Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for August, 2011.

Traveling Guest Posts

Visiting Port Harcourt by Funmi

I was in Port Harcourt city twice this summer. If you were born in Port Harcourt or have lived there at all, you understand that there is only one way we eat bole (roasted plantain). This food originated in the West amongst the Yorubas but is eaten there with ekpa (groundnuts). In the south, however, fish is first coated with palm oil and pepper, and  roasted alongside the plantains. Then a special sauce is prepared and the entire meal is covered in this sauce. In PH city, bole is a meal. I had missed bole and fish (as well as isi-ewu, ekpang kukwo, native soup and isam (periwinkles)) and I enjoyed all these while I was there. (More here).

__________

Cheesy Berlin by Temitayo

It is important to mention that Germany has adopted many meals from its settlers. Many of the dishes were brought by the Russians, the Arabs, Asians and of course Africans. There were restaurants that specialised in this. I ate Spaghetti, prawns, soup and nuts at Asian Cosiate. I came home with the sticks I could not use. I had chicken and chips at McDonalds. Not much different from what you would get at KFC. I ate falafel, vegetarian food at an Arab food spot, where I met an Arab who had stayed in Berlin for less than two years but spoke fluent German. Food was loads cheaper, with 10 euros, I was well fed. Food was a way to celebrate difference. It created that cultural potpourri; each meal, an encounter with a culture. Different smells, unique tastes, different people. (Read more here)

__________

The Festival of Nations in St. Louis

On Saturday there were 40 different nationalities grilling, stewing and stirring ethnic treasures in booths that lined a promenade through the eastern end of the park. The choices ranged from bratwurst to Turkish borek, a pillowy pastry stuffed with spinach and feta.

The Paces had already sampled several sweet Malaysian drinks including rose milk; tried a thick slice of himbasha bread; indulged in Bosnian food; and had heard buzz about Eritrean food, piled high on thin, spongy rounds of injera bread.

Under a shady tree, Kyle and Jean Schenkewitz of St. Louis must have heard the buzz. They were already sampling several Eritrean delicacies, including stewed spinach, spiced lentils and a hearty tomato beef stew. The couple were aware that St. Louis has had an influx of immigrants resettling from Eritrea, a country in the horn of Africa. Both said they are fascinated by how other cultures get their protein from beans, noting that America is one of the few countries that primarily depends on meat. (Read more: here)

Bombing UN HQs

You know you are a despicable scum when the target of your assault is a building filled with innocent humanitarian workers of an organization known for the pursuit of peace and global justice.

That said, maybe it will be time to ask for more CCTV units in Nigeria’s big cities, especially now in the North where the new extremists – like little children seeing a toy for the first time – are playing checkers with car bombs and innocent lives. At times like this, one wonders what other solution can be prescribed without losing one more civil liberty just like the sadists hope.

Hearts go out to the victims.

Transition

The 60s in Nigeria was perhaps as tumultuous as it was in the US, but only for different reasons. While Nigeria was dealing with its value and governance problems, this one was dealing with race, drug and gang issues. I still hear it spoken of with a tone that suggests an underlying dread of the heaviness of the times, although much of what I glean from reading Lewis Black’s irreverent autobiography Nothing Sacred is that much of those who lived in that decade went through it only through the aid of consciousness-blurring drugs and culture. Much of what I know of the Nigerian equivalent however are still in and around the nation’s politics today, but mostly calcified in Wole Soyinka’s memoirs The Man Died, and (most especially) Ibadan, the Penkelemes Years.

I thought back to an episode tonight on the drive back home from school through the open night surrounding the university town. The young writer – then a professor at one of Nigeria’s new universities – had been kicked out of his campus residence, so he moved his company of thespians into one of the abandoned government buildings at Eleiyele. He simply colonized it, without authorization and without paying rent to anyone, and they lived there for months until the government – responding also, not simply according to principle, but in a political retaliation for the man’s already rebellious reputation in the political terrain – sent in policemen to route them out. It sounded like some really fun times.

What got me thinking about all this, of course, is me wondering what it would be like to do the same here and now, in a country like this, and in this economy. An empty building. A terrible economy. A hungry young professor and a restless entourage of a young colleagues, friends and hangers-on hunting for deer and geese at night and living – for as long as the adventure lasts – in a socialist utopia that actually exists nowhere else. I like the kind of mental tickling I get from thinking about scenarios like this. And then I get to blog about it. 🙂

Back to School

It’s all familiar, the rush of legs around the quad – the first day of school. Students of various shapes and sizes, moulds and designs, styles and gait, traipsing all over what a few weeks ago was just a quiet neighbourhood of a few teachers and construction workers. Now, the peace is over and the devil of rote is back. The pandora’s box has been open and won’t be restrained anymore until sometime in the dead of winter. Yes, here we go again.

For me, my last Fall semester in this haunted place as a student, it will soon get pretty busy and, eventually, quiet. Unfortunately, as I have experienced very many times over, approaching the end doesn’t always bring as much of a thrill as exaggerated expectations usually hopes it would. Maybe the thrill is more in the process than in the end itself.

NYT #Fail

If the headline in the same article facetiously associating the erection of a new monument in Washington DC to the realization of Martin Luther King’s famous dream doesn’t irk you as being silly enough, the first paragraph in today’s NY Times article on the opening of the Memorial makes sure of it. It reads:

WASHINGTON — Now we know: The arc of the moral universe is long, but it leads to a picturesque glade beside the Tidal Basin, with the Washington Monument providing sentry.

Maybe isn’t it enough anymore to simply describe.