Black Gold. Antony Wild
drunk in Yemen today, often flavoured with ginger. Gemaleddin encouraged his disciples to drink qish’r and it became a part of Sufi ritual; but, versed as he was in the mysterious science of alchemy, he continued to experiment and was struck by the enormous changes that took place in the rejected stones at the heart of the coffee cherry when they were roasted on a pan. These pale green, tasteless, and unpromising beans transformed into brown polished nuggets with an overwhelmingly delicious aroma and a bitter but alluring flavour when ground and boiled. The change to the coffee bean represented on a physical level the transformations that Sufism wrought upon the human soul, and the fact that coffee enabled adherents to remain awake during their night prayers was further proof of its spiritual qualities. The drink was also as black as the Ka’ba, the sacred black stone at Mecca to which all Muslims must make the Haj. Gemaleddin’s learning and piety had uncovered a mysterious substance that assisted the Sufis in their communion with God.
Hence coffee stands before us finally unveiled, discovered by an alchemist who identified in its transformation the means of bringing men closer to God, in the same way that the use of communion wine, which is variously forbidden and allowed in different branches of the Christian ritual, has underlying it much of the same transformational thinking. That the Sufis should have adopted a similar ritual use of a communal drink is not surprising, and the fact that coffee is known as the ‘Wine of Araby’ also takes on another dimension of meaning in this context.
The way in which coffee was eagerly adopted by Sufism illumines the alchemical element in the new myth. We have seen that ‘The Sufi master operates upon the base metal of the soul of the disciple and with the help of the spiritual methods of Sufism transforms this base metal into gold.’ Even those who do not like the flavour of coffee usually concede that it has a peculiarly seductive aroma when freshly roasted, and when the beans are broken up by grinding or pulverizing they release a new set of aromas that are if anything even more beguiling. The transformation of coffee from dull, sublunary vegetable matter into a substance of almost divine aroma and extraordinary flavour is a compelling symbol of what alchemy and its Sufi followers wished to achieve with their spiritual quest. In every sense, then, coffee brought them closer to God and it became a vital component of their communal prayers.
The ritual use of coffee is itself a hypothesis, but one supported by archaeological evidence, the first that we have come across in our peregrinations around coffee’s prehistory. Excavations at Zabid have shown that initially (c.1450) coffee was almost certainly served amongst the Sufi community at their dhikrs (communal worship, usually at night) from a ladle dipped into a glazed bowl named a majdur. Previously, this sort of pottery had not been glazed, which suggests that coffee was deemed of higher importance than other liquids. Shortly afterwards, smaller glazed bowls started to be produced at Haysi, a nearby town. These would have been passed around from person to person, replacing the ladle. Significantly, these small bowls bear striking resemblance in shape to the Chinese porcelain tea-drinking bowls of the same era, and some have rudimentary imitations of the classic blue and white Chinese patterns. The passing around of coffee was one of the reasons why it was banned in Mecca in 1511 as sharing was associated with alcohol consumption. Some Sufi sects today still pass around a drinking bowl of coffee in connection with events of particular importance such as the funerals of members.
Sufis did not live a cloistered existence, and the reason why their dhikrs tended to take place at night was that many of their numbers followed a normal life of work and family during the day – hence the value ascribed to coffee as a means of staying awake during prayers. As they lived amongst the community it would seem that the new habit of coffee drinking was rapidly disseminated amongst the population as a whole. Again the best evidence for this comes from archaeology; within a hundred years the Haysi potteries had evolved an individual coffee cup of the size and shape of a modern demitasse, or the smaller Turkish findjan. This would suggest that coffee consumption had spread from ritual to individual domestic consumption. Its wildfire spread through Islam, however, was the result of geopolitics: the growth of the coffee trade depended upon the relative security of the Red Sea and its ports, and a unified political and spiritual rule that allowed coffee to be quickly adopted.
