VIERBOERBOKKEMETEENSKOOTMORSDOODGESTAMP

Hierdie storie moet ek so gou as moontlik uit my gestel kry. Nie net was dit my eerste ongeluk in al die jare wat ek bestuur nie, maar dit was ook op my mees uitputtenste reis ooit. Nee, nou jok ek. My reis tussen Heathrow en Dubai in 2013, was die ergste. 'n Aar het in my been gebars toe ek 40,000 voet bo die aarde in 'n vliegtuig gesit het en ses ure van hel het selfs in 'n luukse A380 soos 'n leeftyd gevoel.

Die wat my ken, weet hoe lief ek die wapad het.  Ek word nie verniet die sigeunervrou of sommer  'Gypsy' genoem nie.  Na 'n paar maande tussen beton en staal begin my sitvlak kriewel en moet ek my tasse pak en plek soek waar my voete 'n volgende holte kan vind.  Sommige van die holtes waar my twee voete die afgelope paar jare al gerus het, was wonderlik en het my met pragtige herinnering gelaat.  Ander was minder nommerpas en ek moes gouer oppak en nuwe holtes vind.

My stokou kar, 'Blou Bliksempie' soos sy gedoop is, was weereens tot maksimum kapasiteit gelaai toe haar blou neus, lank voor sonsopkoms, koers kies na die grens tussen Namibia en Suid Afrika.  Die oggend was soel en die dagbreek was op pad.  My eindbestemming, Kaapstad, het 1500 km. ver gelê.

Alhoewel ek bekend is met die spesifieke roete, bly dit 'n uitmergelende rit.  Dis nou een stukkie pad wat ek nie kan 'sugarcoat' nie.  Dis ‘n warm pad in die somer, hel-warm.  Daar is nie bome, wolke of enige vorm van koelte en skadu  op daardie stuk pad nie.  Dis woestynland en in 'n woestyn vind jy min waterstrome of riviere wat kabbelend oor klippies vloei.  Afstande tussen dorpe is groot en nedersettings of gehuggies wat as 'n dorp bekend staan, is te nederig vir luukses soos 'n '24 Hour-Mobile-One-Stop.'  Dis jy en jou waterbottels, jou biltong (as jy 'n vleiseter is) en jou lemoene.  Gesigwas en piepie vind soms plaas in kleedkamers wat eerder 'n kleinhuisie genoem behoort te word. Nietemin, my liefde vir Namibia, my geboorteland, is welbekend en ek weet ek gaan daardie einste droë, dorre stuk pad iewers in die toekoms weer ry.

My rit het nogtans goed begin.  Dit was nog donker en koel en die radio het vrolike Duitse musiek gespeel. Die eerste dorp na Windhoek is Rehoboth.  Dis 'n pragtige dorpie, met gemiddeld 20,000 inwoners.  Dit is 'n oorwegend  Baster Gemeenskap (een van die baie bevolkingsgroepe in Namibia), wat vandag nog volgens hul voorvaderlike wette, (paternal laws) lewe. Die afstand tussen Windhoek en Rehoboth is net onder die tagtig kilometers en meeste van die werkende inwoners beoefen 'n beroep in Windhoek.  Die paar dokters, onderwysers, prokureurs, staatsdiensmanne en -vroue wat in Rehoboth woon, is te min om veel diensleweringsinstansies te regverdig.   Hier, soos op enige plattelandse dorpie, is werk skaars.

Met ietwat van 'n irritasie het ek besef hierdie tagtig kilometers gaan lank neem om klaar te kom.  Die stroom ligte van vooraf het nie vir verbysteek plek gemaak nie.  Dertig kilometers duskant Rehoboth beland ek en meer as twee hande vol motoriste agter twee trokke wat waterhouers vervoer.  Die houers reik hoog die lug in en maak verbysteek nog meer onmoontlik.  Die uiteinde van die saak is 'n dertig kilometer-lange afstand, teen 'n spoed van hoogstens 60 kmpu.  Ek en stadig ry is nie baie goeie maats nie en ek was terdeë bewus van die feit dat ek nog 1500 km. moes ry voor ek my bestemming sou bereik.  Stadig maar seker het my kraag begin rooi raak, maar van die van julle wat al ooit in so 'n situasie was, sal weet, rooi kraag of nie, sit die sit jy agter daardie trokke.

Die dertig kilometers was egter gou vergete toe my kar se wiele singend die pad Mariental toe vat.  Mariental is die grootste vesting van die Namas (nog een van die bevolkingsgroepe in Namibia).

Dit is geleë naby die Hardap dam wat die grootste reservoir in Namibië is.  Dit verklaar dus die hoeveelheid plase in die omgewing.

'n Honderd of so kilometers nadat ek Mariental se stof agter my gelaat het, was ek rustig op spoed en het uitgesien na ‘n stewige ontbyt op Keetmanshoop. Meeste motoriste neem 'n blaaskansie op Keetmanshoop, want van daar af raak die niks al meer.

Almal van ons wonder seker op een of ander stadium van ons lewe, hoe ons tot onse einde gaan kom.  Siektes soos ma en pa, oupa of ouma of gaan ek my einde in 'n vliegtuig, boot of te perd tegemoed  gaan.  Persoonlik het ek maar altyd gereken dit sal iewers op 'n pad wees.  Bloot omdat ek bekend is vir die hoë spoed waarteen ek ry en tweedens oor ek so baie ry.  Ek ry ver en ek ry vinnig!  Toe ek dus op die spul boerbokke in die pad voor my afkom, toe weet ek daardie dag het aangebreek.  Ek is nie baie slim nie, maar ek het baie gou besef ek is te naby daai spul boerbokke en my spoed is te hoog.  Self met die beste ABS-remme het jy 'n minimum afstand nodig om jou motor tot stilstand te bring, en daardie afstand die het ek nie gehad nie.

