Reclaiming Our Plate: The Untold Story of Africa's Food Heritage

We stand at a crossroads, looking at a table laden with history, irony, and a silent battle for identity. What you see before you is not just food; it’s a narrative of resilience, exploitation, and the urgent need to reclaim what was once dismissed. Many of these humble grains, roots, and leaves were once scorned, labeled “poor man’s food,” and their consumption brought shame to our ancestors in the eyes of colonial powers. Yet, today, these very same foods are paraded in health stores across Europe and America, adorned with shiny “superfood” labels and hefty price tags.

The irony is striking. Consider Teff, a staple Ethiopian grain for millennia, now sold in London for £10 a kilo as a “gluten-free miracle.” The very notion of “gluten-free” seems a stark contrast to the colonial disdain for our indigenous grains. Baobab, a fruit children once chewed in African villages, is now powdered and bottled in Europe as a “premium antioxidant drink.” Fonio, a West African “hungry season food,” is now a “gourmet delicacy” in Parisian restaurants. Hoodia, a cactus traditionally used by the San people to suppress hunger, was patented in South Africa and licensed to a US firm, touted as the next billion-dollar appetite suppressant.

These are not isolated incidents. They represent a global pattern: the rebranding and commodification of Africa’s culinary heritage, often without fair compensation or recognition for the communities that nurtured these foods for centuries. The world doesn’t suddenly respect African food because of its intrinsic value; it respects it because someone figured out how to patent, rebrand, and profit from it.

The Maize Enigma: A Tool of Control, Not Nourishment

While our indigenous foods are being repackaged and sold back to us at exorbitant prices, Africa’s dinner plates have become dominated by a foreign crop: maize. This ubiquitous grain, the foundation of ugali, pap, and nshima for millions across the continent, is not African. It originated in Mexico thousands of years ago and was brought to Africa by the Portuguese in the 1500s. Its introduction was not a gift of nourishment but a tool of control.

Maize was ideal for feeding slaves and later African laborers in mines and plantations because it was cheap, fast-growing, and produced bulk calories, though not necessarily bulk nutrients. Our own indigenous crops – sorghum, millets, fonio, and African rice – were far richer in iron, zinc, protein, and incredibly resilient. But maize fit the colonial agenda: easy to grow in bulk, easy to mill, and perfect for rationing.

By the 1800s, colonial governments actively discouraged indigenous foods, promoting maize as the modern staple while mocking our traditional grains as “primitive.” This shift had devastating consequences. Maize is primarily starch, with very little protein, and its vitamin niacin is locked away, unusable by the body unless processed with lime and ash – a technique known as nixtamalization, widely practiced in Mexico, but never introduced to Africa.

The widespread reliance on maize led to a hidden killer: pellagra, the “disease of the 3Ds” – dermatitis, diarrhea, and dementia, ultimately leading to death. In South African mines, pellagra spread like wildfire among workers fed almost exclusively on maize porridge. Colonial reports from Malawi, Zimbabwe, and Tanzania describe children with peeling skin and mothers succumbing to madness, all due to this nutritionally deficient, imposed staple.

Today, Africa grows nearly 100 million tons of maize a year, yet it’s still not enough for our 1.4 billion people. When droughts hit, we import millions more tons, primarily from the US and Brazil. The absurdity lies in the fact that in these countries, 60% of maize feeds animals, 30% goes into biofuels, and barely 10% reaches human plates. What feeds cows and cars in the Global North feeds our children in Africa, and even then, it’s never enough. This is not just hunger; it’s dependency and control.

Adding another layer of injustice, there’s a clear distinction between “sweet corn” and “field corn.” In the West, sweet corn, rich in vitamins, fiber, and antioxidants, is reserved for human consumption – a healthy vegetable. Field corn, a starchy, less nutritious variety, is primarily grown for livestock feed and biofuels. The West consumes the healthier, sweeter corn, while promoting the less nutritious field corn as the foundation of African diets. What feeds animals in the West became the food of millions in Africa, a stark illustration of how global food politics prioritize profit and control over nutrition and equity. This imbalance is even reflected in our schools, where maize-based meals like ugali and porridge remain the dominant offering.

The Disappearance of African Rice and Yams

The story repeats itself with other essential crops. For thousands of years, West Africans cultivated their own nutritious African rice. Yet, today, it is nearly impossible to find. Instead, our markets are flooded with Asian white rice, a “modern” and “clean” variety that, through polishing, has been stripped of its nutrients and fiber, leaving behind empty calories. African rice was ridiculed as “backward” and slowly vanished from our diets and farms.

Africa now consumes over 40 million tons of rice annually, producing less than half of that. Billions of dollars leave the continent each year to import rice from India, Thailand, and Vietnam, while our farmers remain impoverished and our heritage grain is forgotten. This imported rice may fill our stomachs, but it drains our pockets, weakens our health, and erases our history. It is rice without a soul for our people.

