When the sun sets, Stone Town's public park transforms into a market where foodies can forage for local fare
Street food is a kind of cultural staple. In all of the African countries I've visited, affordable eats that are prepared for passing pedestrians has been a norm. I suppose it can be traced back to mamas cooking samp and beans, fufu, or cassava curries in cast iron pots over an open fire. Enamel bowls piled high when the food was ready, and all the children playing outside grabbing a spoon to fight for as much or as little a portion as they could manage.
I remember there always being a hot plate of food waiting for any guest my grandmother had in the village, whether their visit was anticipated or they knocked at the door which stayed open.
Food is a great way of bringing people together, not just when it comes to raising your knives and forks, but as the food is being cooked. My dad makes a mean seafood pizza. Though we only had it once, when I was 4 years old, I remember it being one of the greatest things I've ever tasted. My brother, Mpumi, and I have also sat in the kitchen as the old man has boiled amadhumbe (cocoyams); our mouths salivating as he added a secret spice - which was really just a combination of Aromat and a smokey chilli - to the softening root vegetable. Papa was a busy man, so the few times he was in the kitchen, the whole house stopped and watched in awe.
When the enthusiastic Americans I met told me that I could get a whole manner of traditional food at Forodhani Gardens Night Market, I jumped at the opportunity. Dinner at Emerson on Hurumzi had been so delicious, I wanted as much Tanzanian food as I could stomach.
On Saturday night, after popping into Emerson Spice, I weave through the streets of Stone Town until I make it to the water's edge. There, I find the garden lit with hand-crank torches and overflowing with vendors and patrons negotiating their evening's meal.
While I really want to suss out what the offering is, a Captain Jimmy calls out to me from behind his display. "My sista," he yells.
On an island this small he must be talking to someone he knows, I decide.
"You're missing out," he teases in a sing song way and I giggle. Before I know it, he's fallen into step alongside me.
"Why you ignore me, my sista?"
"Oh, I didn't realise you were talking to me," I apologize. Tanzanians are impossibly polite and I wouldn't want to leave the islanders with the infamous perception Africa already has of South Africans.
"I can fix you a plate, nice nice," Captain Jimmy begins. "What you like? Lobster? Crab? I have the scallops."
We've lapped the entire garden and every table is offering the same thing, apart from the few vendors making shwarmas and pizza.
"Let me tell you what I want and you give me a price," I say. It's clear I am a tourist, I don't want to be duped into paying crazy prices for a crayfish claw. "Don't worry about pay. You eat first and then we talk about price," Captain Jimmy says.
So I go ahead and pick a skewer of lobster, duck and goat. I also ask for some octopus meat. Against my better judgement, I decide to try scallops done the Tanzanian way - even though the only restaurant that's managed to perfect the marine mollusks, by my estimations is Amuse Bouche in Johannesburg. For starch, Captain Jimmy suggest I get some plantain and coconut bread.
"How much do I owe you," I ask, looking at the plate full of food. "I say don't worry my sista. We'll talk price after you've eaten. For now, let me find you place to sit"
I concede. I know exactly how many US dollars I have in my purse, and if the bill exceeds that, at least I know I tried to cover my costs before eating the food being offered to me so insistently.
Bless my chef's cotton socks. As he hands me the plate of food, a half dozen cocktail sticks speared into the mound of meat as my cutlery, it's clear that he genuinely wants me to enjoy it. I try to. The charred flesh of the octopus excited me, but it fades with every laboured chew of the rubbery fish. Though the goat is tender, and the duck incredibly succulent, the fish has definitely been crucified. So I feast desperately on the other two and drown the lobster, octopus and scallops in a chilli mango sauce to placate my palate. Remembering the coconut bread, I wrap the seafood in it and launch it into my mouth. The sweetness of the bread against the spicy tanginess of the sauce makes up for what is sandwiched inside. "It's good," Captain Jimmy asks, returning to check on me.
"It's very good," I assure him mid chew.
It has been a classic case of my eyes being too big for my stomach. I've only gotten through half the plate when I surrender. "Let me wrap it in foil for you nice nice, and you can have when you come back from my show," Captain Jimmy says with a wry smile. "Your show?!"
"Yes my sista, I play guitar. I'm a singer also. We have a show tonight - you will come?"
"I'm going to a bar with a friend tonight Captain, I'm so sorry."
His face drops and it feels like I've betrayed a good friend. "That's okay my sista, next time," he manages through his obvious disappointment.
Bottom Line: The night market isn't a culinary revelation, but rather a tourist’s rite of passage. If you manage to survive being bombarded by bargaining hawkers trying to herd you to their stall, you can handle anything else the tropical island throws at you. When you do get your food, sit at the market and enjoy the atmosphere. A few tourists rushed back to the safety of their hotels, piping hot plates of seafood in-hand, and it is a real shame that they didn't get to enjoy the buskers' live music and watching children playing in the gardens.
---
If you have a taste for tropical food, the Coconut Crab Soup Recipe I was lucky enough to get off the island is something you'll definitely want to try make at home.
I'm also sharing my experience of the Traditional Tea Ceremony next week, another MUST DO when visiting Zanzibar.