CHISA

Farai Mpofu (Mrs.)

Chisa, sumu, has been part of my life since I can remember; not just mine, but of many who grew up in the townships of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), and Salisbury (now Harare), in particular. The capital city was where the rural-to-urban migrants arrived in search of work and a brighter future, and as such was a colourful blend of nationalities (as Southern Rhodesia was the capital of the federation), tribes, languages, cultures and culinary traditions. The model was that one who had arrived first would invite the next to follow and offer her a place to stay, while they found their feet, in the big city, and so the wave continued.

Clusters or mini ghettos were the result, however owing to urban crowding resulting from the compact township pro-control and pro-containment planning laws, there was nothing to prevent cultural practices from intermingling. Like with similar settlements around the world, this was the logical location for a wholesale produce market (Musika mukuru), where goods from around the country were ferried for sale. Here hundreds of merchants converged to trade their marvelous array of fresh fruit and vegetables and other commodities; needless to say the market was dominated by bigger farmers, but smaller traders managed to get a foothold.

This is the Harare my maternal grandparents travelled to, and made their home. Gogo (grandmother) soon secured a market table and commenced the business of buying fruit and vegetables from the wholesale market and selling it at her table at Musika mudiki (retail market). To augment daily market sales and in a bid to arrest losses from perished tomatoes, in particular, at a time when fridges were not a common asset in the households of black people, she started to make sumu (tomato and onion based sauce with chillies), which she sold, with “mafatcook” (vetkoeks) mainly outside municipal community beer-halls to patrons who were either entering or leaving these establishments. From time to time, she would send her children, my mother amongst them, to sell the “combo”, whose packaging were pieces of the daily newspaper.

I have seen only one attempt at sumu commercialisation, possibly two decades ago. Those who are familiar with the product from the old days know it when they taste it. Those who are new to sumu, are often surprised by it – very pleasant on the palate, a distinct sweet’n’sour taste, with a kick. Being homemade and replicated in many households, sumu was never consistent; and maybe that’s a good thing. The latter is what gave me the interest to embark on this journey as I know that no one can say “that is not sumu”. For those in the know, they will say, “oh, another version of sumu; takes me back to my childhood”.

So from my grandmother, my mum learnt how to make sumu, and I too learnt about the product as I was growing up. There was never a recipe written. Through observation, as I have no formal cookery training, I discovered what went into sumu and how to prepare this “magic” sauce. Depending on the chillies used and their strength, sumu can be used generously, as a tangy relish, as part of a typical traditional dish which comprises a starch, green vegetable and a meat. On the other side of the spectrum, when sumu is hot, it is usually measured by the teaspoon and used sparingly as a sauce, for any meal.

Over the years I have experimented with sumu as I developed Chisa (meaning, hot in isiNdebele). From the 1950’s to the 2000’s, Gogo and mum’s version of sumu, differ from mine, but each is linked to the other, while subtle developments have occurred in response to the times in which each lives. My version and its commercialisation seeks to pay tribute to my mother and her mother for the role they played in introducing me to this aspect of our food culture, among many other aspects of cultural wealth. The tribute extends to all women who have over the decades innovated with food to sustain families and build homes which were a true haven for all.

Chisa allows each one to make it your own; nothing about it forces you to experience it in a particular way. My hope is that all who eat Chisa will come to love it and marvel at how it will over time come to dominate their meals, in the sense that, a meal will be impossible to eat without Chisa. In fact, one Chisa fan said, “… first I ate a little Chisa from the corner it occupied as a condiment on my plate. Before I knew it, there was Chisa on my plate and very little else! Rather than wait for meals, Chisa is now what lifts the little snack I may have in between, drizzled on cheese or eggs on toast and even on a salad.”

I am grateful to my mum who encouraged me to explore the possibilities around this product, and just as my dad was her “taster-in-chief”, my husband is mine too, as well as my brother. For me, feedback from the two and then from more recent sales, has enabled me to continue to refine Chisa to make it an addictive experience for the taste buds. 

This is a defining time. I am so excited to be working with Chisa now, at a time when there is such a heightened awareness amongst Africans about what it means to be African and why we should defend, promote and take pride in who we are. This backdrop creates fertile ground for activists like me, engaged in a movement to explore, rework, where necessary, and celebrate all that is good, positive, and progressive about our heritage.