Bo-Kaap and My Cape Malay Heritage

‘Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.’

CECELIA AHERN

Something happens when I enter the kitchen. I can’t tell you exactly what it is, but all I know is that everything quietens down and becomes peaceful. The chaos of the day, even a sombre mood that doesn’t want to shift, just vanishes when I am in the kitchen.

I understand now that cooking is a labour of love. Cooking is in my blood. On the days that I am troubled, it’s reflected in my food. On the days when I am jovial, it’s in every taste and flavour of the dish I prepare. My kitchen is the only place that allows me to be calm and centred, in this space I create masterpieces. I was taught many things by my father, the most significant was to silently say: ‘Bismillah-hir-rahman-nir-raheem’ when I start cooking. It means ‘In the name of Allah (God), the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful’. I give thanks because every ingredient comes from a higher source.

If an artist can fill a blank canvas with a painting that expresses the unspoken, that brings to life a vision that was dormant before the brush even touched the paint, then I must find the courage to master my craft and be bold enough to say: ‘What you’re tasting is a little part of my soul, a little bit of my culture and a significant part of my faith.’

My story began in my grandmother’s kitchen in a place called Schotcheskloof in Bo-Kaap, Cape Town. Bo-Kaap, or the Cape Malay Quarter, has a fascinating and rich history, which began as early as the eighteenth century. Cape Town, then known as the Cape of Good Hope, was under Dutch rule and home to many slaves, political and religious exiles from Java, Malaysia, Indonesia and various other African countries. As a result, most Bo-Kaap residents or Cape Malays are descended from these slaves and exiles.

During those days Bo-Kaap was a melting pot of diversity, culture and cuisine, with a genuine sense of community and family. My birthplace, holds a kaleidoscope of memories, most of which are associated with religious festivals, ceremonies and social events that have had a momentous influence on my culinary experience and expression.

All terms followed by an asterisk (*) are listed in the Glossary on p. 200.

WEDDINGS

In the good old days, the preparation for the wedding would happen months before the day and friends and family would be roped in – from who will pin the bride’s medora* to deciding on the colours and decoration for the hall and stage or the house where the reception would be held. Decorating the stage and hall with tinsel and fancy fabric was called a ‘trimmery’ and this happened on the eve of the wedding. Menus would be discussed for the breakfast reception after the men arrive from the nikah*. Lunch or supper menus finalised, which would be in the form of the wedding reception. The bride’s wedding baskets, also called bruidskos, would be wrapped in cellophane and tied up with fancy ribbon and would be presented to the bride by the groom’s family. Much before the call for the maghrib* prayer, the bride would wait patiently for her in-laws, who would have hand-picked a few hadjis* to chaperone her to her new home. It is customary for them to cover her shoulders with a shawl, which symbolises the protection the groom has promised to her. She would then make her way through the crowd, who would share their last well wishes and du’as* with her, before being ushered into her new life. This is the most heartwrenching moment of the wedding. I vividly remember looking at my father and felt his hand hold mine just a little tighter. Even as a child, I was convinced that during those moments he was preparing to be ‘ready’ for the day when I would be ushered into my new life, away from him.

MUHARRAM

Muharram is the first month in the lunar calendar, which also signifies the beginning of the Islamic New Year. During the time when my father was growing up, the 10th of Muharram was celebrated with many madrasas* running competitions. This was done through a vocal and rhythmic display of praises and gratitude to God. On this same day, in the Cape Malay Quarter, two very popular dishes would be served, namely Denningvleis (p. 32) and Bobotie (p. 31). Both of these dishes would be served with another well-known Cape Malay accompaniment: sweet, yellow rice made with butter, sugar, sultanas and toasted almond flakes.

As I look back on the significance of where it all began and why my father was so keen on preserving these vintage recipes, it starts dawning on me. Along with religion and culture, these recipes and events shaped our lives, brought us together and, more importantly, kept us together. It added to the warmth and love we felt, along with the soulful connections we continue to feel to this day as a community.

