Reflection on Food, Labour and Racism

A Congo Watermelon from David's & Kasey's farm in Snow Camp got me thinking about racism and food. After all it was Labor Day and therefore a great time to reflect on historical product of labour in the South: food and racism. The name Congo and the watermelon have interesting historical connections in the South.

I once visited Louisiana and one of the places I toured was the historic Congo Square. That was a location that the local enslaved Africans assembled on Sundays or during the holidays to play music and entertain themselves. Many believe that some the rhythms first played at Congo Square later found their way into what later become jazz music. But jazz music is not the only music that was influenced by the rhythms of Congo Square. Many of musical genre like Blues were also polinated by the musical pollen from Congo Square.

What's interesting is how Watermelon was negatively used in creating minstrel images portraying people of African origin as dumb.. It's weird that the consumption of local organic fruits could be used negatively by depicting Africans as uncultured or greedy.

As I sat outside the Ward family, listening to our children playing in the backyard, I allowed my mind to wonder. For some reason, my mind stayed on Congo Square. It is a place I had seen with my eyes and can even remember how I first felt as I listened to the story of Congo Square and the modern rhythms thriving there to this day.

Those rhythms sounded like spiritual rings connecting us to the past history of struggle and triumph. It's highly likely that many of the original Congo Square attendees were adherents of African spirituality known as Voodoo. That form of spirituality was even more widespread and popular in the Caribbean countries such as Haiti, Cuba, Jamaica and even amongst the Brazilian African population.

That was then, and yet that past is still haunting us. I could still pick musical nuances in our conversation between a Jamaican, European and a Kenya who could have passed for a Congo in the past. It was labor day and the best time to recognize that our history of labour in this country is dirty and needs cleaning.

We can see the consequences of that dirty history in the recent spate of online debate following the words of Ted Cruz, Republication senetor from Texas, when he urged the 8.4 million unemployed workers to apply for the 10 million jobs that are unfilled. Why would unemployed people opt not to apply for the available jobs if the labour industry was clean and honest? It depends on who you ask. What I know for sure is things are not going well.

Bob Marley's message of positive vibration is a good place to start. Our sharing a meal together and discussing the sensitive openly is a positive thing for all involved.

As my family and I left farm with our bellys full of Watermelon juice, I could feel the natural mystic flowing through the air. The further way we went from the farm it downed on me that I was leaving one bubble and heading home into another bubble. There is still too much trouble in the world. Survival is the name of the game outside those bubbles. Bob Marley's song, Survival, described that reality back in tbe 80s. These words from that record sounds the same warnings now as it did then. Those words were " scientific Atrocity, atomic misphilosophy and nuclear misenergy".

They should be a warning to all of us and be another reason to fight against racism, labor and food injustice. We dont have time to waste.

Tasting and Hearing Heritage Flavors

My children and I visited my friend David Ward and his family at their wonderful farm in Snow Camp. Our visit was initially planned to last an hour turned into a four hour farm tour.

I am finding that just learning about the stories of those who farm is just as interesting as the food they grow. David is a southerner while his wife, kasey, is Jamaican and the two cultures combine to create an interesting food culture. We talked about music, food, spices and fruits. We grilled okra and dear meat while the children ran around the yard and feed the goats.

Their interest is in unique and rare fruits. One of my favorite type of the rare watermelons he shared with me is called strawberry watermelon. I identified another 9 different types of mellons and 22 different tpes of fruits. Each watermelon had it's own flavorI. Commercial fruit growers have tended to concentrate on just a two or three types of watermelons for convenience. It was a great feeling to see so many heritage breeds of seeds gaining popularity. Each type of watermelon had it's own stories too.

What a great way to grow our food literacy through the stories of our seeds. In other words, in planting seeds, we are also planting history and stories of how that history came about. Here is a way of tasting different flavors and hearing history. It was a lovely day.

