Muhammad Walji

My brother and I with my great grandmother.

My summers were full of sewing machines, lost thimbles, and my great-grandmother, my Maa, attempting to teach me how to sew. My autumns were full of masala chai, mandazi, a sweet, fried dough, and stories from Maa as she watched her Indian dramas and taught me how to read Arabic. 

My Maa was a strong-witted woman, and in the spring, she would proudly wear her flower-embroidered headscarf and make my brother and I kheer puri. She would transition to a woolly pink sweater in the winter, always making sure there was a pot of hot chicken pilau on the stove. 

My earliest memories with Maa were praying with her, cooking with her, and listening to stories about my father in his childhood. My Maa moved around a lot: from her birth in East Africa to England where my father was born, and finally, to the United States. Growing up with Maa, I found her strength unwavering, and even as she got older and frailer, her strength persevered. 

My maa showed her personality through food. She cooked deliciously specialized, spiced, and pungent, dishes that made bold statements at family gatherings. I will admit, I was hesitant to try her food due to my childhood pickiness, but I soon learned that her food was a delicious blessing. 

It represented a fusion of cultures from her Gujarati Indian heritage to her birthplace in Moshi, Tanzania. With every bite, I could taste something different; something that would remain with me and serve as a reminder of the strength of spices and the cook herself. 

As summer turned into fall, Maa’s dishes would change yet still have a powerful and distinct taste. This transition between seasons resulted in different dishes, but each dish carried the same message: to continue being bold, strong, and true to yourself and embracing your identity. 

Although it is hard to pick one, my favorite dish of hers was probably her delicious fried vegetable samosas. They were flaky, buttery, and perfectly crispy. They were also fried, and my family is notorious for baking their samosas to make them “healthier.”

 My Maa passed away in April 2021. I haven’t had her authentic food for a few years, but my grandmother’s recreations were are as delicious. As a senior in high school, I have a bittersweet feeling about not only leaving for college but leaving my family’s cultural foods behind. 

As I begin the journey of leaving the comfort of home and the slightly distant aroma of Maa’s kitchen behind, I know I will carry more than just textbooks and clothes. Tucked away in the depths of my bags will be memories of my great grandma and the tasty foods that she cooked, as well as my own ambitions to recreate her comforting recipes.