“Food for the body is not enough. There must be food for the soul.” — Dorothy Day
You might have an obsession with Africa if:
• Your husband asks you which African memoir you’re reading now, to which you ask, “How do you know it’s about Africa?” His answer, “Is it in your hands?” Smart ass.
• You rush up to a relatively new woman at church whom you’ve just heard is from South Africa. Of course, you walk up from behind so as not to realize she’s in the middle of a conversation — crying, nonetheless — and still babble out an introduction, leaving with, “I’m a little obsessed with Africa” and hoping she doesn’t remember you next Sunday. (She did and now I think I’ll invite her to one of my African feasts).
• You’re camping with your 9-year-old, somewhere in Kentucky where baby oil is still used as sunscreen and anti-smoking ad campaigns apparently haven’t made their way, when you catch a whiff of campfire on the way to the bathroom. You stop, close your eyes, and are transported through your senses to Rwanda. You stand there, breathing in and out, for an inordinate amount of time, assuming the Kentuckians think you’re having an unfiltered Camel flashback.
Guilty. On all counts.
So since I can’t be in Africa (although I’m constantly plotting my next possible trip), I’m bringing Africa to me by way of a monthly feast with friends (or extended family if I dare) of local origins and friends of African origins. I’m picturing Sunday afternoon, wine, vibrant colors on the plates and fabrics around my dining room table, laughter, and possibly a few moments of awkward silence as we get to know each other. It’s the getting to know each other that’s the point. And maybe, at least in the winter, I’ll have a fire going to complete my soul’s immersion.
African feasts (as we call them) celebrated thus far include friends from Zimbabwe, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Nigeria, Ghana, and Zambia. Coming soon: Kenya and South Africa.
