Tea is life.

Kurdistan, Iraq  |  Afternoon Tea

“Around here, tea isn’t just a drink. Tea is life.” The tea master's hands moved quickly around the sink, balancing tinkling glass and metal on a tray as he whisked away to serve another table.

He returned, glanced at me as though surprised I was still there, and began washing dishes. I just sat watching.

“I’ve served tea here for 50 years. It’s the oldest tea shop in town.”

Rule number one in these moments: don’t fill the silence. Wait, people will speak. It’s awkward, but Iraqi hospitality is stronger than the awkwardness of any foreigner. The longer I sat by that sink, the more the tea master opened up.

He told me the tea house is called Shaab, founded in 1950.

“For us, this shop is a place for culture. This country is always changing. I remember the king. Did you know there was a king here before Saddam?”

I told him I was far too young to remember. He laughed without making a sound and darted away to serve tea.

The cafe hummed a mesmerizing song: laughter, shuffling dominoes, debate, music coughed from an old radio, and of course, tiny spoons clinking against glasses of tea.

Stern-faced men and women—poets, politicians, rebels of every stripe—stare down from the walls. Communists, fascists, and democrats, Arabs and Kurds, Iranians and Turks, frowning as though annoyed at being mounted next to one another.

The tea master is proud of the diversity. A few years back, he told a journalist, “This is a democratic teahouse. We take in everyone and anyone. We don't care about their religion or their politics. We just serve tea.”

 I noticed one tea maker’s hands, and the burly man held them up proudly, saying “I’ve made thousands of pots of tea with these!”

Chapped and burned—the man beamed. Other workers lined up to show theirs too, badges of honor among the craftsmen.

The tea master sidled up and finally sat down, showing me his own tannin-stained hands. Tea tattoos. I drained my glass and forced the tea master to let me pay my bill.

Before leaving, I asked, “Why tea, of all things?”

The tea master seemed to think this was a silly question.

“Around here, tea isn’t just a drink. Tea is life.”

"Around here, tea isn't just a drink. Tea is life."