In This Article:
Across three journeys, we explore how African cuisine becomes heritage, identity and connection.
African food has always been a keeper of memories; a storyteller long before words were written down. In every household across the continent, flavours have carried feelings, ingredients have carried history, and recipes have carried identity. Yet for so long, the wider world did not listen.
But today, a new generation is choosing not to whisper. They are choosing to remember out loud through flavour, through farming and through creativity.
This article brings three voices together in one space as individuals who are shaping the future of African cuisine in their own powerful ways. Through personal Q&As, they reflect on their work, they share what drives them and hope for the future of African cuisine.
Tapiwa Guzha
First up, meet Tapiwa Guzha, a biologist and ice cream maker, whose work shows that identity isn’t always spoken, sometimes it is tasted in the cool of the tongue.
1. What’s the origin story behind Tapi Tapi and its African-inspired flavours?
Tapi Tapi started as a fun experiment. I’d been making ice cream since 2008, and by 2018, I decided to start selling small-batch, handmade ice cream. At that time, I was making classic ice cream flavours. The turning point came when I saw snacks from Zimbabwe in a restaurant in Salt River, and it made me curious. I suddenly wondered what would happen if I started incorporating the flavours of my culture into ice cream? So I tried it.
It was at that moment when I tasted that first batch, it hit me – it was the first time I had experienced ice cream that considered my culture, my history, and my palette. From that point on, I pivoted completely. That’s how Tapi Tapi became what it is today: ice cream that celebrates African heritage through flavour.
2. What does ‘Tapi Tapi’ mean, and how does it reflect your brand’s mission?
“Tapi Tapi” means “sweet sweet” in Shona. It’s a playful, light-hearted phrase, something very common back home in Zimbabwe. The name speaks to sweetness, of course, which connects directly to what we make. It’s also fun to say – it rolls off the tongue in a way people remember. The name itself was chosen because of a mission statement, it’s more about my practice of using African words, names and languages in my work. Whatever project I’m doing, I lean on our languages when telling our stories. Naming Tapi Tapi in Shona was simply a continuation of that.
3. When did you realise ice cream could be a tool for cultural expression?
About two months after I started making African-flavoured ice cream, we hosted a tasting menu. I expected people to be impressed by the creativity, but something deeper happened. People from different parts of Africa began connecting over familiar ingredients.
What I thought was uniquely Zimbabwean – Nigerians recognised by a different name, it showed me how much overlap our cultures share. That moment made me realise this isn’t a gimmick; ice cream can connect people to their roots and to each other.
4. How do you balance tradition with innovation?
I don’t believe in the idea of “authentic” or “traditional” when it comes to culture, as they’re always changing – a tradition can be a thousand years old or a few weeks old. What matters is the meaning people attach to it, not age. I’m not trying to balance tradition and innovation when I work with flavours, I draw inspiration from cultural practices as they exist today. Whether something is old or new isn’t important to me, our foodways have always shifted through migration, conflict, creativity and adaptation, so the idea of a pure, untouched tradition is a myth – everything is always evolving.
5. What flavours or memories do you find yourself revisiting?
Food is seasonal, every year, different things come back naturally, so I cook with what’s around me rather than deciding what I want to cook. If something isn’t in season or not available, I don’t chase or import it – I’m not interested in forcing ingredients, I work with what’s available.
6. What were the biggest challenges in launching an unconventional ice cream brand?
The biggest challenge with doing something unconventional is always adoption and adaptation. People resist what feels unfamiliar, both from inside and outside the culture. There’s a lot of shame attached to foods that aren’t Eurocentric or seen as “refined,” and that shows up quickly. One of the most difficult things has been seeing some black people dismiss the work, laughing at the idea that African flavours could be worthy of ice cream – that mindset is hard to confront, because it comes from a deeper struggle with identity.
7. What kinds of conversations do you hope your ice cream sparks?
I hope my work output, not just the ice cream, helps people connect with themselves and someone else. I want people to notice the overlap and familiarity between us, even when the differences seem obvious. We tend to think our experiences are separate, but most of us are living a very similar human life. If the ice cream can spark conversations about connection, shared existence and our common ground, instead of distinction and disconnection, then I think it’s doing something meaningful.
Tapi shows us that flavour can be a form of connection; a way for people to recognise themselves and sometimes each other, through taste, even when distance and time stretch between them.
Siphiwe Sithole
Not all memories melt on the tongue; some live in the soil, in the seeds that risk disappearing if no one protects them. This is where we meet Siphiwe Sithole, a farmer whose work is guarding heritage through the crops she refuses to let disappear.
1. What inspired the shift from corporate to farming?
My travels to different African countries where I found the fruits, fresh produce and food to be tastier, wholesome and naturally grown. This took me back to my childhood. The struggle to access indigenous African food in urban space became the final push to what I am doing today.
