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Friends United Meeting |
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November 2003
The Art of African Bread-Making
By Samuel Mahaffy
This childhood memory of African bread-making is stored deeply in my body. Abrahet, the Eritrean woman, is bent over the little grey oven built from straw, mud and cow dung. With utter concentration, she is pouring thin batter out of a bent tin can onto the hot, smooth, black surface where it will bubble and bake for a few minutes, covered by a dome-shaped lid. After it bakes, she will move this thin sheet of pliable bread to a flat woven basket where it will cool. Carefully stacked, this injera will be used instead of silverware to pick up the hot spicy African stew that a whole family will share, squatting closely together around a common dish.
Now I am over 50 and standing in my modern American kitchen. Over an electric grill, I struggle to remember the art of African bread-making. There are no written directions. It is a skill passed down from generation to generation of African women who have cared for their families' needs with complete focus and attention. How can I, as a white male expect to replicate a simple, yet profound, ritual from the African continent, one that has been formed and shaped over centuries of turning a little flour and a little water into an elegant meal?
The sourdough smell of the batter awakens so many memories of this quieter and simpler time in my life. I sink into that, letting go for the moment of the persistent nudging of schedules, cell phones and work that has to be done. What is it I need to remember in that circular motion of pouring the batter onto the hot griddle? I am going too fast. The batter becomes lumpy and hard. Start again, from a quiet and centered place.
In the community of Friends we talk about "centering down." The memory of African bread-making makes that real. From this centered place, the batter bubbles happily on the griddle. In a few minutes, it will be soft and pliable, and ready to stack on a cooling tray. I will start the next piece and the next — over and over again, until the busyness of the world subsides and the attention to the moment becomes crystal clear.
As I lift the cover, a cloud of aromatic steam escapes, and with it my silent prayer spirals upward. "God, give me the patience to focus on the task at hand. Open my eyes to see the profound in the simple. Help me to remember. Give me the wisdom to know what is important, and the grace to let go of what is not. Implant in me the patience to persist. Like the injera baking on the griddle, I am a work-in-progress. You are the potter and I am the clay. Shape me and remake me until I am soft and pliable. Help me to perfect the art of African Bread-making. Help me to perfect the art of living as your child in this hurried, hungry world."
Samuel Mahaffy and his family are members of Spokane Friends Church, Washington. Samuel was born and raised in Eritrea, East Africa in a missionary family and now writes grants for non-profit organizations.
Copyright (c) 2003 Friends United Meeting
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