Life is Short. In Somalia, I Savored Every Bite
How a plate of spaghetti and a cappuccino made my list of Top 10 meals
As I set off on a new series of travel adventures, memory takes me back to another time, long ago, when I spent a year on the road.
It was in Africa then, not Europe as it is now, and instead of a future in writing, I had gone in search of my beginnings.
The spirit that drives me is still the same—it’s curiosity, a desire to experience the world and taste all the flavors it has to offer.
Food and travel are so deeply intertwined that it’s impossible for me to separate them. My passion for food led me to become a professional chef, a path that took me from a pub full of drunken sailors to a Michelin-rated bistro. As a chef in the luxury yacht industry, I sailed the world exploring local markets for provisions and eating regional specialties in the best restaurants.
The Top Ten
I keep a list of my Top 10 best-ever meals in the part of my brain where my tastebuds tingle. Some are fancy restaurant classics, others have more humble origins. Like the glorious New England clambake that I ate perched on the rocky Maine coastline—lobsters and soft-shell clams steamed inside a mound of seaweed with fresh-dug new potatoes, corn cobs, and hot dogs and eggs still in their grocery store containers.
Perhaps the most unlikely contender for my Top 10 list is a simple plate of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a cappuccino. It’s a meal I could have eaten on a visit to Italy, or in any number of Western countries but this particular meal, I ate at a roadside restaurant in the deserts of Somalia.
I was in Africa in 1986 to ‘find my roots’ and, inspired by Bob Geldof and Live Aid, to ‘make a better day’ for the starving peoples of the world. I arrived in Northern Kenya and quickly discovered that the skills of a London-trained neurosurgical nurse were of no help to people on the edge of starvation. Rather than be a drain on resources, I donated a meat goat to a mission camp for the elderly and continued on my way.
Deeper into Africa
A series of curious events took me across the border into Somalia. The country had not yet been declared a failed state but the crisis of food scarcity caused by desertification and escalated by a de facto war, had created a desperate situation.
I had seen many food markets on my travels through East Africa. Broad tables laden with exotic fruits and heaps of starchy vegetables harvested from the rich soil of surrounding farms. But in the Somali village where I stayed, the market was almost empty. A few stalls and some sheets spread on the ground offered small piles of produce hard-won from parched backyard plots. A handful of neatly trimmed onions, or a few tomatoes—too blemished and misshapen to ever grace the shelves of a Western supermarket.
As children kicked soccer balls made from rags and practiced dramatic cries of GOOOOOOOAALLL!, the women sellers squatted quietly in the shade hoping for buyers with cash to spend.
At the Camel Cafe
I was traveling with a friend and we were several hours into the hot dusty drive when we stopped to eat. The pot-holed track we were taking to Mogadishu crossed a trail used by nomadic camel herders and at the intersection there was a weathered shack growing out of the dirt.
Groups of men were gathered at plastic tables, smoking and discussing matters of the day over glasses of tea. Most wore traditional kameez tunics and sandals made from upcycled rubber tires, others wore button-down shirts and Ray-Bans. Somalia was colonized by the Italians from the 19th century until the end of World War II. Despite becoming an independent republic in 1960, the imprint of Italian culture remained and the Somalis seemed to have a fondness for stylish sunglasses.
Mohammed brought us small glasses of blistering hot tea and said it would cool us down. He was a slim and lively man of around 30, his enthusiastic smile missing several teeth. The heavy aroma of stewed meat hung in the air and we asked him if there was a vegetarian option.
The spaghetti arrived on thick, worn plates. It was satisfyingly al dente and kissed with just a hint of olive oil. The spoonful of tomato sauce was a vibrant, fire-engine red and velvety smooth, its flavor was intensely tomatoey, filled with the bright clear taste of summer days. Hints of cinnamon and cardamom added complexity and a suggestion of earthiness—like the scent released by a scatter of evening rain.
What had seemed too little sauce proved perfect for the buttery loops of pasta, every bite just the right balance of flavor and texture. A sprig of a green salad herb I couldn’t identify garnished the side of the plate. I saved it for last and its wild bitterness provided a cleansing final note to complete the dish.
The one quality that all of my Top 10 food experiences share is their magical ability to transport me to a world away from time and trouble. Eating the spaghetti, I was immersed in the moment. I forgot the discomforts of the road and my concern about what dangers might lie ahead.
As he cleared the plates, Mohammed asked if we would like some cappuccino. It seemed like an impossible offer but peering into the back of the shack, we could indeed see a gleaming coffee machine worthy of any European café.
The cappuccino when it came though, was distinctly not-European. It had a lingering, acrid after-taste. My face must have registered my confusion because, when I looked up, Mohammed’s eyes were waiting for mine.
“Camel milk”, he assured me, nodding encouragingly. The taste wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and it was more of a smell—a bit like the fur of a homey old dog. I didn’t ask for a second cup.
Camels are essential to the economy of Somalia’s overwhelmingly rural population. I knew they were used for transport, meat, and as currency but it hadn’t occurred to me that they produced milk—a much-needed source of nutrition in an unforgiving desert.
The Somalis love camel milk. I watched an elderly gentleman tenderly scoop the foam from the top of his coffee and dump it onto the saucer. Apparently, that’s how cappuccino is enjoyed in Somalia. In the three weeks I spent there, it was the only time I saw anything consumable go to waste—a rare act of luxury.
Far Horizons
As we set off toward Mogadishu, a camel train passed us, heading deeper into the desert. In the mid-afternoon sun, the colors of the land and animals shimmered in a blur of tan and beige. The profiles of the women, dressed in sari-like wraps in bright, factory colors stood out.
One design caught my eye and I squinted at the fabric, trying to make out the familiar shape as the woman walked by. Her gait was elegant and strong, and as she strode toward the horizon, I finally saw—the nomadic woman was wearing the U.S. Space Shuttle.
The great gift of travel is that it shows us that we are connected by more than we know. My travels in Africa taught me that for all of us, from those living in the greatest privilege to those living with the least, life is short.
So, for all the stress and worry as I prepare for my next extended overseas jaunt, I am excited by what I might learn—as well as what I might eat. The world is ever full of new choices and I don’t want to waste a moment, not a morsel.
Thanks for reading. Please forward this to someone you think might enjoy it if you feel so inclined.
Warmly,
Beth
Whole Stories Shortly is a reader-supported publication and, as I spend a year writing and traveling, I hope you’ll subscribe to join the adventure.
Upgrade to become a paid subscriber and your support is a bowl of ripe tomatoes, fresh from the garden, with a lick of virgin olive oil and crumbles of salty ricotta on top—what’s better than that?!
But wait! Did my story only whet your appetite? If you’re ready for another story of food and travel deliciousness, try The Cake That Got Away by the wonderful
at Letters from a Muslim Woman.
These stories of travel will make a great book, when combined!
This is such a lovely, utterly surprising read 😊😊😊