The Tea Boy

By Haitham Alsarraf

After sweating cardamom, saffron, and condensed milk in welled red tea, Maruf pours the remains, sensitively cleaning any spilled remnants before gently putting the petite tea glasses on an Arabic mandala tray. He adjusts his starched white shirt — tucking in the bottom. In the mirror, he gazes at his white aligned teeth, then his shirt; then, he gradually tilts his oil-sleek hair to the left, smiles diplomatically, shakes his head to and fro. Out he goes, marathoning tea.

Old men in long garment dishdashas loiter on cracked benches — with slippers dangling off their toes or naked single feet kissing the benched wood. The men drag and flick their beads, crumple words, flap up and back their headdresses, waiting for Maruf to requench their tea thirst. Waiting for something. Someone.

Maruf bows down — without directly looking into anyone’s eyes – using a dampened towel to cleanly rejuvenate the wooden tables. He places tea saucers and glasses, and flashes his smile at the glass and table. When unsatisfied whimpers from the customers surface, “Inshallah” comes out of Maruf’s soul. Robotically, he moves to the other tables to clear the drunken glasses and remove them for recleaning back in the kitchenette. Hour after hour, day after day, and year after year, the same pattern is done. Meticulously. Wholeheartedly.

Most of the men at the traditional Kuwaiti teahouse see him. Rarely do they acknowledge him, rarely does a customer thank Maruf with soft words and just as much eye contact. He is on contract to serve obediently, not interact humanely with the Arabic locals, even though his Arabic is strong enough after years of trying to learn it from Bangladeshi tea boys who worked at the same house.

Back at the kitchenette, Maruf stacks the saucers, separates the tea glasses, divides the teaspoons. Remembers the young wife and only son he left behind in the farming village of Sutarkhali. Remembers why he has come to an oil wealthy Persian Gulf country. Remembers why he performs his job with precise mechanics, with efficient programming, with sacred assiduity. He drinks a hurried glass of water, eats half a date, and then proceeds to slowly wash and dry the wares.

“Ma’aroof, bring tea!” his Lebanese manager immediately shouts. “Yalla!” the boss dictates in Arabic, to mean quickly. Done to inject nervousness. To instill fear. To whip control.

“Inshallah,” Maruf responds with a God-willing, looks sternly at the softened, miniature Quran standing alone on one of the above racks, checks his white teeth, starched shirt and pats and sides his hair, before heading out to tea everyone for the nth time.

Haitham is a Kuwaiti author of two books, Inshallah, Habibi and Invasion Occupation Awakening. He holds B.A. and M.A. degrees in English literature and he has been teaching English at Kuwait University since 1997. Haitham was the founder and editor of the Kuwait University literary magazine, Perceptions, and the online literary magazine, Kaleidoscope. His work has been internationally published in Pif Magazine, The Ofi Press, Sukoon, and Egg Barrel.