Spicy, tangy, sweet
During the holy season of Ramadan in Tanzania, observant Muslims break their fast with a hot drink called porridge. (And yes, it’s a drink and not a breakfast cereal.) Typically consumed at dusk, this steaming beverage combines the spiciness of black pepper, the tanginess of tamarind, and the sweetness of cane sugar. These flavours join in a roux-like base of flour and water, giving porridge a thick and creamy consistency...and, perhaps, its name.
…
Spicy.
Bahira and her two children arrived at Kinbrace in the early days of 2020, after journeying from Tanzania (pronounced, so I’ve learned, “Tan-ZAN-ia” — little did I know I had been misplacing the emphasis all along!).*
The day after their arrival, Bahira and I ventured to No Frills. When I knocked on her door, she emerged for our grocery shopping trip dressed to the nines: an emerald green head covering with gold details, jean jacket with faux fur collar, East African batik skirt, chunky white tennis shoes (the kind that are too cool for me).
We searched for ginger—a whole bag full—halal beef, and diapers. I pointed out the unit prices in tiny print and the weigh scale in the produce department. She held herself with an unpretentious elegance as we walked the aisles...which later left me wondering if she had ‘no frills’, or if she had all of them...
Tangy.
In July I said a temporary farewell to Bahira and her kids. (After three years of intentional community living at Kinbrace, it was time for a break.) Six weeks later, I walked through the back gates once again and was received with an immediate “Auntie Anika!”. Mosi, Bahira’s daughter, embraced me; I was home. But home looked different now. In the time I was gone, some neighbours had transitioned out of the community and new ones had arrived.
Kinbrace now had a distinctly African flavour. Out of six apartments, five were home to residents who hailed from the continent of Africa: Kenya, Algeria, Tanzania, South Africa, Nigeria. As we gathered in the backyard for a community dinner, someone commented on the new demographic: “Kinbrace is Africa now!” Bahira came back with a sassy first response: “It was about time!” she said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
Sweet.
At the end of October, Bahira and her children found their permanent home: a cozy basement suite in Mount Pleasant, right on my regular bike route.
Before they left, the Kinbrace community — residents, staff, host community, and volunteers — gathered on Zoom to share memories and words of blessing. JM, Bahira’s 18-month old son, walked right up to the computer and rolled his cars back and forth in front of the screen as the sending blessing progressed.
That evening, I asked Bahira if she would teach me to make porridge, that special Tanzanian drink which she had first shared with me during Ramadan. On the night before their move, she invited Andrew and I to her attic apartment. With the kitchen cupboards loaded into boxes on the floor, we gathered around the stove and watched as Bahira combined ingredients. Tamarind, black pepper, flour, water, sugar. It all simmered away as her son sat at his high chair watching cartoons in Kiswahili. Bahira divided the porridge into three mugs and and we drank in that last evening...spicy, tangy, sweet.
…
The following week, I was biking home and saw the light on at Bahira’s new home. I stopped, felt for the latch on the gate, and knocked on the basement door. I heard a familiar “Auntie Anika!” as Mosi saw me in the doorway. “Come in!” motioned Bahira. She gave me the grand tour while Mosi demonstrated the dance moves she had learned at her new school. JM happily rolled his cars back and forth on the floor.
*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of my neighbours.
