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Isi-Ewu:
The Anatomy of a National Delicacy
By Uche Nworah
It was one of
those evenings, and all I could think of was food, not
just any type of food but some traditional
un-everyday-like food, the type that is best eaten or
enjoyed in the company of friends and family in a gay
environment, over some bottles of shine-shine bobo (Star
beer), or odeku (big stout), best complemented by a
football game showing on the small or large screen
(depending on which joint you choose), and spiced up
with arguments and debates over the different aspects of
our national life.
I also wanted to
listen in on societal gossips as well as hear the latest
conspiracy theories making the rounds. More over, a
friend (Chuks) was visiting from Nigeria, and we had
been planning to take him out and so what better
opportunity to do that than now, I thought.
As a South London
resident, we narrowed down our choices to two joints
along Old Kent Road - 805 and Presidential Suya. In the
end, we decided against 805, although the restaurant has
very good ambience and customer service, unlike most
Nigerian restaurants in London, and also serve great
roast fish with fried plantain (dodo) which they call
Monica, we decided against it because we wanted
someplace ‘very Nigerian’, where we could bump into
friends, and visitors/politicians (real and wannabes)
from Nigeria who are usually the ones that bring in the
latest gist. And so off to Presidential Suya we went.
Parking is never a
problem on Old Kent Road if you know your way around,
even in the days of the now defunct Bamboo Inn and Nite
club, then operated by Fidelis Abor, you could always
make use of the parking facilities at the Tesco
supermarket near the restaurant.
On this particular
day, we parked at LIDL supermarket behind Presidential
Suya, about two minutes walk away. We could already feel
the buzz inside from outside the main door, as we
stepped in, cigarette smokes swirled around the air as
customers shout and scream on top of their voices in the
name of having a conversation. This is home I thought.
Luckily, as our
party was arriving, another was getting ready to leave,
so we hovered around until they settled their bills. The
leaving party was made up of two scantily clad women,
probably of East African origins and 3 Nigerian men, the
men seemed to be in their late 30s or early 40s and
looked very married. Anyway wetin concern me? At that
point I remembered the words I once saw on a car sticker
that says – to wives and sweethearts, may they never
meet, and chuckled.
Tips are not very
high on the agenda of most customers in these Nigerian
restaurants, and I wasn’t disappointed either, that the
party leaving didn’t leave any.
We settled down in
our seats, I recognised a few faces across the table,
and we shouted Nna, Kedu Ije at each other. I never
bother going through the menu cards each time I visit
any of these restaurants because I already know what I
want, the menu are fairly standard ranging from pepper –
soup, pounded yam, fried, jollof and white rice, fried
plantain and different types of soup such as Egusi, okro
and so on, served with assorted meat – a mix of shaki,
kpomo, tozo etc.
This particular
day, pepper-soup was not high on our agenda; we were not
in the Nigerian army officer’s mess, neither were we
planning a coup (apologies Alozie Ogugbuaja). We had
come to sample isi-ewu (goat head) once again, which is
fast turning into a Nigerian national delicacy, but this
time I was bent on dissecting fully its anatomy.
Our orders were
taken after a ‘small’ wait (depends on which time you
keep, African or European), we weren’t bothered by the
delay either, it was typical and expected, the surprise
would have been if the service had been faster. Funnily,
Chuks who was visiting London from Nigeria for the first
time didn’t also mind, to him it was all part of the fun
and we joked about it.
As we waited for
the arrival of our orders, we carried on with our
conversations, our beers arrived, and we quickly rushed
to douse our thirsts. The wait for isi-ewu continued.
And finally it
arrived, two whole mortars of goat head, comprising
mainly bones, conversations ceased momentarily as we got
ready to settle down to business. Chuks however
objected, his reasons being that the isi-ewu parts which
normally come in a side plate were missing. To him, this
was a serious offence.
“How can we eat
isi-ewu without seeing the parts?” he queried. We all
completely agreed with him, and attributed this ‘great
sin’ to the London factor. Chuks will have none of it,
and demanded to see the restaurant manager. I loved this
all the way, the scene reminded me of scenes in
restaurants back in Nigeria, either at Mama Nnenna’s
buka or at Nwanyi Nnewi’s mama – put joint.
Meanwhile, while
these protests and summons were going on, we couldn’t
resist the steaming hot contents set before us, and so
by the time the manager arrived ‘decades’ later, our
fingers had already dug deep holes and burrowed deep
into the depths.
Stripped bare, you
will be surprised that isi-ewu is nothing but bones, and
some surviving thin skin layers from the boiling water
used in cooking it, throw in the ‘parts’ (the ears,
tongue and eyes) and some native spices, not forgetting
the hype and you have your delicacy.
