Fine Dining

I love food. I LOVE IT. If my mother is reading this she is shaking her head saying “You can’t love inanimate objects. You can only like food very much.” Umm, I’m going to have to disagree-I looooove it. What I am going to eat, how I am going to cook it and how delicious it will be takes up a disproportionate amount of EshaG’s brain space—and that has been the case wherever I have lived. So I’m pretty surprised it has taken me this long to post something on food. But I will have to say (and maybe others may say it too) Africa is not known for its culinary delights like say Peru, or India or Thailand. And that is probably the reason I haven’t focused on food as much as I usually do---my diet is pretty basic and has contributed, thankfully, to my weight loss. However that doesn’t mean that the African countries I have lived in don’t have their good eats.

I’m sure some of you think this is going to be something out of an Andrew Zimmerman Exotic Foods episode. Yes, “exotic” foods do exist here—but I haven’t had the opportunity to taste most of them. The most exotic things I have eaten were African game meat (gazelle) and dried mopane or caterpillar. Both were very tasty. In Botswana I ate cow intestine (pretty gritty) and chicken feet (with and without toenails). Chicken feet stew is a big part of my diet now, and I really like them---and yes, I’m an expert hand at removing the nails and rough calluses that form on the soles. In Malawi and northern Mozambique I witnessed the consumption of what most of us, and even some Mozambicans scrunch their noses at: like roasted field mice, fried grasshoppers and ants and snails the size of my hand! I regret not trying any of those foods—ESPECIALLY the field mice---who wouldn’t want some roasted mice hair sticking to their upper lip as they crunch down on it!?!? Yum, yum.

What some in the U.S. may think is exotic or weird or gross is part of the dietary staples in other places. In my own Guyanese culture we eat pig feet and ears, chicken gizzards and livers, tripe (cow stomach), and cow tongue—if it is prepared and seasoned correctly it tastes just like any other part of the cow except it is a lot more tender---just do your best to not think about the cow licking boogers out of its nose with that tongue. So I don’t necessarily see these foods as exotic as most countries go through their evolutions of being poor and therefore do not have the luxury of letting any protein go to waste and then getting richer where society begins to select only the choicest parts of the animal to consume. Most nations in Africa still have a majority of the population in poverty, a thin slice of super rich and a slowly growing middle class---so gastronomic fare is basic to meet dietary and budget needs.
Most of Southern Africa has the staple foods of maize and sorghum. I haven’t eaten too many dishes with sorghum--the one time I did it was in Botswana. The dish was sorghum porridge with sour milk with just a few dollops of condensed milk….but…I used most of the tin of Nestle condensed milk on my porridge. I haven’t eaten it again. The one staple you will find from South Africa to Malawi and even parts of west Africa is a plate of ground maize which is cooked by boiling until it forms a thick consistency and looks like mashed potatoes when still hot and steaming---it is eaten with, usually, stews. It is called pap in South Africa, Botswana and other English speaking countries, but most other southern and central African nations call it chima/nsima. In West Africa they make theirs with cassava and it is called fufu—you can also find this cassava chima in Northern parts of Malawi and Mozambique. In my parents country of Guyana we too eat foofoo but it is made of pounded plantain or yams.

I was never a fan of chima and lost a lot of love for it in Malawi as I ate it often during the office communal lunch with ----what many Malawians like very much and eat often---matemba—the worst smelling fish on the planet. It is a small fish the length of an index finger and it is dried out in the sun, it is something like codfish or as folks say in the Caribbean, salt-fish. It is then boiled where its malevolent odor lingers for many torturous minutes, sometimes hours. I often had a slight gag reflex when my domestic worker would cook it for my dogs. I’m not being a jerk. Even Malawians would tell me they didn’t like the cooking process because of the smell. Thereafter it is cooked as a stew with oil, tomato, and salt (sometimes onions). And that’s it. Malawi is a poor country and so innovations in Malawian cuisine in terms of spices and fusion is not high on the list—but I have to say my favorite Malawian dish that would be just about anyone’s comfort food was futali---boiled Irish and sweet potato in a thick, creamy sauce of groundnut (peanut) flour----absolutely heavenly!