Toe ek die eerste boerbok tref en hy deur die lug trek, toe weet ek: hier kom 'n lelike ding.  Met bok nommer een uit die pad is daar toe nog 'n see van boklywe voor my.  Bok twee word getref en hy slaan neer op die warm teerpad.  Natuurlik veroorsaak sy val toe 'n domino-reaksie en bok drie val en ek sien en hoor hoe bok vier val.  En net daar word hulle deur Blou Bliksempie die ewigheid in gesleep.  Of hulle nou gemaak het hulle is dood en of hulle werklik dood was, die sal ek nou ook nie kon se nie, maar daar was geen skop of asem in daardie bokke meer oor nie.

Ek kom uiteindelik tot stilstand en staar in ongeloof na die spul dooie bokke om my.  Bok nommer een het egter op hierdie stadium nog lê en skop.  Daardie twee sterwende oë en vier skoppende pote sal ek lewenslank onthou.  Ek is van nature nie baie lief vir diere nie.  Slange en perde is omtrent al diere vir wie ek ooghare het, maar diere doodmaak was darem nog nooit iets waarvoor ek bekend was nie.  Ek is 'n kampvegter teen dieremishandeling, jag, geblikte leeu skietsessies en mense wat bloot 'n pragdier sal skiet om 'n opgestopste koedoekop teen sy voorhuis se muur as trofee te kan uitstal.

Toe ek uiteindelik tot verhaal kom, klim ek met jellie-bene uit en bekyk die skade.  Op daardie oomblik besef ek dat ek liewer as ooit is vir Blou Bliksempie en dat ek nooit enige ander kar as 'n Volkswagen op my werf sal toelaat nie.  Die skade aan my motor was minimaal en ek was ongeskonde. Ek kyk rondom my, verby die bokke, op soek na ‘n mens.  Iewers moet daar tog iemand wees wat vir hierdie bokke verantwoordelik is.  Maar daar is niemand in sig nie.  Ek klim sleepvoetend terug in my kar en ry verder.  Nie ver gery nie toe sien ek die veewagter in my truspieëltjie.  Ek sien hoe hy sy rooi vlaggie waai en vir 'n oomblik oorweeg ek dit om om te draai, maar ek besef ek gaan dalk onverantwoordelike gedrag openbaar as ek voor hom staan, want na die skrik kom die woede.

Woede oor daar n draai in die pad is, woede oor die afwesigheid van 'n veewagter met 'n rooi vlaggie, woede oor die bokke en die veld dieselfde kleur het en sommer groot woede vir die boer wie se boerbokke dan nou juis daardie tyd van die oggend 'n hoofpad moet kruis.

Natuurlik verdwyn my eetlus as ek skrik en van ontbyt op Keetmanshoop is daar toe geen sprake nie.  Keetmanshoop, soos so baie Namibiese dorpies, het ontstaan as 'n sendelingstasie.  Die dorp is vernoem na die Duitse handelaar, Johann Keetman wat die sendelinge finansieël ondersteun het.

Ek sluk toe darem 'n energiedrankie, eet 'n stuk gesmelte sjokolade en hervat my reis.  Die hitte is ondraaglik, want my kar se lugversorging werk nie, maar ek hou van hitte en begin uitsien na my volgende stopplek: die grenspos tussen die twee lande.

Nie lank nie of 'n motor van voor waarsku met flikkerende ligte.  Onmiddelik verminder ek spoed, want dit is gewoonlik die teken van 'n verkeerskonstabel wat wag vir sy of haar volgende prooi.

Toe nie!  Hierdie keer was dit nie 'n draai in die pad wat vir my 'n onsmaaklike verassing gebring het nie, maar 'n bult.  My oog is op soek na 'n wit motor met 'n blou lig en dit neem my meer as 'n sekonde om te sien wat voor my in die pad aangaan.  'n Mens-grootte skildpad, besig om stadig en statig aan my kant van die pad te stap.  Regs kan ek nie verby nie as gevolg van aankomende verkeer en links het ek nie genoeg spasie nie.  Ek besef ek is te naby daardie groot skilpad vir stop.  Die gedagte: "Vandag is daardie dag wat jy dit nie gaan maak nie" gaan weereens deur my kop.  Ek weet tot vandag toe nie hoe ek om daardie skilpad gekom het sonder om hom dood te ry of sonder om my kar om te gooi nie, maar ek moes iets reg gedoen het.   Natuurlik is die skrik toe weer terug in my lyf en ek wonder op hierdie stadium hoeveel skrik 'n lyf op een dag kan hanteer.

Buite sing die sonbesies en die kraaie gaap.  Ek drink liters gevriesde water en gooi 'n bottel yswater oor my kop.  Die termometer se kwik het al verby 42 grade Celsius geklim.  Die ysige waterstroompie wat neklangs teen my rug afloop, bring egter verligting.   Van Keetmanshoop af word die pad al stiller en dis hier waar onheilige gedagtes deur jou kop begin maal.  Daar is min motors op die pad; geen hulp, sou iets gebeur nie en 'n son wat genadeloos op jou bak.  My uithouvermoë word hier tot op die uiterste beproef.  Nou moet ek noem dat diere in Namibië dieselfde reg op 'n nasionale pad het as 'n motoris.  Op hierdie stadium was al my lyf-, kop- en sintuig-radars op vol sterkte aan’t werk en ek trap rem vir elke voël, muishond en akkedis. Vir nog 'n dieredood gaan ek beslis nie verantwoordelik wees nie.

