“The original coffee,” the smiling doctor repeated thoughtfully.
The Ethiopians all looked at each other as if they were presented with
a limited time to solve a very great problem. Their brows knit
together as if mending an ancient brown tapestry.
“Well that is easy,” Webele said. “You must look in the Kaffa
region, south-west from here. That, after all, is the place from which
coffee took its name.”
“No. That is not right,” a small man with only four teeth said. He
had been pounding the chat leaves in a mortar since his last
remaining molar was not up to the job. “Everyone knows that the
original coffee comes from Yirgacheffe, to the south-east.” He
stopped pounding for a moment to put his hand on Roy’s shoulder
and drew him near as if in collusion. He said, “It was stolen by the
gods, but we stole it back, you see.”
The others scoffed, but he went on, “There is a legend about it! A
dabtara, a church shaman, wanted to see what heaven was like, so he
fasted for three months and performed many magic rituals to send
his spirit to heaven. Arriving at the gates, he greeted St. Peter. But
Peter was confused because his name was not on the list. So Peter
served him a cup of coffee and said to wait while he looked through
the records. Of course, he discovered the dabtara was a liar. But when
he returned to the gates the man was gone. He had returned to earth,
taking the heavenly coffee with him. You see, the dabtara saw no
hurry to get to heaven when its spirit could grow here on earth! He
planted the grounds in his farm in Yirgacheffe, where it had taken
root and still grows today.” With this, he allowed himself a self-
satisfied grin, scooping some pulverized chat into his cheek.
“Nonsense!” the doctor shouted, “One cannot grow a plant from
coffee grounds!”
Four-teeth threw up his hands, “Ha! Surely if he could travel all
the way to heaven, this would be only a minor feat.”
“Yes. All interesting stories,” interjected another, a thin,
elegantly-dressed man. He was outfitted in a frayed suit complete
with a broken timepiece in his vest pocket that dated back to the
Italian occupation. “But what, may I ask, of the Queen of Sheba?”
“The Queen of Sheba?” Four-teeth protested.
“My good man, whatsoever does the Queen of Sheba have to do
with coffee?” cried the outraged but smiling doctor.
“Perhaps our friend here is not familiar with the story of our
great queen,” he turned to Roy, “You are aware of Sheba’s visit to
ABYSSINIA
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