Little Mogadishu in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA)

I stood in the washroom with my two scarves, a burgundy scarf with gold thread weaved into it and a leopard print scarf. I contemplated how I wanted to wrap my scarves. I tried the first method, and it was too loose. I tried it the second time, and it was too tight. The third time was a charm- I tied it the third time and it was just right. The scarves gave me a different look, my facial features became more profound, and I spent the day with my hair covered.

It was a chilly, grey day and the aroma of the spice-saturated foods greeted us. Stepping closer, the fragrant pull to the restaurant grew in strength. As our steps quickened, I took a quick notice of the Khanda, the Sikh symbol, placed on a building next to the restaurant. We entered the restaurant, Salaama Hut, and the atmosphere was warm, and we got enveloped with an even more heightened smell of the food. It was quiet, and there were small clusters of people dispersed around in the restaurant. At the back of the room, there was a woman with beautiful, curly, ebony black hair that shone uncovered, a rare and uncommon sight in this environment. She sat opposite her friend who wrapped herself in a soft burgundy shawl. We took our seat in the corner beside a make believe fire place. The ambience was very mellow and understated. With shades of browns and burgundies colouring the walls. The space was dimly lit and took on the personality of someone who just woke up- a slow, measured pace.

Conversations bounced around in the room, and the whooshing of the tea maker made its announcement now and then. Still garbed in our winter attire, we couldn't wait to warm our cold hands and bodies with a fresh cup of Somali tea. We approached the counter to order our tea, and like most point of sale stations, there was a box for donations. The charity box was labelled with the name: Khalid bin al-Walid mosque. The cashier greeted the Somali customers with ‘As-Salaam-Alaikum’, meaning ‘Peace be unto you’ in Arabic, and responded to customers both in the Somali language (subah wanaagsan or iska waran?) and in English depending on their preference. She greeted us in English. We made our order and headed back to our seats with our cup of tea that warmed our hands and tingled our nostrils with the smell of ginger spiciness. We also ordered a pastry called Mahamri. I hadn't eaten anything all morning, so I was starving. I had the first bite of Mahamri, and I gobbled up it up within minutes. It was a mildly sweet, somewhat crunchy, bread like ‘doughnuty’ pastry. Very delicious. It reminded me somewhat of the Ghanaian Bofrot, or the Nigerian Puff-Puff and the waitress pointed out that in Kenya, the pastry was referred to as Mandanzi. I’ve eaten both the Bofrot and the Puff-puff, and although it shared a similarity in taste, crunchiness, and being deep fried, the Mahamri was different as it was filled with air and left you wanting more. After my first serving, I went and ordered two more pieces.

I followed up with the tea, and it tasted spicy and sweet. My tongue felt awakened, and my throat warmed up in unison. Towards the end of the cup, I could feel the pulp from the ginger. Being Nigerian and coming from a culture where tea isn’t as ingrained, I learnt a lot about from my conversations with my team and the chef at the restaurant. We talked about how ‘Chai’ means tea in Arabic, Amharic, Swahili, Russian (Chay- same pronunciation), Hindi (Chaay- same pronunciation) and Somali. To me, ‘Chai tea’ was a variety of tea, a flavour. Meanwhile, it was just tea. All tea is chai in those languages. Another interesting discovery I made was that it mattered how the tea was made. I love tea, but because it doesn’t have a cultural meaning to me, I just pour some water into a mug, put in my tea bag, and place the cup in the microwave for one or two minutes depending on how rushed I am. However, I learnt that the tea making process is somewhat intricate and important in the Somali culture. The water is first boiled, then the ginger is added, then the spices and peppers are added, then the tea leaves are added lastly. Essentially, tea is just a base of black tea with different spices added to it.

After our tea time, we ordered our breakfasts. We got served the Anjero and the Chapati. The Anjero was a spongy flat bread with the moon like texture- covered in holes of various sizes. It was coloured with several shades of creams and browns forming spiral lines across the bread. The bread cheerfully soaked up the deep brown sauce served alongside. We ordered the liver sauce (Beer in Somali) and the kidney sauce (Kilyo in Somali). Both sauces left a curry coloured oily tracing as they dripped down our plates and they were mixed with onions and tomatoes. Beholding the heap of food before us, we were told by the chef that back in Somalia, pregnant women ate an abundance of kidney for its iron content and other nutritional benefits. I took a bite of the kidney, and it wasn't chewy- the spicing was well balanced, and the kidneys had a goat like after taste. I tore a piece from the Anjero, and it tasted like pancakes, except it was less fluffy. I also ventured into the Chapati, and it tasted like Nigerian meat pie crust. Although the Chapati is famously identified with the Indian culture, the Somali’s enjoy this flatbread in their daily meals because of the old trade through the Indian Ocean which the Somali horn juts into. Together, these foods formed a rich harmony.

As I chewed on the food, my eyes wandered across the room and landed on the pictures on the walls. Looking up, I noticed pictures that hung haphazardly in the upper corners across the entire stretch of the wall. One photo, in particular, caught my attention. It was an image of a woman writing Arabic on a wooden slate- they are verses from the Quran, the chef explained. Our tummies ached from over eating, but our tongues begged to keep eating. Soon enough, we noticed the quiet atmosphere; we were among the few left around. It was 1 pm, and most of the restaurant patrons had left for the afternoon prayer. The chef gave us a bag of Somali cookies as a departing gift, and we shared our gratitude. We left with more than the taste of the mouth-watering Somali foods. We left with a taste of the Somali hospitality. Little Mogadishu in the GTA- Salaama Hut.

Olaitan Ayomide Ogunnote, URA, ECVOntario, University of Guelph