If Washington DC is anything, it is a city of immigrants. I myself walk these streets (bike these streets), a foreigner in a foreign land, navigating illogical institutions a diversity of subcultures.
An Ethiopian man, now a resident of DC for more than two decades, manifests his passion for coffee and his homeland in the care with which he personally roasts the beans at his small cafe, Sidamo, on the rapidly gentrifying stretch of H Street NE, just east of the Capitol. Sidamo, a small region of his home country Ethiopia, is recognized as the origin of some of the finest coffee in the world, a claim that I can attest to.
Perhaps on a different level, the physical space within which I do my Good Work is far from a great many of my previous experiences.
Though as different from a St. Paul editor’s office or a student’s apartment in Indonesia, the claimed space nonetheless begins to take take on a bit of its occupiers persona.