Chitumbuwa

Boy with chitumbuwa at pitch

Chitumbuwa or fritters are the kind of food in the country that seems to make the world go around. They are the chips or the on the move snacks, the bacon sandwich on the way to the office in the morning. They are an indelible part of the Zambian culture. They can be used to define the day and, the freshness of them, the time of it. Early in the morning is the best alongside the main roads at the queing cars of the junctions when you vcan see the smoke rises up in the sunshine and floating off in the early morning cool breeze. The smoke is a good sign of the freshness, just cooked and crispy, scalding incredibly too hot to touch fritters and two at that time for is just the right amount for the most perfect breakfast and a garantee of satisfaction through to dinnertime and nshima. Roadside fires heat the black cast iron cauldrons of oil in which the heavy duty pancake like dough mixture, dolloped into balls is deep fried. Twigs are used to transfer these into a plastic serving bucket and the fritters sold to those in need from there. They cost 50 ngwee, 5 pence each and are more, in my opinion, than worth it. In a country where many food items are as, if not more, expensive than here, Chitumbuwa are a occasional affordable treat.

And this is important, this woman with the saucepan in the photograph is a welcome sight on the football pitch. It's what happens to make a match day go around, an integral part of it. She is the fritter woman preparing the pan of oil that the fritters are deep fried in. It's match day, a weekend and early mid-morning,  say around ten o'clock and the pitch is getting busy with the pre-big match nervous players and reverberating with the sound of adrenaline. Kids are gathering to watch the older teams play competitively in the FAZ or Dynamic Ministries league and their favourite players, their local heroes from Chainda and neighbouring compounds are there on the pitch, in front of their eyes, in real life. The young kids stand and stare or show off their keep me ups with their home made or punctured discarded balls, running around the pitch screaming to each other and the older kids do it to impress the lasses. There is an all enveloping sense of excitement that grew from the night before, the days before, and, if a big local rivalry match is scheduled, for weeks before. People arrive with their new proud hair cuts,others laugh at them and you can see the girls in their new braids and wigs. Families from the Seventh Day Adventist pass by in their church best clothes at ease and conscience free to watch a bit of footy on their day of rest when they can't even think about doing the laundry because God, in Zambia, likes football and even predicts the national team scores. He's a Chipolopolo fan.

Preparing the oil in the fritter hut

At the side of the pitch, between it and some corrugated roofed breeze block walled houses is the hut that serves as burger van, the tea stall, the refreshment stand and meeting place. A simple traditional wooden poled fire shelter structure with thatched grass roof round and through which the blue smoke from the newly kindled fire swirls then floats up and away like a part of the whole thing, with it's smell across the pitch and everywhere. The smell can make the belly rumble.

The woman or her daughters get there and light the fire with the yesterdays wood, left there, safely respected. She lives in a nearby house and this is her job. One of her jobs, and the money she makes from it help to feed her family and send some of her relatives to school. The kids in the academy are hungry most of the time. They don't get much to eat and after having fun playing football all day long they need extra sustenance like chips on the way home from a day building sand castles and stopping the incoming tide at the beach. The academy feed the kids at the pitch from the fritter stall on match days and some training days and will also provide mealie meal which some designated members will occasionally cook for the team.

The new academy shop building may be such to accommodate somewhere for the kids to congregate when not in action and somewhere for them to be fed and hang together about between matches. There is nowhere else. On big match days, when the mighty FAZ registered Chainda Bombers team and their local stars are in action, or on cup tie days a few thousand people will gather at the sidelines to watch and it's a good day, those days, for the fritter woman.

From another house near to the fritter woman's a tap provides the academy's water. The lady is paid K20 on a match day for the use of this. There are not many taps in the compound and those there are are shared by the community. Drinking water comes from bore holes dug in the ground beneath the open dry toilets beside the houses. Contamination is common news and Typhoid and dysentery are familiar consequences for the compounds residents. They, like the fritters, are a part of the compound culture too, albeit less welcome.

So, 50g of plain flour, 1 tablespoon of baking powder, 2 tablespoons of sugar, 1 tablespoon of cooking oil and half a cup of milk or if you can't afford it, water. Mix all the ingredients, save the milk or if you can't afford it water, up together and then add the milk/water. Keep going until the mixture is very thick. Prepare the oil, make it hot, as hot as a chip pan before getting a good sized dollop of mixture on a deep spoon already dipped beforehand in the hot oil, and adding this to the pan. Wait on until they are crispy and gorgeous dark golden brown and Bob, as they, whoever they are, say, is your uncle! Enjoy as much as possible!

Perfect, gorgeous as can be examples

And so Kelly will feed the kids and it's a major part of the day and a sure way top get them all together. They will say grace in a group before eating but the taste senses of the mind are already on the food, not the provider, and the prayers, overridden, drift away at the close with the smoke. And the mouths, you can see them watering. Amen's are hasty with eyes open wide, said whilst forming an vague queue before the fritter woman's serving bucket, any order of which rapidly disintegrates to a noisy crowd hiding the woman and her bucket somewhere in the middle. Tricks learnt by the older kids are are played in an effort to get an extra chitumbuwa and the younger kids have to be quick in order to have their fill. No crumbs are left and nothing goes to waste. No kid is left out.