did not care at this point. 

On awakening from a few hours of much-needed sleep, food was our first priority. Walking down the street neither of us felt comfortable. In our very own Africa, we felt uneasy and foreign. Ironically, we both felt a much deeper sense of belonging in China. We devoured a delicious East African meal of samp, marog, potatoes and Kikuyu beans. Being the coffee addicts that we are, we washed the meal down with four pots of dark, thick Kenyan coffee. Our one and only evening in Nairobi was then spent looking down from our window at the traffic chaos below and relaxing beside the rooftop pool. 

To be continued ...