RAMADAN

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, during which practising Muslims across the globe observe strict fasting from dawn to sunset. What I remember most during those days in Bo-Kaap were the aromas of Ramadan koekies*; Pancakes (p. 107) filled with sweet, fragrant coconut; spicy Daltjies (p. 86); Samoosas (pp. 80–83) and Pumpkin Fritters (p. 94) sprinkled with aromatic cinnamon sugar.

As a child, I would deliver plates of koekies and would walk from door to door, one neighbour’s house to another and deliver my plate of koekies. I’d wait patiently as the ‘Aunty’ would disappear into her kitchen and exchange our koekies with hers. Thus by the time the boekah* table at home was prepared, there would be a myriad tasty treats to devour. A Muslim’s kindness and generosity knows few bounds during Ramadan, which is reminiscent of the mercy we believe is shown to us by our Creator during this month.

We’d gather around the boekah table, waiting for the adhan* to signify the end of the day’s fast. It’s customary for one to break one’s fast with dates and water, a practice followed by the Holy Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him). There is also a longstanding Cape Malay tradition that Boeber (p. 98) must only be eaten from the 15th day of fasting onward because this symbolises the ‘halfway’ mark of Ramadan. However, we’d often have ours long before that, as the creamy taste of boeber laced with rose-water and almond essence is all that is needed to satisfy one’s starved taste buds.

EID-AL-FITR (LABARANG RAMADAN) AND EID-AL-ADHA (LABARANG HADJI)

The religious festival that marks the end of the month of Ramadan is called Eid-al-Fitr. It is a very festive time and not only marks the end of the month of fasting but is also a day when Muslims around the world show a common objective of unity, love and generosity, where peace prevails and we are encouraged to embrace everyone, even our enemies. Eid-al-Adha, also called the Feast of Sacrifice, is the second of the two Eids. It marks the conclusion of the annual pilgrimage to Mecca, known as the Haj*, which is incumbent on all Muslims. Eid-al-Adha is also the day on which an animal is sacrificed, honouring Prophet Abraham’s (peace be upon him) sacrifice as an act of submission to God.

I am always nostalgic when I think of Eid in Bo-Kaap and the excitement I used to feel as a little girl on the eve of Eid. Bo-Kaap would transform into a magical place on Eid day, as everyone dressed in their best attire and every house had Eid tables filled with sweets, chocolates, fancy cakes, pastries and tarts. I fondly remember watching my father and brothers go off to mosque, while I would stay behind to help my mom with the Eid breakfast and decorating our Eid table. After my father and brothers returned home, we’d sit down to have Eid breakfast and I would watch my father sip his tea while tucking into a warm, homemade buttered roll with slivers of tender, salty corned tongue. We would savour every piece of the roast leg of lamb, with the softest roast potatoes, and relish the taste of slow-cooked crayfish curry, then feel so stuffed that it seemed quite impossible to even think of having a bite of the Eid trifle. For my father, the dish that most embodied Eid was my mom’s peppery steak pie filling nestled in flaky layers of her homemade puff pastry. Oh, how I long for days gone by.

FUNERALS

Funerals in Islam are not long, drawn-out ceremonies. In fact, it is quite the opposite of that and is usually over on the same day. The women are present at the home of the deceased, paying their respects and sharing their condolences with the family. The men leave from the deceased’s home to gather at the mosque and to perform salaat-al-janazah (the prayer for the deceased). Thereafter, they make their way to the cemetery. What I distinctly remember about the janazahs in Bo-Kaap are the janazah announcements that were made over the loudspeakers from the mosques around the area, and the food.

