The Brussels bloggers' Christmas dinner took place at traditional Indian restaurant Anarkali. By most UK high street tandoori house standards, it was pretty upmarket - we helped ourselves from an all-you-can-eat buffet, which was like breakfast at the Sheraton, with added curry powder. The food was great, very varied, and certainly woke up my taste buds. My usual menu choice in an Indian restaurant is cream of tomato soup, or if I'm feeling really adventurous, a chicken shahi korma. At Anarkali you can taste all sorts of different dishes, to find out what you like and what you don't like.
On leaving the restaurant it was drizzling and I was feeling a little bloated from the lentils, so after a fruitless wait in the rain for a taxi I decided to walk to the nearest taxi rank. The quickest route led through Matonge, the African district. MKWM was a little concerned for my safety, but I assured her I had survived the Third Mainland Bridge in Lagos and was not going to be beaten by a whey-faced white bread honky town like Brussels. I marched off into the night, my poinsettias perking up in the rain.
Halfway to the taxi rank, I was hailed by a couple of local ladies of the night, known in West Africa as Nightfighters.
"How now, mummy!" they greeted me in pidgin, obviously mistaking me for a genuine Ubongan makket leddy. "Wetin for disting you dey go wakkin night-time?" (meaning what is the purpose of your nocturnal perambulations?).
I did not wish to be mistaken for a competitor for business, so I sucked my teeth noisily and made a long-drawn out nasal sound which is impossible to convey in writing, but goes something like: "eaeaeaeeh ... ", and waggled my poinsettias. "Na dey go lookim taximan".
The nocturnal patrol stuck out their generous bosoms and one placed a hand on her very ample hip. "Dis no be good place fah makket leddy be wakkin, wetin gat no mastah" she informed me, meaning that the area was not a safe place for an unaccompanied woman to be wearing Christmas decorations on her head after midnight.
I adjusted my holly in a non-committal manner, and said "No dey go long time taxi man. Na gotim big brick in handbag, no be worry sistah."
The two strapping gels looked at each other and made hissing noises.
"Mummy, let us go wakkim taximan wid you," one insisted. "You could be me mam an all."
The two girls, who were called Joy and Comfort (although their professional names were Kitten and Liana - West Africans have a fine sense of humour) - walked with me all the way to the taxi rank, chatting on the way about hair weaves and where to find decent fufu, and stopping several times to sit down on their shopping bags and eat plantain. It took a while before we got there, and when we did it took another hour before they would let me go, as they had to extend greetings to my entire family,
especially to Harold who has gone to sleep in the bosom of Shango, requiring reciprocal formula from myself as to the welfare of all their brothers and sisters and aunties and uncles and the peaceful sleep of their ancestors. That's the polite way in Africa. Then they foisted upon me their large tartan bags containing smoked fish, bushmeat and yams, and sent me on my way with the promise of a free "massage" any time I liked. The next time my back gives out, I'll know where to go.
Well yam will make a nice change from parsnip this Christmas. Woyayah everybody!
Anarkali
rue Longue Vie 31
Ixelles
Tel: 02 513 0205
On leaving the restaurant it was drizzling and I was feeling a little bloated from the lentils, so after a fruitless wait in the rain for a taxi I decided to walk to the nearest taxi rank. The quickest route led through Matonge, the African district. MKWM was a little concerned for my safety, but I assured her I had survived the Third Mainland Bridge in Lagos and was not going to be beaten by a whey-faced white bread honky town like Brussels. I marched off into the night, my poinsettias perking up in the rain.
Halfway to the taxi rank, I was hailed by a couple of local ladies of the night, known in West Africa as Nightfighters.
"How now, mummy!" they greeted me in pidgin, obviously mistaking me for a genuine Ubongan makket leddy. "Wetin for disting you dey go wakkin night-time?" (meaning what is the purpose of your nocturnal perambulations?).
I did not wish to be mistaken for a competitor for business, so I sucked my teeth noisily and made a long-drawn out nasal sound which is impossible to convey in writing, but goes something like: "eaeaeaeeh ... ", and waggled my poinsettias. "Na dey go lookim taximan".
The nocturnal patrol stuck out their generous bosoms and one placed a hand on her very ample hip. "Dis no be good place fah makket leddy be wakkin, wetin gat no mastah" she informed me, meaning that the area was not a safe place for an unaccompanied woman to be wearing Christmas decorations on her head after midnight.
I adjusted my holly in a non-committal manner, and said "No dey go long time taxi man. Na gotim big brick in handbag, no be worry sistah."
The two strapping gels looked at each other and made hissing noises.
"Mummy, let us go wakkim taximan wid you," one insisted. "You could be me mam an all."
The two girls, who were called Joy and Comfort (although their professional names were Kitten and Liana - West Africans have a fine sense of humour) - walked with me all the way to the taxi rank, chatting on the way about hair weaves and where to find decent fufu, and stopping several times to sit down on their shopping bags and eat plantain. It took a while before we got there, and when we did it took another hour before they would let me go, as they had to extend greetings to my entire family,
especially to Harold who has gone to sleep in the bosom of Shango, requiring reciprocal formula from myself as to the welfare of all their brothers and sisters and aunties and uncles and the peaceful sleep of their ancestors. That's the polite way in Africa. Then they foisted upon me their large tartan bags containing smoked fish, bushmeat and yams, and sent me on my way with the promise of a free "massage" any time I liked. The next time my back gives out, I'll know where to go.Well yam will make a nice change from parsnip this Christmas. Woyayah everybody!
Anarkali
rue Longue Vie 31
Ixelles
Tel: 02 513 0205
