WE NEED HOPE, DAMMIT!
The Saigon was closed but the place next door, which turned out to be a Ghanaian restaurant, was open and I decided to go all the way
When I returned from my first trip to China in December, I vowed to throw myself into the great literary and historical texts of that vast country.
To my shock and chagrin, last week realised that I haven’t lived up to that promise. Of the many books I’d read over the year, only five were by Chinese writers or about China.
To atone, I decided I should start with some light Chinese reading. The logical place to start was a historical novel about the Long March. I am partial to historical fiction mainly because, while giving me the erudition of thorough research — furnishing me with the dates, the names of battles fought and the generals in charge — it also keeps me entertained.
Not ignoring the lives of ordinary people, it tells me how they dressed, how they spoke, how wars or other historical events touched their lives and, most importantly, what they ate.
On Friday I switched off my phone, sat in my den and started reading Peking, a historical novel by Anthony Grey. I got so immersed in the saga that I didn’t leave the house for the whole weekend. I must have eaten something, but I can’t remember what. When I got out of the stupor it was Sunday I afternoon and I was ravenous. Hopped into the car. Ten minutes later I was in the Chinese precinct in Rivonia.
“Don’t be boring,” my mind said, “just because you’re reading about China doesn’t mean you have to eat Chinese!”
So I nosed my car into Rivonia Junction, which houses Saigon, a Vietnamese eatery. Incidentally, Grey is also famous for another novel, Saigon. But when I got to the Saigon it was closed.
Thankfully, the place next door was open. Asanka Afrika, it’s called. While I dillydallied at the entrance, one of the two waiters pounced. With a smile he ushered me to a comfortable seat.
It turned out to be a Ghanaian restaurant. Instead of settling for the culinary coward’s fare — steak, oxtail or chicken breast were listed on the menu as alternatives for the less adventurous — I decided to go all Ghanaian. Okra stew and banku it was. The stew, like most
Ghanaian dishes, was spicy without being hot. It’s a symphony of okra, egg white and bits of chilli swirled together and cooked with cubes of beef.
Banku, the starch component, is sour pap rolled into a little ball, not unlike our local idombolo. The chilled glass of Delaire Graff sauvignon blanc seemed to enhance both the flavour of the food and the Ghanaian music wafting from the speakers.
A most welcome, if unplanned, African feast, which cost only R260, two glasses of wine included.
When I sat down, at 4.20, I was the only diner. An hour later, when my waiter, Nyasha, brought me a second glass of wine, the place was buzzing. I transferred from my table to a two-seater sofa so I could scan the Sunday papers. Turns out President Cyril Ramaphosa’s election campaign received R500,000 from Bosasa, a security company with government contracts. Thanks to Mmusi Maimane asking the probing questions, we now wonder: can we still trust Ramaphosa? Let me go back to my Chinese readings. Maybe by the time I emerge from my den things would have sorted themselves out.
Too early for us to be robbed of our Ramaphoria. We need hope, dammit!
Asanka Afrika ★★★★★
Rivonia Junction, corner of Rivonia & Mutual roads, Sandton Tel: 011-234-1758
★★★★★ Mmusi Maimane
★★★★ Raymond Zondo
★★★ Cyril Ramaphosa
★★ Malusi Gigaba
★ Steinhoff