Last night, Khady, my Senegalese girlfriend, told me she was cooking chicken soup. When it was served, it was a large platter of chicken, potatoes and onions with a drizzle of sauce. Exactly the same as a dish we’ve eaten many times before.

I remarked on this, and she said toubab (white man) soup has too much water and is only fit for bandits. This was her version.

“But it’s the same as the other meals” I replied.

“Yes, but you like soup”.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in wonderland. Perhaps we’ll have lasagne tonight.