As we stand up, the elderly woman's brow furls and she motions towards the clay pot. A man sitting across from me translates- "Ethiopian ceremony-more coffee.." He holds up three fingers. I glance at the empty cup in front of me- "I'm sorry.." Amanda, Glen, and I shake the hands of the men sitting across from us, attempting to compensate for our rudeness. "So sorry- late. Need to go.." I pull my guitar onto my back and step onto the street, grateful that the rain has paused. We hurry around the puddles, hoping that the team won't mind our tardiness to the usual 8pm meeting. After all, 40 minutes is not so late here..
Still, I consider the events of the last 2 hours: Being invited into the grinning girl's home, noticing shot glasses beneath the Jesus posters that covered the metal, realizing that the home was also a local bar... The sound of the monsoon pouring down.. Pulling out my guitar and beginning to play worship songs.. Did they realize worship had begun during their usual night cap? Watching the roasting and grinding of the beans... the adding of sugar, stirring, waving the smoke, clipping herbs.. and finally sipping coffee.
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