In Botswana, meat is king. I cooked a vegetarian meal once for an all Tswana guest list. When I served the meal there was utter silence until someone quietly said “You know we are a meat eating culture, hei?” I told them yes, but an all veggie meal wouldn’t kill them. Needless to say, along with the many Savannah Dry beverages I guzzled during my time in Botswana, I also chowed down on some of the best meat on the planet—its only rival is probably Kobe beef. And as I have mentioned in a previous post—my body paid dearly for it. Botswana’s traditional meat dish, seswaa, is boiled beef with salt, and then it is shredded. And that’s it. Are you detecting a trend? Many things are boiled or fried. I eat a lot of boiled, and sometimes raw, provisions like cassava or here it is called mandioca and in Latin countries it is called yucca. But of course, along with their delicious meat which was usually braiied, or in U.S. lingo cooked on a barbecue pit, with only the slightest need of seasoning (yes, the meat was that naturally tasty!), I had some other favorites. I loved samp--- it is dried corn kernels that have been stamped and chopped until broken and cooked with beans and butter--- flour dumplings (boiled and huge like the size of your fist) with fried chicken and my all time most favorite, oxtail stew, which is a fav amongst Caribbean people as well.

Mozambique, of all the countries I have been in Southern Africa, has been my favorite country for delicious traditional food—like it makes me want to lick the plate but I control myself in fear of shaming my family. But I’m not gonna lie--- I’ll lick my plate and serving spoon while washing the dishes and no one can see me. Mozambican traditional foods are mostly coconut milk and ground nut (peanut) flour based. And part of the deliciousness is the time, and love, you have to put into cooking the dish —as you have to make your own coconut milk and then watch it carefully as it boils so that it does not over boil. Thereafter you add whatever it is you want to cook in it. Here, they add some sort of vegetable, or vegetable leaf like cassava leaves (matapa), pumpkin leaves (matsavo),collard greens(makofu), and the leaves of the string bean plant (nhangane)---you can also throw in a bit of dried shrimp to give all of these dishes an extra punch. On special occasions or in better off households, fried fish, shrimp and chicken can be added to this sauce. All are delicious in their unique ways. They also have a dish called mafura, which is a native African fruit of the mafureira tree. The mafura is plucked from the tree and soaked in tepid water for a few minutes and is then mashed with boiled sweet potato and sugar. I haven’t eaten yet but I inspect our tree every day for a ripened fruit like a begging dog so that I can make B cook it for me. One of my comfort foods here is pumpkin boiled with groundnut flour and sugar---so simple yet deliciously gratifying. As you can see our diet is full of veggies and the leaves of vegetable plants—when we are not cooking them in groundnut flour and coconut milk we are cooking them with oil, tomatoes, garlic, and onions eaten with rice. I am happy about my diet in Maputo as we are super healthy with a mostly veggie and fish/seafood diet. Although B is a pork fan, meat and chicken are more expensive down south as opposed to when we lived in central Mozambique and ate mostly pork and goat meat.

The Portuguese influence is strong here so Mozambican’s seasoning is wonderful when it comes to all sorts of guisados (stews), fried fish, as well as grilled chicken, fish or shrimp. Mozambicans usually use a Portuguese style marinade of lime juice, salt and lots of garlic before grilling but in the case of Chicken Zambeziano, they use a Mozambican style of marinade that consists of grilling chicken with a coconut milk, garlic and lemon juice baste---so finger licking good! The Portuguese have left a tradition of wonderful baked goods. We eat fresh baked Portuguese bread most days for breakfast, with tea or coffee as well as for lunch alongside a salad of tomato, onions, parsley, lime juice/vinegar, and a Benny packet (powered chicken stock and a primary Mozzie seasoning). My favorite appetizers/snacks are rissois (small croquettes): enclosed pastry rolled in breadcrumbs filled with cooked onions, beef, chicken or shrimp then baked or deep fried. Mozambicans have also adopted samosas into their cuisine and usually eat them stuffed inside of a Portuguese baguette. On the sweeter side there are delicious pastries filled with jams and puddings.

