The Little Cube That Changed West African Kitchens:
Maggi, Modernity, and the Making of Flavor in Burkina Faso
This week's post is based on an unpublished conference paper, which in turn draws from my PhD research conducted in Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso’s1 second-largest city, between 2000 and 2002, with a brief follow-up visit in 2003. Since then, I have regularly returned for fieldwork visits of several weeks or months, two to three times a year, from 2005 until 2020. Through this long-term engagement, I have refined my understanding of how Burkinabè2 people mix tradition and modernity in their food practices.
At the heart of this discussion is how traditional African cooking ingredients, such as sumbala3 and shea butter4, are being replaced or combined with industrial products like Maggi stock cubes and imported cooking oils. While modernity is often framed as the rejection of tradition, everyday cooking in Burkina Faso tells a different story—one of adaptation and blending, rather than opposition.
The Rise of Stock Cubes and Changing Tastes
Maggi is a Nestlé-owned brand, first introduced in Switzerland in the late 19th century as a liquid seasoning sauce. It was later developed into the now-iconic bouillon cubes, which gained widespread popularity worldwide. Maggi cubes5 were introduced to West Africa in the 1960s and became a common kitchen staple in urban areas by the 1980s. Today, they are used in nearly every Burkinabè sauce, often replacing sumbala. Unlike sumbala, which is made from fermented seeds of African Locust tree - parkia biglobosa (known as nèrè in Burkina Faso) and has a strong, pungent flavor, Maggi cubes provide a standardized taste and are heavily advertised. Billboards, TV ads, and radio jingles reinforce the idea that Maggi improves cooking and adds flavor.
One notable aspect of Maggi’s popularity is its variety. It is not limited to the basic chicken or beef flavors; there are also tomato and onion, tomato and spice, and marinade variations. While Nestlé's Maggi is the most recognized brand, stock cubes are also sold under other names, such as Jumbo and Royco, yet people continue to refer to them collectively as "Maggi."
The preference for stock cubes is not evenly distributed across Burkina Faso. In urban areas, where packaged goods are more accessible, Maggi has become an essential part of daily cooking. In contrast, rural communities often favor sumbala, as it is locally produced and significantly cheaper. In villages where néré trees are cultivated, the only cost of sumbala is the labor involved in its production.
Despite the near-universal use of Maggi in urban settings, cookery writers, particularly those focused on so-called "authentic" African cuisine, rarely include stock cubes in their collections of traditional recipes. Yet in practice, it is difficult to find a Burkinabè sauce prepared without at least one Maggi cube. Beyond sauces, Maggi is used in salad dressings, sandwich fillings, and even omelets—further demonstrating how deeply it has been woven into the fabric of daily food preparation.
During my fieldwork, I saw how Maggi cubes had become deeply embedded in everyday cooking. In Bobo-Dioulasso, every household I encountered used them. One informant explained to me, “We Africans need our food to have taste, unlike you white people, and we therefore add Maggi.”
One moment that illustrated this shift was when I attempted to cook a lentil and potato soup. My hosts found it bland. One woman took the pot, added several Maggi cubes, and let the liquid cook down until it became a thick, intensely flavored mash. She enjoyed it much more that way, showing how an unfamiliar dish could be transformed to suit local preferences.
This is not just about taste—it’s about the broader way in which Burkinabè people engage with modernity. Rather than rejecting or fully embracing Western ingredients, they reshape them to fit their own food traditions.
Modernity vs. Tradition: A False Divide?
In Burkina Faso, modernity is often framed as the opposite of tradition. The government promotes Western-style education, French as the primary language, and the rejection of “backward” customs as necessary for progress. Anthropologist Sten Hagberg has noted that formal education in Burkina Faso is often seen as shifting a person’s identity from “the way of the Africans” (farafinya) to “the way of the Whites” (tubabuya). But everyday life is much more complex.
During my research, I saw how people moved between tradition and modernity with ease. A young professional might decorate their home with imported furniture and dress in European-style clothing, yet still insist on eating tô—a millet- or maize-based porridge, a traditional staple across Burkina Faso—prepared just as their grandparents did. Even those born and raised in cities often spoke of their family’s village with a deep sense of pride and authenticity.
One informant, a middle-class businessman, proudly served imported food at his wedding banquet to show status. Yet, in private, he admitted that nothing gave him more pleasure than a simple dish of tô with sauce, made just as his grandmother had prepared it. This balance—displaying modernity in public while maintaining traditional practices in private—was something I saw again and again.
Anthropologist Charles Piot has argued that African societies have long been globalized and that many practices seen as “traditional” today were shaped by historical encounters with outside influences. This suggests that the sharp divide between “modern” and “traditional” is more about perception than reality.
