Tasting Burundi: Culinary Adventures in Ngozi's Markets and Kitchens

Ngozi's central market isn't listed in any travel guides, and that's precisely why it deserves your attention. Unlike the more tourist-oriented markets in Bujumbura, this is where locals shop daily, creating a symphony of commerce that begins before sunrise.

On my first morning, I arrived at 6:30 AM armed with my pocket translator (an absolute lifesaver in a country where French and Kirundi dominate) and an empty stomach. The market follows a logical layout once you understand it—fresh produce near the eastern entrance, grains and dried goods in the center, and prepared foods along the western edge.

I quickly befriended Claudine, a vendor selling ibihaza (pumpkin), who became my unofficial guide after I purchased several kilos of her produce for a cooking lesson later that day. Through her, I learned to identify regional specialties like isombe (cassava leaves) and the prized white eggplants unique to Burundi's northern provinces.

The market's rhythms dictate that Tuesday and Friday mornings offer the freshest selection, while Saturday afternoons provide the best bargains as vendors reduce prices rather than take perishables home.

Burundi may not be the first country that comes to mind when thinking of coffee destinations, but this tiny nation produces some of Africa's most distinctive beans. The volcanic soils around Ngozi create perfect growing conditions, and the region is dotted with small processing stations where farmers bring their cherries.

I spent a fascinating morning at the Kayanza Coffee Cooperative, where manager Jean-Claude walked me through their meticulous processing methods. Unlike mass-produced coffee, Burundian beans are still largely handpicked and wet-processed, preserving delicate flavor notes that would otherwise be lost.

The traditional Burundian coffee ceremony bears similarities to Ethiopia's more famous ritual but with unique elements. Coffee is typically served with amandazi (sweet fried bread) rather than popcorn, and the brewing process involves multiple infusions from the same grounds.

I couldn't leave without securing some beans to take home, and my manual coffee grinder has been getting a workout since returning. The bright citrus notes and berry undertones of Ngozi beans make for exceptional pour-overs that transport me back to those misty hillsides with each cup.

No amount of market exploration can replace the experience of cooking in a local home, which is why I consider my afternoon with Mama Aline the highlight of my Ngozi adventure. Through a connection at my modest guesthouse, I was invited to this grandmother's compound to learn the secrets of Burundian home cooking.

Mama Aline's outdoor kitchen consisted of three stone hearths under a simple tin roof—a setup that's remained unchanged for generations. Her cooking tools reminded me of my grandmother's kitchen in Yokohama, where simplicity and tradition produced the most memorable flavors.

We began by preparing isombe, a labor-intensive dish of pounded cassava leaves cooked with palm oil and peanuts. The process involves repeatedly crushing the leaves with a wooden mortar and pestle to break down their tough fibers—a technique I quickly learned requires both patience and upper body strength!

Next came ikuyu, a porridge-like dish made from cassava flour that serves as Burundi's staple starch. Mama Aline showed me how to achieve the perfect consistency by continuously stirring with a specific wooden paddle designed for this purpose.

The centerpiece of our meal was agatoke, a slow-cooked beef stew flavored with indigenous herbs I'd never encountered before. I was particularly intrigued by ibisunzu, a root with medicinal properties that added both earthy depth and healing properties to the dish.

No culinary exploration of Burundi would be complete without experiencing urwarwa—traditional banana beer that serves as both daily refreshment and ceremonial drink throughout the country. In Ngozi, I discovered that nearly every neighborhood has its designated brewer, typically a respected woman who has inherited recipes and techniques through generations.

After several inquiries, I was directed to Mama Josephine's compound on the outskirts of town. Her brewing operation occupied a dedicated hut where green bananas were ripened, mashed, and fermented in a process that takes approximately three days. The equipment was refreshingly minimal—mostly handwoven baskets, clay pots, and the fermentation containers I'd brought as a gift (which she examined with great interest but politely set aside in favor of her traditional vessels).

The fermentation process relies on sorghum flour as a catalyst, creating a cloudy, tangy beer with roughly 5% alcohol content. What fascinated me most was the social dimension of consumption—urwarwa is traditionally served in a large pot with multiple long straws, allowing several people to drink simultaneously. This communal approach reflects Burundi's emphasis on shared experience and community bonds.

Mama Josephine explained that while commercial versions exist in bottles, true urwarwa must be consumed within 24 hours of completion, as the fermentation continues and the flavor profile changes rapidly. The fresh batch we sampled had a complex, slightly smoky flavor with notes of clove and ripe banana that no commercial version could replicate.

My background in traditional Asian medicine always draws me to the healing aspects of local cuisines, and Burundi offered fascinating parallels to practices I grew up with in Japan. At Ngozi's weekly medicinal market—a smaller affair held Thursdays behind the main marketplace—I discovered an entire pharmacopeia of plants that serve dual purposes as both food and medicine.

Armed with my field notebook and a local translator named Emmanuel, I documented dozens of herbs, roots, and barks that form the backbone of traditional Burundian healing. The vendors, primarily older women, were initially hesitant but warmed up when I shared knowledge of similar plants from Japanese and Filipino traditions.

Particularly interesting was umuvumba, a bitter root that's incorporated into stews as a digestive aid but also prescribed for more serious intestinal ailments. The preparation methods—drying, grinding, and specific soaking times—mirrored techniques my grandmother used with different plants half a world away.

Emmanuel introduced me to his aunt, a respected local healer who invited us to her consultation space. There, she showed me how umunguramaro leaves are crushed and added to specific dishes during pregnancy to ensure maternal health—a practice remarkably similar to how my mother was treated with specific herbs during her pregnancy in Yokohama.

What struck me most was how seamlessly medicinal use integrated with daily cooking. Unlike Western approaches that separate food and medicine, Burundian cuisine inherently incorporates preventative health principles into everyday meals—a holistic approach increasingly validated by modern nutritional science.