Work ended early one Friday evening. I was wondering where to go when an Eritrean friend texted me to ask if I would care to visit a restaurant in Sanlitun where I could sample food from northern, southern, western and eastern Africa. She added, for good measure, that "there will be injera", a famous flatbread from Ethiopia and Eritrea, where I had lived as a child.
Although I had already eaten dinner by 6:30 pm, "over capacity "wasn't on my mind as I looked at the poster my friend had sent. It listed, among other things: samosa, goat pepper soup, white fufu with okra, jollof with grilled chicken, lamb with yellow rice, coleslaw, cassava with kale, and an Afro mojito.
The poster screamed that it was "all free". I didn't think twice before, rather shamelessly, asking some of my friends to join me.
A European friend wondered if it was really free. "Maybe if I come, it's not free anymore," he laughed. A Chinese friend said it's too late, but realizing she was close to the place, decided to drop in. Another African friend said she would spend extra time on the treadmill before coming.
My Chinese friend arrived first and sent me photos of the food. It looked delicious, but didn't match the menu on the poster. I assumed those might be starters, but when I reached the venue, I realized she had gone to the wrong place. After she joined me, the waiter handed us the regular menu. It didn't list injera, so I asked him about it. He said if it is not on the menu, then they possibly don't have it. We decided to be modest and ordered just one dish each. When the waiter brought over a handheld payment device, I asked, hesitatingly, "Isn't this supposed to be free?"
"Oh, you have come for that, I see. Then please wait a while. The food is still on its way."