THE SEASON OF REASON

Porini Sanctuary is neatly nestled in a beautiful scenic and serene habitat a few kilometres from Nanyuki town. From the Sanctuary one has breathtaking views of the Ol Daiga Hills and Mt Kenya. I was introduced to the Sanctuary and her owner Madam Wanjiku by a Kenyan Social Justice activist Veteran Al Amin Kimathi. I was curious about the place from how he described it and the vision Madam Wanjiku, a naturalist, had implemented. The Sanctuary sounded like a haven of indigenous species and concepts. If I had any doubt, the explanation of the kind of kitchen and the AirbnB part of the story greatly appealed to me and it sealed the deal of one of the must-visit spaces. My plan was to spend a few nights there as I toured some of the most interesting food places in Nanyuki. The Porini Sanctuary is located in a village named Mwìreri, which in Gìkùyù means one who raises or takes care of himself. It turned out that starting my Kenya21 Food Tour at Porini was a wise decision. It was the only time I relaxed and spent time with other social activists without much serious work besides a lot of sharing and light cooking using the herbs grown near the outside kitchen. 

Even before I left, I knew that Porini was going to be added to the small list of places I call home. The connection wasn't just geographical but also biological and ideological. I am glad that my culture has a provision for one to be "born" into another family through certain cultural rites. A major part of that rite is food. The two days I spent at Porini left an indelible mark in my heart. The hospitality and the conversations around the outside kitchen are a testament to the instant connection to the host and the space. 

The main building has a medium-sized but comfortable lobby, with books and dim light that ensures that one does not get the crazy idea of reading indoors. Around the lobby are four huge rooms that have no ceiling. That means that air circulation is privatized over privacy. That too prioritized rest over conversations while inside. For those reasons, amongst others, I found that my stay had an already engineered balance between the time I spent inside and outside. 

The outside kitchen is spacious and oddly stocked with mismatched cutlery that included expensive brands and common brands. A traditional fireplace was complemented by antique guards and a type of chirping birds whose nest I raided in my childhood days. 

The inside of the main house reminded me of the house of my childhood, though the rooms in my childhood house were much smaller. Once I was 14, I left the main house as was the tradition for boys and moved to a room detached from the main house. I hadn't thought much about the architecture of my childhood house until I visited Porini, which is a phenomenal round traditional, yet modern hut, roofed with the traditional makuti which Wanjiku explained were brought in from Lake Victoria, which is in the Western Part of the Country. The grandeur of the beautiful Makuti is as picturesque from the outside as well as from the inside. 

I haven't even talked about the meditation room at the end of a walkway connecting the main house to a two storey natural building with one room on each floor. The bottom is a kitchen and the top is a meditation room. A whole chapter is needed to cover the amazing compound, filled with indigenous plants and a few books to cover the knowledge of Wanjikù, my fictive sister and the spirit behind Porini. Her multilingual indigenous knowledge is dope! Wanjiru's razzmatazz in her identification of indigenous trees, flowers, birds, medicinal benefits of many of those plants and even the ecological benefits of many of them left all of us amazed. She even knew the names in both Maasai and Gìkùyù. Her wide travels and times spent in faraway places with shamans in the Amazon and the Sangomas of Southern Africa juxtaposed with her university training both in Kenya and abroad gave her unraveled depth in indigenous matters. We were in for a ride. Yet my ride was a special one. First it was special in that Wanjiku honored me by serenading me with her wisdom. On top of that, she proposed that we become a family, but in an indigenous way. She gave me three wonderful gifts, an old beaded traditional stool, a matching whisk and a small clay pot. I could never fully repay such a kindness, which now meant that we were now connected by three unbreakable bonds. Since she couldn't culturally do it, she asked elder-activist Al Amin to install me on the stool as the protector and promoter of indigenous flavors. My newly assigned role was to name that position and define it further.

That weekend definitely set in motion a revitalized drive to pursue my goal for a more transformative work and relationships ahead. My get-away ended up carrying me home, a home with no ceiling, but enough room and love for all who are loving and loveable.

I left Porini Sanctuary, rested but well aware of the tremendously task ahead and the great allies besides me. My first proposal under the powers vested in me by the sages of Porini is to amend the name of the village from Mwireri ,which is singular, to Ereri, which is plural. But again, all that might not be necessary, we all can simply join the movement to preserve our indigenous heritage and thrive in it. A lot of our global problems stem from our relationship with our indigenous past. Let's Heal it and Heal ourselves. 

