"Sister, Step Into My Shop": A Township Experience (NAMIBIA - post 2 of 2)

The beaten dirt paths by the beachside of Swakopmund are lined with several dozen craft vendors displaying their handiwork on top of blankets or propped against desert palms. As we wound lazily between the merchandise, vendors rushed out to greet us as "sister"and pulled us by the wrist into their "shop". Where one shop ended and another began was difficult to determine; the various wooden and stone statues, masks, and trinkets were near carbon copies of each other and only distinct in terms of handmade flaws. Similar to our experience from Moroccan souks, the vendors are relentless salesmen and the slightest interest in buying will lock you into a done deal before the price of the item in question is even determined. My motive, however, was not to buy and I soon discovered that as soon as I shifted my weight backwards onto my heels and brought my eyes up to their face rather than down at their goods, the men dropped their unctuous personalities and became folk conversationalists. One particular man made it his 30 minute goal to educate me on the "poor"foods of Namibia, once I proclaimed an interest. Instead of game meats most foreigners associate as local cuisine, most Namibians eat what can best described as homecooking. "True food is in the townships,"he informed me as if privileging me in on a secret, "You cannot find it in the restaurants or out here in the cities".

Townships are slums along the fringes of larger towns in many parts of Southern Africa. Villagers relocate to townships, most craft vendors included, where they will travel from their communities (sometimes as far as 20 km without a car) to sell their goods in the city centers. The disparity of wealth in Namibia is appalling. From the 2005 census, 30% of Namibians lived on $1 or less a day while 50% lived on less than $2 per day. Contrasted to the cozy oasis of Swakopmund, the townships are tight, packed communities with their own governing body and system of order. Crimes are notorious to townships and most tourists are sheltered from the periphery of these communities much less experience the culture and lifestyle within one. However these are the neighborhoods where the majority of the citizens live, eat, bath, and function day-to-day. This was the place to go for the "real"food. My vendor-friend shrugged casually and sent me on my way, muttering about bringing me some dried Mopani caterpillars (a regional specialty) to test the limits of my curiosity the following afternoon.

NAMIBIAN STREET FOOD
Even without the advice of my vendor-friend it soon became apparent that street food in Namibia was not only uncommon but nearly non-existent. Despite studies reporting that the majority of Namibians consume their food from street vendors, I only chanced across one solitary woman working her blackened grill one evening. She was strategically positioned, steps away from the entrance and exit of a karaoke bar, leading me to think she may have had familial connections with the owners of the local joint. Her food sizzled enticingly and was taken from mismatched tupperware containers of marinated meats, macaroni salad, and butter, pointing to the homemade nature of her production. A red-and-white checkered, lined picnic basket housed bread from the supermarket, disposable eating-wares, and napkins set beside the grill. 25 Namibian dollars ($2.5 USD) and a three-minute wait bought us a grilled slab of meat, your choice amongst a juicy marinated pork chop, steak, or spiced, long sausage. Dripping with lard and charred from the grill, the meats were penetrated with flavor, with the pork being especially tasty. The grill set-up is a common feature of Namibian foods and "braai"or bbq is ingrained in the nation's culture. Our hostess was shy, plump and good humored in her printed red cotton dress and apron. She runs her grill from 10PM until 4AM, breaking only on Sundays from the routine. Tourists, who are distinctly not among her regular customers, are missing out on some of the most authentic bbq around.

NEIGHBORHOOD COOKOUT
On our final day in Namibia I was finally able to visit the Kuisemund Township, a five minute drive to the edge of Walvis Bay, with a touring group. Corrugated sheet metal, brightly painted to liven up the atmosphere, make up the rickety shacks nudged tightly into countless rows. The expanse of the township is unbelievable. It is a necessarily closely-knit community, with rules and a formal governing system to oversee activity within the township (one could very well label it a small city). Order is strictly enforced and although the members of the township we visited were gentle, curious, and openheartedly kind, foreigners are advised to avoid the townships unless invited by a reputable member from within.



