After watching in horror as my driver dragged his feet on the ground to stop his motorcycle, I’ve learned to check that the brakes work before getting on a motorbike taxi. Luckily the average speed on local roads is 30 miles per hour or less.

Small motorcycles, dirt bikes and mopeds vastly outnumber cars on Benin’s roads. Roadside mechanics like this keep the bikes running long after they’d be thrown in the junk heap in the US. Safety norms aren’t up to American standards and a vehicle inspection process, if it exists, is not enforced.

The “VIP Cuts” poster hanging in my barber’s shop features President Obama, Jay Z, LeBron James and other famous Americans. The bottom left corner is too torn to be certain but I think it’s a photo of Nelson Mandela.

After about seven months without a fridge, we gladly welcomed chilled beverages and the preservative power of cold into our lives. First items refrigerated? Beer, jam and pineapple.

A sack and a bowl of pressed manioc, being sifted through screen to make gari.

I had another manioc adventure a few weeks ago, when I had the opportunity to participate as a cooperative I work with made gari, which is dried, powdered manioc. It’s one of my favorite Beninese foods.

The first step is to have the manioc mashed, which the group paid to have done elsewhere, so I didn’t see that step. We started with large sacks packed full of the smashed manioc, which we broke up into chunks and then sifted through screens.

The woody cores and other remainders on a spare screen. These were fed to the chickens and goats. The sifted manioc is flaky and light.

After sifting the fine powder went over the fire into a big metal pan, where it was toasted until thoroughly dry.

The last step was to put the toasted powder on plastic in the sun. I couldn’t quite figure out what this step accomplished… maybe it was just cooling off?

This is the area where we worked, which is a large courtyard within the cooperative president’s family compound. Most of the day, nobody was willing to be photographed (hence the headless photos), but I was allowed to take this non-close-up shot.

For eating, gari is sprinkled on beans or rice and mixed in with the sauce. Sometimes it is moistened with a little palm oil first, which makes it extra tasty. Yum!

Our host family getting ready to go home after party day in Sao Jorge (our town). The pot on Adam’s head is leftovers we sent home with them!

Adam at about 7am, starting his pot of beans.

For our town’s festa day, Adam and I hosted a giant party at our house. We bought a few kilos of freshly butchered pig, mountains of kale, enough beans to feed an army, twice as much booze as seemed advisable, and made as many cakes as time allowed. From 6am to 6pm we were in action prepping, serving and hosting our former language instructors, other volunteers, and friends from town who passed by. In the evening, we headed down the hill to see the live bands. Despite my best efforts to stay awake, I had to throw in the towel at 5am, and I missed seeing Ze Espanhol, who came on stage at about 6am.

We had a lot of beans, and a lot of kale.

The county government freshly whitewashed all the walls and the church steps, where these kids messed around with drums as the stage was set up.

It’s not all just music, food, and booze. The parties are in celebration of patron saints, so there are religious processions and special Masses, too. Here’s the procession coming past our house.

Thank goodness for our host mom and host aunt, who helped host. (Truthfully, they ran things and I helped!)

Cutting up the pork.

I missed Ze, but I managed to stay awake long enough to catch Amarildo.

Adam with our host mom and host dad and our host half-sister, at their house during our host community’s festa.

Making dumplings with our host family. Yum.

It’s festa (party) season in Cape Verde—the time of year when every town holds a giant street party in celebration of itself and its patron saint, and every household opens its doors to friends and family who come from all over the island to visit and celebrate. Every household cooks up a giant pot of food, stocks up on drinks and feeds everyone who passes through. The county government organizes free live music on stage in the middle of town and for the bigger parties, a big tent with a DJ. Plus, community organizations hold parties in other locations throughout town. The revelry lasts for several days without end: high schoolers stay up all night with their parents listening to the music, men young and old think nothing of going 36 or 48 hours without sleeping, and women cook up batch after batch of pork and beans and katxupa around the clock. Festa bedju literally means “old party,” but in practice it’s just a great party. I wish I were there to celebrate once more, so in honor of the season, I thought I’d share some pictures of last year’s parties.

