The Cheese Man Cometh

In the US we used to have milkmen who would bring fresh milk to your door every morning. In Kenya milk comes fresh from the farm in the morning in every kind of container imaginable on a motorcycle in the back of a truck to a local dairy – kisok with a big refrigerator - and is immediately dolled out to the first comer.

Yes – you can buy packaged milk in “plastic bags” too, but wheres the fun in that. In the Masai village of Ilkioret, where I teach English, you just stick a kicombe “cup” under the utter of the nearest cow and wahlah - Breakfast!

In a country where milk is this fresh you would think they would have amazing cheese. Being that I consider cheese a major food group, the fact that cheese is not anywhere to be found in the staple diet of Kenyans, brings me close to tears. Nearly all the cheese in the country is imported or made with an expatriate consumer in mind. They do have pizza here… but the cheese is subpar at best.

So when I was in Kisumu a little over a week ago and “The Cheese Man” was mentioned, my ears perked up immediately. I was attending a bible study of expat women. Kisumu is fairly cosmopolitan city due to the abundance of NGOs and private international businesses and missionary ministries with bases there. It was an interesting mix of women, some single, two missionary wives with small children, two women whose husbands work for the CDC, and a woman who is married to a Kenyan. There were about 15 of us in all. I broke my gluten-free diet to eat a homemade cinnamon roll. I don’t know how long it’s been – maybe years since I’d eaten one (even in the states) and while it was delicious, it wasn’t a particularly good idea… the sugar buss left me with tremors!

When the Bible study was over, the hostess announced the cheese man would arrive momentarily. CHEESE MAN! Mind you, I’m leaving Kisumu the next morning and where I’m going there is no refrigeration so it will have to be a one-meal binge!

A block of Mozzarella about twice the size of my fist was handed to me from a cardboard box in the back of the cheese man’s station wagon. It’s still cold. “How much,” I said, thinking it would be more than I could afford. “Three hundred shillings,” said the cheese man. At the current exchange rate that’s about $3.30! A whole lot less than I would pay for a chunk of cheese that size in the states! “I’ll take it.”

I bought tomatoes in the market, went back to Anika’s and made caprese (tomato and mozzarella slices drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with basil and kosher salt! I can’t recall having such an enjoyable snack since I arrived in Kenya.

As I took my last bite I uttered this simple prayer: "May God Bless the Cheese Man and allow him to prosper and franchise so that an enterprising youth in Ngong will desire to follow in his footsteps! Amen!"

One can always dream!