The Battle of the Butter

Yesterday morning I accompanied my hostess to her usual morning coffee date in town. “There is nothing else to do, so why not have coffee with my friends,” she explains in a thick Greek accent, fumbling for her cigarettes. Her ‘international’ coffee circle consists of two Greeks, a Turkish woman and an Israeli woman, all who have lived in Swaziland for almost 30 years. The women sit a foot lower than me at the table, with ample bosoms resting on the table-top and a veritable rainbow of dyed hair.

The Turkish woman is dripping in gold and crystal jewelry and the Israeli has a self-diagnosed “sickness” for diamonds. She reaches into her bag to produce her latest acquisitions: two diamond and white-gold rings (one square-cut and one baguette) that were recently brought back from Johannesburg. The conversation turns to safe deposit boxes in Israel, Turkey, Cyprus, where jewelry is stored for future generations.

The women smoke and drink cappuccinos. My hostess has ordered some toast. “Sissy,” she calls to the waitress, “Half an hour! I order toast and it has not yet come.” The waitress explains they are out of butter.

“I can’t believe it,” the women exclaim. “Why has she not told us when we ordered,” “Why has she not gone to buy some at the other shop,” and “We must tell the owner his servers are useless.” The waitress is brought back and lectured on the faults of not having butter.

Then the Israeli, who has been in the bathroom, returns and the situation is explained to her in heavily accented English. Each woman in turn adds an explanation of disgust in her mother tongue.

“I don’t believe it!” exclaims the Israeli. She calls the waitress back. Another lengthy lecture and an explanation is demanded.

“The shipment has not come,” the waitress explains.

“Let it be,” sighs my hostess, lighting another cigarette. Five minutes later, two thick slices of toast appear with jam and – what looks to me like – butter.

“Margarine!” The women gasp. An outrage to say the least. They have sworn off the coffee-shop and vow to take their coffees somewhere else. The rest of the breakfast is spent comparing the inadequacies of margarine to butter. Today, we went there for coffee again.