Lanes Island


White Bread, Sugar Cereal & Amandazi

It's been a long standing tradition, ever since the depravity began over 30 years ago, that once a year I can select anything I want to eat for breakfast. ANYTHING. You can imagine the possibilities. So when I tell you what my longstanding choice inevitably is, I fear I will disappoint you. At this point I could change, but the change would mark the end a ritual that is as much a part of me as the laugh lines and new grey hairs.
The day of ultimate dining freedom is my birthday. You've heard the story before, but I'll tell it again, with a Rwandan twist. As a child, 364 days a year I had to live without refined sugar, chocolate, and all other delectable gifts that I saw around me at grocery stores and in homes of my friends.
But on my birthday, that glorious day when the potential for rotten teeth, hyperactivity and obesity were forgotten, I got to call the shots -- at least for breakfast. The menu that I always created consisted of white bread, sugar cereal (usually Honey Nut Cheerios) and donuts.
Monday was my birthday. My sugary breakfast tradition had been forgotten until my grumbling stomach propelled me to go searching for some breakfast. I found myself at a little shop up the hill from my home in Kimihurura. On the counter were plastic containers filled with bread, sambusas and a reminder of my longstanding tradition: donuts. Or I should say Amandazi.
It was golden brown and buttery. I bought one and took it home. I showed my finding to a housemate who warned that it might be tough and not as sweet as a donut should be. As a preventative measure I sliced the amandazi in half and dropped it in the toaster. When it was crisped, I coated the halves in sugar and cinnamon. It wasn't bad. And considering no one bought me cake, it was the next best thing.

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