In the meantime, I will consult the dream world about the name of the new seat as first holder of that most sacred position.

Porini Sanctuary, is a great example of the serious indigenous nodes in Kenya. Connect with it or any other such places near you, may just bring you as much rejuvenation as it did for me. If there are no such places, I now have the authority to deputize you to create one such rich space in celebration of our interconnectedness as humanity. In the same breath, I pour a libation to Porini and Lady Wanjikù for being an embodiment of a season of reason to end treason

Here is one my favourite links to Porini Sanctuary, with a beautiful traditional horn player speaking to your soul as you tour the serene abode. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIPNjghfL0U&t=121s

FB: https://m.facebook.com/PORINI.Sanctuary/?refsrc=deprecated&ref=104&_rdr#_=_

Comrades IN Food and Books Across Cultures

Upon returning to the U.S, I ran into an African American Facebook friend at Whole Foods where we often ran into each other. He is a foodie and a local jazz musician in his 70s. For a long time, I thought that he was retired as I would often find him, his wife and a friend seated down for extended periods at the restaurant section of Whole Foods supper market. We would always speak briefly, mostly about food and Africa. Then I saw him and his band performing at Irregardless Cafe, the first vegetarian restaurant in Raleigh and realized that he was still active at his age.

The owner of Irregardless is a colleague and a big supporter of my work too. He has always contributed money whenever I have had small fundraisers for small projects or organizations. One the night I saw my friend's jazz group performing, I had been invited for a dinner by the restaurant owner and his wife. I enjoyed some great music and conversation that touched African American culture as well as the Jewish culture of the couple. It was a lovely night. Jews, African Americans ,then and now Africans, have an interesting history in the South and in the country. My college friend was Palestinian and I felt fortunate to have known friends from conflicting backgrounds. I could listen to various sides and then make my conclusions. There is a great divide between generalization of cultures and individuals personalities, politics not withstanding.

Food is part of that history as my friend, @thecookingene, has clearly proven. The now famous author Michael Twitty actually worked together several times at the North Carolina Museum of History not too far from Irregardless Cafe. The event where Michael and I were both speaking was the annual African American Cultural Festival.

That's the backdrop of my recent meeting with my friend at Whole Foods.

When he spotted me, he walked over with a slight limp and a smile on his bearded face and gave me a dab from a far as a salute to our friendship and an acknowledgment of the Corona era. The very next words out that came out of his mouth truly shocked me, he leaned slightly as though to keep our conversation a secret. " I saw your post on FB about COMRADE BOOK HOUSE, where is it?", he asked. I told him it was in Kenya. He seemed clearly disappointed. We spoked briefly and we parted ways.

As t quickly occured to me how central books and food have been in my sojourn in America and even before that. When in Memphis, TN, Kimet Bookstore was an African American joint located across campus. Bruce and Tony operated the bookstore throughout my years in college. Funny enough, when the bookstore sadly closed down, Tony opened a restaurant in the same neighborhood. I always stopped by the restaurant on Elvis Presley Avenue to say hello to my old friend.

Upon moving to the Triangle, two African American bookstores provided me with a welcoming intellectual sanctuary. Blacknificent Bookstore in Raleigh and The Know Bookstore in Durham were extremely important to my continued growth in activism. I used to host a Saturday workshop on Civic and Cultural Literacy as a community service. It was during that time that I got tired of theory and decided to do something practical. The same group that used to attend my lectures started a gardening program. We built a garden in the backyard of most of the members of the group.

The change in tactic came from my observation that majority of those who came to the lectures were interested in improving their health. It also bothered me that the bookstore had a restaurant which was not serving the most healthy food.

Blacknificent on the other hand was a strictly vegan space. I would later host a big dinner there after I had attended culinary school. It was actually one of the first spaces I could host a sizeable event when I was starting out as a food activist. The old ties of Literacy activism came in handy.

As I walked to my car, I couldn’t help mourn the eventual closing down of the Black Bookstores locally and nationally. They are such important cultural pillars. I now know better than underestimate the power of small things such as COMRADEBOOKHOUSE. The distance from the cash out register, inside Whole Foods where I was talking with my friend to where my car was parked could probably fit twenty bookstores the size of COMRADE BOOK HOUSE. Yet someone thousands of miles away was curious enough to stop and enquire about it. His inquiry brought back a flood of memories in a way he would have never expected or predicted.

