Chef Mokgadi Itsweng's Indigenous Food Revolution
By Tara Boraine
On the days that I cannot stand or make myself food, my mother brings me my meals, along with a tidbit of knowledge. Sometimes it is a poem, sometimes something profound. That day, in particular, it was a fact. “Did you know, last year was the year of millets?ˮ She said, unprompted, as she walked into my dim sanatorium of a bedroom. “The what?ˮ I laugh weakly.
“Yes! The UN declared last year the International Year of Millets!ˮ she laughed back. “Now, eat up!ˮ She handed me a steaming bowl of unassuming grain. I smelled olive oil, herbs. Pastoral, plain, and it had me drooling.
Iʼd been in and out of hospital recovering from a flare-up of Long Covid. Two years of chronic illness had shrunk my world to the size of a duvet. My body was in revolt, rejecting nearly everything I tried to consume. But today, fortified by the idea of a gluten-free grain I could stomach, my appetite was back. And boy, was I hungry!
Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks later, a friend asked me to do a profile on the South African ambassador to said “Year Of The Milletsˮ. The United Nations declared 2023 the International Year of Millets and focused their efforts to promote awareness of ancient grainʼs nutritional benefits, climate resilience, as well as their potential to enhance food security.
For we live in an era of nutritional paradox: a world of abundance where many still go to bed hungry. Might the solution to a sustainable future might just be growing in our own backyard?
This is the story of Chef Mogkadi Itsweng
Foodie, activist, and author of the plant-based cookbook “Veggieliciousˮ, Chef Mokgadi's culinary roots run deep. Women, in particular, played a foundational role. Her paternal grandmother was a subsistence farmer, growing indigenous vegetables that she then sold. As a child, Mokgadi joined her in the garden, harvesting pumpkins, ditloo and peanuts. Her maternal family included cooks & bakers, working hard in the hotel kitchens of tropical KZN. The township of Umlazi was known for its mango and guava trees. Their scent hung sweet and heavy. Familial laughter filled the air. Perhaps this abundance is what inspired Kgadisco Mogkadiʼs carefree alter ego who, rumour has it, dances joyously about the kitchen?
To understand the revolutionary nature of Chef Mokgadi's work, we must first look at the fragmented history of South African cuisine itself.
I can think of no better way to do so, than through the lens of mielies. Corn. Maize. Umbila. Samp. Pap. Umngqusho. This alien crop was introduced in the 16th century Dutch traders, by way of the Portuguese. It quickly usurped indigenous grains like sorghum and millet, reshaping the agricultural landscape and culinary traditions of the Southern tip of Africa.
Whilst this disruption is unfortunate, unfortunately this kind of alien invasion is nothing new. From ancient sieges to modern economic sanctions, the weaponisation of food systems has long been a tool in the arsenal of conquest & colony, shaping not just what people eat, but how they live, think, and think about themselves.
By the 20th century, the apartheid regime exploited this dependence, using maize as a tool of control. Amongst other policies, maize subsidies provided a surefire way of maintaining rural white support.
Over the years, the nutritional and cultural titans of millets, sorghums, amaranth, morogo, bambara groundnuts, and cowpeas were sidelined, denigrated, labeled as "poor man's food". Monoculture has come at a cost: decreased dietary diversity, increased rates of obesity and diabetes, and a concerning loss of indigenous food knowledge. There was a food security paradox National food self-sufficiency coexisted with malnutrition, and lifestyle diseases. People were full. But they were not nourished. This paradox of plenty amidst scarcity is a symptom of a deeper societal malaise, of rusty cogs and broken systems, disconnected from the land, from our food, and from each other.
It's against this starchy backdrop that Chef Mokgadi's work takes on revolutionary significance. Before maize's reign, there were the ancient grains. Domesticated over 5,000 years ago, sorghum and millet perfectly adapted to our arid climates and ascetic soils.
As well as being nutritional powerhouses, sorghums and millets were at one point inextricably woven into the fabrics of African life. They've starred in creation myths, featured in ceremony, and even played a role in early state formation. And this next season might just feature them in a leading role.
As I delved deeper into Chef Mokgadi's work, particularly her focus on plant-based meals, I couldn't help but reflect on my own fractured culinary heritage. I have always loved fresh, vibrant, plant-based food. Being Half English, and half Afrikaans, I too have witnessed the colonial hangover of our signature wors-n-aartappels carnivorism. You can imagine the many times have I been the lone vegetarian at a braai, with some oke waving a tjop in my face.
Our current meat-centred traditions are a complex interplay of historical, cultural, and socio-economic factors, too numerous to go into now. To give you a current picture, South Africans across cultures eat twice the amount of meat and three times less of vegetables than recommended by nutritionists.
The perpetuation of this culture is complex, too In a country where 13.8 million people are experiencing food poverty, meat consumption symbolises the ability to afford it. But given the looming climate crisis begs the question: can we afford to carry on farming livestock at all?
The good news is, even if our diets change drastically, you donʼt worry about missing meat.
With Chef Mokgadi in the kitchen, traditional plant-based ingredients undergo a mesmerizing metamorphosis. Her Dikgobe risotto, for instance, swaps the classic Italian Arborio rice for this sorghum & cowpeas, imparting a wonderful, nutty flavour that lends itself beautifully to the creamy texture of dish. Topped with chimichurri sauce?? Fusion at its finest. Another standout is her millet. Often used in place of couscous, she has a knack for transforming the tiny grain into a light, fluffy base rivaling its North African namesake.
Perhaps my favourite of Chef Mogkadiʼs culinary innovations is her use of impepho Helichrysum odoratissimum) to smoke vegetables. With the Latin name giving away its olfactory delights, this ubiquitous yet sacred ceremonial herb adds a flavour that compliments cauliflower so well it is, quite literally, food for the soul.
And Chef Mokgadi isn't alone in this delicious revolution. Across South Africa, a network of food activists is working to transform our food system from the ground up. Zayaan Khan, an indigenous food revivalist and seed activist, is preserving not just our food heritage, but the very building blocks of our food system. Loubie Rusch, founder of "Making KOS," is reintroducing indigenous edible plants, creating new opportunities rooted in our botanical heritage.
As I sit here finishing up writing this piece, fingers sticky from savouring my late-night snack of sorghum pancakes, I'm struck by how far down the rabbit hole this journey has taken me. What began as a serendipitous search for foods that agreed with my picky stomach has blossomed into a profound appreciation for the inspiring potential of our indigenous, proudly Southern African ingredients.
As this ancient wisdom resurfaces, I encourage us to bravely explore our own culinary backyard. Ditch the quinoa for some millet, the mielies for some mabele. Perfume your kitchen with imphepho. Visit an urban garden. Support your local small-scale farmers. Shop where you have never shopped before. In connecting with your food system, you connect with your culinary heritage, and the heritage of your fellow South Africans.
In the words of Mogkadi Itsweng, "Our food is our story." So, what story will your next meal tell?
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