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Walking past his tent, I see Abdel Ghader squatting on the ground and tidying up his modest belongings. I place a packet of sweet Egyptian biscuits on the ground, knowing that he will invite me for coffee now. Drinking coffee in company is an important part of socializing and an expression of hospitality. "I would like a cup of coffee" - Minfadlak findjan djabana, I say in Arabic, inviting myself and reminding him politely. I've learnt these words a few days ago and whenever I use them, everybody smiles with approval. The preparation of djabana is always a special ceremony; one I'm going to witness many times over the next few weeks. First, Abdel Ghader places the coffee beans, which are still green, in a little skillet made from an old can, and roasts them over the fire. The rattling of the tossed beans and the strong fragrance of the freshly roasted coffee attracts others who come to join us. We squat on the sand around the small fireplace. Abdel Ghader grinds the hot beans in a wooden mortar, adding sugar and some ginger from the Sudan. Then he pours the mixture into a small, brown earthen flask. This is an item the Ababda never part with. Abdel Ghader keeps his flask in a case made of plaited colored straw. Over the years, the flask has become gray and black, it has been mended many times and reinforced with wire in several places. He now pours a little water into the flask, plugs the opening with a piece of cloth to keep the aroma in, heats it over the fire and then covers it for a while with hot ashes. A little later we sit there, smiling at each other and sipping the dark, ginger perfumed liquid from little bowls. The djabana is sweet and spicy. The ceremony of infusion and pouring is repeated several times, until I push my little bowl back with a determined gesture.