After spending 2 ½ years living in a yurt off-grid my hard-earned lesson was that good food, good times and good fortune all depend on good community. So. I meet a guy who happens to be driving my regular taxi. We got on, we chat, we learn about each other as-you-do and we become friends. This is how it goes J

I relate to him how my mind was opened when spending a day in Turin tasting salts of The World, of which some of the best were African. He, “Wilson”, in turn relates to me how his village in Ghana makes the stuff.

I shut-up.

A couple of weeks later, I got presented with salt from his village right on the Gold Coast of Ghana, via his always generous and helpful wife (who has red and white spotted socks that make me laugh!)

And WOW.

In my hand were both tiny and enormous crystals. Natural salt, grown and dried under the sun in a lagoon by the people of a minute tribe whose historical gift is this: salt from Mother Nature.

No chemicals. No machines. Just pillars of salt standing like spirits of the lagoon transfixed by golden sun.

The largest, when held up to the light, is opalescent, casting as many colours as the glorious kente-cloth of Ewe tradition; weaving taught to them by a spider, according to the tale.

The smallest crystal, I tasted. And I can tell you that no salt has ever seemed so creamy, nor so long-lasting a flavour.

I don’t know for how long The Ewe (Wilson’s tribe) have harvested salt like this. But the act of building the mineral clay of the lagoon into shallow squares and trapping the salt water for the sun to bake, is likely older than our civilisation. The pillars grow in the sunny season, each one vaguely human in stature and shape. Perhaps in this way the ancestors of us all have risen from those waters to be knocked into pieces, then scattered among us; a source of health and money. If such a piece should ever reach you, savour it. And think what The World would be without salt, or the people that gather it.



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