About coffee flasks
M

y grandfather would leave the farmhouse quite early, while it was still dark, to tend to the animals on the farm. About midmorning, my grandmother would send me with a full coffee flask to the kraal where my granddad was working.

To me, this road felt very, very long. At age three, everything seems more significant, taller, and farther. And somewhere on this road, I would get very, very thirsty.

At first, I would walk up the hill, through the cow kraal, making sure not to step into the new, wet, steaming dung cakes and climb into the old truck wreck on the hill. A pair of sparrows had made their nest in the open cubby hole. They are never there when I climb in. But I still climb in to admire their handiwork and envy the safety of their home together.

I would walk to the riverbed, where I could not be seen from the house or the kraal. I would hide behind a bush, open the coffee flask, and sip the sweetest, creamiest, loveliest coffee straight from the flask. When I was done, I would screw the lid closed, put the cup back, and walk faster so nobody would notice I was taking longer than usual. 

Memories from a coffee flask

When I got to my granddad, I would hand him the coffee flask triumphantly. I basked in his praise that I had managed to walk all on my own to bring him this elixir of life – a gesture of love from his wife – gave him a huge hug and proclaimed: “Wow, I am really thirsty from the long walk Oupa!”

My granddad would reply: “Are you sure?  Didn’t you take a sip along the way? Here, come, share with me.”  And so, I would have another sip. Bliss! And for one moment, I would feel loved, safe, and belonging.

Many years later, my granddad and I reminisced about the days on the farm. One day, he asked me whether I remembered the trips to the kraal with the coffee flask and my proclamations of major thirst – and how I told him that I didn’t take a sip on the road.

I still see the twinkle in his eye when I reply that I remembered it well. But I did not confess to anything.  I will never forget his reply:  “You always arrived with a brown ring of coffee on your top lip.”

I still take my first sip of coffee straight from the coffee flask. As I lick off the brown ring of coffee from my top lip, I savor the memory of unconditional love.

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