Tea is to be sat down for

Tea drinking is ceremonial. It proposes to be taken in leisurely fashion. In many of the world’s cultures, the ritual of brewing leaves or roots in water, then left for steeping before consumption, makes for a pastime of curious contemplation.

Be it a solitary act or in communion with a group, tea, unlike its hyper adrenalised counterpart in coffee, sensorially arouses an intimacy between human, space and liquid that foregrounds a form of dignity. Therefore, the ritual has to be sat down for and be surrendered to with openness.

It was, after all, the decorated pianist, martial artist, polymath and overall Zen godfather Abdullah Ibrahim who once mentioned that liquids aren’t to be taken while standing.

Ibrahim, in his signature chew-and-spit conversational style, recounts it as an event that has to nurture — a show of obedience to the moment — warning that a drink taken at an elevated height may cause the cascading liquid in our innards to create ruptures that lead to ulcers.

In my own corner, indulging in my favourite strain of ginger-infused brew — typically decanted from the heat source into a teapot to allow an unfettered release of all flavours before ultimately ending up in a cup — is to give in to the far-fetched.

Religiously, a midmorning and early-afternoon leisurely swig necessitates questions, mostly: what is the echo of space whispering at this given moment? By the half-filled level of a cup, the switch might veer towards a string of memories, inspired by the gingerlian sensation.

As a preteen raised by grandparents in Meadowlands, Soweto, the ceremony of tea is one I have seen closely, where on each day upon arrival from a long day of work, this event would punctuate a calming down and crescendo into conversations either about coded neighbourhood gossip or big familial decisions that had to be made.

Essentially, my grandparents invited upon themselves a vulnerability that would otherwise not be witnessed from a near-retirement-age working class duo raising a prepubescent grandchild in the tumultuous, machete-blade-happy township of the early 1990s.

Asymmetrical to a Sowetan scene are the tea drinking moments in the award-winning FX Samurai era show, Shogun. Within its war-clad flow, the Japan centred series is given salience by signature thematic trappings of strategy, honour, legacy and succession against the backdrop of Europe’s extractive expansion via the Catholic church.

The odd chance when characters engage in the ritual of tea drinking ebbs in to soothe the narrative’s edges. One, in particular, is an episode poised to mirror the idea of making difficult decisions while in the throes of ceremonial tea known as chanoyu, the intent being to strengthen bonds between individuals. This tradition was brought to Japan by Buddhist priests after escapades in China.

In what is supposed to invoke harmony (Wa), respect (Kei), purity (Sei) and tranquillity (Jaku) as per the dictates of chanoyu between an in-conflict couple Banturo and Mariko-Sama, the tea ceremony in Shogun opens a portal that contracts the frame.

One observer tries to salvage what is already a far gone and untenable union while the other is at peace with a sorrowful parting at hand, saying she would rather live a thousand years than die with him (Banturo) as husband and wife. 

Tea with its spiritual associations has proven to be a force in the market. Crushed, sorted and packaged for the shelf in the health and wellness category, it is put through the gamut of what qualifies as marketing effectiveness, where varieties such as chai, chamomile, echinacea, among others, are the stuff of alchemic R&D and audience segmentation insights.

The co-opting of tea in the wellness industrial complex accounts for $55-billion, making it a formidable player in the sector.

Even more interesting, what gets sieved on the strainer, is a substantial residue of history. Adjacent to the much more famed spice route historical narrative, the tea trade also redrew the cartography of many a sea voyage, where its black strains from Europe and Asia were shipped and dispersed across the world.

Here in SA, northeast of Cape Town to be precise, the Cederberg grown rooibos tea with its generations-long medicinal attributes — an antidote to eczema, colic in infants, headaches and stress — as professed by Nguni and Khoisan clans that resided in the region, also had its historical bag-and-ship moment.

Having benefited from its wholesomeness at the behest of native cultures, European colonists began exporting it. Today, about 20,000 tonnes of rooibos aromatic infusions are produced annually.

From pioneering a place in global financial markets, to the Kodak-perfect nostalgia of a greying couple in Soweto, giddy from its aroma, and even the heartbreaking scene of dislodging hands off the back of a romance that has seen many blows and run its course in Samurai-era Japan, the ceremony of tea is party to the triumphs and fragilities of the human condition.

Poured into the right cup, then left to settle before the inevitable swig, it reconciles the dynamics of the moment. Above all, for it to make sense, it has to be sat down for.