DAY 7: Yeoville, be my lover

What is there to say about Yeoville today? A great deal!

I woke up this morning dreading Yeoville because it has worn me out. I’ve only been there for seven days and yet it feels like I’ve had months, even years of interaction with the place. I can never stand to wake up and make my way to Yeoville every morning and I can never stand to leave the place after a day of exploring in its streets. It’s that cliched love-hate relationship that I have developed with Yeoville. The kind of relationship people associate with all of their bad habits, habits that they cannot seem to get rid of and probably do not want to get rid of. I cannot wait to get a decent night’s sleep but the thought of waking up without the knowing that Yeoville is waiting for my eagerness scares me somewhat. So I woke up and got ready for another day of Yeoville.

Today I accompanied my group mate who is looking at churches in Yeoville. We went “church-hopping” and had brief encounters with the manner of practice in the different churches. My favourite though, was the Catholic on Cavendish Street. The congregation of the church were celebrating St Francis Day. People were dressed in their traditional attire and and there were food stalls all around the parking lot of the church. The stalls were serving traditional food from different countries in Africa. This puzzling thing was, these meals came complete with a bottle, even five, of beer. Call me a ridiculous conservative but surely you cannot drink in the presence of the Lord in His name? I was intrigued and I thought, this bizarre beauty can only be found in Yeoville, the place I now call my lover.

Nonetheless it was wonderful to talk to different people who are passionate about their faith as well as enjoy the cultural heritage of their fellow congregates through the food.

And when I thought the afternoon could not get anymore interesting, a man who was running the Ethiopian stall found us and insisted that we follow him to his stall. “Come now, come now,” he kept saying. Eagerly, we followed him. He wanted us to take pictures of him and the caps he was selling. I, on the other hand was taken by something else.

DISCLAIMER: The following may seem boring if you do not find the process of brewing coffee in a traditional iron pot fascinating.

There, to my right was an Ethiopian lady brewing coffee. The smell was just beautiful and robust. I was briefly encapsulated in an aura of perfect quality coffee. I love coffee. I love the process it goes through to become the cup of heaven that I enjoy every morning. Last year I wrote an article about Ethiopian coffee based on a movie I watched, Black Gold. The article inspired me to one day travel to the country and experience first hand the process in its entirety. Today was a preview of that trip

The man was surprised at my fascination of the coffee but happily explained the symbolism behind the preparation methods.


Yeoville, my lover is full of surprises. I learn everyday and I experience everyday. These are things I thought I’d do bits and pieces during my career and yet Yeoville has offered it all to me now. Its overwhelming but my hands are open, cupping as much as I can. This in-depth journey has been one of opportunity and I am appreciative of this final stretch in my journey to becoming a good journalist.


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