Why Egusi is more than a great soup

Elsewhere in southwest Houston, Ms. Lakshmi knows the watertrunk, continuealive and spreetry mashing yams and practice the art to serve soup with swallows.

He moves from the kitchen of Margaret Chibuzo’s Safari restaurant to the dining room, where he shares egusi soup with gospel singer Stacy Egbo. Their conversation resonated with me: they, too, had felt the longing that could compel one, when hungry for a connection to the past, to use food as a link.

In the summer of 2017, newly married and newly received my green card, I longed for a deeper understanding of my chosen home. Armed with an audio recorder, I drove across the country with my husband to eat at as many Nigerian restaurants as I could and to talk with others who, like me, had found food to connect with home. What resulted was less of a food tour and more of a rediscovery of my own culture, and a revelation of how deeply it had taken root here in the United States.

I met not only Nigerians, but also Liberian, Ghanaian, and broader West African communities in Newark and Charlotte, Atlanta, and Albuquerque. Each one was filled with food from home. My heart filled with pride for the network of importers, farmers, restaurateurs and suppliers. By ensuring access to ingredients, they helped manage our shared culture from a world away.

Versions of egusi soup dotted the menus in every city we stopped in, and I enjoyed every one. Some were loaded with leafy greens, while others were more brothy and creamy. Some were served with a drink, others steamed rice. Each preparation was a solace to the eye, each dish a story of time, place and memory, a little different or a little more personal, but always recognizable.