2. How do you see your work preserving African heritage?
The one who controls the food system dictates what people eat. My work contributes to restoring indigenous African food by helping people understand the difference between food that is nutrient-poor and food that is culturally rich and nutrient-dense. If I don’t do this work, history will judge me harshly as a knowledge holder who withheld information from future generations – my work ensures that our indigenous food knowledge is not lost.
3. How did you navigate the transition from corporate to farming?
I have always been entrepreneurial, even while working in corporate. People often asked why I was still in formal employment when I clearly had more to offer. In 2015, I joined the Tony Elumelu Entrepreneurship Programme and received $5,000 in seed capital, that gave me the push I needed to trade my high heels for gumboots – the transition felt natural.
I am a passionate person, I don’t do anything half-heartedly, so once I made the decision, I gave farming everything I had. I also immersed myself in learning quickly about a sector I wasn’t formally trained in, because I believed I could do it.
4. What challenges do you face as a smallholder farmer?
One of the biggest challenges is constantly having to convince people that there is value in what I’m doing. I’m often advised to grow crops that are more “lucrative”, or that would make it easier to get funding, and I have to keep saying no. I chose this path intentionally, and I’ve had to believe in it without seeking approval or endorsement. Staying committed to indigenous crops sometimes means going against what others think makes business sense, but I refuse to compromise the mission.
5. How did you navigate the emotional and practical changes that came?
The earlier years were easier because I still had financial savings to tap into. Emotionally, it was exciting as I was learning and discovering new things, and I was very invested because I made this choice – I was not forced into it. I also had corporate confidence, where I thought my previous successes and knowledge would come in handy here. Practically, I had to learn to create new networks and connections, get used to my phone ringing less and less, create my own schedule and routine, figure out what works, and learn to be everything for the business.
Siphiwe protects the ingredients that hold our history. But every ingredient also needs someone to translate it, to give it a voice beyond the field.
Jane Nshuti
This is where we meet Chef Jane Nshuti – where the harvest becomes a feast, and the past finds its way back to us through the dishes we remember and the ones we learn to make something new.
1. What inspired you to begin sharing stories and recipes from your culture with a broader audience?
When I moved far from home, I realised just how much I missed the taste of the food I grew up with. I also noticed that many of the ingredients we consider precious staples weren’t even recognised as “real food” in some places. The food world felt overwhelmingly Eurocentric, and that created a deep urge in me to share the foods I know and love with a wider audience, bringing them into conversations where they had been missing for far too long.
2. In your view, how has the global perception of African cuisine changed in recent years?
It has definitely changed, the fact that African cuisine is finally part of global conversations is a very big deal! There was a time when African food had no place at the table when people spoke about world flavours. Now it’s slowly being recognised, explored and appreciated and that shift matters.
3. How does your heritage influence the way you cook, teach, or communicate about food?
I learned most of my foundational techniques from my mother. At the time, I didn’t realise how much they would matter, but they stayed with me. Today, those early lessons form the base that allows me to build, adapt and incorporate more refined or modern techniques. My heritage doesn’t limit my creativity; it anchors it – it gives me something solid to stand on as I elevate the ingredients I love.
4. How do you balance preserving tradition while exploring new, modern expressions of African cuisine?
There definitely has to be a balance; I focus on preserving ingredients more than technique. The more we explore what our indigenous ingredients can do, the more people will want to bring them into their kitchens. If we insist on only one “traditional” method, we limit its relevance, but when those ingredients evolve and remain part of everyday cooking, whether through old techniques or new ones, we keep them alive.
5. As more people discover African cuisine, what responsibility do you feel as a storyteller and advocate?
I believe it’s important to remain gracious as people learn. Instead of policing or waiting to see who gets something “wrong,” we should walk with people through the learning process, guiding others with openness and patience does far more for our cuisine than gatekeeping ever will.
6. What challenges have you faced in your journey, especially when telling African stories in global spaces?
The biggest challenge has been shifting mindsets. Many people have been taught directly or indirectly to see African food as inferior, unfamiliar or unworthy of serious culinary attention – challenging those beliefs takes time and patience, but it is necessary work.
7. What moment or achievement has meant the most to you so far?
Writing my first cookbook, “Tamu”. Having the opportunity to tell our stories and show the world what Africa has to offer has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my journey. The book will be out in March 2026. It has truly been a labour of love, and I can’t wait for people to see it!
Across these conversations, one truth becomes undeniable: African cuisine isn’t “emerging”, it has always been here. What is emerging is our power to tell the story ourselves.
Tapiwa shows how flavour can reconnect people and collapse distance, Siphiwe protects what could be lost by keeping indigenous crops in the soil, and Jane gives memory permanence by writing it down, cooking it and sharing it with the world.
Each of them works differently, yet they are driven by the same fire: to protect what is theirs, to elevate what was overlooked and to keep African cuisine alive.
As long as there are people willing to taste with curiosity, to listen with openness, and to pass these stories on, whether or not they come from the continent, the flame will keep moving from one hand to another. African cuisine will continue to live in the connections it sparks, the conversations it opens, and the communities it brings together, becoming part of a shared human table.
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