There are a growing number of European, Chinese, Middle Eastern and South Asian restaurants to meet the needs of not just those populations that have migrated to African countries but the increasingly globalized taste buds of nationals themselves. I probably have eaten the most authentic Indian and Chinese food I will ever eat outside of those countries right here on the African continent—and my belief in their authenticity was often proved by the menu,for example, mostly being in Chinese with dubious English translations like “Hairy Egg of the Duck”; “Ants Crawling Up Tree” ; “So Nice Sticky Bun.” Some of the best pizza and pasta I’ve eaten has also been in Africa-----actual homemade pizza crusts and pastas with fillings of fresh herbs, meats and tomato sauce.

But definitely, being part of a community of expats has been a great opportunity for me to learn about other cuisines. I’ve eaten French style beef “the way it should be eaten: nicely bloody” and fresh baked fruit tarts served by French acquaintances; delicious Brazilian banana bakes and the best German potato salad I’ve ever eaten by office colleagues; Louie, a former Peace Corps volunteer introduced me to Filipino beef stew with peanut sauce and my girl SarahWim welcomed me to the wonderful world of Sri Lankan curries. I’ve done my best to share Guyanese dishes like peas and rice (cooked in coconut milk), our style of curries, mettagee (coconut milk, salt-fish, provisions), and cooking my stews with a sort of molasses made from the cassava root called cassareep. I’ve also tried sharing with my host friends and family American favorites like fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mac n’cheese and pumpkin pie---all super hits my house: “comida Americana e doce!”

Of course, this post was inspired by a favorite American holiday, Thanksgiving. I cooked a Thanksgiving dinner once as a Peace Corps volunteer and my host family just stared at all the food on the table and asked “Why do you need to eat so much food?” So I casually mentioned the holiday to B a month ago to see if I would get the same reaction and if it would be something we could do. He looked at me for a moment and then responded “We are AF-RI-CANS. We can eat. If you cook a Thanksgiving dinner here, folks will want you to cook a Thanksgiving dinner every month and then they will never leave our house.” So. We’re holding out for the next time we are back States side.
I wish you all love and peace on this special day of grace and gratefulness! I hope you all are enjoying your Thanksgiving!

Hollywood, Bollywood, Nollywood….We Love It All Up In ‘Dis Here Hood!

The places that I have lived while abroad haven’t afforded me many avenues for entertainment—except for much heavy drinking. While working as a Peace Corps volunteer in Costa Rica I did my best not to partake in public drinking—as I tried to practice what I preached to the kids I worked with: “You don’t need to drink to have fun!” But it sometimes helped so I only drank when I was away from my home site. When I lived in Botswana, I did the bar scene and weekly “sundowners” with a few colleagues from the UN—where sundowners inevitably turned into “sunrisers.” It took me 3 years to lose the Savannah Dry belly that I acquired while living there and I really don’t want to get it back—so for the last 2 years I’ve pretty much given up drinking except for the occasional glass of wine. In terms of my current forms of entertainment, it is confined to conversations with B and whoever strolls into our yard, harassing my kitten, working out, reading and….watching movies.

When I lived in Malawi there wasn’t much to do either as there weren’t that many nightclubs to frequent in the capital, and basically one decent one in my town of Zomba. But I didn’t want to pay $20 to go, literally, 3 or 4 blocks, as the gas crisis there made prices for taxi rides go out the roof. So within my circle of expat friends we ended up trading movies on our external hard drives. It got to the point that we could actually say, for example, “Oh, this is a Tomoko film” as she was a fan of anything to do with conspiracy theories and anime.
Before living abroad, I used to be pretty stuck up about the films I would watch-I only wanted to watch those films that were Oscar nominated or Indie, or foreign—which, regarding the latter, was elitist to the second power as one Norwegian made evident when he asked me: “Why do Americans call any film that is not produced in Hollywood or the U.S. as foreign, as if American films are primary and everything else is on the fringe? ” “Mmmm because we think we are the best at everything we do and usually we actually are the best?” I was just kidding. But I said it sarcastically, NYC style, so he walked away pretty disgusted with me. But I do have my less snobby side: I love vampire films and sci-fi/fantasy—which mirrors my favorite reading genres. So yes I am a Game of Thrones fan (they are doing a great job adapting the book series)!

