Finding Balance
Nijah Narcisse reflects on the complexity of food and family in her native New Orleans, and her journey toward a healthier, more balanced life.
This work is part of a series of essays written by the Lede New Orleans’ Fall 2021 Community Reporting Fellows exploring the intersection of food, family and identity. The fellows are telling stories about food access in and around New Orleans this fall.
By Nijah Narcisse
Part I: Nana
Nana was a boss. She opened Fay’s Take Out in Gretna in 2001 and she ran her business with an eye for detail. She personally oversaw the kitchen as chef and owner for more than a decade. I spent my childhood in that restaurant watching her work. I remember being 7 years old and sitting at the table right next to the old PAC-MAN machine in the back corner of the tiny front dining room dousing a plate of red beans in my favorite Crystal Hot Sauce. From there I could watch as Nana cooked and talked to customers. It’s what she loved to do. She made classic New Orleans dishes and pastries. Crispy fried fish. Red beans and rice. Rich and salty crawfish bisque. Pies and donuts. She always smelled of food. She worked hard to make sure each customer felt welcomed at her place and left satisfied. “Fay, I love that gumbo, mama!” customers would say. “That pie was so good,” they’d say. She’d always smile and say, “Thank ya, baby!” This is how I would like to remember my grandma.
But then I remember being 10 years old and sitting in the backseat of the car as Mom and Dad drove to the hospital. It was nighttime. Next thing I know we were walking into an emergency room. My aunts and uncles were gathered there. We sat and waited. I watched in fear as the nurses rolled Nana past us on a gurney. We later learned Nana had had a stroke. This scene would play out another three more times before she died of a heart attack in 2018. I want to remember Nana as the woman I saw smiling and laughing in her small kitchen in Gretna. But that memory is sometimes overshadowed by the ER visits. The fear and worry and pain I felt each time.
I’ll always be a New Orleanian. But I want to be a healthy New Orleanian. I want to live long enough to give back to my community.
Part II: Keep Goin
The prompt for this essay was to write about food and identity. When I think about food I think about Nana and the joy of her cooking. I also think about the power food we eat has to both nourish and hurt our bodies. A lot of my family members live with or have died because of chronic diseases. High blood pressure. Diabetes. Colon cancer. I went to a lot of funerals growing up. Over time I felt myself growing numb as I processed it all. Just keep goin, I told myself. Love the life you have.
One night in March 2014 forever changed my life and the way I see food. I was in my senior year of high school and had been getting intense stomach pains. I avoided going out to eat because I found the food made me feel sick. I began going to a pediatrician to try and diagnose the problem. That night in March 2014 the pain got so bad my mom drove me to the emergency room at Children’s Hospital. I spent a week as an in-patient at Children’s Hospital undergoing test after test and was later diagnosed with ulcerative colitis and Crohn’s disease, an inflammatory bowel disease triggered by diet and stress. I spent a month in the hospital before I was sent home with instructions to change my diet. But I was 17. I continued to eat the food I craved and loved: hot sausage sandwiches, hot fries and fried catfish. For most of my life I’d turned to food as a way to cope with the stress of losing so many loved ones and the hardship around me. I continued to live with the pain. Every three months I had to sit in a chair for four hours with an IV in my arm pumping medication to reduce inflammation in my body. I had yet to understand just how severe my disease was.
Part III: Change
I turned 24 this year. I’ve spent more time in the hospital than most people my age. I realized I needed a life change when I had my second laparoscopic ileocolectomy. (Basically, surgeons had to operate to remove diseased parts of my intestines.) I began to understand how the spicy, rich and fried local foods I craved — the kinds of food that my Nana put so much care and love into cooking and that brings me back to my childhood — might be hurting me and the people I know and love.
I’ve started to keep track of the foods I eat and I’m cooking more. Every week I try to get my mom to taste one of the new healthy recipes I’m experimenting with like honey-garlic salmon with lemon or grilled chicken cucumber spring rolls or vegan bean chili with cornbread. I still enjoy rich and fried and spicy food from time to time. I’m from New Orleans after all. That’s just a way of life down here. (You ain’t got a meal without Tony Chachere’s and red pepper flakes!) I just know I can’t eat like that every day. It’s about balance.
So much of who I am is out of my control. But I do have control over the choices I make. I’m determined to learn how to cook food that doesn’t just satisfy me and my family, but nourishes us as well. I’ll always be a New Orleanian. But I want to be a healthy New Orleanian. I want to live long enough to give back to my community. To me, that’s the ultimate act of love and care.
Nijah Narcisse is a Fall 2021 Community Reporting Fellow. Narcisse was born and raised in Algiers, studied film at Dillard University. She is a filmmaker, writer and storyteller based in New Orleans.
Lede New Orleans is a nonprofit that trains emerging BIPOC and LGBTQ storytellers and equips them with skills and tools to tell the stories of communities in and around New Orleans often overlooked in the media. For more info on our mission and programs, visit www.ledenola.org.
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