Food is history. For some, it may just be sustenance, fuel for life, something to wash down quickly with sips of water to keep the body going. But the reality is that many food types have directly influenced and changed the course of human history, like sugarcane, palm oil, and spices. On a national scale, many Vietnamese dishes that we adore today, like hủ tiếu Nam Vang or cà ri gà, are surviving proofs of the country’s storied past.

A slice of Saigoneer history

Seeing this sign makes my heart sing.

When I reminisce about my memories with Saigon in the late 2010s, in my mind, there is a special place for Baby African, the city’s only restaurant serving Nigerian food. My personal history is peppered with eateries like this: a dinghy teen hangout right outside the gate of my middle school where fried rice was the fanciest menu item, a phở place that serves giant portions, or a Korean bar where I heard Lou Reed for the first time with my ex. Some have shuttered forever, some have gone on to receive Michelin Guide approval, and some have miraculously stayed more or less the exact same for decades. My early 20s and Saigon’s 2010s were fragranced by spiced rice and flavored by greasy fried plantains, courtesy of the one and only Baby African.

Some of you, dear readers, might know what I’m talking about. In 2016, Saigoneer published a Hẻm Gems on Baby African, written by our former editor-in-chief and my then-boss. In the essay, she told the story of how she first got to know the restaurant thanks to her boss’s recommendation and made a trek all the way to the far-flung reaches of Gò Vấp to experience it in person. At Saigoneer, we pass down this nugget of obscure knowledge about Baby African’s existence the way a bún bò Huế vendor inherits her family’s secret broth recipe. Her boss entrusted her with the family heirloom, and she then passed the baton down to me, who was just a mere intern at the time. Eight years later, I’ve stepped in her shoes for a while now, so today, I will take over the family business in spreading our not-so-secret love for this hidden gem of Nigerian tastiness to everyone.

The rather spartan shopfront of Baby African.

Back in 2016, when Saigoneer’s intimate tryst with Baby African began, it was quite literally a hole-in-the-wall in the middle of nowhere in Gò Vấp, a peripheral district that’s not often associated with rare international cuisine. There was no shopfront, menu, placard, or any visible advertisements that could hint at its existence. Baby African operated on a need-to-know basis, within the walls of the owner’s kitchen and in casual orders made via WhatsApp. Over the years, I’ve quietly kept track of the place’s whereabouts. Despite a few location switcheroos and the ruthless global pandemic in 2021, the restaurant has endured. Last year, a post on their Facebook announcing a fresh new location prompted me to finally decide that I have to undergo this rite of passage myself and hail a cab to Gò Vấp. It’s high time I took over the Saigoneer family tradition of overeating Nigerian food on a workday and falling into a food coma.

African fares in… Gò Vấp?

After a mini panic attack over the way Gò Vấp organizes its addresses, I set foot into the place’s courtyard and there to greet me was a shiny red sign that read “Baby African Restaurant” alongside an internet picture of a plate of jollof rice. This was a tearful reunion eight years in the making. Inside the air-conditioned dining area, a few brightly patterned wooden tables sat in front of a wall-spanning menu boasting a range of West African dishes. In a corner, a pair of African diners were busy enjoying their plates of reddish rice. As soon as I settled down and offhandedly mentioned that we used to order their food for a “red-haired Canadian lady,” Ngân, the place’s co-owner, immediately recognized us and we cordially reminisced about the tininess of the previous location’s dining space.

A menu this big means big flavors.

According to Ngân, she runs Baby African with her sister, whose husband is a Nigerian living in Vietnam. Even though they receive few Vietnamese eaters apart from the neighbors, the restaurant is something of a staple for Nigerians in the city, a handful of Ghanaians and Kenyans, and the ragtag bunch of writers running this website. If Korean, Japanese, and Thai cuisines — thanks to the robust cultural exchange between their motherlands and Vietnam — have popped up in all nooks and crannies of Saigon, and Vietnam at large, African food has not. In the Phạm Ngũ Lão tourist quarter, an Ethiopian restaurant which has since shuttered was another uncommon representative of food from the continent, so the tasty food at Baby African is something to treasure.

Ngân has been running the restaurant for years with her sister and brother-in-law.

