There is only one way to rationalize just how delayed this post is in getting out there. Had there not been a year-long delay, I might never have been reminded of Kano of the groundnut pyramids by Kitchen Butterfly’s nostalgic post, and my student-friend Oyinna Agana’s story on peanut soup below wouldn’t have had this wider historical context. Flimsy excuse, at best, but I’m going with it.
Two parts to this post. The first, on groundnut pyramids and pride–big signs. The second, on the deployment of these signs in an intimate, familial context: the story of a father-daughter relationship mediated by cookery and peanut soup, contributed by my student-friend Oyinna Agana, and in its way a tribute to her father on the one-year anniversary of his passing.
Was a time, in the Kano State of my childhood, when the only way to store the groundnuts which Nigeria’s thriving agricultural sector was producing in abundance was to stack them in rows upon rows of pyramids.
Groundnuts were among the fledgling country’s first and most lucrative cash crops, and Kano was an export site. More, I learned from South of the Sahara cookbook-author Elizabeth Johnson (via Kitchen Butterfly):
[P]eanut bags waiting to be shipped out were stacked in the sun in huge pyramids, each pyramid holding 1000 tons of peanuts. A railroad ran strategically through the center of the 60 or more pyramids. This was all located right in the heart of Kano, and the smell of fresh peanuts permeated the surrounding streets, mingling with the dust and oil and other city smells to make an unforgettable aroma.
The pyramids were ostensibly the brainchild of one-time caravan trader and Kano merchant-magnate Alhaji Alhassan Dantata, who was positioned to capitalize on European markets’ newly discovered interest in groundnuts at the turn of the 19th century. Dantata would become the chief buyer of groundnuts for the British Royal Niger Company (instrumental in the consolidation of colonial Nigeria; later the United African Company), claiming, at the time of his death in 1955, some sixty pyramids of stacked groundnut sacks to be his own.
At the time of Nigerian independence in 1960, the groundnut pyramids were already a powerful visual sign of possibility and pride. Imprinted on coins and currency, a commercial answer to the other Great Pyramids of the world, sacks of stacked groundnuts were veritable signs of global becoming.
But then came the discovery of Nigeria’s famous bonny light crude and the gross neglect of agricultural export production, of oil highs and oil lows, and today the great groundnut pyramids are sepia-toned signs memories borne down by narratives of lost possibility–the signs that inscribed the social body, as Foucault might have said. The nostalgia is telling, for Nigeria ranks still among the top four groundnut producing (though not exporting) countries, behind China, India, and the United States. But sans the visual signs, the social body feels stripped of its erstwhile power and prestige.
From technologies of sign-systems and power to technologies of self and individual becomings– here’s Oyinna’s story of peanut soup:
One afternoon my father came into the kitchen when he returned from work. I was fixing his usual lunch of fufu and egusi (a type of melon seed) soup.
“Oyii, guess what?” he asked, with an animated look on his face.
I kept quiet and continued chopping the ugu leaves, knowing he was going to tell me anyway. My father and I rarely had casual conversations. Especially ones that began with “guess what?” Our conversations often revolved around what I should do and what I shouldn’t do.
“A colleague of mine told me his wife uses peanuts to make soup. Maybe we should try that sometime, don’t you think so?” he said, flashing his teeth and tugging at his tie, “I think it’s time we try something different for a change. We are going to make peanut soup as soon as the egusi runs out, okay?” We called groundnuts “peanuts”: a vestige of our American experience.
“Okay,” I said, putting on one of my best ‘this-is-the-news-I’ve-been-waiting-for’ smile, and turned to stir the pot of soup, rolling my eyes. By “we” he meant me of course. My father couldn’t boil a kettle of water if you handed him a kettle full of water. His contribution as far as cooking involved announcements like, “Oyii, don’t forget to add the sweetener!” [“Sweetener” was my father’s fond name for bouillon cubes.] Or, “Oyii, wash the vegetables well!” And, “Is the stone you are cooking ready? I’m hungry!”
I became my father’s housekeeper and cook at the age of seven, when my mother left us with him, unable herself to adjust to life in Nigeria after his years of study in the United States. Most of what I learned to cook was through trial and error, with some meals turning out delicious, and others bland and nasty. I watched my grandma and aunts cook anytime we went to the village. By the time I turned nine, I learned to figure out recipes by seeing and smelling meals. And by the time I turned eleven, I pretty much knew how to cook every meal I knew of, including my father’s hometown traditional meals.