It happened that the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, when coffee drinking was first becoming established in Yemen both ritually and domestically, coincided with the first flush of the Ottoman empire. In 1517 at Cairo, having already conquered Constantinople and most of the Balkans in the previous century, the Ottomans under Selim I finally defeated the Mamelukes, who had been the rulers of Egypt and the Levant for the previous 250 years. The Ottomans had thus acquired, along with the holy Islamic cities of Mecca and Medina, the Caliphate – the spiritual leadership of Islam. The Mamelukes were originally a soldier-slave élite from southern Russia and the Caucasus. Driven from Egypt by the advancing Ottomans, a large number made their way to Yemen in 1516 where they settled in the Tihama, the desert coastal plain – it is said that they chose Yemen because they knew that qat was plentiful there. They finally succumbed to the Ottomans, who had taken Aden in 1538 and themselves started to occupy the Tihama, although they did not take inland San’a for another ten years.
It was during the Mameluke rule in Mecca that the spread of coffee attracted its first serious obstacle, in the form of the ban imposed on it by Kha’ir Bey, who was the Pasha of the city as well as the muhtasib, the inspector of markets. On 20 June 1511, outside the mosque, he spotted a number of men drinking what appeared to him to be alcohol in buildings resembling taverns; he made enquiries and found that it was in fact a new beverage, coffee, being drunk in rudimentary coffee houses. To confuse matters, there are some indications that it was actually qish’r coffee that had reached Mecca, not yet the roasted bean form, bun. Additionally, the dry coffee cherries which made qish’r could be lightly roasted before brewing, producing sultana coffee, and the word kafta, by which coffee was sometimes known, was applied as much to a decoction made of the leaves of qat as to one made of coffee beans. It can be seen that there was probably a reasonable requirement for an authoritative clarification of exactly what was what, and what was permissible. Clearly the habit of drinking some form of coffee-based decoction had moved up the Red Sea coast in the thirty years or so since it had become established in Yemen, but it had not until this time been subjected to the catechism, and its novelty represented something of a puzzle to Islamic orthodoxy. Because of the strict prohibition on any form of intoxication, coffee was a genuinely sticky issue which required a ruling. Kha’ir Bey was the first man to attempt to provide it.
He rapidly assembled a team of learned men, doctors, clerics and ‘men on the street’. The issues they were called upon to consider, which are reported in the mahdaf’ or minutes of the meeting of jurists at Mecca, were the application of core Islamic concepts to coffee; regarding things not expressly forbidden (sunna) in the Qur’an that were permissible unless harmful to the body; regarding khamr (wine) and the idea that ‘every intoxicant is khamr and every intoxicant is forbidden’ as it rendered men ‘incapable of distinguishing a man from a woman or the earth from the heavens’; regarding jaziri ta’ assub or a fanatical non-textual conviction based on an exaggerated sense of piety; regarding ijima, or communal acceptance; and regarding marqaha, the specific intoxication brought about by coffee. The coffee houses themselves also needed to be considered: were they, as had been suggested, centres of music, gambling, and mixing of the sexes? The fact that coffee was passed around, although ritually in a dhikr, evidently evoked the alehouse. There were many issues for discussion: even its most virulent detractors could hardly claim that the result of drinking coffee met the definition of intoxication, yet it undoubtedly had some effect. The inherent moderating influences of Islam demanded that it should not be banned on the basis of an exaggerated sense of piety, yet perhaps coffee was harmful to the body? Medical opinion was sought on the basis of the humour system and its degrees – the first representing food; the second, food and medicine; the third medicine; and the fourth, poison. Coffee, it was found, was ‘cold and dry’ and heightened melancholia.
The debate and the people who took part are usually characterized in Western coffee histories as superstitious and irrational, whereas the Western heroes of the coffee saga (de Clieu, Franz Georg Kolschitsky, and Francisco de Mello Palheta, amongst others, whom we shall meet in these pages) are treated as romantic,