We promptly made an order and spent some minutes luxuriating in the cooling air-conditioned atmosphere inside. They still make my favorite, jollof rice with chicken, but Ngân suggested a mix of beef chunks and chicken to experience more flavors. The kitchen is in another room, but guests can catch a glimpse of their food being prepared through a glass display that’s built into the wall, showcasing rows of plates filled with toppings waiting to be piled on top of rice mounds. Apart from the distant clanking of cookware, the only sounds in the dining space were an unintelligible dialogue from the other guests and the random bangs from the wall-mounted TV above.

Egusi and fufu, like many African dishes, are eaten using one's fingers.

While we were waiting, Ngân brought out a small portion of egusi and fufu (on the house!), because she thought it would look great in our photographs, and she was right. Popular in Western Africa, egusi is a stew made of squash seeds, dried fish and spices; it is rich in protein and umami, and there’s a mellow touch of heat from chili. To my palate, its fish-derived umami resembles an XO sauce while the seed starch brings to mind cooked eggs. Accompanying this powerhouse of flavor is fufu, a thick, starchy paste often made from pounded cassava, green plantain, cocoyam, or any combination of them. We made a disc of fufu in our palm, and used it to scoop the egusi.

The joy of jollof

A portion of jollof rice with fried chicken, beef, and plantain, and a side of coleslaw.

My plate of jollof rice (VND100,000) arrived on the table with a thud, just as grand and overflowing as I remember from all those years ago. The rice grains were brightly colored, coated in spices and flecks of radiant cooked-down tomato. A gentle aroma of chili pepper and curry powder teased my nostrils. On top, a small chicken drumstick that was deep-fried to golden crispiness and chunks of fried beef glistened. The portion was rounded out by slices of fried plantains and a generous serving of coleslaw. Our photographer quipped that it looked like “African cơm gà xối mỡ,” which was both a hilarious and strangely apt description. Still, in cơm gà xối mỡ, rice is more often than not an afterthought, resulting in frequently undercooked, bland, and unsatisfying grains. That’s not the case with Baby African, where the situation is reversed: jollof rice is the headliner and the rest are merely backup dancers.

A West African feast.

Whenever we used to order Baby African to the Saigoneer office for lunch, we had to plan ahead to make sure to starve ourselves in the morning, because the portion is so colossal that one average human won’t be able to finish it in one sitting, and you will feel enchanted to finish it, because the rice is ever so enticing. The grains are plumped, richly spiced and seasoned, so, coupled with that slight sweetness of the cooked plantain, make for a perfect bite. The chicken is fried to crispiness, not hardness, but the beef can be a tad tough to bite into. By the time I could see the bottom of my plate, I was heavily carb-loaded and swimming in an intoxicating mix of nostalgia and digestive satiation that I fell asleep numerous times on our cab ride back to the city center.

Each portion comes with a lot of delicious rice, so prepare for a carb high.

Jollof is the most common dish in West Africa, and there are a myriad of variations across the region, though Nigeria and Ghana are particularly passionate about their claims on the dish’s national origin, so much so that it once led to physical altercations between nationals. The core of jollof is long-grain rice cooked in tomato, onion, chili, and spices; it’s simple in execution but complex in flavors, so I’ve personally made a similar version at home that was quite tasty on its own.

Perhaps, Baby African might end up not being all that special for you to warrant the long distance of travel or delivery, but it contributed majorly to my journey back in the late 2010s to appreciate Saigon for all of its dynamic quirks, diverse cultures, and frenetic energy. After being away for years, I found it challenging to foster my sense of belonging with the land and reconnect with the pulse of this city. While at Saigoneer, it was via the discovery of places like Baby African, run by people with unique stories to tell, that made me realize that Saigon is a wondrous mix of rarities and that I greatly enjoy sifting for gold in the chaos. Baby African might seem out of the box for Vietnam, but it’s more emblematic of Saigon than you might think.

Baby African is open from 11:30am to 10pm.

To sum up:

Taste: 5/5
Price: 4/5
Atmosphere: 4/5
Friendliness: 5/5
Location: 3/5 — The address might look like a hẻm, but the restaurant is actually on a side street facing the canal.

Khôi loves noodles, is a raging millennial and will write for food.