Central Africa Imports, opened in the late sixties or early seventies, was a shop on Fourth Avenue during the time it was the hippie section of Kitsilano. It was run by a couple, Tom and Alvina, who had lived and worked for years in Dar es Salaam.
The narrow space was filled with Makonde sculptures from Tanzania, batik clothing and Dutch Java print shirts from Indonesia, Indian bedspreads in coloured stripes, or block printed with elephants.
Entering the door, hearing the small brass bell tinkle, I was greeted with a wave of the most wonderful mix of fragrances. Sandalwood was prominent, one of many escaping fragrances from the tiny bottles of flower essences, evoking just a hint of the dust of distant continents. Frangipani was another, as was the pungent patchouli oil, so popular in that era.
This mix of evocative fragrances was sometimes overlaid with the smell of cooking. Alvina, who began her life in Saskatchewan among German immigrant farmers, was a wonderful cook. She often made lunch or dinner in the back, behind the bead curtain, and if I happened along at the right time I was always invited to partake of whatever delicious East African curry she was preparing.
Tom, an anthropologist who had worked at the National Museum of Tanzania in its early days, was a veteran of World War II who had grown up on Vancouver Island. He was a large man with a bushy grey beard and a story always on his lips. He wore the colourful cotton shirts the shop sold, and when it was quiet, he would play hand-made African instruments: flutes and thumb pianos.
The shop has been gone for many years now. I still miss it, and my friends who started and ran it, introducing me to all kinds of new objects, ideas and lore. They were the first and only people I ever heard speaking Swahili.
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