We stopped at an open air food market and the hidden street food culture of Sub-Saharan Africa was revealed to me without restraint. Street food serves a home-based need in Namibia rather than the tourist population we generally associate with street vendors. The market setup was remarkably similar to a neighborhood cookout. Neatly aligned rows of men and women wielding tongs, knives, tritons, or small hatchets filled a large dirt plaza with their bbq grills, butchering tables, stew pots, wagons, and baskets of puffy fried dough or bread. Tented produce stands lined the front of the entire operation nearest the sidewalk, displaying green apples, onions, and potatoes in bulk, wilting under the depressingly hot sun. I stopped to watch a woman baste her bloodied cow stomach, liver, and scrappy cuts of meat on the crusty grill. Closer inspection is not recommended as hygiene is minimal. One pair of tongs services raw and cooked meats and no refrigeration or running water appeared within sight. A man exchanged a few coins for grizzly pieces of the blackened tripe, which the woman had sliced into bite-sized cubes. A small pile of salt and a smaller pile of pink chili powder waited like miniature-scale sand dunes on a side wooden table. The customer seasoned his cubelettes with a pinch of each before they were deftly wrapped in a scrap of newspaper to take away. Walking between the aisles we watched similar transactions taking place. An army-sized tin pot of mystery curry or stew (probably potatoes, carrots, and meat remnants) bubbled away atop a charcoal grill in the absence of propane stoves. The atmosphere was overwhelmingly energetic and unapologetically full in your face; hot and sweaty from more than just the sun. A short distance away, a man hacked away at an unskinned portion of what was possibly once a larger animal. The local girl said it was a cow...but it could have honestly been anything. I was still debating whether the swarming flies were enough of a deterrence to sample some of the braai when we were called away to our next destination in the township. Looking back I regret my hesitation, (the tripe looked a bit dodgy but smelled amazing), however I was finally able to eat some Mopani caterpillars at our next destination.

Food in the township is basic, staples with few fringes. That being said, I had some of the tastiest food during my entire stay in Namibia at our next stop, the Mola Mola Shebeen (sha-bean). Shebeens were once illicit bars or liquor stores, popularized during Apartheid when blacks were banned from entering white clubs. Many have since obtained a liquor license and serve as historical landmarks and community gathering places in the townships. We brought our chilled cokes and orange sodas to a back room where half a dozen covered pottery bowls filled a wooden bench table. Our guide began by describing the method for eating the dishes, a pinch of "porridge", a steamed bread-like grey dough, paired with a dip into one of the savory side portions: stewed caterpillars, salted fish, rehydrated dry seasoned spinach, yellow lentils (similar to daal), or black-eyed beans. Poverty is apparent in the traditional diet where quantity is next to nothing and the ingenious use of resources is everything. The side dishes were all similarly pungent and condensed in proportion to the speckled mound of porridge, stretching what little is available to flavor the filler staple. Our caterpillars were rotund little buggers the size and thickness of your index finger down to the second joint. The first bite was crunchy and the second yielded an unplaceable Chinese herbal sharpness on my tongue, which sent me longing for home. Most of the stews, spinach, beans, or salted fish, had unique tastes despite their use of the same few ingredients, sweet peppers, onions, and spices. The legume dishes were filling, earthy and comforting, stewed to the perfect "al dente"firmness.


(Caterpillar stew - photo by M. Keen)

WHAT IS (IT) WORTH TO YOU?
A step into a township by no means demystified the economic, social and political problems plaguing the beautiful country of Namibia. What it did offer me was a personal peace in having sought and observed the lives of the majority of Namibian natives. When we haggle for our souvenirs and trinkets from the craftsmen in Swakop or Walvis Bay, we tend to disassociate from the reality these men and women face at the end of a long hot day. "What is it worth to you?"is a parting question many vendors will call to your retreating back after an unsuccessful negotiation. Peers returned with stories of exchanging their clothing, pens, used Nalgenes, cookies, basically anything to supplement their cash shortages. Above the costs of base materials, the vendors will usually come down to your counter-offer, usually about half of the starting price. Crafts and wooden masks have no personal value for the vendors, and I could not understand the seemingly lack of pride in their handicrafts until I stepped out of their shops and into their homes. Money, even crushed, melted Oreos put calories into their families bodies, not canvas paintings or beaded jewelry.

The Land of Meat, for Some: A Preface to Namibian Street Food (NAMIBIA post 1 of 2)

Let me first off begin with a correction to my MOROCCO post "Brain and Liver on a Stick" and an apology for my cultural insensitivity. As a friend kindly pointed out, the brain I ate was more likely to be lamb than pig considering that Islam is the predominant religion in Morocco. It was a delicious lamb's brain that I ate.

Onto Namibia.
To give a justifiable account of the "hidden" world of street food in Namibia (explored in my next post), I must first preface it with a more familiar depiction of foods visible to a typical visitor of Namibia.