As you can probably sense by now, I didn’t share my father’s enthusiasm for peanut soup. Let me tell you why. The first reason is quite simple: my dad was prone to extreme stinginess. He never bought complete ingredients for meals, but expected me to perform miracles to make it taste as good as my aunts’ cooking. For instance, he believed that all I needed to make a pot of beans was beans, salt, and many cubes of bouillon–um, sweetener–as possible. Secondly, my father never got tired of eating the same dish day in and day out. We ate the same soup for lunch every day and beans at night, until whenever he came home with a new meal plan. And that wouldn’t be in another couple of months!
Funny enough, my father never thought to ask for the complete recipe. It was left for me to figure out how to make the key ingredient into soup for his fufu. He strongly believed bouillon was the key ingredient to making any meal delicious and nothing else. He was too cheap to buy crayfish, pepper, onions, dry fish and local herbs and spices like uziza, utazi and efuru [Calabash nutmeg]. Most soups require these staple ingredients, but all I got was Mackerel, Maggi bouillon cubes, salt, ugu leaves and palm oil. And I better make it taste great!
Two months before he got the peanut soup idea, it was soybean soup. One evening he walked into the kitchen and dropped a bag of white powdery substance on the kitchen counter. “This is soybeans,” he said, “A female coworker of mine said it can be made into soup. Just like egusi. Soybeans has a high content of protein, which we need because we don’t eat meat,” and walked away after giving me a curt nod and grunt.
The raw powdered soybeans probably needed an extra step of processing because it had a nutty and soapy smell made which made me feel lightheaded and dizzy for hours. Oh did it drive me insane! So what I did to avoid being in the kitchen while it cooked was to add all the ingredients at once, run outside the house, come back in twenty minutes and turn off the stove. My father never said a word against my soybean soup, but I could tell he hated it too because he never bought it again when it ran out.
So where were we? Peanut soup. I have to say this about peanut soup. Like the soybean soup, I never got a recipe for the peanut soup. But it turned out to be quite tasty. And it didn’t need a lot of choice ingredients to make it taste good because peanut is sweet in any form, boiled, roasted, buttered, etc. I know this because peanuts, coconuts, and Maggi cubes were staples in my house–material enough for a book on Peanuts, Coconuts, and Sweeteners.
I found out years ago when I visited Ghana that peanut soup is a Ghanaian specialty, and Ghanians rival Nigerians in their consumption of peanuts. I enjoyed their version of the peanut soup immensely, but it’s quite different from the way I prepare mine. I make two variations of peanut soup these days: (a) with roasted peanut butter paste or (b) with raw ground peanuts. This is my recipe.
Groundnut [Peanut] Soup with Fufu
Ingredients:
1 cup of raw ground peanuts or 4 large scoops of peanut butter
4 cups of water or stock
Habanero peppers (As much as you can tolerate)
2-3 lbs of Chicken/Mackerel/Beef/Dry fish (any kind of meat, fish or poultry will do. You may choose to use only chicken, or a bit of chicken and fish. It’s really up to you).
1-2 Knorr cubes or any bouillon cubes (I still can’t stand Maggi till this day, but it works!)
Salt (to taste)
A bag of frozen collard greens or spinach (Fresh vegetables are even better)
Two table spoons of palm oil
Ground crayfish
*Optional—a teaspoon of ground uziza (also known as zanthoxylum tessmannii. This has a spicy kick to it)
Preparation
Wash the meat or fish and place in a medium size cooking pot.
Sprinkle the bouillon, salt, on the meat.
Add stock or water to the meat and let it cook until it’s quite tender.
Add crayfish, uziza, and hot peppers to the pot.
Add the ground peanut or peanut butter paste to the pot and stir until the lumps disappear. Let it boil for 7-8 minutes.
Finally, add the vegetables, cover the pot and let it simmer for about 5-7 minutes.
Add salt to taste.
Serve with fufu or boiled rice.
About fufu. Fufu is a staple, starchy food in West Africa. I’m not sure if it’s eaten in other parts of Africa or not, though there are equivalents like mealie pap in the Southern countries. It can be made by boiling starchy foods like yam or unripe plantain, and pounding with a mortar and pestle until its smooth and doughy. Fufu should be rolled into a small ball and dipped into the soup before swallowing.
As you can imagine, I cannot make fufu from scratch like it is made in Nigeria. I don’t own a big mortar and pestle here. Besides, I wouldn’t want to aggravate my neighbors with all that pounding. That said, most people buy fufu flour from local grocery stores or African stores. With all the hoopla over fatty foods and high cholesterol, most people have turned to wheat and oat fufu.
Since oatmeal is available in most places, I have decided to share the recipe as well.
Oatmeal Fufu
Ingredients
A cup and half of oatmeal
A cup and half of water
Preparation
Blend the oatmeal and water until very smooth
Pour in a small pot
Cook and stir over medium heat for about 5 minutes until the fufu thickens and becomes quite stiff.
