Amasi: An Origin Story

kwafa igula lamasi

— Zulu saying translates to “the calabash of sour-milk broke” (all hopes are dashed)

I think amasi was the first yogurt I ever tried that wasn’t a Greek-style culture or came from a grocery store. This yogurt is really meant to be a drinking yogurt (if you don’t make it traditionally; if you do, it will have curd as well), but I like to make it super thick because it delights me to turn the jar on its side and see no movement from the amasi. So… I don’t really do anything traditional with this yogurt, and more enjoy playing with it before Child Tester gets to yum yum eat ‘em up!

I swear, this pandemic is making me weirder and weirder by the day than I already started out. Sorry-ish, y’all!

Anyway, although I love this yogurt but don’t treat it right (same-same all my cultures), most people who eat it do do it properly! Amasi is indigenous to South Africa and Lesotho. It’s commonly eaten amongst the Zulu, Masai, Tsonga, Xhosa, and several other tribes, and is typically served with pap or drunk straight. Green (fresh) milk isn’t frequently drunk in these cultures, though it is sometimes used to thin down an overly thick amasi. Indian South Africans also frequently use this culture for curd.

Traditionally, the raw cow milk is prepared into amasi in a calabash (gourd) or a cowskin bag, where it will spontaneously ferment over the course of a couple or few days, is served in a clay pot, and is eaten with wooden spoons. The traditional cow that gets milked for this is the Nguni cow. Goats are generally not used for this purpose!

Nguni cattle. These are some really cool looking cows! I saw a picture where one had some zebra striping on its chest.

What is important to remember (other than that not everyone still uses the traditional methods) is that generally speaking, no backslop is added to the milk to culture it. It cultures from microbes in the calabash and in the air. That may seem strange, but it’s totally a thing and is how most fermenting cultures really got their start. I know, unfortunately, that if I leave a glass of milk on the table for more than a few hours, it cultures on its own. I have found many, many of Child Tester’s unfinished milk glasses that had turned into some kind of yogurt/soured milk because I didn’t see them in time to fridge them for actual drinking later. In most cases, these are well-tasting!

One tidbit I’ve read but never tried is that you can also do amasi as a thermophilic yogurt! I may try this at some point, though it will definitely be done with a backup in case I mess up. If y’all try this, let me know how it is!

Studies started coming out in 2003 about the E. coli fighting attributes of amasi, but it’s in 2004 that Richard Mokua makes these ideas famous through more intensive testing during his nutrition graduate program in Wisconsin. There’s been quite a lot more research done on amasi since then, and it continues to impress as a nutritional and protective powerhouse!

This is a really cool video on how to make amasi umphokoqo, which is similar to amasi with pap. Gonna be trying this soon!

The last thing I want to cover today is Nelson Mandela. Mandela is closely tied to amasi in amasi (and Mandela) mythologies, because it really was one of his favorite foods.

During his incarceration, he wrote to his wife,

How I long for amasi, thick and sour! You know darling there is one respect in which I dwarf all my contemporaries or at least about which I can confidently claim to be second to none – healthy appetite.

Post-incarceration, he had hired a personal chef, but was not convinced she’d make the cut until she was able to tell him which Xhosa foods (Mandela was of the Xhosa people) she could make properly. Due to his simple tastes, she needed only to reassure him that she could make “ukutya kwasekhaya,” which means “home food” in Xhosa.

He narrowly avoided arrest on one occasion that was actually caused by amasi! Although there are a number of renderings of this story, I prefer the one straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were:

I felt safe in Berea. I did not go outside, and because it was a white area, the police would probably not think to look for me there. While I was reading in the flat during the day, I would often place a pint of milk on the windowsill to allow it to ferment. I am very fond of this sour milk, which is known as amasi among the Xhosa people and is greatly prized as a healthy and nourishing food. It is very simple to make and merely involvesletting the milk stand in the open air and curdle. It then becomes thick and sour, rather like yogurt. I even prevailed upon Wolfie to try it, but he grimaced when he tasted it.

One evening, after Wolfie had returned, we were chatting in the flat when I overheard a conversation going on near the window. I could hear twoyoung black men speaking in Zulu, but I could not see them, as the curtains were drawn. I motioned Wolfie to be quiet.

“What is ‘our milk’ doing on that window ledge?” one of the fellows said.

“What are you talking about?” replied the other fellow.

“The sour milk — amasi — on the window ledge,” he said.

“What is it doing there?” Then there was silence. The sharp-eyed fellow wassuggesting that only a black man would place milk on the ledge like that and what was a black man doing living in a white area? I realized then that Ineeded to move on. I left for a different hideout the next night.

For those of you who’ve never read Mandela’s autobiography (where the above quote comes from), I strongly recommend you do so! It’s highly educational, and he has a special way with words that compels you to keep on reading.

Actually? I lied. The last thing I want to do with this post is make sure y’all know how to make dikuku (also called inkomanzi), which are South African soured milk scones!