But since living in Mozambique I am a movie whore: I will look at anything and everything. Bombed in theaters? Bring it. Didn’t even make it to theater and stayed 2 seconds on a Blockbuster shelf? Bring it harder. I am now a kung fu flick expert from 1975 to present as is every other African person on the continent. Really. I’m not joking or being super American by generalizing and stereotyping. Just look at a tussle on any African street corner—it is all kung fu kicks and karate chops—not one Mike Tyson jab. If you don’t believe me, just drive on by my old town of Zobue, you can pay one metical to sit with about 200 kids on a Saturday afternoon and watch a kung fu film dubbed in Chichewa. I can’t wait until I can find one to copy—I know it will be a classic one day. Not the film—but the fact that it was dubbed in Chichewa.

I feel pretty confident that I have watched most of the trash side of Hollywood since being here, especially horror films: Grave Dancers, Drag Me to Hell and Simon Says. Horror or comedy? I couldn’t stop laughing while watching each one. The Wrong Turn sequels (there must be about 100) who knew films about inbred, cannibalistic hillbillies could be so popular?!? Well, now I know. And did you know that RZA not only acted in a film as the protagonist but also wrote the screenplay to it? And Russell Crowe and Lucy Liu co-starred? I guess they were short on cash and needed to make a payment on something. The Man With the Iron Fists--just in case you missed it.

Of course, most of these films are pirated. The Chinese seem to have cornered the market on perfecting how they copy these films because they look like they are directly from the production company—AND they can fit about 20 films onto one DVD---value for your dollar. Gotta love it! But we still get those films where it is someone sitting in a movie theater and you can hear him coughing and rustling around in his popcorn bag. I’m waiting for the day I can hear him sucking the butter off his fingers as well.

But we don’t discriminate in Maputo. We also watch any film that has come out of Bollywood: the colorful saris, the spontaneous singing and dancing and that for the price of a 2 hour film, we get a film that is 4 hours long. Because we never really know what is happening, we make it up as the film goes along. Which is pretty entertaining. I should note at this point that most Mozambicans in my neighborhood do that anyway when American films are not subtitled in Portuguese. Or on several occasions and much to my annoyance, very loud and heated conversations take place while the movie is playing or even better, someone turns the radio on high. Like, bumpety, bump house party loud. And then they ask me if I can tell them what has happened so far. Really?

And of course there is Nollywood. I watched Bollywood films before, as my family is from a country with a large South Asian population, so they are very popular there too. But it wasn’t until I came to the African continent that my introduction to films from Nigeria was really made. Based on the few I have watched and from what I understood, they usually fit into one of two categories with at least one street scene where someone is confronted in a very loud way and then gets a beat down. One category is the depiction of several intertwined love triangles where some money will have to be paid for dishonoring a wife/sister/family. The second category depicts an evil spirit/devil that has possessed a person and that is why s/he is lesbian or gay. What always confuses me about the latter category is that the point of the film is to condemn homosexuality yet the same-sex love scenes---if not for the large animal print blanket covering them-- is borderline pornographic. So in my opinion, if you are against homosexuality don’t make films that will make people either get their groove on or view it out of curiosity.

We also watch telenovelas, or soap operas, either from Brazil or from Mexico, which are dubbed in Portuguese. Well, I should say B watches them while I am on the internet. But in general, EVERYONE watches telenovelas here—B’s 22 year old brother who lives with us will stop what he is doing with his friends to come home and watch his telenovela---as everyone has their favorite. Since Portuguese culture is strong here, I kind of guessed there would be huge fans of soaps just like when I lived in Central and South America—even down to the youngest child of the family. Once, when I lived in Costa Rica, I was in my room reading when I heard a voice outside my window say “No, no Carlos! It’s enough! I can’t take this anymore! Do you love me? DO you!! Answer me Carlos!!!” When I looked out, it was my landlord’s 4 year old daughter reciting a scene from the telenovela from the night before—and not just using her voice she was doing the facial expressions as well!

