Coffee with Baba: Where Peace Lives

 Some of the best days in life are the quietest.


Today wasn’t planned. I simply found out Baba was home alone and something in me just knew — I wanted to be there. No reason. No agenda. Just a feeling.


I showed up at his house and walked into the sitting room that feels more like a time capsule than just a space — familiar cushions, the same tv chanel on , the slight scent of yesterday’s luban still lingering. Without a word, Baba got up and made me a cup of coffee, the kind he knows I like. No questions, no fuss. Just love served in a cup.


We ended up talking — really talking.

First, about people and their theatrics. He lit up in that mischievous, brutally honest way that only he can pull off.

We spoke about the kinds of people who chase appearances, spending money they don’t have, trying to live a high-standard life to impress others. He shook his head, took a sip of coffee, then hit me with a line that had me howling:

"Unanataka kuishi kama mfalme na we ni mbuzi."

It was so ridiculous, so true, and so Baba. He says things the way only he can — sharp, hilarious, and always with a wink of old-school wisdom that reminds me how deeply grounded he is in truth.


Then the conversation slowed, and we slipped into something heavier — fatherhood.

He spoke quietly but with a certain weight in his tone, about the value of fathers being present — not just in name, but in spirit, in presence, in warmth.

“Children who grow up with a father in their lives… you can see the difference.”

It wasn’t a debate, it wasn’t theory. It was truth, wrapped in a sentence, spoken by a man who’s walked the road and perhaps realized the mistakes he made at some point too.


But I think the most powerful part of the day wasn’t what we said — it was the silence.


As an adult, after everything life has thrown at me, I’ve realized something simple and profound:

There is no place I feel safer, more at peace, and more protected than when I’m with Baba.

I don’t need to unload all my thoughts or explain why I feel tired or heavy.

We don’t dig into the hard stuff. In fact, we gently avoid it.

We talk about life, laugh at ridiculous things, pass the remote back and forth, scroll our phones side by side, or sit in comfortable silence.

No performance. No pretending. Just presence.


There’s something sacred about being seen and loved without needing to be “on.”

And in his company, I don’t feel like I have to be anything other than his child — not strong, not wise, not put together. Just me.

It’s a kind of peace I wish everyone could taste.


These days, I’ve found myself cherishing such moments more.

Not because they’re rare, but because they’re real.

And the older I get, the more I realize how rare "real" truly is.


As I got up to leave, he looked at me with a smile that he tried to keep nonchalant and said,

“Coming again tomorrow? I won't keep my phone on silent mode when I sleep tonight, so if you come early in the morning, just call me.”


How can I say no to that?

Comments

  1. Blind MelonJuly 19, 2025 at 12:36 PM

    I haven't read a blogpost in like 10 years. I often go back to mine every few years to cringe and leave 😅.. Your post touched me deeply. As my father’s only daughter, I felt every word. There’s something so grounding about being with our fathers, and as adults.. no explanations, no masks, just love. These moments are everything. And I know they cherish it too.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. PatienceJuly 20, 2025 at 12:32 PM

      Thank you so much for your feedback. I sometimes go back to my old blog and cringe just as much but I am avid blogger so I can't stop lol. Your words are so meaningful, and I appreciate your time reading and posting your comment. It's the first one on this blog and will always remain special.

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