Kifiyaat kos, as it is known, is the food served to all mourners once the men have returned from the cemetery. Traditionally, suikerboontjiebredie (sugar bean stew) or worteltjie- en ertjiebredie (carrot and pea stew) would be served with rice, accompanied by a tomato and onion salad or sambal. Times have changed, though, as nowadays dishes like biryani, akni* or curry and rice are more popular and often supplied by a catering company. More often than not, Islamic funerals are low-key and intentionally so, because practising Muslims believe that everything that has been created by God must in the end return to Him. This is also why whenever a Muslim is given the news that someone has passed away or a calamity has struck, they will audibly or silently utter: ‘Inna Lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un’ (From God we come and to God we return). After the passing of my father, when I couldn’t quite find the comfort and peace in those words, I found them in another quote from the Holy Quran which my father whispered to me at his mother’s funeral: ‘Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest” (13:28).

DOOPMAL

Naming a new baby in Islam is as important as the birth of the child. The naming ceremony is usually held a week after the baby is born and is called a doopmal. It is recommended that a child be given a name that is virtuous, honourable and good, as he or she will be called by their name and their father’s name on the day of judgement. The ceremony typically consists of a few family members and friends as well as an Imaam*. A pillow covered with a white pillowcase and decorated with an ornate medora is used to lay the baby on. On the sides and edges of this little cocoon you usually find orchids, roses or carnations pinned to enhance its already elaborate appearance. It was common practice for the Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) to perform a ceremony called Tahnik, which is touching the lips of a newborn baby with pressed dates, honey or sweet juice. Cape Malays follow the same practice today, but use either dates or a little bit of sugar and gently place it on the tongue or palate of the baby. In addition, a lock of hair is cut and dipped into a glass of water. This ceremony is usually performed by the Imaam or anyone of good standing chosen by the child’s parents. The religious ceremony is followed by pleasantries and banter among the guests, while feasting on traditional Cape Malay melktert (milk tart) and tea. These days, fancy cakes and pastries or desserts are also served. However, anyone who loves Cape Malay melktert would know that it only really tastes that good when served at a doopmal!

RAMPISNY (MOULOOD-UN-NABI)

Moulood-un-Nabi is celebrated on the 12th day of the month of Rabi’al-Awwal in the Islamic lunar calendar, in remembrance and honour of the birth of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him). I was introduced to this ceremony by my grandmother and would accompany her to the mosque for a ceremonial event called Rampisny*. Rampisny is the tradition of dipping orange citrus leaves in sweet-smelling oils and then cutting or slicing them up finely, and placing them in little pouches. These little treasures, called rampis, are given to everyone who attends the evening prayers at the mosque. Most mosques also have sweets and cakes, and those who attend the evening prayers never go home empty-handed. You more often than not go home with a barakat* (or two) with the sweet smell of rampis lingering everywhere.

NEW YEAR’S CELEBRATION

It would be impossible to write this chapter without including New Year’s celebrations. To this day, Bo-Kaap is still known to attract people from far and wide to its Cape Minstrel Carnival*, which is every bit as colourful as the music and characters in it. We loved watching as the minstrels would parade from Adderley Street in Cape Town, making their way up to Wale Street in Bo-Kaap and then passing Yusuf Drive where we lived.

My father had a deeper love for and association with the Cape Malay Choir and the Hollandse liedtjies* which they were known for. All suited up with their polished shoes and red fezzes*, they would sway gently to the melodies that were so reminiscent of the stories that were being told of how life began in the Cape of Good Hope. There are songs that we remember that solidify the rich culture and artistic expression possessed by our ancestors, who established a life and created our rich history and heritage in Bo-Kaap. I would look up smilingly at my father while he was singing along to songs such as Oom Jakkals van Batavia and Rosa. The latter later became a well-known folk song sung at Cape Malay weddings.

For my father, there would always be a longing for a simpler time. A time where music brought the community together, where celebrations created opportunities for family and friends to reconnect. Where the cuisine was truly reflective of where we come from and who we are. To this very day, whenever I hear Rosa my heart aches a little as I too have to embrace that those days are long gone and that Bo-Kaap will never be quite the same again.