I’ve decided not to get into that scene as when I lived in Costa Rica—as it is addictive and they are not like our soap operas where story lines never end and characters reappear even after being decapitated 5 years earlier. If you miss one, then it is hard to catch up and the storyline ends within 3-6 months, so you have to pay attention. We also have something along the line of Univision’s Sabado Gigante—called Programma do GuGu. I love it because it is not so much a variety show as it is about people winning money, home appliances and on some occasions, folks getting a makeover for themselves or their home. I hope that one day I can be part of the in-studio audience for both of these shows. Ok, I just don’t want to sit, clap and sing the show’s theme song. I want to make a fool out of myself winning something awesome in my funky Spanish or Portuguese! But until then it will have to be whatever I can get my hands on, which just may be another awful horror film from 1995.

Waste not, Want not

Anytime I refused to eat what was dished out to me for dinner, my paternal grandmother would stare at me intently and say: “waste not, want not.” As I matured, I came to interpret the saying to mean that if you make use of everything that you have, you will always have something to fill your belly, a place to lay your head and a shirt on your back. My parents reinforced this credo of waste not, want not while raising us---as they were really good at using and reusing what they owned until only Jesus himself could convince them that the item no longer had utility.

I always thought that the way my parents managed our house was because they were immigrants, and because I saw other Caribbean immigrant families using their stuff the same way—I figured it was a behavior associated with individuals starting over and holding on to pennies to do better for their kids. I still think this. But now that I have traveled abroad—I also think it is has to do with that fact that many immigrants come from places where there isn’t a lot to choose from—everything is scarce as well as too highly priced because it is imported from the U.S., Canada or Europe—so you learn to beat the life out of whatever it is you own before you purchase a new item: whether it be a refrigerator, a sneaker or even undies. Now that I am living in Mozambique, I can certainly testify that I have a few Victoria Secrets that now look like Granny’s Secrets, and because they are still wearable-- I just tie a knot at my waist.

Once I got into development work, one of the issues that would come up would be folks living off of garbage. I’m not going to lie and be all high and mighty and say the first think I thought of was, “How can I make a difference?” I actually just remembered those 1980sFeed the Children commercials with Sally Struthers, her big girl-self surrounded by hungry looking black and brown kids where I thought,“why doesn’t Sally share some of her food with those kids?” So I wasn’t surprised when I saw people going in and out of our city dump. I understood that they were not city employees.
B and I in fact live on the other side of the city garbage dump. I didn’t realize this as I have always seen the dumpsite from the road where the government has built a large wall, so that people do not have to experience the uncomfortable feeling that comes with seeing little kids going in and out with piles of dirty trash on their heads—as the saying goes, “ignorance is bliss.” And I may have continued to be just as ignorant if B didn’t point it out to me. Of course I started to say how hard it must be to be all knee deep in other people’s dirty, smelly, sometimes literally, shit. B’s immediate response was “NA-DA”(get the hell out of here!) and to translate to my NYC lingo “Those bitches are rich!”and my mouth, literally went ajar. “What do you mean rich?”and he said, “better than telling you, I will show you.”