Nie lank nie toe gevaar ek 'n slingerende motor voor my in die pad.  Met die naderkom lees ek aan wie dit behoort:  NAM POSTAL SERVICES.  Ek besef die man kan nie dronk wees die tyd van die oggend nie en vermoed hy is besig met 'n geveg teen die slaap.  Hy swenk gevaarlik van links na regs en ek begin wonder hoe ek by hom verby gaan kom.  Ek sien egter nie kans vir 'n tweehonderd kilometer rit agter 'n spul slingerde possakke wat teen 'n spoed van 50 kmpu. beweeg nie. Verby sal ek moet verby.  Ek wag my kans af en toe Mnr. Posman sterk links is, verwissel ek ratte en ek sit my voet stewig op die petrolpedaal.  Die arme mens het my natuurlik nie daar verwag nie en skrik hom buite weste wakker en swenk skerp na regs.  Hoe ek verby daardie swenkende bakkie gekom het, sonder om ‘n ongeluk te maak, weet ek weereens nie.  Ek vermoed my spoed het iets daarmee te doen gehad en ek besef dat vinnig ry tog soms sy voordele het.  Na hierdie insident is ek toe egter glad nie meer myself nie.  Die dood lê en wag vir my om elke Namibiese draai en bult en ek weet dis 'n kwessie van tyd voor hy my gaan inhaal.

Dis al middel van die dag en al wat binne my lyf is, is 'n paar blokkies Nestlé sjokolade, liters water en baie skrik.  Ek is oud genoeg om te weet my liggaam het nou kos en koffie nodig.

Die Namibiese noodlot besluit egter hy is nog nie klaar met my nie.  So in die wapperende wind, wat deur my venster waai, ruil ek musiek om. Met my linkerhand haal ek die een CD uit die radio en in my regterhand hou ek die stuurwiel en 'n ander CD vas.  Die volgende oomblik ruk die wind daardie CD uit my hand en hy vlieg s(n)ykant teen my wangbeen vas. Nou kyk, ek is nie 'n kleinserige mens nie, maar daardie was 'n seer hou en die trane begin vloei en ek huil die huil van ‘n begrafnisganger. 'n Huil wat sommer vir als moet opmaak wat op daardie dag verkeerd geloop het.   Die gewraakte CD word summier by die venster uitgesmyt.  Iewers sal 'n bokwagter hom eendag optel en aan die voorbok se nek hang.

By die grens gaan dit wonder bo wonder baie goed.  Die Immigrasiebeampte stempel lui-lui my passport en die polisieman gee my kar een kyk en plak sy stempel op my permit.  Vyftig meter

na die grens is daar 'n klein winkeltjie wat vir die moeë motoris lafenis moet bied.  Ek stap die donker, stofbelaaide kafeetjie binne, maar vind niks wat ek kan eet nie. Hoe sê die ou spreekwoord:

Dis toe die kersie op my koek.  Ek verloor my humeur net daar en dan, iets wat nie maklik met my gebeur nie.  Ek bevlieg die vaal mannetjie agter die kasregister en vertel hom als wat daar te vertelle is oor hulle nie voorsiening maak vir kos vir nie-vleisetende mense soos ek nie.  Ek kon sien hy het die aanval nie verwag nie.  Hy kyk my grootoog en oopmond aan.  My bedaar kom egter skielik, want daardie oog lyk soos boerbok nommer een se oog.  Die een wat ek nooit ooit sal vergeet nie. Toe storm ek die kafee uit, sonder kos en water.

Terug op Suid Afrikaanse bodem is die dorpe darem nader aanmekaar en ek het weer nuwe moed vir die 800 kilometer wat nog voor my lê.  ‘n Paar kilometers verby Springbok pak die floute my egter behoorlik.  Die skrik, adrenelien, kwaad en seer is weg en al wat oorbly is 'n intense moegheid, hongerte en dors.  Dit sou paslik wees om te sê ek wou vrek van ellende.

Gelukkig het ek oulike kinders wat my telefonies van die pad af dwing en reël dat ek oorslaap op Van Rhynsdorp en die volgende dag met 'n vol maag en 'n goeie nagrus die res van my tog aanpak.

Ek en Blou Bliksempie hou na dese natuurlik nog minder van diere.  Veral nie van boerbokke met groot ronde oë nie!  Dis tyd dat Blou Bliksempie 'n 'bull-bar' kry, maar sy weier volstrek, want sy is nie 'butch' nie.

Eind goed, alles darem goed soos my ou vriend sou sê.

SUFFOLK AN AGRICULTURAL STRONGHOLD

As a South African, and of late, a Namibian, my British roots are firmly grounded. South Africa’s colonial history (1652 to 1917) begins with the arrival of Jan van Riebeeck of the Dutch East India Company in 1652 near the site of present-day Cape Town. The British presence in South Africa began in 1792. British colonialism in South Africa  was marked by intermitted periods of turmoil, armed conflict, cultural exchange and prosperity. Luckily today, South Africans and Namibians alike generally enjoy a good relationship with the British whose influence is still felt and seen throughout Southern Africa in a variety of ways, including architecture, food, customs, and, of course, language.

The British are a tea-loving, tea-brewing country. It is estimated they drink approximately 165 million cups of tea per day and consume 144 thousand tons of tea annually. They contributed words such as "afternoon tea" (4pm), "high tea" (6pm) "tea break" (11am), "tea towel" and "tea party" to the South African vocabulary.

My one and only grandchild has very strong family ties in the United Kingdom where her Dad, Granny Sheila and other relatives reside. I had the privilege and pleasure of visiting the United Kingdom with my granddaughter where we met most of her British relatives: Auntie Caroline, Uncle Mark and best of all, my granddaughter's lovely cousins Laura and Amy. Joan Oddy, (lovingly referred to as "Mrs. god") is not really blood family, but close enough. She is the hippest and funkiest vicar I have ever met!

