Peanuts and tea

POP - POP - POP - POP

flying fingers, nimble fingers, tiny fingers

I'm watching a group of children shelling peanuts; harvest must be good as there seems to be peanuts everywhere I turn! Mostly spread out upon sheets of plastic on the ground drying in the hot sun.  I join the children, taking a seat beside them.  They're delighted and eager to show me their simple technique; up-end the peanut between thumb and forefinger and give it a good whack on the cement. Voila! I'm soon keeping up with the fray but eagerly cast any nut that doesn't co-operate with me back into the bowl.  This affords them a chance to show me up, which I happily let them do.  We've soon made short-order of emptying the contents of the bowl and one of the little girls sweeps the entire kit-and-kaboodle into a shallow, woven tray.  She bends at the waist and with her tray canted at a slight angle proceeds to toss the contents into the air; here's that rhythm-thing going on again 

up-down ..... up-down ..... up-down .......

Soon chaff and shell is blown away, leaving only the peanuts in her tray.

She feels generous and offers her tray to Abou who is in the process of pouring Attaya into 5 tiny glasses, each glass already half-full of a creamy froth.  Attaya, that strong, sweet tea prepared and shared wherever men gather for a chat.  It's a tradition and I don't think you'd be considered a good African man if you hadn't mastered the art of preparing a good Attaya (but that's just a personal opinion).

And it certainly seems that a good 'froth' is as important to a glass of Attaya as a good 'froth' is to a glass of Guinness. 

As Abou pours the liquid into the glass the froth rises to the top; he takes the peanuts offered and drops 3 or 4 into each glass.  It's going to be good Attaya today and I'm offered the first drink !  Now it's not uncommon for these little glasses to appear as though they haven't seen soap and hot water in a 'month-of-Sundays' because they probably haven't; as a matter of fact, there are always more men than cups and you'll generally be served two glasses of tea of an afternoon.  So the little glasses go round and round and round and round, a little swish, a little swirl of cold water and off they go to the next guest. 

The making of Attaya

I've been served Attaya by total strangers in the market place, along side the road at taxi stops, under trees and awnings, in the rain and in the sun but it's most common to be served amongst friends.  I will never refuse an invitation to drink Attaya for it's truly a type of communion, an invitation to come and partake; you're one of us!  

WONTANARA !  We are together !