As he takes me on a walk to the other side of our neighborhood, I comment that I can see in the distance a mountain with misty, morning dew floating above it, “we should go hiking up there one day.” B laughs and says, “No babes, that’s the mound of garbage, it’s higher on this side than on the roadside. And that ‘mist’ is the smoke from the small fires that are the result of instantaneous combustion.” As we get closer, I could smell slight whiffs oftrash, but nothing that would scream garbage dump. But it was a pretty cold day. For a time, I lived downwind from a slaughter house in Costa Rica, and I can tell you that on hot, windy days things probably get pretty ripe around here. But B tells me anyway not to cover my nose as it would offend the neighbors and they could issue me a serious ass kicking. But I do sneak a photo, pretending to take a photo of a house: partly because I didn’t want to offend anyone—this is their way of living and it is enough that I’m walking on their turf but then to document my voyeurism snapping multiple pics was even for me a bit too much. But more so because B said that folks would get pretty angry if they saw me taking photos—as 90% of people on the other side of our neighborhood make a living off of the garbage—they would want compensation over their proprietary rights to the rubbish (if I didn’t have the money, again, I would be issued a serious ass kicking.)“What?!?! How can people have rights over garbage?”, and B just smiles all--my-baby-is-so-naïve--like, and says “you’ll understand.”
When we get to the actual dump site, the mound, as I have already described, is monstrously high. On top of it are just a scattering of old women, some young women, and barefooted kids, holding old rice sacks and sifting through what B calls “sua riqueza” (their wealth): beer bottles, cooking oil containers (that are re-sold to store water which we do in fact buy); and on lucky days discarded construction items like old toilets or sinks to be refurbished and re-installed. The large mound is on my right, and I have to crick my neck to the left to see the top. At this point, B says, now look left, and across from this huge mound is a line of houses. Some are what you would expect, tin shanties. But what was not expected, were some of the actually large, cement houses, with proper walls and driveways that were sitting next to those shanties--and there were more cement houses than shanties. “Those,” B says, “were built by scavenging off of that” and he points to the garbage dump. At this point, the situation is becoming slightly tense, as not too many outsiders come around these parts. People have stopped what they are doing to stare at us, luckily being with B helps and it also helps that we do in fact have another place we need to be, and this is a shortcut B decided to take me through so I could get another perspective of the garbage mound.

As we make our way past the actual dumpsite, B explains that most of the stuff you see for re-sale on the side of the road in Maputo is from the garbage dump. He goes on to say that people make a living and meet their economic needs the best way they can and if the government can’t give people jobs, or put a garbage dump that is not in our backyard, then these folks have every right to take possession over as well as make money off of it. And he is right, as it is rumored that there is actual gas underneath all that garbage, and a private company wants to come in to extract it. But now that people have made a living off of it, can the government really afford to 1) compensate residents when they kick people off the land they have acquired squatter’s rights to? 2) reimburse residents for money spent on building their homes on that land? and 3) compensate individuals for loss of livelihood, in which the government didn’t provide in the first place, hence the reasons they turned to sifting through garbage? I doubt it. And if the issue is pushed, there will surely be a fight—as there will be two parties with vested rights to the dumpsite.

I wanted to dedicate this post to a socio-economic issue that is usually used to show people as helpless and in need of outsiders to relieve their suffering. Instead, I wanted to highlight that many of them do not need others to do anything for them, as they have shown that they can do for themselves when they were tossed to the side---that they not only survive, but they are strong and empowered, and this is evidenced by the food they put on the table, the clothes on their kids back, and the houses they have built off of the waste of others. Of course, efforts to help people stop living off garbage should never end and those who give that $1 a day to feed a child should continue to do so—because maybe without it, we would totally be blind to how some people live and not do anything at all to make it better, deepening inequality even further.

I live in a country rich with natural wealth (e.g., oil, coal, diamonds) but it is accompanied by deep and unnecessary economic and social inequality—it is crazy to witness every day and not be in a position to do anything about it. It is frustrating. It is even more frustrating that I in the past, and sometimes today, am part of the problem because I am part of a capitalist culture of consumerism. I am part of this culture at times voluntarily (who doesn’t love a good NYC shoe sale!) and sometimes involuntarily (when my cheap Chinese made Nokia breaks in 2 seconds I will have to buy a new one).But I am learning a few things in this particular phase and in this particular place, in this journey of life.
First, I’m learning to differentiate between what I need and what I’ve been told I “need”, which is actually just a want. Second, I’m learning to get over my Catholic guilt, and not dropping to my knees and saying a Hail Mary every time I use a plastic fork instead of a washable one. Third, I’m learning to accept the crazy world we live in even when I don’t understand, as sometimes, even when I use a washable fork and tie my Granny panty at the waist, the world just keeps staying crazy. So, sometimes, accepting the crazy, and doing our best not to make the world crazier in our own little ways, is the most any one of us can do in life.