A feast out of West Africa

Special occasion leads community to join together and prepare delicacies

From left: Djibril Cayolbah, Ousmane Bah, and Amadouworry Diallo at a banquet for Sheik Mamadou Taibou Ba. (Jodi Hilton for the Boston Globe)

Faded and flecked with graffiti tags, the Frank G. Russell Auditorium on Talbot Avenue in Dorchester seems an unlikely venue to host a famed religious figure and 300 of his admirers.

But with white tablecloths and giant aluminum trays filled with cassava leaf stew and myriad other West African dishes, Sheik Mamadou Taibou Ba, an Islamic scholar visiting from the tiny nation of Guinea, was treated to a reception he said he will never forget.

"You've welcomed me very warmly and hospitably," Ba, speaking in French and Fulani, told his mostly Senegalese and Guinean audience. After preaching and performing afternoon prayers, Ba filled his plate with a chicken and onion stew known as yassa, and cepu jen, or a rice-pot, this one made with beef. A squadron of some three dozen local Senegalese and Guinean women devoted a recent weekend to the spread of food, cooking late into the night to feed the huge number of congregants, many of whom drove from New York.

"Almost every woman cooked, and some women cooked in groups, like two or three," explained Hafsatou Diop, a physician with the Massachusetts Department of Public Health, who is from Guinea. "It's very intense. It's a lot of work . . . with two or three of you, it goes faster," she said.

With so many cooks spread out in kitchens across the area, the potential for miscommunication and culinary disaster seems great. But over the years, after doing this routine for numerous weddings, child-naming ceremonies, and other events that draw together this tight-knit community, Diop said the cooks have become a well-oiled machine. "We make a list of women who will cook. Once you have the list, you call everyone and ask what they want to cook," explained Diop. "We've done it so many times, now we know who is expert at what. If I need cepu jen, I know who to call." Coordinators typically make sure a dish is being prepared by two cooks, so that if one cook can't come through, there is always a backup.

Given how complex and labor-intensive some of the recipes are, having a backup seems like a wise plan. Consider cassava leaf stew. Originally from South America, cassava was introduced to Africa in the 16th century and is still easy to purchase fresh there. In Boston, the plants can be found prepackaged at several markets (see recipe). At home, the plant is rough and must be pounded with a pestle and mortar until it shreds. "It takes hours to do, and the softer the leaf, the better. It has to taste soft on your tongue when you eat it, and if it's not well-pounded, it's scratchy," said Diop. "You have to be very patient to do that." In the villages, she adds, this job is left to the children.

Diop said people usually add meat (beef or lamb) or some kind of fish (dried red snapper is typical), which is boiled with natural, low-sugar peanut butter. Added to that are onions, garlic, red pepper, dried shrimp powder, and fish powder, which simmer for an hour or more. The shredded cassava leaves, okra, and palm oil are added last.

"You must stir it a lot," warns Diop, otherwise the cassava will stick to the bottom of the pot.

By 2 p.m. on the Sunday of Ba's reception, most of the food had already arrived, carried in by women in colorful robes and headscarves, and set out on long tables for people to help themselves to.

"There's no set time to eat," explained Ahmed Bari, one of the organizers. "People eat as they arrive." Indeed, travelers from New York arrived hungry and ate first, while other individuals occasionally filled their plates as they came in. Only after Ba's sermon and late afternoon prayers did a line form.

While happenings like Ba's reception keep these families connected with each other and to their heritage, Diop worries that many of the recipes she learned watching her mother cook in Guinea will not survive her children's generation. Her 14-year-old daughter, Diop frets, hasn't shown interest. "We try to teach them, but as they become Americanized, it becomes very hard, and they end up not knowing," she said.

But Diop still has some years to teach her daughter, and in the meantime, takes pleasure in cooking with her friends. "Every time I cook in a group, I learn something new," Diop said. "Part of the fun is seeing how others do their things."