It was a wonderful experience and whilst exploring the Suffolk, Essex and Norfolk counties, I fell in love with the people, their stories, the architecture, and, of course, their food. Their dialect, however, was one of the major obstacles I had to overcome. Unfortunately, the true Suffolk dialect is becoming extinct because of all the influences from other regions and countries. 

Sheila, my granddaughter’s British grandma, stays in a quaint little historical town, Kessingland, in the Waveney District in Suffolk County. Kessingland is situated 6 km. south of Lowestoft on the eastern coast of the United Kingdom. Kessingland is home to an ancient forest that lies buried on the seabed, thus a haven for archeologists. It is one of only a handful places in the area where the beach is growing and the sea residing. All credit is due to Rider Haggard, the famous writer, who identified the erosion problem in the 19^th century and initiated the planting of marram grass.

Suffolk County also rightfully takes pride in the several authors, painters, poets, actors and singer/songwriters who have called or currently call Suffolk their home. Among these are: Thomas Gainsborough (1727 – 1788) a landscape and portrait artist, Maggi Hambling, (1945 - ) a sculptor and contemporary painter, famous for her sculpture for Oscar Wilde (A conversation with Oscar Wild), the very popular cartoonist of the Daily Express, Carl Giles (1916 – 1995),  Baron Benjamin Britten (1913 – 1976) a composer, George Crabbe (1754 – 1832) and Robert Bloomfield (1766 – 1823). 

Suffolk is also well known for the high quality and mostly free range pork and cattle produced in the area. Their dairy products, apple orchards and apple cider enjoy a well-deserved reputation as being the best in the country. Much of this can be traced back to Lady Eve Balfour who founded the Soil Association in 1946. She firmly believed that the quality of one’s life depends on the health of the soil. Her book, ‘The Living Soil’ can be described as the birth of organic farming as we know it today.

Visiting a Suffolk pub or restaurant is a lovely experience with affordable, down to earth dishes that can best be described as comfort food at its best. Some of the more popular items on many a menu include scampi and chips, sausage and mash, steak and ale pie and the ever so popular fish and chips, including curries of all kinds and flavors, as well as the delectable spuds. This, of course, is customarily washed down with a beer or ale of your choice.

Like in most counties, provinces and rural communities, traditional Suffolk recipes are often named after a town, an individual or a region. The ‘Suffolk Harvest Cake’, ‘The Lowestoft Buttons’ (dumplings), ‘Ipswich Almond Pudding’ and ‘Lowesthof Cod and Chips’ are some of the names which come to mind.

Prior to World War1, food in the British Isles was much different to what is called traditional British food today. During WW1, different nationalities and cultures from throughout the world found themselves simultaneously in active combat. The influence of the Indian army, the Egyptians, the Chinese and Fijian Labour Corps all contributed in one way or the other to change the concept of ‘British food’ as we know it today. British food in the 18^th century could have been described as bland and dull and largely consisted of bread, eggs, potatoes, meat, jam, sugar and tea. But a multitude of culinary changes occurred as a result of WW1 and new foods were introduced shortly after the war. Products like corned beef, custard powder, tinned tuna and soup-in-a-cup were introduced to the nation and it was well received.

This brings my story to Kevin, my grandchild’s father, who is an enthusiastic and avid cook and food expert or fundi, as we say in South Africa. Although a world traveler and exposed to foods of numerous countries and cultures, he is mostly renowned for cooking curries and traditional British food. He taught me how to cook the tricky Yorkshire Pudding and how to appreciate a pub lunch. I've learned that a mince pie has nothing to do with the type of mince I know, and a dark chocolate Hobknob is the best cookie in the world. He willingly shared one of his favorite curry recipes with me.

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Kevin's Butter Chicken

1 Kg Chicken - cut into pieces

The Marinade

2 Tablespoons of red chili powder

2  Tablespoons of ginger and garlic paste

20 Grams of Greek Yoghurt

4 Tablespoons of Lemon Juice

Salt

The Curry

1 Tablespoon of red chili powder

1 Tablespoon ginger and garlic paste

1/4 Teaspoon Cardamon powder

8 Tablespoons Milk Powder

2 Tablespoons dried fenugreek leaves

1 Tablespoon honey

1 Tablespoon honey

1 Tablespoon chicken masala

Salt to taste

Cilantro and cream to garnish

The Tomato Puree

10 Medium size ripe tomatoes

1 Tablespoon butter

10 Cashews

Method

First start with making the tomato puree

Cut the tomatoes into pieces.  Heat 1 tablespoon of butter, add chopped tomatoes plus the ten cashews.  Stir and cover the lid.  Cook till the tomatoes are soft.  Cool the tomatoes and cashew mixture and blend it to a fine puree. Should have a creamy texture with an orange/red colour. 

Marinate the chicken 

Mix the yogurt, chili powder, salt, ginger and garlic paste and lemon juice and coat the chicken generously with it.  Cover the bowl and keep it in the fridge for 2 or more hours.

Start making your curry

Pan fry (or BBQ the chicken if you have the facilities) on both sides till it is done.  Keep brushing some leftover marinade or butter over the chicken to keep it moist and juicy.  You may also squeeze some lemon juice over it for the extra tangy flavor.

Heat up a big wok or pan on medium heat and add butter.  Once the butter melts and heats up slightly, add the tomato puree and salt mixture.  Reduce the heat to low and cover the pan with a lid for 5 minutes or till the butter starts to float over the puree. Butter floating over the puree indicates that it is cooked completely.

Turn the heat to medium again. Add the red chili powder and ginger/garlic paste and stir for two minutes. Add the chicken masala.

