Coffee and Raki

This morning I left the school to head to the bus station at around 7AM.  On my way I saw Chimmey who yelled down from the third story of his home “Cafe vola?  Haitha!”  Which means “Would you like to join me for coffee brother?  Come on up!”  At the top of the stairs I was greeted by Chimmey, his wife, her mother, and three men who were unknown to me.  By the end of our interaction I still had no idea who these men were; friends or family of Chimmey’s.  The coffee I was given was Turkish style which is like unrefined, sweet, thick espresso served scalding hot.  A number of the men were also taking sips of raki between sips of coffee.  Raki is the Albanian equivalent to Irish or Canadian whiskey.  The smell alone will open your eyes, but I couldn’t speculate as to how effective drinking a shot of it for breakfast might be for motivating one to a higher level of productivity.

I enjoyed as much time with Chimmey and his entourage as I thought I could before letting them know that I should be going.  The bus was a long time in coming, which put me in the center of Tirana a little behind.  I finally made it to the job site at about 9:15.  The men are good about not ribbing me too severely for coming late.  I have become something of a curiosity around the city of Fushekruje.  The woman I purchase bottled water from everyday had an important question for me today.  I had her write it down so that I might have Fatjon translate it for me.  The note turned out to be a letter encouraging me to hire one of the woman’s contacts to be the head of the school we are building.  We aren’t building a school.

At the end of the day I was invited for coffee by Fatjon’s father.  I still do not know his name, I call him Baba, which is the Albanian word for father.  We took some streets which I had never seen before to get to his house.  Instead of going to his personal property, we went next door to his neighbor’s house.  That family is away for some amount of time and has left Baba with a key.  Baba’s wife joined us to be the person who would serve the coffee.

I’m going to pause for a moment and invite you to walk with me, to put yourself here.  It is Mediterranean hot and humid.  You have been up and “working” since 7AM.  You are a sweaty mess.  You have been invited to the home of someone you have only recently met which, it turns out, isn’t actually their home.  You are tired, and hungry.

At the steps leading to the front porch, everyone removed their shoes.  While unlacing my boots, Baba touched me on the shoulder saying “Yo, yo, ska problem.”  Which meant “Please leave your boots on, you are my guest.”  At the door, Fatjon translated his father’s next hospitable extension: would I like to take a shower before we continued our time together?  I demurred, saying that I would however like to wash my hands.  After washing, I came into the family room, and was given the seat furthest from the door.  Baba brought in a bottle of raki.  Although I declined, his insistence that I try it was an argument I didn’t feel I could overcome without causing serious offense.  Raki burns all the way down, and the burn lingers all the way through.  The conversation which ensued was one of great honor to me.  Baba explained some interesting Albanian history and then expressed a wish that he and I will continue down the path of a strong friendship together.  I agreed that that was my wish as well.  Fatjon’s mother expressed her joy at having me around her son.  I likened Fatjon to pure gold, an image which both of his parents found to their liking.

As we left, Fatjon’s mother picked a pair of pink roses for me.  After handing them to me she said that I could have red ones if I preferred.  I assured her that pink was perfect.  I will leave you reader with a single word: blessed.  Blessed be the name of the LORD, blessed be this place, blessed be God’s children in Fushekruje, and blessed is the author of this page; so very blessed am I.