text: The Tea regulation Charity fumbled trying to put the key in her apartment door lock. The dark hallway, her gloved hands as well as the folders and books in her arms made it more difficult than usual. As soon as she was able to slip the key in track, she opened the door and quickly slipped inside. With a deep sigh, she relocked it and dumped the armful on the table. She hurried into the small kitchen and turned the stove burner on high beneath the water kettle. Retracing her steps, she unbuttoned her coat and flung it over the back of the chair at the table, and hurried again into the kitchen to set up the tray. Teapot, one packet of tea spices, a sugar bowl, a can of cream, and a large mug. She placed the tray on the table and sat down, waiting for the kettle to boil. She was beginning to relax as the tablespace had a faint aroma of the spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and fennel. She closed her eyes as the aroma carried her back to her childhood days, Mama’s smile as she carried the tray from the kitchen, and her brothers and sisters vying for a place in front of the biggest mugs around the table. All became quiet with the sound of her father’s footsteps. Papa was coming from the family shop next door for tea time. She smiled remembering each precious face. Being the youngest of eight children, she watched them disappear from the morning tea time to their life activities. There came a day when she was the only one at the table with her parents for the morning tea time. Those were precious times, which would never be possible again. Her home had changed completely two years ago. When Papa died, leaving Mama alone. her eldest brother, Baba with his wife Makosa and their two small children, moved back into the family house with Mama. Baba was now running the family shop and Makosa was the one preparing the tea tray. Last week, during their weekly telephone call, Mama had teased Charity that Makosa makes a great tea and is an expert at serving. Charity wondered if Baba’s children were also becoming quiet when they heard Baba’s steps in the hallway connecting the shop. The kettle’s piercing whistle brought Charity’s mind back to the moment. Once the hot water was poured and while the tea steeped in the pot, she sat back down. What was it about tea time that brought structure to society and diverse cultures? The English had introduced the practice that had found a hollowed place around the world and observed religiously. The tea leaves were not originally from England, but once embraced, they became irretrievably ingrained. It was treated as a precious well-guarded transplant, which was grafted into the trunk of each society the British culture touched. No matter if it was in a jungle or a desert, what the altitude, stifling heat, or cold weather in the middle of a war or an island holiday, the rattling of teacups on a tray could be heard mid-morning and afternoon like clockwork. It made the day predictable and, in a sense, a token of reassurance that all would be well. If there was anything life offered little of it was the comfort of a predictable day. These two columns of support in the structure of one day at a time in life, for some reason, made the day doable. How simple could the price of comfort be? Hot water and dried leaves were a cheap price to pay for comfort, with or without milk or spice or lemon or sugar. Maybe that was it, tea was the token for security. It was the anchor of the comfort emotion and adaptable to any situation. It wasn’t like the bells tolling from the church tower, the muezzin singing from the mosque minaret, or the bells or drums from a temple, evoking a cultural response. It transcended all of these to be international. Tea time was recognized everywhere she had traveled except in America where the mid-morning break was called coffee time. She had wondered why she was so unnerved and distracted after she first arrived. She discovered the secret one morning when she was sitting in her apartment feeling at the end of her rope. She knew she needed to get to class, but had no energy or desire to go. Looking at her watch she saw it was 9:45. The thought came to her that it was tea time and tea was not yet prepared. She jumped up and went straight to the kitchen to find the kettle and the ingredients stashed in the back of the cabinets. She was humming by the time she sat down over the steaming savory cup. It was shortly afterward she felt energized. It was such a grounding experience she had resumed a daily tea time in the afternoons and when at home in the mornings. A change in her state of mind and sense of well-being had ensued. She had happily mentioned this to Mama during a weekly call. Mama had said she had packed the tea sachets knowing she would need them. She was surprised that Charity had not been using them all along. “Taking time for tea is important! It is the one thing you can take anywhere with you and at the same time, it helps you to stand. It is like your bones helping keep your shape and helping you to stand. Everything positive or happy time memories flood your heart when you take tea at tea time. This helps you keep your emotional shape and stand up again if life is trying to knock you down.” “My friend said I should ask you if there was some medicinal effect from the spices used in addition to the caffeine from the tea leaves. Do you know anything about that?” “Don’t waste your time looking into that. Just take your tea and focus on what you are supposed to be doing. Do a good job and finish your schooling so you can come back home, get a good job, and get married.” “I guess that is the one thing that has not changed, Mama.” “What are you talking about?” “Your goal is to get every conversation and all my efforts focused on me getting married.” “Of course, where else would you be focused? I will know my job is finished when you have trained your daughter to serve a tray of well make tea. I have to help keep you on the right path. So, tell me did you locate a shop where you can buy the spices?” “Mom things are different here. You can go to the corner supermarket and buy s bottles of each kindꟷ” “Bottles? What are you talking about? You need fresh spices! You find a shop where all the spices and flour are for your bread. You need to find the right place for the quality you need. This is very important. You can also ask other questions about possible community connections. Maybe he has a son or a friend of the son who is looking for someone to marry.” “Oh, Mama!” “What? At the least, you will have the proper tea for your health. You never know.” After a deep sigh, Charity agreed, “I will look for a shop with fresh spices.” When Mama asked about the spice shop, Charity assured her that she had a large supply remaining, but would look when her stock started getting low. This excuse would not last forever but for the present, it was working. The aroma of the spices released by the warm water in the teapot was gently filling the room wiping every worry and negative thought away. A heavier wave of scents rose from the golden liquid as she poured tea into the cup in front of her. She usually closed her eyes at this point and allowed herself to be transported to the table with all of her family gathered around it. Even Papa was there smiling and Baba’s round cheerful face looked over at her. Sipping the warm liquid, all was right with the world. With a sigh she opened her eyes to the real world where she was far from home, Papa was forever gone and Baba’s face was narrow and bearded. His son was the spitting image of his younger self and others were preparing the tea in place of Mama. There was homework to complete, dinner to prepare and she would have to get up earlier than usual to put air in the bicycle tire. She did a visual check to make sure she had set the locks after she had closed the front door behind her earlier. She added the milk and sugar and after stirring to perfection, she took a sip. “ Yes,” she whispered to herself with her eyes wide open, “all is right with the world.”