Mix the milk powder with some water to make a thick batter-like paste and add it to the curry.

Add cardamon powder and dried fenugreek (rub the dried herbs roughly in your palm to release more flavor before adding it to the pan.)  Stir for 2 minutes more.

Turn off the heat and pour in the honey.  Let the curry cool before blending it.  It should be a smooth mixture.  Return the curry to the pan, add chicken pieces and mix gently.  Garnish with cream and chopped cilantro.  Serve with potato chips, popadums and relish of your choice.

Kevin's Butter chicken

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Culture is the sum of values, beliefs and behaviours we have acquired and learned throughout our lives. It is the legacy passed down through succeeding generations. For me, food is an integral part of any country's culture. The food and eating customs of any nation offer a valuable insight into that nation's history and development over time. More precisely, they offer a very specific insight into the quality of the people who prepare such food and preserve such customs.  I remember the food, but the memory of the people of Suffolk who I met and spoke with is something I truly cherish and unlikely to ever forget.

Suffolk County
Photo courtesy Suffolk Properties

Kevin with his daughter

Beautiful Church in Lowesthof

A little bit of Africa in Suffolk

Ipswich Station

Lowesthof Beach

St Edmund a 15th Century Suffolk church in Kessingland

HOBKNOBS

Kevin's Mince Pies

The Blue Man
by
Thomas Gainsborough

Ovambo Food

The food culture of any nation tells us so much about its past as well as its future. Food, like music, plays an integral part in any nation's existence. So, it was a distinct privilege and pleasure to have the knowledgeable counsel of several Namibian locals who shared something of their customs, traditions and ethnic cuisine with me. Helia, Martha, Lina, Anet and Selima are Ovambo women who have a passion for traditions and traditional food and they willingly shared the food secrets of the Ovambo tribe with me. Their capable assistance was invaluable in the writing of this blog.

Namibia, like South Africa, has many different culture groups, each with a rich food history dating back centuries. Living in a desert country necessarily places limits on what can be brought to the dinner table.

The Owambos have nine different tribes of which the Kwanyama group is the largest. They predominantly live in central and northern Namibia as well as in southern Angola, one of Namibia’s neighboring countries.

Eating, as in most cultures, is a social event in the lives of the Ovambo people. The main meal is eaten in the late afternoon or in the evening. Traditionally, the food is positioned in the center of the eating area in the kraal (a traditional African village of huts, typically enclosed by a fence) and the family members sit in a circle, (usually outside) around the prepared food. Food is always eaten with the hands.

Mahangu, (pennisetum glaucum), or manna of the north, as it is called by the locals, is an unrefined pearl millet flour and forms the staple of the Ovambo’s diet. The mahangu is, preferably, cooked in a cast iron pot over an open fire. The size of the pot depends on the number of persons to be fed. When cooked, the oshifima (mahangu porridge) is scooped from the pot and mixed with the rest of the food. Ovambo etiquette requires that only the right hand be used when serving or eating food.

Omboga, (wild spinach) can be found in the wild, growing on the pearl millet fields. It is a green, leafy plant, resembling spinach. Because fridges are not a luxury usually found in the most rural areas of Namibia, several ways of preserving food have been invented. Fresh leaves are dried and pressed together to form a round disk which can easily be stored for use during the months to follow. The dried leaves are called ekaka.  It is cooked as an accompaniment and served with onyama (meat) or oshifima (porridge), or beans and nuts.

Many types of greens can be found throughout Africa which provide needed  nutrition. Omboga is high in proteins, vitamin A and C and fiber. Hence, this nutritional combination likely explains the low rates of colorectal cancer amongst the tribes that frequently eat omboga.

Omboga is also eaten in the Congo where it is known as fumbo.  In the Kavango, which is in the northern part of Namibia, it is known as omutete. Similar greens can also be found in most regions in South Africa where it is called morogo. Traditionally, omboga or ekaka are cooked, braised, or stir-fried with or without onions and drizzled with marula oil. It is a very versatile vegetable and the western world has taken notice of this lovely leafy vegetable. Tomatoes, mushrooms, wine and cheese can be added to enhance the flavor of pasta, rice or any starch.

According to Ovambo tradition, men and women do not share the same eating area. Oshinyanga,(men) sit in a circle and wait for the food to be served by the elugo (women). The latter then gather round the fire, where the food was prepared and eat after the men are served.

Beef, mutton, pork, goat, donkey, tortoise, mopani worms, small bream, chicken and frog are some of the more popular proteins eaten by the Ovambo people. Makalani nuts, beans, sorghum, and melons also are part of the Ovambo diet in one way or another.

Kapana is meat grilled over an open fire. It is popular throughout many parts of Namibia. However, it is not regarded as a true traditional Ovambo food as it is a dish of recent origin. It likely made its first appearance in the open markets. Ovambo people love their bars, eateries, small open markets, shops and stores; perfect places for a tasty grilled meat-snack or meal which accounts for the popularity of kapana.

Oshikundu (a beer-like beverage) is made of mahangu (millet), flour and boiling water to which sugar and sorghum are added. It is best served fresh and icy cold on the day it was made. This popular drink is sold in the open markets and shops and made daily in most households of the Ovambo tribe. Although I was hesitant to taste this drink, it was surprisingly refreshing.  

Ombike, also a very popular drink amongst the Ovambos, is made primarily from the makalani nut which grows on the Omulunga tree (a type of palm tree). It tastes much like whiskey. The fruit of the makalani palm takes two years to mature and be ready for use. This is in keeping with the old Ovambo saying:  "If you don't have patience you can't make beer."

In the tradition of the Ovambo, sweets or desserts are seldom served after a meal. Fruits and mahangu cakes are, however, eaten as a snack during the day.  

