Word: chapatis
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...generosity of the African family—how they will continue to feed you long after you're full, and how they will take in anybody, no matter how distantly related, if they need a place to stay or a meal. I've learned which "hotel" sells the best chapati-and-beans lunch, and made friends with a shopkeeper who now invites me in for chai. I've spent hours teaching in the primary schools, laughing as our students yell "semen" in Swahili at the top of their lungs while we teach about HIV transmission. I've walked around town...
...Turns out bananas in America aren't really bananas—they're poor imitations of what real ndizi, picked from the tree and sold in a village marketplace, are like. My homestay baba grows avocadoes and oranges in the backyard, so we have some with almost every meal. Chapati, which is basically a thin, African version of naan, is delicious (at least until you're forced to consume six of them by your overbearing mama, who insists that you aren't eating enough food). And I have even started to develop a fondness for rice and beans...
...family will sit and watch me eat until I've finished every last bite. “Nimesheba”—“I'm full”—is a foreign concept to them. So, I will once again eat six chapati a day and pray that my digestive system can hold...
...sure enough, the food at the University of Dar es Salaam was awful. Mornings are a piece of fried bread (called chapati), a blockish hunk of porridge and a cup of foul tea. The saving grace, of course, is that these unappetizing and meager tidings cost around 400 shillings, the equivalent of 35 cents...
Bombay Club's breads are exceptional. The simple chapati, cooked on a griddle, was obviously just made, warm, tender, and tasting earthily of wheat. Rogini naan, touched with butter but otherwise plain, crisped on the ends. Papadum, sun-dried lentil crisps that had been roasted in the tandoori oven, crackled in the mouth, the sprinkling of black pepper giving a little zing...