The humble koesister is the perfect metaphor for my culture and heritage. It’s a bastardised recipe that is better than the original.
Igshaan Higgins, the curator of the Cape Muslim & Slave Heritage Museum at the Castle of Good Hope, tells me an interesting back story about this famous Sunday morning delight, writes Gasant Abarder.
Higgins, an accomplished attorney and activist, says the Cape Malay slaves used to take home the leftover koeksister dough from their Dutch colonial masters. They would then add spices like aniseed and naartjie peels to the dough before frying them in syrup and covering them with coconut.
Who would have thought to dream up such genius? A contradiction of sorts contained in a perfect orb of deliciousness that has become a favourite Sunday morning breakfast treat in homes across the Cape.
I was a walking contradiction of sorts too, dressed in my Bangladesh cricket shirt to finally visit the museum Higgins has been telling me about for ages. Not Indian, not Bangladeshi, but a mixed masala. Higgins has collected the art, images and artefacts for over 25 years and is constantly adding to the collection. Just a few months after opening, the museum won the National Heritage Council’s ‘Preferred Heritage Destination’ in the Golden Shield Heritage Awards 2022.
(Also, this was the only way I was going to get my Sunday morning koesister fix, thanks to the crazy load shedding schedule.)
No, I didn’t ‘go back to India’ because y’all are not going to get rid of me that easily. But I must admit that such racist barbs and calling me a ‘commie’ in response to my column about the City Hall being lit up in the Union Jack colours to commemorate the queen did sting.
I decided instead to explore my heritage after all. What I found made me as proud as ever and even more determined to start exploring my genealogy this Heritage Month.
When you enter the Museum – after you peel yourself away from the delicious koesisters and coffee – there is a tribute to the Khoisan people indigenous to the Cape and their rich history. Not the history of outdated textbooks either. A bulkhead shows the mix of European nationalities that passed the Cape on their voyages. The timeline concludes with images of the Dutch, a portrait of a pregnant Khoisan lady and the subsequent arrival of coloured babies.
My tour guide, Higgins, reminds me of lyrics from the Taliep Petersen and David Kramer musical Ghoema: ‘Hulle land hier, hulle plant hier, hulle dek vir elke aunty. (They land here, they plant here, they get with every aunty.)’
The next room depicts the slave history of the Cape and the brutality my forbears suffered. You can spend hours poring over the artefacts of District Six and the Bo-Kaap in the following section. There is furniture from the 19th and early 20th centuries, images and paintings, and even an original step from the famous Seven steps of Hanover Street, District Six. The museum illustrates the contributions from the Muslim, Christian and Jewish residents who famously lived side-by-side and in harmony in the famous suburb.
The rest of the museum is a journey into Muslim cultural traditions in the Cape like the klopse and the Malay choirs, the mosques, the kramats, a preserved 19th century Qur’an reference book, the dresses of Muslim brides over the years and the political influences and contributions of Muslim and coloured leaders in the Struggle for South Africa’s liberation.
A poignant social commentary of contemporary times called ‘The Swansong of an Era’ by Higgins punctuates the exhibition space. He reads it out loud to me:
Gentrification and crass capitalism
It destroyed the character of my childhood haunts.
Places that are defined by cultural education,
Places that the innocent child could walk to.
The sweet memories.
The smell of spices.
The shop that sold the gatsby.
The Avalon, Gem and Palace
Samoosas and guava juice in cinema,
The steak and kidney pie,
The toffee apples of Worcester Road.
The salt and vinegar that lingered in my nostrils when passing the fisheries.
The call to prayer … the art of the muezzin,
The chime and melody of church bells.
The thud of the domino,
The benign arguments emanating from the klawerjas table and kerem board.
The sweet taste of Bashew’s and Marshall’s.
The Sunday morning koesister fix.
Aunty Amina’s twistees.
The Wednesday olap worse from Abassies.
The Thursday gadat and miang.
Hamza’s rottang.
The big Friday lunch – preferably roti and curry.
The places, rituals and memories that are now fading and entering the darkest phase of twilight.
Bo-Kaap, Woodstock, Hanover Street, Dry Docks, Salt River.
And now Walmer Estate.
Victims of a superficial sleaziness that is defined by yuppie flats, craft beer, ‘so-called’ hipsters, overpriced coffee, churros and global brands.
Sigh.
The horror
I’m going back. Not to India. But to the museum and I’m taking the family. You should visit too. It is a treasure trove of the Cape. And the koesisters are excellent!
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Picture: Gasant Abarder
