Soothing the spirit

Somalis follow prayer with afternoon tea

There’s a magical time of the day when the afternoon sun hits its climax and bathes everything in warm rays of light. During these golden hours, whether I am in Seattle or Somalia, I have a ritual of resting and taking my casariyo.

My hands move with memory. Every day, I carefully brew ginger-laced, spiced Somali shaah and arrange my sweet of the day: moist and dark slices of date cake, a paper-thin stack of tender malawax — a cardamom crepe — or still-warm pieces of fresh bur (a fried beignet). I plate my food carefully, consume my sweets slowly and let my shaah soothe me. No matter what my day may bring, I know that I have casariyo to look forward to.

In Somalia and throughout the diaspora, there is the tradition of casariyo (A-sar-iyo), an afternoon tea or coffee break that follows lunch and the Asr Islamic prayer. It’s a time of the day where everything slows down before coming to a stop, like the final droplets of honey settling at the bottom of a cup. Casariyo encourages time to rest, nourish oneself and connect with others over a warm drink and a bite of something sweet.

In popular culture, the tradition of a leisurely afternoon tea is typically associated with the British aristocracy. However, the British tradition of afternoon tea, which was borrowed directly from Chinese tea traditions, wasn’t introduced until the 1830s, when England established tea plantations in India during its brutal colonization of India and Sri Lanka. While there’s conflicting information on who popularized the British afternoon tea, the drink itself eventually became affordable enough for the tradition to reach the rest of British society.

In contrast, despite coffee’s initial high cost, the modern “coffee break” is primarily associated with both work and the working class. Coffee has been around for thousands of years, having first been discovered by a goat herder in modern-day Ethiopia. This powerful and aromatic drink found global popularity along Arab trade routes.

The origin of the American worker’s coffee break can be traced to Buffalo in the late 19th century, where bosses at either the Barcolo Manufacturing Company or the Larkin Company introduced it to their workers as a way to increase employee productivity and output.

Today, a tea or coffee break tradition can be found in many cultures and across societal class lines, whether it’s the Somali casariyo or the Swedish fika. So much more than a brief work break, these traditions prioritize rest and bake it into the rhythms of the day. They are a daily reminder of how fundamental food, rest and connecting with others are to the human experience.

During my time in Mogadishu, every afternoon was marked by casariyo. In the villa, we took casariyo on the balcony where we had all of our meals. On occasion, my mother would take her casariyo in the courtyard, where she looked like the definition of grace. Her relaxed state could be seen in the way her bright garbasaar draped itself over her shoulders. Her feet, covered in bold red henna, outstretched before her on the stone bench as she sat nursing a cup of shaah in one hand, basking in the sun and resting for a time.

My aunt would bring out all the classic casariyo treats: fluffy slices of Somali cake similar to angel food cake; sticky and thick cuts of xalwo (halwa) gleaming a fierce orange-red, sugar-coated ridges of shushumow and buttery crisp Somali cookies bursting with cinnamon and cardamom — handmade fresh into the shape of flowers.

Accompanying the food were trays carrying thermoses of qahwo (coffee) and freshly made spiced Somali shaah. We would take turns praying outside in the warm sun as each person fixed themselves a cup of tea and a plate of sweets.

It took living in a place where work is glamorized and rest is discouraged for me to appreciate casariyo — to understand that slowing down is just as valuable for the human spirit as producing something.

Shaah (Somali Spiced Tea)

6 servings

Shaah, a spiced black chai made throughout Somalia, is an important part of Somali cuisine and culture. It’s a cousin of Yemeni, Kenyan and Indian chais, and it’s found across the Somali diaspora.

Many Somalis traditionally prefer a cup of shaah on the sweeter side; you may want to add less sugar. You can adjust the amount of ginger, as well.

Shaah is traditionally served with bur, a fried, sweet doughnut.

Storage: Leftover shaah can be refrigerated in a lidded container for up to 1 day.

6 cups water

2 whole cloves

4 green cardamom pods One (3- to 4-inch) cinnamon stick

3 1/4 ounces unpeeled fresh ginger, or to taste

1/3 cup (67 grams) granulated sugar, or to taste

1 tablespoon loose leaf black tea or 2 tea bags

Powdered milk, such as Nestle Nido brand, or fresh milk of choice (optional)

In a medium pot over medium-high heat, bring the water to a boil.

While waiting for the water to boil, in a mortar with a pestle, pound the cloves, cardamom and cinnamon until roughly ground. Alternatively, place the spices in a spice grinder and process until roughly ground. Add the ground spices to the water.

Slice the ginger root into 1/4-inch thick pieces. Working with a few pieces at a time, smash the ginger in a mortar and pestle until all pieces are smashed (you can also smash with a meat tenderizer or a kitchen mallet). Add the ginger to the water, followed by the sugar and tea, and bring to a boil.

Once the mixture comes to a boil, turn off the heat and let the tea steep on the burner for 10 to 15 minutes. Strain into cups and serve with milk of your choice, if desired.

(Photo by Scott Suchman for The Washington Post) In the Somali tradition, spiced tea and beignets are served during an afternoon period of rest after prayer.