Similarly, before the arrival of cassava and maize, Africa had its own rich roots, particularly yams. In West Africa, yams were more than just food; they were an identity. Communities cultivated them for millennia, and new yam festivals celebrated their harvest, symbolizing wealth, fertility, and status. A man’s worth was often measured by the size of his yam barn. Yams were roasted, boiled, and pounded into fufu, shared with pride.

But then came the colonizers, dismissing yams as “backward” and “food of peasants,” introducing polished rice and wheat as symbols of “progress.” Slowly, the crop that defined our dignity was relegated to “poor man’s food.” Yet, yams remain richer in nutrients than cassava, more sustaining than white rice, and more African than any food imposed upon us. To forget yams is to forget ourselves, our identity.

The Illusion of “Wu” (Irish Potatoes) and the Subjugation of Indigenous Beans

Even the beloved “Wu,” or Irish potatoes, widely consumed in Kenya, is not indigenous. Born in South America, taken to Europe by Spanish ships, and introduced to Africa by colonial settlers, it is a colonial food. While versatile, it holds no sacred cultural meaning, unlike yams. Potatoes were a cheap colonial crop, introduced to keep people fed and dependent on what the colonizer controlled. Their vulnerability was tragically demonstrated in Ireland, where reliance on potatoes alone led to a devastating famine when a single disease wiped out the crop.

Compared to yams, which are diverse, resilient, and celebrated, potatoes are mostly starch, offering little in terms of long-term energy or the profound cultural connection that yams provide. Yams were wealth; “wu” was a colonial filler.

Our indigenous beans, such as Kundes, Baazi, and Jugumawi (Bambara groundnuts), were tough crops that thrived in poor soils and harsh seasons, providing steady food when other crops failed. They were nutritionally superior: Kundes offered more protein than the widely consumed Maragu (common beans), and its leaves provided essential vitamins. Baazi was rich in protein, fiber, and minerals, surviving droughts with ease. Jugumawi was so balanced in protein, carbohydrates, and fats that it was called “the poor man’s meat.”

However, Maragu, brought from South America by Portuguese traders, spread quickly due to its faster cooking time and good harvests. This was again pushed by colonizers, while our own richer, tougher, and more complete beans were downgraded as “poor man’s food.” In truth, these indigenous beans were the real superfoods that sustained Africa through famine and drought. And guess what? You’ll likely find them in London now, labeled “superfood” and selling for £20 a kilo.

The Silent Epidemic and the Return to Our Roots

Across Africa, we face a silent epidemic of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension, diabetes, heart disease, and obesity. These are not infectious; they creep in through our diets, lifestyles, and the foods we consume daily. National surveys in Kenya, for instance, show a significant percentage of adults suffering from hypertension and diabetes.

Before colonialism, African communities thrived on a diverse array of indigenous foods: millets, sorghums, yams, our own beans, leafy vegetables like managu, pumpkin leaves, and saga. These foods were high in fiber, slow-digesting, and nutrient-rich, protecting the body, balancing energy, and rarely leading to lifestyle diseases.

The colonial era introduced maize, polished rice, and Irish potatoes – starchy, bulk-grown foods designed to feed laborers and soldiers, not for African health. These crops created over-dependency, displacing indigenous foods. In central Kenya, where “wu” (potatoes) is a cultural identity, mixed with maize in dishes like mukimo, and rice has become a symbol of luxury and celebration, this heavy reliance on low-nutrient, starchy foods has come at a high cost, manifested in the rise of NCDs. Our grandparents thrived on foods we can barely recognize today, a testament to the systematic erasure of our culinary heritage.

The African Identity of Coffee and the Colonial Exploitation of Tea, Cotton, and Tobacco

Beyond food staples, even cash crops tell a similar story of appropriation. Coffee, for example, is inherently African, born in Kafa, Ethiopia – the very origin of its name. Our ancestors used it for health, energy, and ceremonial purposes, mixing beans with fat for long journeys or brewing them for spiritual rituals. Coffee was sacred.

But once Arabs carried the seeds to Yemen and Europeans discovered the drink, coffee became cash. By the late 1800s, colonial governments in Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Rwanda, and Burundi forced Africans to grow it under brutal taxes and restrictions. In Kenya, Africans were banned from growing coffee for themselves; it was reserved for white settlers on fenced-off “white highlands,” pushing Africans onto rocky soils with only maize for survival. The irony of growing a cash crop you cannot benefit from, while being forced to consume a nutritionally inferior alternative, is a painful legacy.

Tea, brought to Kenya by the British in 1903 and planted on stolen land with African labor, was never for us; it was for Britain’s tea obsession. A century later, Kenya is the third-largest tea exporter, yet the wealth remains in European trading houses. Despite our grandfathers tending coffee farms and many current tea farmers living in poverty, the profits never stay in Africa. Colonial structures, like the oppressive housing on tea and coffee farms, remain a constant, traumatizing reminder of this exploitation.