The question and
answer session continued. The manager went on about
policy, London, staff, and several other reasons, in an
effort to justify his restaurant’s inability to serve us
the isi-ewu parts in a side plate. Our friend from
Nigeria won’t let him off lightly; he then launched
another attack, querying the ingredients used in
preparing the isi-ewu. He was piqued that the isi-ewu
which had since settled inside our bellies had not been
prepared with utazi (a native bitter leaf), and couldn’t
understand why any restaurant worth its onions will ever
think of serving the delicacy without utazi, arguing
that it is actually the sweet-bitter flavour of utazi
that makes isi-ewu the special delicacy that it has
become.
At this point, I
couldn’t fathom which was the greater sin, serving
isi-ewu without the parts in a side plate, or the
non-inclusion of utazi in the preparation?
Chuks promised to
issue the manager a complete isi-ewu
recipe before we leave. This then swung our
conversations to the art or science of isi-ewu
making, we explored many dimensions, including the
various ingredients that can be used, we also recounted
stories of the places where we had each eaten our best
ever isi-ewu, here I gave the vote to my dear
mum, who in her days held Aba residents ‘hostage’ with
her isi-ewu making skills which they all came to
taste and savour in her Amaka restaurant.
The discussions
also covered which tribe in Nigeria could lay claim to
the discovery of isi-ewu as a national recipe; we
were both unanimous in that, as we all felt that the
credit should go to Ndigbo, not for any bias because we
were all Igbo but because the delicacy seemed to be
served more in Igbo operated restaurants.
As we were
leaving, Chuks called the manager once again and
announced his all-time isi-ewu recipe; cooked
goat head cut into pieces, palm oil, onions, utazi
leaves, Maggi or other flavourings and native spices
such as salt, crayfish, and eruru.
Whether the
manager will use this closely guarded recipe is still
unclear, but I intend to find out during my next visit,
just before we stepped out into the warm summer night,
Chuks quickly pointed out to the restaurant manager that
the same way the cassock does not make the wearer a
priest, so also do the ingredients alone not make
isi-ewu the delicacy it is, according to him “the
perfect isi-ewu benefits from a combination of cooking
skills and passion”.
We concurred.
August 2006.
info@uchenworah.com
posted 19 August 2006 * * *
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Wild Women Don’t Have the
Blues
By Ida Cox
I hear these women raving 'bout their
monkey men
About their fighting husbands and their
no good friends
These poor women sit around all day and
moan
Wondering why their wandering papas
don't come home
But wild women don't worry, wild women
don't have the blues.
Now when you've got a man, don't ever be
on the square
'Cause if you do he'll have a woman
everywhere
I never was known to treat no one man
right
I keep 'em working hard both day and
night
because wild women don't worry, wild
women don't have no blues.
I've got a disposition and a way of my
own
When my man starts kicking I let him
find another home
I get full of good liquor, walk the
streets all night
Go home and put my man out if he don't
act right
Wild women don't worry, wild women don't
have no blues
You never get nothing by being an angel
child
You better change your ways and get real
wild
I wanna tell you something, I wouldn't
tell you no lie
Wild women are the only kind that ever
get by
Wild women don't worry, wild women don't
have no blues.
Born
Ida
Prather,25 February 1896 in Toccoa,
Habersham County, Georgia, United
States. Died 10 November 1967 (aged 71)
Genres Jazz, Blues Instruments Vocalist. |
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Africa Unite: A Celebration of Bob Marley’s Vision
Directed by
Stephanie Black
In 2005, to
celebrate what would have been Bob Marley’s 60th
birthday, his widow,
Rita Marley, and several of Marley’s offspring
staged a gala concert in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia,
in celebration of the iconic reggae singer’s
commitment to African unity. In addition to the
concert, a week of Unicef-sponsored workshops,
discussions and debates took place, in which
delegates such as actor and human-rights activist
Danny Glover and controversial Jamaican
politician
Dudley
Thompson contemplated what it means to be an
African descendant outside Africa. Young people from
all over the continent also gathered to discuss
their own roles in Africa’s future.
Africa Unite: A Celebration of Bob Marley’s Vision
is
Stephanie Black’s documentary of the event.
Black has already given us the hard-hitting Life and
Debt, which explores the destructive impact of the
IMF and the
World Bank in Jamaica, and H-2 Worker, which
exposed the unbelievably exploitative situation
facing Jamaican sugarcane cutters in Florida. In
Africa Unite, she makes efforts to keep a
political-activist focus intact, which is difficult,
because much of the movie is devoted to bland
concert footage. But the film’s most heartening bits
come in testimony from the young Africans who will
themselves make up Africa’s next generation of
leaders. Also captivating is the sub-plot provided
by Bongo Tawney, a poor, elder Rasta who travels to
Ethiopia for the first time and who is visibly moved
by what he encounters there.
On the downside, the film is generally disjointed.
It is sometimes difficult to get a sense of how the
events unfolded, and of the exact significance of
each segment, as there is so much concert footage
interspersed. The concert footage itself does not
translate particularly well to the small screen; you
probably had to be there to understand the magnitude
of the concert, which lasted 12 hours and drew over
350,000 people. And no disrespect to Marley’s
children, but every time I’ve seen them live, I wish
they would leave their father’s work alone and
concentrate on their own talents. But needless to
say, as this concert was in celebration of Daddy’s
birthday, every one of the Marley boys presents a
classic number from the 70s, and for some reason,
each feels the need to remain on stage for the
entirety of his siblings’ performances, which only
adds to the dragging sense of what features here.