On the 30 km stretch from Walvis Bay up to Swakopmund, a coastal German town and tourist destination, a friend questioned her taxi driver on what to eat while in Namibia. "Meat!" was his enthusiastic answer. Namibia is a country with a meat fetish. Wild game hunting is a popular activity as well as an industry, providing the exotic ostrich, zebra, boar, springbok, kudu, and oryx commonly featured on menus. (The latter three are antelope species). The pervading trend here is inexpensive animal-sized portions, reminiscent of the Caribbean style of preparation; seasoned, grilled fish, Hawaiian burgers and fries, rice pilaf, etc. Besides slightly uncommon combinations, such as mussels (shells included) topping pizzas, the food is recognizable to a Westerner's, or perhaps mid-Westerner's palate.

Swakopmund is a German colonial town North of the port of Walvis Bay. Directly to the east, Windhoek, the Country's capital city lies in the heart of the country. Despite its unflattering name, Swakop is a coastal mecca, a sleepy hidden oasis. Restaurants, and pubs particularly, are filled with South African whites and tourists, with a sprinkling of native locals. We wandered around the beachside craftsmen's plaza before heading into a popular steakhouse for lunch. The food here was fine. A slab of sizzling meat on an iron platter, larger than a man's head (which none in our group ordered, but salivated over a neighboring table's) was probably the most exciting item on the menu. The restaurant's namesake burger towered a solid foot (at least) and pizzas the size of a medium sized bicycle wheel ranged from $4-7 USD. I was frankly a little more than disappointed to have stepped directly out of the Moroccan cultural immersion back into an African version of Monterey Bay.

Namibia is a relatively young country, gaining its independence in 1990. The destructive vestiges of apartheid are still apparent in shops, particularly within the service industry. Restaurants are nearly always owned and frequented by whites, while blacks are employed to run the show. The roads are starkly clean to the point of being barren, street food is nonexistent in town centers. In a restaurant seemingly dedicated to ostrich meat, we encountered a blend local ingredients prepared in the European style. Table cloths and glass candle votives dressed up the wooden tables where white patrons perched with their cocktails. A local musician serenaded us with his guitar from a corner. We sampled ostrich kebabs laced between onions, sweet peppers, and dried apricots, a generous 79 NAD ($8 USD) plate, and minced ostrich homemade raviolis in a silky butter sauce. Ostrich is a red meat (surprise!), similar in flavor and texture to beef with a wilder tang and far less fat and cholesterol. [Another fact check for a restless employee on lunch break - Ostrich contains less saturated fat / cholesterol / or total fat than chicken]. The cubes were slightly burnt and the bird was tougher than the standard cow but without being dry. I enjoyed it more than beef, however I have a bias for gamier flavors. The minced ostrich enveloped in a thick, homemade skin didn't have a distinct flavor but was smoother in texture than beef. The true highlight of dinner, however, was the Illy (Italian) coffee that rounded out the meal. With the exception of Moroccan coffee (more milk than coffee), I'm beginning to believe (supported by hard evidence) that team America is sorely beat in the coffee realm.

JERKY
I cannot understand the obsession with Biltong aka "beef jerky", visible everywhere throughout the country. Keeping consistent with our MEAT theme, the jerky hangs in plastic bags emblazoned with its signature blue "Biltong" brand in every gas station and convenient mart. We munched in a cafe dedicated to the snack fad and variations of jerky, "Slim-Jims", and jerky nuggets on the menu. With jerky, what you see is pretty much what you get, and the addition of melted cheese and grilled bread merely added a layer of saltiness to the dish. Granted, a small sandwich goes for about $2 USD if you're peckish between meals.

A PLUG for (Desert) PEACHES
Its not ALL about the meat. So far, I've maintained the habit of visiting the local market while in port. This latest excursion led me to the most fortunate discovery of the Desert Peach. It's fuzzy, mid yellow skin revealed no clues to the liquid gold, sweet fresh flesh and juice wrapped inside. (Picture the hue of a golden orange African sunset and you're on the right track). My companion's eyes light up and a smile only describable as James plunging his face into into his giant peach came across her face when I forfeited a bite to her. I made the half an hour saunter under the blazing direct sun to revel in a second peach, even greater than the first (if possible, and it was).

Despite my reinforced statements of Namibians' love of meat, the average Namibian consumes less than 300 calories a day from meat. The economic disparity in Sub-saharan Africa is embedded in the unique food patterns of blacks and whites. Steaks and fancier preparations of meat are consumed by a minority of upper class Namibians (as I observed) in addition to tourists. (Swakop, like Marrakech, heavily catered to the ideal tourist). Meat in various forms is still enjoyed by local populations, however with much simpler, down and dirty preparation techniques.