Thanks to Dr. Nyambura for the interview and Njukì's COMRADEBOOKHOUSE for publishing it. Hopefully my wise elder and foodie will join me on my next visit to COMRADE Book House and play an African American tune of resistance in support of local Comradery in the struggle for a new dawn. Whatever the outcome, I was reminded that my going to the healthy food store where I met the elder and my meeting with Njukì Gìthethwa and Dr. Nyambura is a testament of the work of a mighty army of comrades from various cultures that have fought tooth and nail, to keep the spirit of Food Literacy and Sovereignity from going the way of three of my favorite bookstores. Eating well has never felt so precious.

Relationship Literacy

Food Literacy is not just about seeds growing, processing and cooking food a certain way but also about the deeper understanding of the importance of relationships. Here is a great example of such relationships that span across generations. Hìri is a community leader in my village in Murang’a county and he decided to gift me a most special gift: yams.

The gift however did not come from the modern mall, concealed in a colorful bag and wrapped in a translucent petticoat-like paper, but right from his small size farm. Even more interesting is that the gift was also hidden under the ground and it took the expertise of an elder with the disappearing art of digging yams in a way that does not damage the vitality of the vine. The gift had layers of mystery.

It was next to impossible to have known the size and shape of the yam tuber untill one dug it. Traditionally this was a mostly male food. It has amazing longevity in growing and in storage. Yams have always been planted in companion with a tree known as Mùkùngùgù. The tree offers a perfect environment for the yam to vine without competing for food. Both the tree and the vine are extremely resistant to drought.

It is clear that many of our elders have a lot to share if only the young have the interest to learn. The disappearance of such long-hold indigenous science that these elder possess is just as dangerous as the issues of climate change. As Joshua Abraham Hershel once said, " few are guilty but we are all responsible." We are all responsible for both climate change and equity in dealing with it its aftermath. Currently, the west has dominated the discourse, but we are changing that.

That kind of indigenous knowledge is what Afro Futuristic Conscious Cuisine is interested in promoting, preserving and advancing. Little will change unless we change the dynamics of our relationships both locally and globally.

But I will not be seating waiting for those relationships to change. I will do what I can. One of my immediate action plans this week is to roast this wonderful gift as my mother used to do for my father and then carry it on my journey back to the U.S. It will provide a most culturally appropriate lunch and dinner during the travel. Consuming yams during travels in the past was a common practice too. As one of the religious song here goes, I will fly and leave the early home and take to the sky where wonders will be happen like we have never seen before. Eating such an important food in the plane is my own way of communing with my ancestors both past and present.

Columbus and other explorers carried food in their travels, but in the end those travels ended in genocide. My goal is my travels will result in peace and joy.

A coup in tea

There are just a handful number of days I can remember with almost accurately recollection and August 2nd 1982 is amongst them. That infamous day is remembered in Kenya for the failed coup attempt by the Kenyan Airforce. Funny enough, I spent the larger part of the day with a very young chef named Mwangi. For reasons closely related to the time spent in the village in the last few days, those memories and the idea of a coups in history have dominated my mind.

Visiting with people from my village, with whom I have been largely disconnected with for over 3 decades, was a deeply conflicting. In some ways I felt home and yet in others, I could as well been a pink person visiting our village for the first time.

Many ideas come to my mind during that visit.

The most tangible idea was that I have been deeply involved in a coup attempt against ignorance, and injustice in pursuit of a reign of legitimate Sovereignity of humanity that is guided by truth, knowledge, justice and wisdom.

In celebration of that realization and to mark a very special relationship with some of my closest family members, I brew this tea from locals plants that my people typically don't use as tea. It is purely organic and mostly indigenous plants. It's just as good as any of the other teas I enjoy. I am adding it to my list of AFCOD( Afro Futuristic Conscious Drinks).