The Endurance of Traditional Foodways
Despite the increasing use of imported ingredients, many aspects of Burkinabè cuisine remain unchanged. While people readily buy European furniture, clothing, and electronics, food choices are more deeply tied to cultural identity. The daily meal still revolves around millet- or maize-based tô, paired with a vegetable and meat sauce. Sumbala, though less common in cities, is still valued for its distinctive flavor.
In the markets of Bobo-Dioulasso, I often watched women carefully selecting ingredients. They might wear European-style accessories and carry bedazzled mobiles phones, but their food shopping was rooted in tradition. While they appreciated the convenience of modern products, they were selective about what they incorporated into their meals.
Even those who embraced modernity in other ways resisted completely replacing familiar food traditions. One informant explained, “We tell ourselves we are running late in everything we do, we must follow the others. The things we consume are a reflection of our economic standard. We therefore must buy imported, expensive things.” However, “imported” does not always mean Western; products from China, the Middle East, and India are also widely available. Over time, a hierarchy has emerged, with Western goods generally perceived as higher quality, while Chinese products are often considered less durable or of lower status.
The persistence of traditional foodways suggests that modernity in Burkina Faso is not about completely abandoning the past but about integrating new elements in a way that makes sense culturally. Anthropologist Marianne Lien has argued that even in globalized food markets, people seek a balance between foreign and familiar. In Burkina Faso, this is evident in the way Maggi cubes are used—not to replace traditional ingredients, but to enhance dishes that remain deeply rooted in local food culture.
Conclusion: A Modernity of One’s Own
The way people in Burkina Faso cook and eat challenges the idea that modernity and tradition are in opposition. Instead of rejecting the past, Burkinabè people actively mix elements of modernity with longstanding cultural practices, creating something uniquely their own.
Stock cubes, vegetable oils, and other imported ingredients have found a place in local cooking, but they have been adapted to fit local tastes and customs. This demonstrates that Burkinabè cooks are not simply following global trends—they are shaping them, making choices that reflect both change and continuity. The near-universal use of Maggi cubes in urban kitchens does not mean sumbala has disappeared; rather, its use remains strong in rural areas, where traditional foodways endure for reasons of cost, availability, and cultural preference.
The story of Maggi cubes is ultimately a story about negotiation—between local and global, rural and urban, past and future. Rather than a stark divide, the realities of daily life in Burkina Faso reveal a fluid movement between what is seen as “traditional” and what is perceived as “modern.” Whether it is a middle-class businessman secretly enjoying his grandmother’s tô or a woman transforming a European-style soup into something richer with stock cubes, these choices reflect an ongoing process of cultural adaptation.
Food, perhaps more than any other aspect of daily life, reveals how people define themselves and their place in a changing world. The persistence of traditional food practices, even as new ingredients and influences are incorporated, suggests that modernity in Burkina Faso is not a matter of replacement but of reinvention. The way Burkinabè cooks use Maggi cubes—not to erase but to enhance their own culinary traditions—offers a powerful example of how people navigate change on their own terms.
In case you have not heard about Burkina Faso, you may want to read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burkina_Faso
The term Burkinabè comes from Fulfulde language, one of the three national languages of Burkina Faso, where -bè denotes people, and it was intentionally chosen when Burkina Faso adopted its name in 1984 under Thomas Sankara. The term combines Burkina (Mòoré for "integrity" or "uprightness") and bè (Fulfulde for "people"), making Burkinabè the most linguistically and culturally accurate spelling. French conventions tend to favor Burkinabé, likely adapting it to fit common French adjectival endings, but Burkinabè is the original, inclusive, and officially preferred spelling in Burkina Faso itself.
Shea butter, derived from the nuts of the shea tree (Vitellaria paradoxa, formerly Butyrospermum parkii), has long been a staple ingredient in African cuisine and a natural moisturizer used in skincare. In recent years, it has gained global significance as a key export, valued in both the food and cosmetics industries.
These cubes are not good for your health, as they contain high levels of sodium, MSG and hydrogenated fats. See this link for more on all the ingredients: https://botapreneur.wordpress.com/2017/01/21/never-heard-about-msg-in-maggi/
What a fascinating read, Liza. Food culture is so intricately woven into identity—I've seen it in migrants in Australia where traditional ways of growing and making food are deeply embedded into families (Greeks and Italians in my experience.) The simple introduction of something"modern" doesn't make traditions something "less", instead showing how people change and adapt their ways of doing everyday tasks.
Very interesting Liza! I was very struck by the use of Maggi cubes in Ghanaian cooking on my fieldwork trips and had always wondered how it became so central. I have some answers now!