A Childhood Among the Coffee Plants

I grew up in a small village where my family had a farm, or shamba. My parents grew many different crops—maize, beans, potatoes, avocados, mangoes, passion fruit, and all kinds of other fruits. Mango and passion fruit was my favorite.

My brothers, sisters, and I were expected to help with the work. Of course, picking coffee was much easier than fetching water from the stream, so we didn't mind. We also had a few local people employed to help us on the farm.

There was something special about getting up early in the morning, gathering our buckets and sacks, and heading out to pick coffee. We told stories, joked with everyone, and enjoyed being together. We would have tea and mandazi—a type of bread—and those simple moments made the work fun for us.

Most Kenyans, if you don't know, are deathly afraid of reptiles and chameleons love coffee plants. As children, whenever we came across a chameleon among the coffee plants, we would scream and run away. My mom would step in, gently move the little creature aside, and she would continue picking.

Looking back, I smile at that memory. Chameleons are actually very slow and gentle, or so I'm told.

We would sometimes taste the red coffee cherries right from the plant. They were sweet, and we couldn't resist trying them. It was probably just simple childhood curiosity.

We also used to compete with one another to see who could harvest the most cherries. My older brother and sister, of course, could pick more than I could, while the local workers were very good at it.

Once the picking was finished, we carried the coffee cherries in sacks, and everyone was expected to carry what they had harvested. At home, Mum and Dad would already have prepared an area on the ground, covered with several sacks. We would pour out the coffee cherries and sort through them, removing the green or odd ones.

We would sit together in a circle while we worked and enjoyed our delicacy, githeri—fried beans and maize—as we sorted. It was hard work, but there was always a sense of togetherness and fun.

The coffee we grew was organic—the kind of coffee buyers pay good money for in the markets today.

Afterward, we would take the sacks near the roadside and wait for pickups that traveled around carrying people and coffee. The vehicles were so old that you probably could have walked faster to the factory, but it was quite a distance away.

Once we arrived at the factory, we carried the sacks inside, poured the coffee out to be weighed, and then had to wait for payday at the end of the month. The money we received was not much compared to the work we had done. At the time, we didn't really understand the financial side of it. We simply enjoyed doing the work as children.

When the day was over, we would head back home, enjoy a cup of coffee or tea, and rest.