The story extends to cotton, which was never about feeding Africa but fueling Manchester’s textile mills. Colonial officers forced its cultivation across West Africa, Sudan, and Uganda, forcing families to choose between growing food to survive or cotton to pay taxes. Many chose cotton, leading to famine. Tobacco, from the Americas, was planted on massive estates in Zimbabwe, Malawi, and South Africa, pulling Africans into grueling labor to produce cigarettes, building addictions and diseases, and generating profits for European companies.

Both cotton and tobacco did something dangerous: they stole land from food crops, turning our best soils into fuel for Europe’s factories and vices, while Africans starved.

The Power of Our Indigenous Foods: A Call to Reclaim

But now, the foods once mocked as weeds or “poor man’s food” are finally gaining recognition. It’s time to walk this journey together and reclaim what is ours.

Millet: Three to four times more iron than maize, and incredibly drought-resistant.
Sorghum: A gluten-free “ancient grain,” perfect for diabetes and drought conditions.
Fonio: Matures in six weeks, grows in poor soils, and is rich in calcium and vitamin C.
Teff: Very high in protein and lysine, essential for muscle health.
Moringa: The “miracle tree,” packed with vitamin A, calcium, potassium, and complete protein.
Hoodia: The San people’s survival cactus, now hijacked as a weight-loss pill.
Baobab: Six times more vitamin C than oranges, now marketed as a “superfruit” in Europe.
Terraras, Sagasa, Managus: Once dismissed as weeds, these leafy greens are packed with iron, folate, beta-carotene, calcium, and act as immunity boosters.
Kundes: High in folate, iron, and vitamin C, and perfect for protein balance.
Pumpkin (leaves, seeds, and fruit): Excellent for immunity and men’s health.
True African Yams: High in potassium and deeply cultural, food for both body and spirit.

These foods never betrayed us. They sustained our ancestors through droughts, wars, and famine. They were mocked out of our kitchens, and now the West sells them back to us in fancy, unaffordable packaging.

Patents and Profits: The Theft of Our Heritage

Mocking our foods was just the opening act. Once their true value was realized, the mission shifted to ownership and profit.

Teff: A Dutch entrepreneur in the 2000s patented Ethiopian teff flour and baked goods in Europe, while Ethiopia, its birthplace, saw nothing. Only after legal battles were the patents struck down, but the profits were already gone.
Hoodia: Patented by South Africa’s research council and licensed to a US firm, touted as a billion-dollar drug. The San people, who used it for centuries, were ignored until global outrage led to a meager 6% royalty deal. Later, the drug “failed in trials,” and its efficacy was questioned, conveniently after the initial profit.
Rooibos: For decades, companies tried to trademark South Africa’s red tea. In 2019, a deal finally recognized the Khoi and San as custodians, granting them a small 1.5% of the farm gate price – a small but rare victory that opened the eyes of many Africans to the value of their heritage.
Devil’s Claw: Used in Namibia and Botswana for healing, it became a booming European herbal industry. Only in 2022 did Namibia force benefit-sharing agreements. The derogatory naming (“Devil’s Claw”) is a subtle tactic to deter Africans from recognizing and benefiting from their own natural resources, while foreign entities secretly harvest and profit.
Baobab: Approved as a “novel food” in the EU in 2008, foreign farms rushed to dominate the supply chain, leaving African producers with pennies compared to the profits abroad.

Every time Africa’s knowledge proves valuable, someone else patents it, trademarks it, or controls its supply chain. We win small battles, but the larger war is still being lost.

Land, Legacy, and Liberation: Controlling Our Destiny

The root of it all is land. Colonialism wasn’t just about borders; it was about who controlled the soil and what grew in it. The best lands were fenced off for settlers – Kenya’s white highlands for coffee and tea, Zimbabwe’s estates for tobacco, West African fields for cocoa and cotton. Africans were pushed to marginal soils, forced to abandon their own foods, and coerced into cash crop economies.

Even after independence, the system remained largely the same. Governments still rely on export crops for foreign exchange, often boasting about coffee and tea revenues as a source of national pride, when in reality, this wealth often benefits a corrupt few and the Global North, not the African people. International lenders and trade deals perpetuate this cycle: grow for Europe and America, import what we eat. We export cocoa but buy chocolate; we export tea leaves but import tea bags; we grow maize but still beg for maize aid. The foods that carried us through famine and drought were never poor; they were powerful. The world mocked them, rebranded them, and now sells them back to us at insane markups.

Meanwhile, the forced crops – maize, white rice, cotton, tobacco – leave us hungry, dependent, sick, and nutritionally deficient. If Africa doesn’t reclaim its own foods, someone else will continue to own them, and by extension, our future. Food is not just sustenance; it is power. Until Africa controls her plate, we will never control our destiny.

It’s time for us to take control of our health and our heritage. Let us actively seek out and reintroduce these amazing indigenous foods into our diets. It’s a journey, not an overnight switch, but a crucial one for our well-being and our liberation. We must unlearn the colonial narratives that taught us to scorn our own foods and embrace the richness and power of our culinary traditions. The fight for our food is a fight for our future.