Remove from heat and scoop onto plate.
With thanks to Oyinna Agana for her narrative, her candor, her recipes, and most of all her patience. Pyramid images shown are from this discussion forum.
Deepa, what a wonderful and timely post. Thank you for sharing it. I can’t say it enough but I’m glad you found me and thus sparked off a friendship. One day I’ll make marshmallows to prove my loyalty :-). In the interim, with 2 meyer lemons in hand (bought,….not made, no lemons in a hurry, Miss), I believe I shall be trying some lemon rasam! Or Rice.
Oyinna – I don’t know how to say this well but I’m going to try: I love you story. That was easy right? But there’s more, because I ‘get’ it, in that way that only a Nigerian can.
I want to hug you too and say sorry for everything, for the beginning, for the burden of becoming a woman, and caregiver when you should have been a child. For not exactly minding, because I know you have mixed emotions about it all but you did well and are doing well. For knowing that Nigerian fathers need and needed caring for, even if they don’t say or barely do….with grunts and sometimes stern words.
I get your story. Loved it. Appreciated it. It is my story in part.
Someday, I’ll meet you and we can talk some more and share hugs.
When I lived in the Netherlands, we had a lady Bose cook groundnut soup for us. It was sans the veggies and had a creamy, milky colour which wasn’t the most appealing till I tasted it! That was the end of the story. I didn’t stop eating it till the bottom of the pot shone. We had it with rice. With plantains. With ‘swallows’ and till today, I think of it.
So lets say….its something I might be making very soon. After the lemon rasam/lemon rice.
Stay well ladies. Thank you again
I count my blessings all the time, esp. for the friendships this blog has nurtured. Even if nobody else is reading, and sometimes I wonder if anyone else really is, the handful of treasures it’s lead me to bring me all joy and make it ALL worthwhile. I’m waiting now to hear how the lemon rasam and rice in their West African iteration turn out!
Thank you for this insightful article.
Thank you for sharing this Deepa. Beautiful!
I’ve been sick and busy trying to finish up my work. BUT, OMG! Dr. Reddy!!! You did it! I just saw your e-mail.I cried and laughed as I read the post. It is an interesting read, if I may say so myself =). Thank you so much for featuring me…and my dad on your blog. Can I just say I am in LOVE with the pictures of the pyramids and the family preparing fufu (foo-foo?)!!! The groundnut pyramids are awe inspiring! I’ve never seen anything like it, well except for photos of the actual Egyptian pyramids…and the Mayan and Aztec pyramids when I visited Mexico. I also enjoyed reading your commentary on the pre and post colonial context of the groundnut pyramids in Kano.
Kitchen Butterfly – Thank you so much for those kind words :-). It made me shed a tear. Yes, you really do get me. And I can’t wait to meet you. In the meantime, I am on FB as Oyinna Agana (oyinnacyril[at]yahoo[dot]com). Feel free to send me a request :-).
You know, that alternate spelling of foo-foo makes me want to sing the song my sister taught me once and which my kids so loved: about the naughty bunny foo-foo. Maybe there’s a Nigerian equivalent which involves groundnuts and pyramids to make up there?? 🙂 Hope you’re better soon.
This is a very good, in dept description of the creation and preparation of the peanut soup and fufu. It would benefit many to read and take notes on how this wonderful meal is made! Thumbs up to the authors for the vivid visualization and description.:)
Thank you Joseph!
very informative, love Oyinna’s story very funny and emotional at the same time. “Is the stone you are cooking ready? I’m hungry!” very funny!!!, it remind me of what my father always says to my older sisters; “Please bring that river Niger you called soup, I’m hungry!!!”
I know, I laughed at that line, too. Gives a whole new meaning to the story of “stone soup” 🙂
Deepa
Thanks for sharing the wonderful pictures and the story of your soup. It is amazing that you started cooking at the age of seven. I am not familiar with Nigerian food but I can feel the fragrance coming out of your kitchen.
Holly, How nice that you stopped by. Would that I could claim credit for that soup, but it was my friend Oyinna’s–and her journey more than my own documented here. I completely agree that the aromas of her descriptions spill over from cyberspace and scent my room!
Hmm.. A lot of nostalgia. Beautiful story too. I learnt to make groundnut soup while I was at school in the north. It was ridiculously cheap, tasty and good value for money. However, it just seemed to “swell” overnight! Lol! We didn’t keep it refrigerated as the weather was cold enough to prevent it from getting spoilt. I’m trying to recall if anyone NEVER had to throw away the extras! I can’t.