My various explorations of food traditions and cultures to date unwaveringly affirm to me how important food is not only for nutritional sustenance but, also in how we interact and socialize with one another. Ovambo food traditions are no different and I am grateful for the insights I’ve been granted.

“Food brings people together on many different levels.  It is nourishment of the soul and body; it is truly love.”  Giada De Laurentiis
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Map: Reachnamibia.org

Photo: Geological Survey Museum Windhoek

Photo: Geological Survey Museum Windhoek

Martha dressed in typical Ovambo attire.

Selima and child dressed in typical Ovambo dress.

Mahangu flour on the left, Ekaka (pressed wild spinach) center and
nuts on the right

Mahangu porridge

the loneliness of love

days and days and nights and nights

a face in an empty space

a voice the only comfort

no warmth or a breath

no feeling, no touch

overwhelming desires

not fulfilled

just echoing voices long after dark

days and days and nights and nights

FOODS OF THE NAMIB

A visit to Namibia is not complete unless you have tasted some of the very authentic foods sold at street markets which are harvested from the veldt (unimproved rural land) and cooked by the locals. Like South Africa, Namibian cuisine is a fusion of tastes from both colonial and native peoples. There are 11 ethnic groups in Namibia: the Himbas, Hereros, Damara, Namas, Topnaars, Rehoboth Basters, Coloureds, Caprivians, San, Tswanas and Whites (which are generally of Dutch, Portuguese, British and German origin).

On my recent visit, I was introduced to some of Namibia’s not so common foods and fruits. Katutura is a township on the outskirts of Windhoek, the capital of Namibia. It is a buzz with street markets, bars, music and people socializing and enjoying the foods sold and prepared on the sidewalks and in humble homes.

One of the most popular and favorite street foods found in Katutura and the rest of the country for that matter, is Kapana. (grilling meat, mostly beef, on an open fire). Because it is so popular amongst the locals, as well as visitors, there are chefs or Kapana men as they are called, on every street corner and in between. The price can easily be negotiated not only because of tradition, but because of the highly competitive market. The cooking does not take long and the meat is ready in 5 to 10 minutes. Therefore, socializing whilst waiting for your order to be cooked is customary.

Namibians traditionally live near the earth and rely on the land for food and sustenance. Fruits, berries and seeds, especially, are used in every possible way to supplement the traditional Namibian diet. Embe and Ovambo berries are two such foods of the veldt which are typically used in several Namibian dishes.

Mahangu or pearl millet, also called ''Manna of the North” in Namibia, is a staple food for many Namibians. The grain is grown in the northern parts of the country, dried, ground and mostly used to cook a porridge called oshifima. The popular oshikundu, a fermented drink, is also made of the flour. 

On one of my previous visits to Namibia, I was introduced to the monkey orange or strychnos spinosa. Its flesh is very juicy with a sweet and sour taste. The fruit also has great medicinal value and popular as an antidote for snakebite and very effective in the treatment of constipation.

The Omulunga or Makalani is another very popular snack, especially amongst the Ovambos and Himba tribes. The golf ball-size fruit is eaten raw or used to make Ombike, a brew that is similar to whiskey. The inner core is carved by the locals and some of the most interesting pieces of art, derived from the humble seed, can be found in the curio shops and street markets.

I have not tasted the Omajove (wild mushroom) or termite hill mushroom as it is referred to, but was told it is a real treat. This fungus has a very short shelf-life and is seldom found in stores and mostly sold at roadside stalls. It is harvested early in the morning and sold on the roads outside Windhoek en route to the north. Unlike its brother the Nabba, which is generally smaller, the Omajove can grow up to 1 foot in diameter.

But, the highlight of my visit was indeed eating the Nabba or desert truffle as it is called. It is a delicacy which grows under the sand and needs the expert eye of the Nama people to spot the correct place to dig for this treat. It also has a very short shelf-life (April/May after good rains).  Nowadays it can also be found on the menus of some of Namibia's top restaurants. Eaten fresh is of course best, but it can be frozen or bottled with great success. 

This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to indigenous food of Namibia and I hope to do a follow-up on this blog and bring you more.

 GALLERY

Katutura

Bar in Katutura

Kapana men in action 

Berries and nuts

Makalani nuts

Grinding millet

A new friend

Millet Flour

Pearl Millet

!Nabbas

DIE BOOMWINKEL IN DIE PARADYS

                                                                                                          Die Wals



Daar word al eeue lank oor weduwees geskryf, gespot, gedig en gesing. Oor die algemeen is weduwees vriendelik, viets, ryk en gewild. Die weduwee waaroor ek vandag wil skryf is vriendelik, viets, ryk en gewild in gee en omgee. 

Soos dit ‘n weduwee betaam het sy ook met neergeslane oë en donker tabberds die rou-proses sy gang laat gaan.  Maar op ‘n dag word die weduwee wakker en besef dat haar geliefde nooit weer saam met haar gaan lepellê, stukkende gloeilampies vervang of rose aandra nie. Dis toe dat sy haar vensters en klerekas  wyd oopgooi, die somber rokkies vir die armes uitdeel en die motbolle by die agterdeur uitvee.  Die kredietkaart word afgestof en sy sit af winkels toe vir vrolike serpies en bont stewels en sy pluk lentebloeisels vir die blompot in die voorhuis.

Geld vir ‘n Hannon make-over is daar nie, want die oorblygeld, nadat die ontvanger met die boedel afgereken het, moet lewenslank hou. Die bedroefde weduwee verander egter oornag in n vietse vlinder wat ‘n nuwe nessie vind, waar sy tot haar dood toe dolgelukkig gaan woon. ‘n Huisie weg van die rumoer van die stad. ‘n Huisie waar sielsvrede van kamer tot kamer sweef. ‘n Huisie waar voëltjies broodkrummetjies op die voorgras eet en die bure vetkoek en skinderstories aandra.  Haar eie paradys-huisie.

