I may have hinted at it in pervious
posts but I’m just going to come out and say it, I am a closeted coffee
drinker. It started my second week in site when I went into town to buy a
mattress with our regional coordinator in his fancy Peace Corps car. While in
town he kindly drove me around to the different stores to collect the
accessories that I wanted for my room. This literally entailed us driving a
block, lurching to a stop, jumping out running in the store, negotiating
prices, jumping back in the car and driving a block more. In total all the
stores were within seven blocks of each other but we made the most of that car.
The point of this being that at one store I did buy fixings to make coffee in
an improvised dripping system, and a block away I bought ground coffee so that
I was set to be infused with more caffeine confidence, which I believed would
allow me to speak Spanish fluently.
Coming into my site I crouched down out of view as the whole town poked
their heads out the window to see what unknown car was driving through with
such a fancy deluxe mattress. Upon arriving at my house my host mom oohed and
ahhed at my mattress and it felt like too much to show off all the other things
I had bought. So I slid the mattress in and tucked the coffee fixings into a
corner, feeling a bit guilty at the luxuries I could afford.
I’m not quite sure how to put into
words why I continued to hide the fact that I was making coffee in my room with
a hot water boiler, and a contraption meant to brew tea, but was now brewing
coffee. Maybe it was shame at how many material goods I own, maybe it was
embarrassment that after drinking the Nescafe my host mom served me I would go
into my room and brew up another cup of slightly more satisfying coffee. Maybe
it was because the caffeine hadn’t made me fluent yet so I couldn’t quite put
into words that I was making my own coffee, or maybe I simply like the thrill
of it. Whatever the case may be I
would return from my run, eat breakfast with my host mom, and then go into my
room, close the door, and whip up some more coffee, and thus I became a
closeted coffee drinker. Some
obstacles to my secrecy were that I forgot to buy a mug, so I would wait until
the kitchen was empty so I could sneakily run in and grab one. Once my host grandma caught me in the
act of cup borrowing, but she doesn’t have much hearing and already thinks I’m
crazy so we just looked at each other and laughed. I continued this habit for
weeks, dumping the old beans out into a plastic bag, trying to figure out how I
could spread them in my host mom’s garden for fertilizer with out her knowing
that I was adding nutrients. I would wait until she was busy in her room, then
I would sneak out spread the coffee beans into the dirt, then smoosh them into
the ground until they blended in.
At one point my host dad returned as I was finishing up my last rubbing
in and gave me a puzzled look, in which I stumbled through some Spanish of
dumping organic waste, to which I am sure he didn’t understand any of. To clean
out the cup and pot I would wait until my nightly bathroom run and use the
outdoor sink by the bathroom. It was dark by this time so about two weeks in I
found a little mold on the pot, and had to work on my thorough cleaning
technique. The funny thing is one day when I was making cookies in my room my
host mom was helping me and she moved everything off my desk including the
coffee pot (full of molding coffee) and the water boiler, so clearly she knew
that I was making my own coffee, and she didn’t really care, but still I felt
the urge to hide my actions.
It wasn’t until the other day on
one of my daily walks through the mountains and farms that I realized I was
being a little ridiculous. So I’ve decided that when I receive the package from
my mom coming to me in the mail, with an actually coffee dripper and filters in
it, I am going to make a point of showing it to my host mom, and then include
her in my coffee making ceremonies. I would invite her to the coffee as well
but it turns out she is trying to get pregnant (with my host dad) and has been
told that during this time she cannot drink coffee or milk, or eat fish, chocolate, or
pig. But for now I will continue making my coffee behind a closed door, and
sneaking off to clean the pot in the middle of the night. 
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