On the outside, Bo Kaap is the Georgetown of Cape Town. On the inside it couldn’t be more different. The name of this neighborhood translates to “Upper Cape”, and just as the candy-colored houses of Georgetown sit nestled below the hilltop, so too are the rainbow houses of Bo Kaap perched on the hillside below Signal Point. But behind those brightly colored walls is the fascinating culture of the largest and oldest Muslim community in the Western Cape, and even during the hectic busyness around Ramadan, we were welcomed warmly. We were greeted by our host sister in the parking lot of a tuck shop (like a convenience store), and as she led us to the pastel pink building that would be home for the weekend, it felt like stepping into another world.
(One of Bo Kaap’s mosques)
We arrived late on a Friday afternoon not knowing what to expect. Our host sister, Tahira, led us through the beautiful, tiled house to the kitchen, where we found our host mom hovering over some divine smelling dish on the stove. We were greeted with big hugs and excitement, and our new family didn’t waste anytime putting Catherine and I to work setting out dishes and trying to navigate the small kitchen as best we could. We had to hurry, it was almost time to break the fast. When we heard the beautiful call to break fast on the radio, we all settled quickly into our places at the table. Despite the absolutely incredible spread of dishes before us, we broke the fast simply, with a date and cool water. I’ve never enjoyed a date so much (and I had eaten that day!).
(Table Mountain behind the colorful houses of Bo Kaap)
Our family left us alone with soup, donuts, and delicious samosas to pray. The food was like nothing I had ever experienced, deep fried spiced-donuts rolled in coconut, chicken, potato, and beef samosas made with fresh, hand-mixed curry, and a fried ball of what may or may not have been made with God’s (or Allah’s) tears. The main course was even better, especially because we ate with our hands. My host sister showed me how to use all my fingers to properly collect each part of the dish. I ate until I could fit nothing else into my stomach, and then I had some beets. And somehow, they were incredibly delicious beets.
(Courtney features with Table mountain and a look down Waal St. in Bo Kaap)
The next day we were given a tour of the neighborhood, which included a visit to the oldest mosque in South Africa. After my affair with Little Mosque (hulu original, look it up), this was a dream come true. We traversed the steep and cobbled streets to a second, mint green mosque, and made a stop by a shop that sells spices out of giant wooden boxes as I imagine they did in the 19th century. The whole community seemed to be in the wrong time and place, and I was falling in love. Our tour ended with a cooking lesson, where we learned how to make chicken curry for 15 and how to fold samosas. We got the chance to make the magical dishes we prepared, and nothing tastes better than things you help shape.
(Painting of Photographs)
The strangest part of our whole experience happened after dinner on Saturday night. All evening family and friends from all over the neighborhood drifted in and out of the house. All greeted us warmly, and most laughed at our American accents.
(Bo Kaap spice market)
I was so surprised and pleased, not only to see the community that thrived here, but to be invited to be a part of it. Being an exchange student is to be a perpetual stranger, and it is not uncommon to be kept at arms length. And who can blame them? Why become emotionally attached to someone, why allow yourself to love or even like someone when you know your relationship has an expiration date (or at least a best by date)?
(Dinner with the host family)
(Host momma’s famous spiced donuts and samosas!)
But not here. Somehow the community in Bo Kaap, who only got to know us for 72 hours, let us in without reservations. While I was in Bo Kaap, I received sleep help, motherly and grandmotherly advice, a bucket list, a number to call whenever I am in Cape Town, a Cape Malay cuisine and culture education, a jump drive full of movies, and two people whom I could call “mom” and “sister” without it being an exaggeration.
(The oldest mosque in South Africa)
Standing on the porch on Sunday morning waiting for our bus to arrive after a delicious breakfast of American-style flap jacks (mom always knows best), I reflected on the tie between religion and community and I realized that in this place, the line between the two is so blurred as to make it non-existent. Standing on the porch, greeting friends and neighbors as they pass, soaking in the sun, smelling the incredible aromas of lunches cooking in the bellies of the houses that looked uncannily like sleeping tropical birds perched on the sidewalk. In that moment, I realized that if done with the right amount of love; cooking, eating, talking, and all of living really, becomes a way to encounter the divine. And when I got back to Metanoia and popped open the take-away container my mom gave me, there was just enough divinity left for dinner.
(Learning how to make Cape Malay Curry!)
Butt Naked Travels 