Nairobi Food of Change
By Kang-Chun Cheng
Kibandas, or street booths, cater to the people. The ubiquitous lack of refrigeration means that everything is prepared from scratch each day. Photo by Kang-Chun Cheng.
In a city as cosmopolitan as Nairobi, where one is presented with a heady mix of Indian, Ethiopian, Somali, Italian and Chinese cuisine, the urge to try everything may be overwhelming. The origins of Swahili cuisine, however, and foods native to Kenya’s 42 tribes may be more elusive to visitors as foreign brands stake their claims in the gateway of East Africa.
Kenya boasts one of the most rapidly growing economies in sub-Saharan Africa, averaging 5.7% in economic growth from 2015-2019. This fast-paced development has influenced wealth signifiers and social norms, both of which are reflected in dietary choices. Unfortunately, a repercussion of rapid development is a newfound association of traditional food consumption with poverty.
As many flock to the city for work and fresh opportunities, individuals’ expectations conform to new benchmarks of success. Those with the means frequently change their diet to a typical westernized diet; meat and fast food are associated with high socioeconomic standing. Wildly successful corporations strategize their marketing strategies and menu items to attract target audiences while maintaining the universal appeal of their products (e.g. the emergence of KFC’s nyama nyama—“meat meat” in Kiswahili—sandwich in Kenya: two chicken filets sandwiching hash browns, cheese and “colonel dressing”).
Kibandas, or street booths, cater to the people. The ubiquitous lack of refrigeration means that everything is prepared from scratch each day. Here, one can find businessmen layered in suits or day laborers sitting at the same plank serving as a table. There is usually a selection of stewed green grams, beans or lentils; ugali (boiled maize meal), chapati or rice; and likely some type of protein like mchicha (goat intestines), pork sausages or eggs. A meal like this is filling and costs anywhere from 50-200KES ($0.50-$2.00 USD), compared to 590KES (around $5.50 USD).
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As a Taiwanese-American who has lived in Nairobi for more than a year, I have settled into a rhythm here in terms of what I cook for myself and friends. I’ve been rewarded in my search for glutinous rice flour and authentic Sichuan cuisine. My current repertoire includes Malawian chicken curry, roasted vegetables and pan-fried chicken thighs. During Lunar New Year or special celebrations, I’ll get together with friends to wrap dumplings as a group. Once, we even hand-pulled dan dan mian noodles together.
I grew up in rural New Hampshire, one of a mere handful of Asians in school. The stolid Chinese community in the state’s Upper Valley region was foundational to my family, but things like boba culture and easy access to Chinese bakeries were foreign to me. Instead, I grew up becoming a New England diner connoisseur and perfecting a recipe for blueberry muffins from the summer’s foraged bounty.
When I watched David Chang’s show Ugly Delicious, which contextualizes how generational food keeps culture and identity alive in a foreign land, I felt connected to the greater Chinese American community in a new way. Regardless of geography, the time and effort that goes into bringing certain dishes to the table bear the same weight. My family’s biannual three-hour drive to the Kam Man and H-Mart grocery stores in Boston marked the passing of the seasons, reminding me that what we eat really does matter.
I took Chinese food for granted growing up. I didn’t start having a real interest in cooking or foreign cuisines until my late teens, when I went off to college and found emotional comfort in recreating flavors and textures. When I left home and the accessibility of homemade steamed buns and scallion pancakes (we take after my grandmother’s Dongbei roots), I realized how special that food actually is. Even thinking about my mother’s yu xiang qie zi brought me back to some of the very first things that I knew and loved.
It’s the same in Kenya, of course. Everyone wants to eat the chapatis that their own mothers made.
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Moses Kulavi, a chef who has cooked at Kenyan chain Java and Hemingway Hotel, now caters private events. He attended a culinary course at Tsavo Park Institute of Technology, where he learned the fundamentals of intercontinental cooking.
“Many of the ingredients that we used were local,” he says, “but we also learned how to use things like bok choy and soy sauce. Overall, the dishes are spicier.”
Across Kenya, the key to cooking lies in the technique and preparation, not just the quality of the ingredients. Two of the most popular household methods of cooking meat are “wet fry” and “dry fry,” meaning with or without stew or broth. Kulavi created what he calls an African beef dry fry with stir fried rice, which is a big hit and commonly requested.
The most recent wave of Chinese immigrants to Kenya from the start of the 21st century brought not only an influx of workers for state-owned enterprises, but also new gastronomy. Many common base ingredients like chicken, beef and eggs are shared by Kenyan and Chinese cuisines; the main differences lie in the preparation. For example, both pilau and fried rice are rice dishes, but for the former, a coastal Kenyan comfort food, all the ingredients are boiled together in the same pot, while for Chinese-style fried rice, the ingredients are sauteed separately.
