Guilty of believing in a single story

Apologies for taking so long to update my blog, it's been a busy few weeks.

I promised to write about food a while ago, but food is too important to just describe by taste and texture. So these are my philosophical musings on the subject.

In her famous TED talk, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie speaks of the danger of a single story. She relates the story of the reaction of her American roommate on first meeting this woman from 'Africa'. If you haven't read or heard that speech (which planet have you been on?) you can access it here  http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story?language=en.

I had always believed this was a problem for the west; that we 'Africans' by necessity have a broader understanding of the world and know that the British are more than just Londoners subsisting on fish and chips eaten out of yesterday's newspaper, that Americans are more than loud, unbelievably optimistic people living on burgers with cheese, and that the French are more than just designer wear and frog-legs. We, by necessity, understood the variety of the world better. I knew that Africa is not a country; I knew that there isn't a language called 'african', that we spoke distinct languages and not just 'dialects'. I knew all that, didn't I? Since coming to Kenya I have had to rethink my certainty and to realise that I too, am (or was) guilty, perhaps to a lesser extent, but guilty nonetheless, of believing in a single story.

Before coming to Kenya, I knew that Kenyans were different from Nigerians; that they looked different, spoke different languages, had distinct historical and cultural experiences. I knew all that but I discovered on getting here that I was guilty of believing that all Africans eat similar foods! How could I assume that food, a fundamental cultural characteristic would be consistent across such a vast geographical expanse as the distance between Nigeria and Kenya? How could I?

The consequence of my belief in this single culinary story was the total shock to my palate on discovering Kenyan cuisine! I am a foodie. I love food. There are very few foods I would total refuse to eat or define as totally unacceptable. I eat sushi. I eat jellied eels. I eat French escargot (but feel that the French would swoon at the experience of giant African snails prepared Nigerian style with my friend Nky Iweka's pepper sauce - see executivemamaput.com). But with Japanese sushi and jellied eels, I came prepared, expecting something different, something 'other' and therefore my mental palate came to those dishes well prepared. On the other hand I came to Kenyan food assuming a similarity to Nigerian cuisine with which I am most familiar. I had seen pictures of, and read descriptions of Ugali. I had assumed (correctly) that Ugali would be like the foo-foo made from yam, cassava or rice, eaten in many parts of West Africa. I had assumed that I would enjoy it as I do pounded yam and garri. I assumed that the staple foods with which I am familiar would be widely available in Kenya so that, should I wish, I could cook yam pottage made with palm oil or egusi soup with ease.

So Ugali eaten with nyama boil, sukumawiki and kachumbari, was a shock and a disappointment. Where was the thick tasty soup / stew to dip the Ugali in? Where were the spices, scent leaves and distinct 'African flavours'? You mean some Africans don't lace their food with fiery hot chillies? Really? Where was the Kenyan equivalent of the legendary and sometimes controversial jollof rice  (see jollofgate http://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-trending-29831183)?

My lack of psychological preparation for difference made me decide that I didn't like Kenyan food. My work colleagues attempts to reverse my opinion by taking me out to THE place for Nyama choma (barbecued meat) sadly failed as I compared it to Nigerian suya and found it wanting.

I have since eaten Kenyan cuisine that I enjoyed more; the coastal Asian-influenced curries, the 'food without borders' produced by my friend Binyavanga Wainaina (forgive me for name dropping); but I find that my belief in a single culinary story has coloured my appreciation of the food.

 Lesson learned.