At the coffee shop

Driving through Lagos Island a couple of days ago brought to mind an encounter I had at the coffee shop in Amsterdam, Netherlands when I went for a course a few years ago. I wondered how much Indian hemp smoking has been ‘refined’ unlike what I saw on a street on the Island where a group of boys smoked weed in a dirty corner.

When Robert, one of the course participants from Zimbabwe, announced to the class last Tuesday that he wanted to pay a visit to the coffee, everyone was excited. We thought it was worth the trouble in the cold weather. However, the little group which agreed to go with him dwindled by each hour as some people realised they needed to do one or two things instead of taking the 20 minutes drive to Amsterdam that evening.

And so, Claire, a Kenyan, and I finally agreed to go with Robert. “My editor says I should do a story on the coffee shop and send it home,” explained Robert.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I replied. “I’m interested in that too. I would like to know how the old men relate with their ladies at the Coffee Shop. You know, exchanging pep talks over a steaming cup of coffee would not be a bad idea.”

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Giann, one of our course instructors, offered to give us a ride in his car and off we went to Amsterdam. Our trip was marked by different discussions about the Dutch as a people and their age-long tradition of minding their business as a follow-up to the debates and discussions we had at the intercultural class. “The Dutch are a very reserved people. They have been brought up to mind their affairs. But if you walk up to a Dutch, he or she would be willing to help you,” Giann explained with a sign.

We arrived Amsterdam in less than half an hour and Giann was kind enough to take us around a bit in his car until he drove into his street and we had to find the way ourselves. He pointed to some Coffee Shop on the other side of his street. We moved one short lane to another until we arrived at Leidseplein. It was a busy street, a combination of residential and commercial centre. Apartments were situated on the same floor or building as a restaurant or store. We some men and women seated outside in the cold evening drinking whisky and brandy while some others were nibbling at hot meals and soups. I was expecting us to walk into a similar atmosphere at the Coffee Shop.

After walking for some minutes, we finally spotted a Coffee Shop which was few metres away from an Italian Restaurant. We took some shots in front of it before we went in. An Asian man dressed in the Rastafarian style whom we later discovered was the DJ was at the door receiving a call but he quickly went back in when he discovered that we were taking pictures outside the shop.

We walked into the shop that was consumed by the loud music blaring from the speakers. The shop owner was standing close to the bar while a huge man whose big arms were resting on the table glued his eyes on the TV and he seemed he was unmindful of our entrance. We took a seat in the far end of the room. Right on the table, weed was displayed in all its glory, unrestrained in a saucer. It was laid out like a meal. At that instant, I thought we were in the wrong place but I was wrong, that was what Robert referred to as a Coffee Shop. It was a weed shop! In that instant, the conservative me wasn’t comfortable in that environment. Weed is outlawed in Nigeria why would it be displayed publicly like that in a shop? This, I couldn’t understand.

I was told that some years ago, Coffee Shops used to be dark, dingy places where nobody would like to take a date but this is no longer the fashioned as most of them comes with the description: “Air-conditioned” boldly displayed on their doors. Coffee Shops are cosy environment with a menu list while weed is mixed pastries of all sorts. And what happened to Robert? He was not himself for the rest of the evening!

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