Wat die weduwee egter nie weet of raai nie, is dat daar in die einste paradys alreeds ‘n handvol wewenaars gretiglik sit en wag op hul prooi. Soos elke nuwe weduwee wat die poorte van die paradys binnegaan, word sy ook met ‘n ekstra groot vergrootglas bekyk, bespreek en volgens boudjies gegradeer. Wewenaars wat lankal vergeet het hoe ‘n ‘White Linen’ of ‘Red Door’ ruik,  hoe sag ‘n vrou se hand voel as dit op sy bo-been rus of hoe warm sy hart klop as sy beminde hom gang af lei.

Nietemin, soos dit enige ordentlik weduwee betaam, skaf jy vir jou ‘n hond, kat, vis of voël aan om die lang ure van eensaamheid meer draaglik te maak. ‘n Kat is n slaapdier, met min werk en van geen nut vir ‘n eensame weduwee nie. ‘n Voël het weer ander nadele, soos vloek en raas as die weduwee wil slaap of die dominee kom huisbesoek doen. Visse aan die anderkant kommunikeer glad nie. Al uitweg was dus maar ‘n hond. Natuurlik mag niemand die hond ‘n hond noem nie, of brak of met enige neerhalende woord na die gediertetjie verwys nie. Hierdie hond is ‘n ordentlike hond. Opreg sê ek jou, baie opreg. Soos enige hond, moet die enetjie gereeld straat op en straat af oefening kry om van die oortollige energie onslae te raak.  En dit is presies waarvoor die handvol wewenaars natuurlik geduldig sit en wag.

Nou moet ek bysê dat selfs die wewenaars uit idees raak oor hoe om die vietse, vriendelike weduwees in hul web te vang. Hulle kan tog ook maar net soveel keer voorlangs gras sny of die sipresboompie op die sypaadjie snoei. Maar boer maak ’n plan en een slim wewenaar open vir hom ‘n winkel onder ‘n boom. Daar smous hy met allerhande weduwee-lokmiddels. Hy sorg dat sy boom-winkel elke oggend vars produkte aanbied. Netjies verpak in weduwee-grootte-pakkies. Billike pryse, amper kosprys sê ek jou, want die weduwees moet terugkom vir meer aartappels, meer uie, eiers en lemoene.

Die slim wewenaar het egter nie rekening gehou met die feit dat dit wemel van wewenaars in die paradys nie.  Die ander het gou deur sy plan gesien en vroe-more gaan inloer en skinderstories uitruil by die boomwinkel.  Kort voor lank is stoele en tafels nadergesleep en die boomwinkel word ‘n gesellige kuierplek. 

Die kompetisie is egter baie groot, want nie al die weduwees het heuningby lyfies nie. Elke wewenaar van die paradys wil sy hand of hande op die vietse vrolike weduwee lê.  Maar dis hier waar ek ‘n ding sien kom. Daar’s klaar 'n bekgeveg aan die gang oor wie nou eintlik die gelukkig een gaan wees wat die weduwee se hart, guns en soetkoekies gaan wen.

Die arme vietse weduwee is egter nie net die hoof besprekeningpunt op die wewenaars se daaglikse boom-vergadering nie, nee, die weduwees met die nie-so-vietse lyfies en spataar-beentjies hou vergaderings van ‘n ander aard.  Vergaderings waar die nuwe intrekker met die vietse lyfie bespreek en veroordeel word. Die vietse weduwee het die kalklig kom steel en hulle, die nie-so-vietse weduwees se koekies- en melktert-aandraery boomwinkel toe, help tans niks.  Die wewenaars is almal op ‘n Banting-diet vandat die vietse weduwee die paradys betree het. 

Ek wil nou nie spoke opjaag nie, maar kort voor lank gaan daar ‘n tragedie onder daai einste boom afspeel. Swaardgevegte het eeue gelede al uitgesterf, vuisgevegte kan die stomme manne nie meer bybring nie, want die kragte is min en die vuiste vol rumatiek.  Daar sal ander metodes gevind moet word om die swakkelinge uit te skakel. 

Natuurlik is die vietse weduwee van g’n sout of water bewus nie. Sy wil eintlik net aartappels koop.

Die Winkel

Die Weduwee

The Heat is On

Mexico is often referred to as the land of the Shaking Earth because it is located on top of several tectonic plates (the North America, Pacific, Cocos, Caribbean, Rivera and Orozco Plates) and, therefore, one of the most geologically active regions on earth.  Mexico is a land of beautiful landscapes, natural wonders and spectacular vistas.  Mexico, like South Africa, is a land rich with cultural and ethnic diversity and historic legacies.  Boasting almost ten thousand kilometers of coastline, Mexico is framed by tropical beaches, two very dry and large deserts, the Chihuahuan and the Sonoran (and several others), as well as various magnificent mountain ranges. These along with numerous other attractions and points of interest make Mexico a very popular holiday destination.

My interest in Mexico started when I met Lucia many years ago.  Lucia resides in Merida, the very beautiful capital of the Mexican State of Yucatan.  We met at a pivotal time in our lives and we became good friends and have remained so over the years.  Lucia has always been an inspiration to me.  Her intelligence and beauty are only exceeded by the goodness of her heart.  She lets people into her home, her life and her heart with generous ease. 

