Anything Asides From Coffee, Please.

Anything Asides From Coffee, Please

I admire the love and admiration people have for coffee. That’s a lie, a big fat lie. It is probably one of the biggest lies I’m personally capable of telling.  I am not a fan. I can’t stand it for even as little as a second. Its smell – I would have said odor, but out of respect – is registered permanently in my head as offensive. I would rather choke on fumes from a rundown Danfo bus… Alright, maybe that was quite extreme, but you get my point, right?

My disgust for coffee is not something I keep a secret, I don’t even try to. I unashamedly bring it up whenever need be. I mentioned it as one of the random facts about me in this post. So, for those who have gone through that list, I expect this is coming as no surprise. And, to those who had no clue before now, you’re welcome.  Of course, there is a story behind my dislike for this much-loved drink. It’s only right there is. But, before I go into that, allow me reemphasize, I’m put off by the general admiration for coffee. Why? That popular support means more people to explain my opposing stance to.

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Let it be known that I wasn’t always anti-coffee. For a sizeable number of years in my life, I indulged occasionally in coffee drinking. I was indifferent about the drink, but I did Indulge. Dad used to be a stan. I assume I must have mindlessly drunk in tow due to that. I wasn’t particularly sold. However, unlike now, I could stand it, but now, the thought of it alone nauseates me. So, what changed?

I really can’t ascertain the exact year of my life this event I’m about to narrate occurred. What I’m quite certain about, however, is I was still in primary school. Like I mentioned earlier, my dad used to be a staunch lover of coffee. Looking back now, I feel he was addicted. But, I digress.

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What my Dad’s love for coffee meant was that we always had coffee around the house. And this was what would eventually end my coffee phase. I remember it wasn’t so long after breakfast on that fateful day that I made my way furtively towards the dining table to get – read steal – me a spoonful of Milo. I really couldn’t tell the difference between Nescafe and Milo back then. Say whatever it is you like, they do look alike. What I craved was a mouthful of chocolate. Instead, I ended up with was a tablespoonful of black undiluted coffee in my mouth. Now, take a pause and imagine what that must have felt like.

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The dislike for coffee is one of those things I doubt I will ever overcome. Just the other day, I was at Spur at Ikeja City Mall for a meeting. I remembered I had heard someone rave about their cappuccino. I decided to see if I had overcome this intolerance for coffee with nicely made coffee. The waiter barely had to drop the cappuccino for me to realize my error. I immediately started feeling nauseous. I almost ran away from the building. But for the meeting I was attending, I would have exited the whole of Ikeja, even Lagos, that afternoon.

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Now, you understand that my dislike for coffee is psychological. Every sighting or perceiving of coffee takes me back to that day. It’s trauma. Nausea. Guilt. Shame. Horror. I was just an innocent young boy craving a mouthful of chocolate. It turned out life had other plans for me, and I’m okay with that, perfectly okay. I have been living with the consequence of my action ever since. Do I wish this had never happened? Not really. I mean, it’s just coffee. I can live without it, at least, I have for some twenty-something years of my life.

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