While some restaurants are starting to explore these commonalities, Pulavi isn’t sure home cooks are doing the same.
“I don’t think many Kenyans who aren’t chefs are cooking Chinese at home yet,” he says. “Even though Asian cuisine[s are] garnering interest for special occasions, the ingredients can be expensive and difficult to find.”
“Stir-fries have become very popular—young people in particular are keen on trying new foods and flavors,” says Malachi Mwaniki, a Kenyan chef who has worked in upscale restaurants such as Hemingways and specializes in barbecuing brisket and cold-smoking salmon.
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As variances percolate from one culture to another, alterations in consumption patterns naturally follow. Mwaniki says Kenya’s rich ethnic mix can make it difficult to identify which foods are truly Kenyan in origin. For instance, maize, a staple of many diets across not just Kenya, but the African continent, is a relatively new crop. It was introduced by Portuguese colonizers in the 16th century and quickly became the grain of choice.
Whether it’s the traditional milk and meat diet of the Maasai to the samaki sato mzima (whole tilapia fish stew) beloved by the Luo and Luhya tribes in western regions, the landscape of traditional meals—both the dishes themselves and the contexts that cultivate their preparation and cultural significance—have been altered by the urbanization that comes with development.
“Determination has been the main influence because we no longer appreciate our own culture and want to be associated with western culture to look ‘cool,’” Mwaniki explains. “This is not intentional but it is what it is.”
He believes that it is a choice to be influenced by foreign styles: “If we embraced our own [culture], I think recipes would be developed to match the rest of the food culture.”
As natural resources decline from increasing competition in land usage, one of the ineluctable costs of development, insatiable demands of both growing populations and foreign exports take a toll on food production and impact consumption style.
Maize, a staple of many diets across Kenya, is a relatively new crop. It was introduced by Portuguese colonizers in the 16th century and quickly became the grain of choice.Image courtesy Kodingo, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
For instance, fishing has been declining rapidly in recent decades due to environmental degradation and unsustainable demands from burgeoning human populations. Balancing alternative livelihood sources while preserving the traditions foundational to local cultures has never been so difficult or complex. At the same time, eagerness to conform to westernized dietary norms of the middle class has a high potential of neglecting the legacy of traditional foods.
Changing consumption habits are compounded by a growing need to be climate-smart; Kenyan farmers are changing what they grow. Many are switching from traditional long-cycle crops such as maize (which takes 18 months to mature) to short-cycle crops like butternut, onions and okra which can be ready to harvest within three months.
Kulavi says that recent competition from importing Kenyan staples such as garlic and maize from China doesn’t bode well for small-scale Kenyan farmers, since these are crops that can be grown domestically. Importing at an industrial scale undercuts the market in a way that comes at a loss for local farmers.
Mwaniki has a similar opinion. “That’s how you kill the culture,” he says. “You compare prices of locally sourced ingredients to those you have to import.”
However, Kulavi sees the importation of farmed fish from China as a separate issue.
“Kenyans eat a lot of fish,” he says. “Lake Victoria and Lake Naivasha aren’t able to sustain the demand.”
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Mwaniki is hopeful. He posits even more exciting developments on the food scene in the future, at the intersection of traditional and foreign-influenced food, made with ingredients that are accessible in an ever-shifting normal. Chinese dumplings filled with sukuma wiki (Kenyan spinach) and egg, for example, have cropped up at the Chinatown in the Kilimani neighborhood of Nairobi.
He has been thinking about ways to boost an appreciation for Kenyan dishes slipping into abeyance.
“I think this is my future goal,” he says. “The problem is exploring and trying new things with our local ingredients. Did you know githeri (boiled maize and beans) cooked in a clay pot tastes better than when it’s made in a normal pot?”
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So much of food’s appeal lies in its familiarity and sense of intimacy. During my last trip to Taiwan, I transcribed my 86-year-old grandmother’s recipe for cong you ji, my mother’s favorite, in my journal with the help of an aunt.
“The saltiness and texture was perfect,” my mother says. “The best thing about that chicken is that you can eat it hot or cold. She would always make it when guests came over. I didn’t think about it much at the time, but when I left Taiwan, I started thinking about that dish more and more.” My grandmother has since passed away. I never had the chance to eat much of her food—we grew up oceans apart. When I finally had the chance to visit as a young adult, she was too ill to cook much.
Food holds an irreplaceable sort of tenderness, just as important in memory as it is in its physicality. The culture of caregiving remains vibrant in Kenya despite immense westernization and development. When a child visits relatives upcountry (in the village, as many say), they carry a chicken as a sign of appreciation for their elders. Gifts in the form of food uphold a certain hierarchy that persists across the imaginary borders of Chinese and African cultures. In both, food can be a form of love, filling in the spaces where words are lacking.
