That Time I Went to Mzoli's

One of my better dining experiences in South Africa was visiting Mzoli's with a group consisting of a Ugandan postgraduate student, a South African graduate student, a Jamaican-American woman working in Ethiopia who flew down to Cape Town to see her old friend, my Haitian-American friend, and a South African postgraduate student and member of South Africa's black middle class from Johannesburg or thereabout (if I remember correctly, her father was a diplomat and the young woman had spent a lot of time in other African countries and is multi-lingual). I felt sorry for the young woman traveling from Ethiopia, she does not eat meat (Mzoli's is best known for its delicious and succulent braai, which is similar to barbecues in the United States or asados in Argentina) and she was exhausted after her long flight (from Addis to Dubai and then South Africa) yet she had no time to rest because we all squeezed into the same cab she took from the airport in Cape Town to get to Mzoli's in Gugulethu, a township.

Now, the only township near Cape Town I really ever spent a significant amount of time in was Athlone, which is a predominantly Coloured and decent place with lots of working-class and some middle-class households. Though it was not nearly as nice as the wealthier areas of Soweto, Athlone looked like some of the neighborhoods inside the city proper of Cape Town. As for Gugulethu, I unfortunately barely saw it, just taking the taxi to Mzoli's and back. I would have loved to spend some time there, but since I didn't have local connections there and transportation ain't easy (and fears of crime and how gangsters have taken control of the minibus public transportation system, apparently engaging in shootouts on the freeway connecting the Cape Flats to Cape Town, if one can believe my former professor at the University of Cape Town), I spent very little time in the Cape Flats (probably for the best, despite looking like someone who could be South African, I probably stood out because of the way I dress and walk).

Moving on, we got out of the cab in a very busy, dusty road full of traffic and pedestrians, including residents of Gugulethu and other townships peddling junk to wealthy and privileged students from the University of Cape Town and tourists. I am not sure how the community of Gugulethu feels about Mzoli's, but it certainly brings a lot of people into Gugulethu (though most of those folks probably only go to Mzoli's and spend there money there, occasionally buying tourist trap goods and other things from the persistent and sometimes annoying misogynistic men selling junk). Many white faces can be seen at Mzoli's, surely a rarity in most of the Cape Flats. Most of the folks I saw at the braai joint appeared young, too, no surprise given the blaring music they played (which was house and electronic, European-influenced garbage I mostly dislike. They did play that one song popular when I was in South Africa, something named after Orlando in Soweto, which was not hilarious and had the South African woman in our group dancing like a fool (which was what most people were doing while waiting for their food at tables under a protected area that essentially was a club and seating area.

Folks could bring in their own alcohol and go crazy, so I saw hordes of mostly educated and privileged young people and students from the University of Cape Town dancing, grinding on each other, consuming copious amounts of alcohol (the group I was in brought alcohol, too, but I am not into much of youth culture or drinking culture, so I just ate my delicious braai and observed while speaking to the young woman from Brooklyn and South Florida about her experience in Ethiopia. Long story short, she, despite her family's (as well as Jamaica's) penchant for Ethiopianism, she had horror stories about colorism in Ethiopia and how the Amhara and northern Ethiopians marginalize non-Amhara and darker-skinned peoples of Ethiopia. Moreover, she was afraid for her teeth's health, since people in Ethiopia drink a lot of coffee. Since she works in a small Ethiopian village, she does not spend too much time in Addis Ababa, where she said you always have to watch your back fro pickpockets and the chaotic street layout). It was a little sad to hear how unhappy and disappointed she was by so much of her experience in Ethiopia, but she was very interesting and enjoyed The Boondocks and The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, just like me!

After waiting for about 20 or 30 minutes for our braai (how it works is you wait in a usually crowded line, pick your choice of meat at the butchery (and if you like sides, such as delicious pap), take it to another line where you can pay someone to cook the meat for you (and if you pay a little extra, the cooks will accept your bribe and get your food out faster, which is what we did), and then you just eat, dance, drink, etc. I found myself engorging on boerewors, these nasty-looking beef sausages that were so succulent, well marinated, and outright addictive! The delicious other braai meats, all beef, were so juicy, well-spiced, and not dry or fake, processed meat like so much of what we consume in the US. I must say, eating meat like that in South Africa removed any silly notions of vegetarianism to me. Eating braai from a street grill in Johannesburg was also heavenly, particularly when combined with the peri-peri spice to keep it funky. Despite being a tourist thing for wealthy and middle-class South Africans, UCT students, and tourists to be somewhere 'cool' in the midst of severe poverty and inequality, Mzoli's is worth it.

We were probably there for about two hours, maybe a little more, or a little less. My Ugandan friend probably drink a little too much and also seemed obsessed with a chunky, unattractive German woman who was sitting at our table. I think his friend was in her group, as well as a beautiful Brazilian woman. They all seemed like nice people, but I spent most of my time discussing Ethiopia with my Haitian sister's Jamaican-American friend. And talking more to the bubbly South African woman, about her experiences in South Africa, her interest in gender studies and sexual violence in South Africa, her time in other African countries, and her own Tswana background (I hate admitting it, but I was probably trying to impress her with what I knew of precolonial southern Africa and current South African events).

