[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”Blog Post Section” _builder_version=”4.18.0″ custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||true|false” locked=”off” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row admin_label=”Intro + Post Nav” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px|0px|0px|0px|false|false” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.18.0″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Intro” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
Once upon a time, there was a land called Alkebulan<\/em>, meaning “Mother of Mankind”, where people lived in harmony with nature.<\/p>\n These people were hunters and gatherers, moving with the rhythms of the earth, following the seasons in search of food, water, and the perfect climate. Their diet came from the land itself: wild fruits, nuts, roots, tubers, hunted meat, and herbs, which was also medicine.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”The Bantu migration” module_id=”the-bantu-migration” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||true|false” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ text_font=”||||||||” link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n But then came a great movement; one of the most significant in history. Between 1000 BCE and 1700 CE, the Bantu-speaking people left their homelands in West and Central Africa and journeyed across the vast landscapes of Sub-Saharan Africa. With them, they carried knowledge; the secrets of agriculture and ironworking. They planted millet and sorghum<\/span><\/a> in the fertile earth, nurtured yams in the warmth of the sun, and later, with the arrival of trade, introduced bananas that flourished in their new homes. Their hands shaped the land, and in return, the land provided.<\/p>\n As they moved, they shared seeds and traditions. They exchanged ways of cooking, preserving<\/a>, and preparing food, blending cultures through flavours and techniques. Villages grew into thriving communities, and food became a thread that wove families together, a sacred bond between the people and the land.<\/p>\n Then the world changed.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Modernisation and the loss of connection” module_id=”Modernisation” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||true|false” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ text_font=”||||||||” link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Explorers came, and with them, colonisation. The land once called Alkebulan<\/em> was renamed Africa. The harmony between people and their food began to shift. The transatlantic slave trade tore families apart, carrying men, women, and children across oceans. But even in exile, they clung to their food traditions. They planted okra<\/a> in new soil, stewed cowpeas with the same care their ancestors once did, and found solace in the familiar warmth of a pot of sorghum<\/span>.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/www.dineplan.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/03\/dried-cowpeas.png” alt=”Close up of dried cowpeas.” title_text=”Dried cowpeas.” show_in_lightbox=”on” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ _module_preset=”549d55e2-89fb-4dd2-8b88-e4b3df6f3c04″ global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ text_font=”||||||||” link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n As time passed, many of these traditional foods began to fade due to modernisation and loss of knowledge. Knowledge was not written down in books but passed through stories, told by firesides, in the rhythm of grinding grains, and in the songs sung while harvesting. For them, food was a language, history, and medicine.<\/p>\n Modernisation brought convenience, but at a cost. The young ones left, drawn to places where food came wrapped in plastic, and where stories were told not by elders but by glowing screens. The fields grew silent. The land, once alive with hands that nurtured it, stood lonely, waiting for the return of those who once understood its whispers.<\/p>\n But now, the young ones are slowly returning.<\/p>\n Knowledge was not written down in books but passed through stories, told by firesides, in the rhythm of grinding grains, and in the songs sung while harvesting. – Imizi Food<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Returning to roots” module_id=”Returning to roots” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||true|false” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Despite the years of distance, despite the disconnect, there are those who refuse to let this legacy disappear. Across the world, a food movement is rising, one that seeks to reconnect people with the land, to honour the wisdom of the past, and to preserve the culinary traditions of Alkebulan<\/em>.<\/p>\n And in this story, there are two women, travellers on a shared path who have come together in their pursuit of the culinary legacy of Alkebulan.<\/p>\n Their journey is about identity, healing, and reclaiming a knowledge that was never meant to be forgotten.<\/p>\n This is their story.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row admin_label=”Meet Livhuwani: Rediscovering the healing power of food” module_id=”Meet Livhuwani” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”0px||0px||true|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||true|false” collapsed=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/www.dineplan.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/03\/meet-livhuwani.png” alt=”Livhuwani of Imizi Foods” title_text=”Livhuwani of Imizi Foods” show_in_lightbox=”on” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ _module_preset=”default” caption_text=”Livhuwani (Image supplied by Imizi Foods)” description_text=”Livhuwani of Imizi Foods” enable_caption_text=”on” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text admin_label=”Content” _builder_version=”4.27.2″ text_font=”||||||||” link_font=”|600|||||||” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n In 2004, my family immigrated from home, a journey that meant leaving behind not only the land of our ancestors but also the diet that our DNA understood. The food that had been passed down through generations, not in cookbooks<\/a>, but through hands stirring pots and voices telling stories, became a distant memory. As a child, the new diet was an exciting adventure: brightly packaged, sweet, and unfamiliar. But excitement soon gave way to discomfort. Allergies, sensitivities, and countless hospital visits. My body rejected what it did not know.<\/p>\n My quest for healing through food was not born out of nostalgia, but out of sheer frustration. I didn\u2019t know why I believed food had the power to heal, but something deep inside me, perhaps an ancestral whisper told me it did. The Venda people, my people, have always believed that food nourishes not just the body, but also the spirit. It was a truth I had to rediscover for myself.<\/p>\n Before we moved from South Africa, I had grown up on food that was alive. Sweet potatoes dug fresh from the ground, corn turned into sour, starchy pap bowls, wild indigenous greens that grew freely, sorghum<\/span> porridge that filled our mornings. My parents planted what we ate, they understood the importance of real food from knowledge passed down from their parents and grandparents.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_code _builder_version=”4.27.2″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\nThe Bantu migration<\/h3>\n
\nModernisation and the loss of connection<\/h3>\n
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Returning to roots<\/h3>\n
\nMeet Livhuwani: \u200b\u200bRediscovering the healing power of food<\/h3>\n
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