Near a roundabout was a hole-in-the-wall duka just out of the downtown core of Dar es Salaam. With one glance, my impression was that the store offered nothing worth while, but don’t let appearances fool you.
Slipping inside and savouring the mawa ice cream on a stifling Dar day meant the pile of empty passion fruit shells dumped at the back faded into obscurity. My attention focused on my taste buds as that thick, creamy, cardamom, flavoured miracle slithered down my throat. And if that wasn’t enough, I ordered a passion juice to boot.
How could anyone diet in Dar?