Braaiing our way into Africa

I stood on the tip of my toes to overlook the crowd and gazed at the windows demonstrating kilos of raw beef, sausages and chicken on the opposite side of the small room. There was a lot of hoo-ha in front of the counter as well as behind. So when we conquered our prey, we saw our treasure thrown from one blood-smeared employee to another who, himself looking rather overcooked, subsequently drenched it in big buckets of copper colored marinade.

While the guys were bribing the cook hoping for a shorter preparation time, the girls and I made our way to the “meating” area. We gently smiled at the bodyguard who failed to execute the policy “No meat, no entrance” and found ourselves standing in a smoking open shack made of corrugated iron.

Long rows of white plastic tables and chairs filled up the space with people seated around enormous rounded platters full of food. Despite the smell of barbequed air, I didn’t find any “Braai” stand, but smoke revealed its place behind a fence. I guessed this Braai chef didn’t want any busybodies around.

Finally, after an hour of moving our feet to the DJ’s local house beats and looking at people defeating their meat, we saw ours arrive. We quickly gathered around the plate and a moment later I put my teeth in the brittle outside of the thinly shaped sausage. It felt like the music and conversations were put on hold when I found myself in “Boerewors” heaven. This so called farmer's sausage was just perfectly barbequed and retained its meaty braaied flavor although immersed in the slightly spiced sauce.

No sooner had I finished enjoying the delicacy than I became awake to what was happening around me. Even the street vendors walking behind the fence lifted their trays of sunglasses up to the beat and a few meters away I noticed people circled around a voluminous girl who astonishingly was shaking all her body parts while getting low on the ground. As if that was not enough, a man suddenly appeared and walked majestically around the shack hitting a djembe on top of the beat, followed by a wild dancer carrying his beer bottle in his bottom jaw.

I shook the meat juice off my hands and breathed in the air, which now seemed to be saturated with beer. I loved the food with all my senses and now I was ready to love and embody the music in the same way. I joined my friends, born with the innate capability to move their well-shaped bums, and let my white muscles find their way. No worries, I am in Africa