I have always been a lover of Mexican food, but my knowledge of Mexico itself was limited.  Like so many others, I knew something of the basics.  I could find Mexico on a map.  I knew Spanish is spoken there.  I had heard about the Aztecs and was somewhat aware of their civilizations.  But always, due to my interest in the foods of the world, I was drawn to read and learn more about the cuisine of Mexico.  I started out with a basic knowledge: Corn, beans and several varieties of “chile” are generally regarded as the basis of Mexican cuisine.  But, there is so much more to the story and delicious content of the savoury foods of Mexico!

From various types of meats (chicken, turkey, beef, pork), and an almost infinite variety of fish and seafood from the wide Pacific and the Caribbean, to a multitude of tangy, sweet, sour and always colourful and even exotic fruits (like avocado or mango), can be added honey, chocolate, cilantro, spices, and “piloncillo” that uniquely Mexican caramel-tasting dark brown sugar.  It is from these and other ingredients that food traditions, some going back centuries, have been handed down from generation to generation usually by the “abuelas” (the grandmothers) and the “tias” (the aunts) who, after all, are the real paragons of Mexican gastronomy.

Truly, Mexican food is as diverse as its people.  It is no wonder then that in 2010, Mexican cuisine was declared by UNESCO as having attained the status of “Intangible Cultural Heritage”.

As my appreciation of Mexican cooking grew, my interest in the regional cuisine of Yucatan also grew.  My friendship with Lucia sparked this interest in this different and unique aspect of the Mexican cuisine.

Yucatan is one of the 31 states that comprise the Republic of Mexico.  It is located in the extreme south-east of Mexico.  The traditional cuisine of Yucatan likely has its origins with the arrival of the Maya in the Yucatan Peninsula around 250 A.D.  The Yucatecan cuisine differs in many ways from that of the rest of Mexico. Primarily, the reason for this is mostly geographic.  Yucatan’s distance from central Mexico rendered it remote from the mainstream of Mexican life and was further compounded by the mountains and jungles that separated them.  With the passage of time, Yucatan became less remote and its cuisine incorporated traditional Mexican flavors with other influences from Europe, particularly France, and from New Orleans, Cuba and other Caribbean locations.

Most of us are familiar with the versatile tortilla, used in so many dishes, including the “sopas” (soups), of which the lime soup is definitely one of my favorites.  Other well-known Mexican foods include “tacos”,“enchiladas”, “tamales”, "salsa”, “guacamole” and “burritos” (which are arguably not Mexican, but rather a Tex-Mex creation).  And, of course, “tequila” and the“margarita” cannot be left off of any list of things which Mexico has shared with the world.

Yucatan, not surprisingly, also has several notable dishes.  Probably the peninsula’s most well known dish is “pibil”, a spice-rubbed, marinated and smoked pork or chicken with annatto paste, bitter orange juice and traditionally baked in a pit.  “Papadzules” are essentially egg tacos served on a tortilla and smothered in tomato sauce and generously sprinkled with toasted pumpkin seeds.  And, yet another popular dish is “chilmole”, which is turkey in a jet-black “mole”.

Understandably, I had great difficulty in deciding which of my many Mexican favorite dishes I could bring to this blog.

Corn tortillas, masa (corn flour) and mole sauce, are still a rarity in South Africa, but I have recently discovered a store in Midrand, Johannesburg, that specializes in Mexican ingredients and food.

Initially, my practical sense and fondness for simplicity strongly drew me to the preparation of the popular and easy-to-make “quesadilla”, a wheat or corn tortilla usually filled with a savoury mixture and cheese, folded in half and cooked on a griddle.  It can be served at breakfast or as a morning, midday or late night snack.  Of course being the chili-fanatic that I am, I always incorporate a spoonful of my own home-made spicy chili condiment, just to heat it up!   And, of course, it goes well with a glass of ice-cold South African Chardonnay.

To make a “quesadilla”   You will need corn or flour tortillas, grated cheese, and some finely chopped spring onions and chiles.  Add any savoury filling of your choice, but personally, I love it with just the cheese and chile.  Fold the tortilla in half and fry it in as little oil as possible or use a non- stick pan or griddle pan.Allow it to fry until golden brown, flip it over and fry the other side.  Quesadillas can also be cooked in the oven and I am sure South Africans will even find a way of cooking it on an outside braai (barbeque).

My humble quesadilla. 

But, as much as I relish the “quesadilla”, I just have to share my other favourite, “sopa de lima” (lime soup), regarded as one of Yucatan's traditional dishes.  "Citrus Limetta" (sweet lime) grows everywhere in the Yucatan.  Called "limon" in Mexico and similar in taste to the key lime found all over the world.  Lime soup is healthy, easy to make and tasty.

Ingredients

To make “sopa de lima”  

There are many variations of this popular soup.  This is the one I make.

You will need:

  5 cups of home-made chicken stock

  3 limes (2 to roast and 1 chopped for garnish)

  a little bit of cooking oil

  2 large onions; 1 large jalapeño pepper; and 1 large tomato (all peeled and diced)

  a handful of fresh cilantro

  2 corn or flour tortillas; cut, fried and drained on paper towels

  1 cooked and shredded chicken breast

  salt and pepper to taste

First prepare the limes.  Wrap the limes in foil and roast them in the oven until soft.  Heat the chicken stock.  Fry the onions with a little bit of oil until transluscent in a separate pan.  Add the diced vegetables, but do not brown.  Add the vegetables to the heated chicken stock.  Juice the roasted limes and add them to the stock.  Cook for 10 minutes and season with salt and pepper.  Add the shredded chicken just before serving.  Serve with cilantro, tortilla chips and chopped lime.  DELICIOSO!  (delicious).

Sopa de Lima African style 

One final comment about my passion for Mexican food:

“Mexican food is so full of colour, life and music.  It’s like a piñata exploding in your mouth.”

LUCIA
Photo courtesy Lucia