TEXT
MARYANNE NJOROGE
SPILLING THE BEANS
“I have
measured
out my life
with coffee
spoons.”
-T. S. Eliot, American
playwright and poet
Two hours have evaporated by, I’m on to my fourth
espresso and my Word document is as blank as the
over-caffeinated face that’s staring into it. I hear
humming car engines in the Village Market parking
lot outside, yet with the slight breeze coming in
through the window, I find it soothing. It’s the
domestic witching hour: when moms, muddied
sons and grey-suited men come flushing in and out
of Nakumatt, each carrying their respective wares:
kitchen towel, half-eaten chocolate bars and 3
bottles of dry red wine. I’m procrastinating…
God bless the person who invented a space where
aimless souls can sit for hours playing Candy Crush
and still look like they’re doing meaningful work.
This particular coffee shelter has a cozy lounge-like
area: cushiony couches huddled around low tables,
with a mounted set of shelves taking the place of a
could-have-also-been large painting on a wall. On
these shelves are rows and rows of books—many
dog-eared and weathered, some fresh—that lean
on each other like friends posing for an Instagram
selfie. I get up and finger through this mound of
literature: ‘Gardening 101’, ‘A Critical Analysis of
Shakespearean Poetry’, ‘Be The BEST You’, and…
OUCH!! I’ve nudged an enormous publication off
its edge and watched, helplessly, as it planted its
gargantuan self onto my left pinky toe. What is this
damn thing anyway?
I peel it away from my throbbing digit, and limp
back over to my table. I flip the book on either
side a few times and scan its large spine, trying to
understand why there is no title. Strange… Paging
through it quickly, my nostrils are filled with
dust. I’m sneezing uncontrollably but I’m hardly
bothered, something much bigger is gripping my
attention in these pages. I lift my face up from the
book and hastily look around the room seeking
reassurance for what I’ve just read. But in the
friendly catch-up chatter, quiet magazine-reading
faces, and asynchronous keyboard tapping, I find
none. So I reach for my neglected coffee and take
a fierce gulp as if hoping the drink will agree that
I’m not crazy. But even before I finish swallowing,
I’m already back reading. I can’t help it. What
I’ve just found is both intriguing and completely
unbelievable…
To be continued…
29.