At our favorite language teacher’s house. You have to be careful how much you eat at each house, without offending the host, since you’re going to have to eat at every house. Everyone knows how it is, but that’s no excuse for refusing the food!

Leftover okra (from previous post) makes a great addition to a summer salad. I used bulgur because I was bored of pasta and rice but use whatever grain you want. The veggies, too, are up to you. Whatever is fresh and available will make a great salad. The fried tofu that is available on market days in our town added some grease and chew. Dressed with lemon juice and olive oil, the salad was light enough for the heat of Benin yet hearty enough for a meal.

The finished dish.

Okra has been a longtime nemesis. I can’t get past the slime. So many times the slime dominates okra’s other qualities as well as whatever other dishes its added to. Battered and fried works for me. But what ingredient doesn’t taste great battered and fried? The sub-Saharan climate works well for okra. Even in semi-arid Cape Verde it thrived. Thus, for the past year and a half I’ve tried to overcome my dislike for this veggie. I made pickled okra. Each pickle came out of the jar trailing a string of slime. I added okra to soups and stews. It’s viscosity is a nice thickener but also adds a slimy mouth feel. I slow roasted okra in the oven with a little olive oil. Finished with a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkle of salt, the okra was delicious and slime free. Here in Benin, okra is plentiful but I don’t have an oven for slow roasting vegetables. Back to the drawing board.

I looked to the local preparation in Benin for inspiration. Huge mistake. Pulverized into a thin, slimy sauce that most closely resembles snot in consistency and color, it is eaten with pâte (a bland cornmeal-based porridge that solidifies into the shape of whatever vessel it is stored in). I’ve eaten it three times. My first foray into this local delicacy took place at a lunch stall during my first week of training. I didn’t know what I was ordering. I forced the snot sauce down to be polite. Several weeks later our host mother cooked this sauce.  Especially for us, she said. Again, I forced it down. The third time Jen and I were at a funeral banquet. I put a little snot sauce on each bite of food hoping the pâte would cover its yuck factor. It didn’t. I will avoid this sauce for the rest of my time in Benin.

Krin-krin: perhaps my least favorite okra preparation.

Okra is cheap and one of very few vegetables that is consistently available in our town. For the first three months I passed it each day in the market and never once considered buying any. Then I came across a recipe for okra in At Home with Madhur Jaffrey, a cookbook I recently purchased. I decided to give okra another chance.

Raw, sliced okra.

I went to the market and asked a vendor for 100 CFA (20 cents) of okra. She put more than a pound of crisp, small, freshly picked okra into a bag. Oops, no way we’ll eat a pound of okra, I thought. I went home, washed and sliced the okra leaving a thick string of okra-snot on my knife and cutting board. I thought about throwing the okra in the garbage. Instead I continued to follow the recipe. The final product was a big surprise. Dark brown and slightly crunchy on the outside, and almost creamy on the inside, the okra had a great consistency. Cumin seeds, salt and a finishing squeeze of lime gave it a bright, flavorful taste. And no sliminess. I’ve made this recipe a half dozen times in the past month and everyone who has tried the finished product says the same thing: I usually don’t like okra but this is really good. I agree.

Okra with Cumin, Onions and Lemon Juice from At Home with Madhur Jaffrey:

1 lb.     okra^

1          red onion^ or some shallots

1½ T   cumin seeds^^

½ C     olive oil^^

1          lemon or lime^

dash    cayenne pepper^

s+p

1. Slice off top and tip of okra; discard. Then slice horizontally into pieces about ¼ – ½ inch thick.
2. Add oil to pan and turn to medium high. When hot, add cumin seeds. Add okra and toss to coat with oil. Let cook for 5 – 8 minutes, stirring every couple of minutes, until okra starts to brown all over.
3. Add chopped onion and cook for another 3 – 5 minutes until okra is well browned. It should now be a little less than half its initial volume. 
4. Season with salt, pepper, cayenne and lemon juice.

^          Ingredient purchased in our town and used by locals on a daily basis.

^^        Ingredient purchased at supermarkets in Porto Novo or Cotonou that cater to wealthier Beninese and foreigners.

^^^     Ingredient sent courtesy of friends and families in care packages.

^^^^   From our garden.