After finishing our feasting, we called the taxi driver, and, because my Ugandan brother probably had too much to drink, he acted a fool in the car and made things a little awkward. He's a great guy, but despite being almost 30, he remains a child at heart. We dropped folks off and parted ways, with me thinking this was, for the most part, my best dining experience in South Africa. I will have to write a post about the Addis in Cape Ethiopian restaurant for my next post. Dining with an interesting and diverse group of people of Caribbean-American and African roots was far more stimulating than my other dining experiences with Europeans.

One of My Worst Dining Experiences: The Africa Cafe in Cape Town

One of my worst restaurant experiences was undoubtedly at The Africa Cafe in Cape Town, South Africa. I only went because my mostly European housemates and neighbors planned it, and had I known better (or perhaps possessed more commonsense), I would have chosen to not go. Moving on, the restaurant itself featured various dishes from different regions of Africa, including some decent Ethiopian food and a delicious mango chicken dish from Tanzania. In addition to various dishes from each corner of the African continent, I had the misfortune of witnessing the underpaid waiters being forced to 'sing African songs' and dance for the overwhelmingly white clientele. 

It was offensive. No explanations about what language the 'African music' was sung in or specific cultural/ethnic origins for the stereotypical monolithic 'African culture' put on display, such as "African face paint" the servers offered to  do for customers. Of course, a restaurant like The Africa Cafe is meant to appeal to ignorant tourists who likely know very little about Africa (beyond media generalizations), but it was just horrendous. Again, the food was good (super expensive, but endless rounds, though lacking in vegetarian options for some of my party), but the problem of a presentation of a monolithic Africa was disgusting. It would be akin to going to a Europe Cafe in Paris, Berlin, or Rome featuring Bavarian dancing, Portuguese folk music, and Italian opera all thrown together with dishes ranging from ratatouille to borscht. The fact that such resturants don't exist in Europe reveals the persistence of stereotypical and ill-informed narratives of the African continent and its vast diversity, history, cultures.

In addition to my discomfort surrounding the above, a tragic mulatta Dominican-American young woman felt the need to point out my blackness (even though herself, her mother and other siblings, based on photos, all look black or mixed) since, besides the restaurant staff, I was the darkest person in the restaurant. To be more specific, she asked, "Why are you so black?" (Apparently the African sun had darkened my skin a few shades, too, so that likely contributed to her anti-black stance and discomfort. Perhaps I reminded her too much of her mother's African heritage and she couldn't stand to be reminded of it in the presence of white Europeans?) At first I misheard her, but the tragic mulatta repeated herself and what proceeded was certainly one of the strangest restaurant experiences.

 I was initially shocked, and, in retrospect, should have left immediately, but perhaps moved by pity for the tragic mulattoes I have encountered nearly everywhere, I somehow did not tell her off. It's such a pity, too, the young woman's mother is clearly of Afro-Dominican descent and if you saw her walking down the street in the US, one would probably assume she was African-American. And on other occasions she would play up her 'minority card' and "Latino" identity by asserting a connection to a large East Coast city even though she's from a comfortable suburban background. It was clear she struggles with her identity and, depending on the time and place, would cling to stereotypical notions of Dominican and people of color identities while distancing herself from blackness and its disadvantages. Indeed, much like white folks emulating what they see as black youth culture, she wants the 'coolness' of blackness without any of the burden and difficulties because of racism.

But hey, defensive othering is key to so much of Dominican othering of Haiti and Haitians. In order to put on airs and presumably make herself fit in well with our white European dining partners, she had to make jokes about blacks to make herself feel better, distinct, and closer to the elusive whiteness she can't quite grasp. It's really quite pathetic, and though it seemed like some of the Europeans at the table were a little uncomfortable with it (even the proponents of a type of colorblindness ideology prevalent among some whites in Germany and France), nobody said anything.

 But this is the reason I find myself so bored and more than slightly annoyed by tragic mulatto types. Most of them and their obsession with identifying with 'whiteness' and their 'white roots' is really about hiding from blackness and entering into a broadened ideal of whiteness that is on the rise in the US, honorary whiteness. If Bonilla-Silva and other sociologists are correct, honorary whiteness  and the acceptance of such groups under that label by elites and middle-class America will include many light-skinned and 'successful' biracials, light-skinned Latinos, East Asians, and perhaps Arabs and South Asians who aren't too visibly Muslim in today's post-9/11 AmeriKKKa. So, with this expansion of 'whiteness' in American race relations, the multiracial movement reveals its ultimate aim of gaining entry through the gates into their beloved whiteness. 

Oh well, predominantly white tourists can continue reveling in their ignorance and confused and self-hating Dominicans and 'multiracial' Americans can engage in defensive othering in a seemingly endless game for the foreseeable future. All's I'm saying is I am done with awkward and racist dinners and restaurant experiences. Just say no, or get the hell up and go!