Three cups for welcome

Dawla sits on her haunches inside the tent, her dark red tobe folded beneath her as she patiently roasts the coffee beans over a small coal stove.

A Hendendowa woman from the nomadic Beja tribe, she wears the characteristic gold hoop through her nose, almost touching her lip.

Dawla, who is 20, was married at 14 and has a four-year-old daughter. The gold hoop, she explains was a present from her husband after their marriage.

Inhabiting eastern Sudan, Egypt and Eritrea, the Beja tribes largely continue to follow a traditional nomadic lifestyle, herding goats and camels.

They live in sturdy tents resembling a giant tortoise shell, with straw mats covering an elaborate wooden frame.

Constructed entirely by women, these can be easily dismantled whenever it is time to move on again.

Dawla’s husband is a caretaker at the nearby girls' school where I work on Tuesdays and a teacher friend has arranged the visit.

The ragged, wind-blown settlements of these hardy nomadic peoples are scattered around Ed Damer, the humps of their tents seemingly crouched over the ground in protection against the choking dust, blown across the desert.

I have often found myself wondering about the lives of the people inside those tents, scattered in clusters around the ugly concrete factories just out of town.

Dawla’s family and her in-laws occupy two nearby tents. A goat pen, small makeshift kitchen and shaded ziir (clay storage pots for drinking water) enclosure have also been constructed in the surrounding area.

The tent is a cool, dark sanctuary, compared to the glaring sunshine and early afternoon heat outside.

The interior is dominated by a raised platform for sleeping covered in special straw mats, which are specially made on the occasion of a woman’s marriage.

The wooden beams are covered by various colourful cloths, with traditional beaded jewellery, leather bags and camel whips hanging from the wall. Strips of dried meat are strung across the ceiling.

Dawla has an aloof, dignified manner and although she’s happy to show me around her home, she asks not to be photographed herself. Limited as we are by language and worlds, we observe each other with a kind of mutual fascination. 

Dawla removes the coffee beans from the heat and begins crushing them by hand, adding fresh ginger and other spices with a brisk efficiency.

She transfers the mix into the Jabana - a distinctive clay pot with a rounded shape, tapering into a narrow spout. She fills the pot with water before placing it over the hot coals, languidly fanning the embers at intermittent intervals.

Outside comes the sound of children’s laughter, as Dawla’s daughter and a young relative play nearby. With their ragged clothing and knotted hair, they seem almost to inhabit the dusty environment.

Dawla’s husband’s younger brother Mohammad returns home from school and crouches on the dirt floor, staring at me with a mix of incredulity and intensity. 

Later, he removes a small knife from the folds of his jellabiyah and begins sharpening it with a piece of sandpaper. Many adult tribesmen today still carry a sword, perhaps a throwback to their past, when the Beja earned a reputation as fearless warriors.

Dawla's mother-in-law - a small, thin woman, bearing the distinctive tribal facial scars, once performed as a sign of beauty - also enters the tent.

She talks in low tones to her daughter-in-law in their local Rotana language, indecipherable from Arabic, says Inayat. I ask them to teach me some basics and so I learn my first three words in Rotana.

The sweet aroma of ginger and coffee soon permeates the air as Dawla continues to fan the coals to keep the flame alive.

This ritualised coffee ceremony is performed by the Hadendowa to welcome guests as a sign of hospitality.

It is a languid and precise process, taking 20-30 minutes. The thinking being that the lengthy preparation time only magnifies the eventual enjoyment in the cup.

Once the coffee has been prepared, a small piece of loofah or similar material is inserted inside the spout to act as a filter when pouring the coffee.

Dawla arranges several tiny handless cups or fingan on a silver tray, spooning an alarming amount of sugar into each one despite their small size.

She pours the hot, dark liquid almost to overflowing and passes us the tray.

As my friend Inayat explains, the first cup of coffee is known as bikeri, followed immediately by the second round - tanee.

One thing’s for certain I must say, the patience and anticipation for this tiny cup is well worth the wait.

The coffee is spicy and delicious and surprisingly – considering the amount of sugar inside – not overly sweet. 

And no sooner have we finished, when Dawla again fills our cups to the top.

This third and (usually) final cup known as barakhe, continues Inayat is “for welcome and the happiness of meeting”.

I’ve never had a more poetic cup of coffee.

We drain the last cup and step outside into the bright afternoon sunshine again. Mohammad, Dawla and her mother-in-law remain standing at the entrance to their tent, waving briefly in farewell.

I feel as though I’m leaving behind another world.

“Debaako”, (goodbye) I call out with a wave of my hand, and suddenly the seriousness in their expressions slips. 

I can still hear the sound of their laughter as I walk away.

The third cup for welcome :)