“African tea”

le 3 novembre   There are certain moments when I’m convinced that I truly was born Rwandan but there was some major mix-up in the nursery. Tonight, drinking “African tea” was one of them.

I walked into the kitchen before dinner to see Joselyne over the sink washing something. I then caught a glimpse of what it was – could it be? Yes, it was ginger root.

Before the service trip to Jamaica almost two years ago, I’d only had ginger in ginger snap cookies. Though I liked them enough, they were nothing special. In Jamaica, we had ginger beer (a more concentrated flavor than ginger ale, which has only a faint trace of the taste), ginger cookies, ginger… everything. From that point forward, I’ve not only loved the taste but the memory that ginger brings. It brings me to the table in Jamaica surrounded by thirteen incredible friends.

Trying not to salivate, I watched as she shredded the ginger and threw it into the pot on the stove. Inside, she’d already put the milk (which is fresh from the local cow) and some water to not have our concoction be too rich. In went two scoops of Rwandan black tea, too, to finish off the mix. “What do we call this?” I asked, curiously. “African tea.” We let it grow to a boil and strained out the shreds of ginger and granules of tea before putting the teapot on the table.

I wasn’t sure exactly what it would taste like, but I knew that it would be wonderful. How could it not be? I love every ingredient – the richness of the fresh milk, the bite of the ginger, the strength of the black tea. What I tasted was most easily described as an African chai tea. There are many traditions I hope to bring back to the States with me, but there is no doubt in my mind that I will be making “African tea” for my grandchildren someday.