The left forearm resting on the table, body leaning forward, you take a small piece of foufou and knead it into an elastic consistency that you dip into the sombé.

The juice of the sombé dripping slowly on your fingers, you bring the food quickly to your mouth, more juice dripping on your lips.

The chewy pork needs long mastication, there is no time for nonsense conversations.

Primus beer washes down the hearty food and the rest of the afternoon melt into a mellow state of contentment.

Food is for me a ritual and it is maybe the first connection I make with a new country. A way to literally “absorb” the culture. Traditional dishes in Eastern DRC include foufou, sombé (boiled manioc leafs- looks like spinach) and of course chicken (/pork/goat). It was my daily staple in Goma and the dodgier the place, the better the food tasted. As a muzungu you are automatically brought cutlery to eat, but I enjoy too much the sensuality of eating with my fingers. One of my colleagues, Backar told me “ The food does not taste as much when you eat with a knife and a fork”. Words of wisdom.
Foufou is like a huge ball of mashed up sticky rice. It is made of manioc or maize flour and taste rather plain. It takes much arm strength to pound and it is definitely not your throw-pasta-in-the-water evening meal. I just love it. Maybe it has to do with the process of eating it.

In French, we have this expression for people who are fascinated by Africa and cannot live anywhere else without longing to go back. They are les fous d’Afrique. It probably all start with eating foufou and then you’re a fou d’Afrique before realising it.