I can say that my personal coup against drinking only three primary drinks of Chinese tea, coffee and soda has been successfully. Many chemicals are used to grow tea and coffee for both local and international market. The long-term use of those chemicals have contributed to deplorable health conditions of farmers and the soil.

Even if my person success against dependence on those common drinks turns out to be a shortlived, the idea that the traditional unhealthy drinks grown with chemicals are the only viable option is no longer sovereign.

All of us have a huge stake in ensuring the success of the above coup for It's failure means the continued degradation of our lives, our environment and prospects as a species. I strongly believe that chefs and other researchers should take the lead in this struggle.

Elderhood in The Hood

North Carolina has been extremely kind to me in many ways. I have many kind folks and a few friends that have become part of my life.  The truth of the matter is one of capitalism's byproducts is broken relationships. In others words, the god of capitalism is a jealous god and desires that all attention be reserved for its sake. That makes it both expensive and laborious to invest and sustain meaningful, soulful and nurturing relationships.  Yet there are many that one can find refuge from the wounds of modern day stress and pressure. Godi's garden and compound is one such places. I was very impressed by his garden full of bounty. I enjoyed fresh blueberries, Blackberries and a nice walk in the garden while Godi fixed my car in his garage.

Godi and I have shared a lot over the year. I have seeds in Kenya that started their journey in Congo, found temporarily refuge in North Carolina, then found their way to Kenya at the Food Literacy and Sustainability center.  We have built a tiny house together at Sparkroot and spoken at numerous events together.

It is for that reason that I celebrate a serious friend who adds gumption to my work. That memorable moment was captured by my son both on camera but more importantly in his mind.

The photo taken is reminiscent of images images that are imprinted in the recess of my mind of my father and some of his best friends reasoning together under the cool gaze of a shady tree. My dear brother and master craftsman Godi Godar  serenaded me with interesting stories that warmed my heart and jostled my brain. In the brotherhood and elderhood, I always find comfort. That comfort is healing in times of turbulence. 

It's a pleasure to have such friends on this fantastic voyage called life in Blackness. All while Godi was talking, I was quietly humming Bob Marley's song , Coming in from the Cold. As I left his house, the tune changed to Nakotuminaka, a popular Lingala song. That word means " I ask myself". If you know you know. If you don't and want to know, head to YouTube and know. Please remember the many Godis whose inate beauty is hidden or extinguished for profit as you ponder on the relics of the song

Celebrating Fatherhood and Knowledge

Here is recipe I prepared in rememberance of of men and women who have sustained the struggle for justice as solid parents. I understand that men play a different role than that of women in parenting but the idea of celebrating fathers separately is just one out of way ways. Simply because we have done things one way for so long doesn't preclude the consideration of other ideas..

Many of us are complacent in sustaining a system that favors us mostly out of luck and not due to hard work. The notion that we are where we are simply because our our hard work has been proven to be a fallacy. There is also the severe danger of cultural genocide that disadvantages the poor with illusions and asymmetry in information that would otherwise empower their rise to power. In the end, the wealth gap continues to increase. That gap means more dead broke parents who have to rely on debt. There is little to celebrate when broke and hungry. It's easy to ignore the problem when one doesn't have to worry about food. It took me a long time to make the connections between food, knowledge and power. Dr. Edward Said in his theory of Orientalism makes a formidable case that those in power have weaponized knowledge as a means of increasing their hegemony.

These notions lingered in my mind today as I spent the day teaching my children history and culture while we cooked together in the kitchen. The recipe we made is named Philo G after my first and best philosophy teacher, Dr. Ruben Green. Dr. Green taught me many things but most importantly the philosophical basis for being socially and racially responsible for the privilege of being educated and informed. A big salute to my father, Kabui Macharia, Dr. Green and the many other stand-up men that I have had the privilege of learning from. The salute is obviously extended to the women and children that made those men great fathers to many inside and outside their families. One can make a case that knowledge is a sort of father. Your knowledge guides your life while food plays the role of mother for it's nurturing power. Those two factors combine to heavily determines the type of culture we ultimately have as a society, country and even as a species. Be weary of any deadbeat institutions, whether political, governmental or religious that debases knowldge and food for it can only lead us to darkness and ultimately lead to our demise.