Along the side of a Moroccan road, every few kilometres one can spot individual men sitting in a squat. They are like milestones. Somewhere in the distance behind them, their flock of sheep or goats grazes. They exist outside the time we know; the earth turns beneath them, night changes into day, the sun shines after rainy weather, and they have their own rhythm. They possess the time we have lost forever. Time to leave home and return for dinner in the evening, time to sleep and time to work, time to kiss the children and watch them grow, time for mint tea.
The whole street of the medina¹ smells of fresh mint lying on platforms pulled by donkeys. It is bought in bunches. Then the house becomes infused with its aroma. On a hearth, a gas stove or a burner canister, a teapot of water is heated; dried tea bubbles inside it—a mixture of green tea and mint herb.
The first glass of mint tea drunk in the morning should be as strong as life. It is drunk everywhere: in little shops, workshops, on the street, by the roadside. In a Moroccan home, in a courtyard, a riad², in a café, at a stall, in a souk³, in a medina alley, you will always be offered this drink. Men sip it in bars, saying that it is Moroccan whisky and that after the fifth little glass it can go to your head. After a meal, during a visit, before the main course, there is always time for it.
This popular Moroccan drink, thé à la menthe (pronounced te a la mãt), should be drunk in small sips while listening to short stories.
The person preparing the drink will pour it into a teapot, add pieces of sugar and, breaking off sprigs, add fresh mint. One should pay attention to the teapot in which the hostess serves us the tea. Will it be a modest metal vessel or a silver alpaca teapot? Its quality will tell us how important we are to our hosts.
From the teapot, the first glass should be poured and then poured back in order to mix the sugar—no spoon is used. Here, sugar is synonymous with strength, vitality and energy; bought by the head, it is eaten in enormous quantities, especially during the holy month of fasting, Ramadan.
Once the drink is sweet enough and well mixed, it is poured into glasses, raising the teapot high so that foam forms on the surface. It is called the foam of love and has its own fairy tale. You can hear it over the second little glass of mint tea, which must be as sweet as love.
The story tells of a princess who sought true love and a man who loved her not because of her wealth or power, but out of a need of the heart. Disguising herself as a simple girl, she began meeting a poor date seller. She concealed her identity from him until the day when they both confessed their feelings. Then the astonished man left her, offended, thinking that he had been merely a plaything for a rich and capricious ruler and fearing that such familiarity would cost him his life at the hands of the royal guards. The desperate princess prepared a glass of tea with a high collar of foam and ordered it taken to her beloved. “If the foam stays on the drink, it will be proof that my love is sincere,” she said. When the slave took the tea to the date seller, the foam was still on the surface. The man believed in the truth of the princess’s feelings and proposed to her. They then lived happily ever after, to the glory of Allah.
When evening comes, the aroma of mint tea is especially intoxicating. Time stretches slightly, like a cat outside a butcher’s shop, full and sleepy. Where are you hurrying, traveller—its eyes seem to ask. I have seven lives, while you have only one. We are both going in the same direction. Sit with me, rest; time for the third and final glass of tea, which is delicate like death.
¹ Medina means “city” in Arabic; in Morocco, the term also refers to the old district.
² A riad is an open courtyard in a Moroccan home.
³ A souk is a marketplace or market street in a medina.
Grażyna Hanaf