The bonus concert footage fares little better than
that on the main DVD, though a duet by Rita and
Marley’s mother is kind of sweet. In contrast, there
are illuminating, though brief, interviews with Rita
Marley and several of Bob’s sons, giving some
context to the proceedings in terms of their own
views on Africa in general and Ethiopia in
particular. In summary, although it’s hardly
essential viewing overall, Marley fans will probably
find something of interest.
Source:MepPublishers
Uche Nworah is freelance writer, lecturer and brand
strategist. He studied communications arts at the
University of Uyo, Nigeria and graduated with a second
class honours degree (upper division). He also holds an
M.Sc degree in marketing from the University of Nigeria,
Enugu campus and obtained his PGCE (post-graduate
certificate in education) from the University of
Greenwich where he is currently enrolled as a doctoral
candidate. His articles have been published by several
websites and leading Nigerian newspapers. He received
the ChickenBones Journalist of the Year award in 2006.
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Africa Unite
By Bob Marley
Africa, Unite
'Cause we're moving right out of Babylon
And we're going to our father's land
How good and how pleasant it would be
Before GOD and man, yeah
To see the unification of all Africans,
yeah
As it's been said already let it be
done, yeah
We are the children of the Rastaman
We are the children of the Higher Man
Africa, unite 'cause the children wanna
come home
Africa, unite 'cause we're moving right
out of Babylon
And we're grooving to our father's land
How good and how pleasant it would be
Before GOD and man
To see the unification of all Rastaman,
yeah
As it's been said already let it be done
I tell you who we are under the sun
We are the children of the Rastaman
We are the children of the Higher Man
So, Africa, unite, Africa, unite
Unite for the benefit of your people
Unite for it's later than you think
Unite for the benefit of your children
Unite for it's later than you think
Africa awaits its creators, Africa
awaiting its creators
Africa, you're my forefather cornerstone
Unite for the Africans abroad, unite for
the Africans a yard
Africa, Unite |
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Salvage the Bones
A Novel by Jesmyn Ward
On one level, Salvage the Bones is a simple story about a poor black family that’s about to be trashed by one of the most deadly hurricanes in U.S. history. What makes the novel so powerful, though, is the way Ward winds private passions with that menace gathering force out in the Gulf of Mexico. Without a hint of pretension, in the simple lives of these poor people living among chickens and abandoned cars, she evokes the tenacious love and desperation of classical tragedy. The force that pushes back against Katrina’s inexorable winds is the voice of Ward’s narrator, a 14-year-old girl named Esch, the only daughter among four siblings. Precocious, passionate and sensitive, she speaks almost entirely in phrases soaked in her family’s raw land. Everything here is gritty, loamy and alive, as though the very soil were animated. Her brother’s “blood smells like wet hot earth after summer rain. . . . His scalp looks like fresh turned dirt.” Her father’s hands “are like gravel,” while her own hand “slides through his grip like a wet fish,” and a handsome boy’s “muscles jabbered like chickens.” Admittedly, Ward can push so hard on this simile-obsessed style that her paragraphs risk sounding like a compost heap, but this isn’t usually just metaphor for metaphor’s sake. She conveys something fundamental about Esch’s fluid state of mind: her figurative sense of the world in which all things correspond and connect. She and her brothers live in a ramshackle house steeped in grief since their mother died giving birth to her last child. . . . What remains, what’s salvaged, is something indomitable in these tough siblings, the strength of their love, the permanence of their devotion.— WashingtonPost
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The New Jim Crow
Mass Incarceration in the Age of
Colorblindness
By Michele Alexander
Contrary to the
rosy picture of race embodied in Barack
Obama's political success and Oprah
Winfrey's financial success, legal
scholar Alexander argues vigorously and
persuasively that [w]e have not ended
racial caste in America; we have merely
redesigned it. Jim Crow and legal racial
segregation has been replaced by mass
incarceration as a system of social
control (More African Americans are
under correctional control today... than
were enslaved in 1850). Alexander
reviews American racial history from the
colonies to the Clinton administration,
delineating its transformation into the
war on drugs. She offers an acute
analysis of the effect of this mass
incarceration upon former inmates who
will be discriminated against, legally,
for the rest of their lives, denied
employment, housing, education, and
public benefits. Most provocatively, she
reveals how both the move toward
colorblindness and affirmative action
may blur our vision of injustice: most
Americans know and don't know the truth
about mass incarceration—but her
carefully researched, deeply engaging,
and thoroughly readable book should
change that.—Publishers
Weekly |
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The White Masters
of the World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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If you like this page consider making a donation
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Negro Digest / Black World
Browse all issues
1950
1960
1965
1970
1975
1980
1985
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1995
2000
____ 2005
Enjoy!
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The
Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding
of Haiti
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