The other day I was minding my own business at my retirement home in Njombe when a former co-worker from India called to say he was in town.
An hour later we met and reminisced about our days together some ten or so years ago. He was in town on a project involving the avocado agricultural business.
As we parted, he gave me a gift of bottled chillies from India, saying they would go well with nyama choma, which he recalled I was fond of during our days together.
Little did I know these were not the usual chillies. Tasting them with kuku choma set my tongue on fire and sent electrifying shocks down my throat and into my stomach. They are now left untouched on my kitchen shelf.
This episode, however, reminded me of a similar experience more than 30 years ago. It took place thousands of kilometres away from Bongoland, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. The culprit that time was Mexican red-hot chillies.
It was sometime in the mid-90s when I found myself landing at Albuquerque International Airport, New Mexico – or “the Land of Enchantment”, as it is fondly called.
I was one of hundreds of delegates from all over the world who descended on that well-laid-out city with its magnificent Mexican adobe structures. We were attending one of those many international conferences, which are basically stress-management exercises.
No wonder we had an amazing programme which, apart from conferencing, included tours to bull-fighting events and visits to Native American (then referred to as “Red Indian”) territories and townships.
The highlight of the tours, however, was a visit to the New Mexico state capital, Santa Fe. The city also happens to be the oldest state capital in the US. It is renowned for its rich history, Pueblo-style architecture and vibrant arts scene. It also has the highest concentration of artists and writers in the world.
Santa Fe – “Holy Faith” – perched on top of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, is a shortened form of its original name, La Villa Real de la Santa Fe de San Francisco de Asís – “Royal Town of the Holy Faith of Saint Francis of Assisi.”
At Santa Fe, about 100 km from Albuquerque, we were warmly welcomed by the city authorities, and the Mayor hosted us to a sumptuous lunch in one of the spacious restaurants overlooking the magnificent City Square.
We were introduced to the various buffet dishes on display and encouraged to taste some real Mexican food and the accompanying chillies. I enjoyed the meal and then, out of curiosity, tasted the chillies. Oh my God! Some hot flame went into my mouth, burning my tongue, searing down my throat and into my intestines. It felt like a thunderbolt had struck my mouth and tongue. My eyes bulged and I believe my hair also shot up as the hot chillies scorched my body.
It took three or so glasses of iced water and, on “good advice”, several shots of tequila to cool me down.
Meanwhile, halfway through the luncheon a bell was rung, and suddenly all the waiters and waitresses froze. They then serenaded us with a beautiful and romantic Mexican a cappella song. At the end of the song, they resumed serving us as if nothing had happened. We gave them a standing ovation, followed by hefty tips from the delegates.
Silly me continued to douse the Mexican chilli fires with more tots of tequila. On leaving, the Mexican heat worsened the situation. I must also have gone shopping, because the following morning, back in Albuquerque, I woke up to find a shopping bag containing a beautiful Mexican safari suit.
On closer inspection, I discovered that the trousers and shirt did not match. Outraged, I was on the verge of taking some action when I found a note I had signed, declaring that I had bought the mismatched suit against the advice of the shopkeeper.
I still have that note – thanks to the Mexican chillies and tequilas.
