Meet the people who took an evening class… and changed their lives
"When I missed home most, cooking helped me": Baneta Yelda, baker, Manchester
I studied biology in Iraq for my undergraduate degree and I worked in a pathology laboratory. In my twenties, I fled the place where I was born and raised as the Islamic State advanced. I arrived in the UK in 2014, only intending to stay for a week, but became a refugee. Living in London, I took a job for the NHS. I loved being part of the health service, starting as a laboratory assistant before training doctors and nurses.
Like most people who move to the capital, I'm in a roommate. I often cooked for my roommates and colleagues too. It was a way to show my love and express my creativity. In addition, my mother is a very good cook. I grew up eating wonderfully. In London, I spent my weekends cooking Iraqi meals to share with my mom's advice on FaceTime. The smells and flavors of Iraq filled the kitchen. When I missed home the most, cooking and food helped me stay in touch with my heritage.
In the beginning, cooking casually was enough. But I wanted to try to find out more. So, at 27, I took a few days off and approached restaurants for work experience. A new restaurant in the Middle East offered me a position to help them develop dishes and design the menu. From there, I did small independent food jobs on the side, while continuing to work in the hospital. That's when I heard about the School of Artisan Food in Nottinghamshire and their annual refugee scholarship with a charity called Tern. I studied there for a degree, an intense commitment of six months. Most of the course was spent on pastry, pastry and viennoiserie as well.
Pastry made perfect sense to me, much more so than the breakneck speed restaurant kitchens. It is a humble job, which requires patience and time. It slowed me down, changing my perspective on cooking. That's where I met Neil, now my partner. He was on my course, having previously worked in construction. When I finished school I was working in a bakery in east London when Neil called to say that he and a friend were taking over a bakery in Manchester. Did I want to be part of it? After one visit, I said yes and moved north.
That was three years ago. It hasn't always been easy. At Campanio, we're a small, neighborhood business with a real community spirit. We do all kinds – sourdough, pastries, breakfasts. And we supply businesses, from small cafes to Michelin-starred restaurants. Developing new recipes is always my favorite responsibility. Opening the doors was a challenge, then the confinement arrived. Now we are grappling with energy and food prices, and with the economy. But I don't have a single regret. My family is of Assyrian origin, has been through a lot and is scattered all over the world – before Isis, we were fleeing genocide. We have learned to create a home within ourselves, rather than relying on a specific place. Through my recipes and our continuing bakery.
‘Tonight? Well, we're full again: Aji Akokomi, restaurateur, London .pageElements.ImageBlockElement" class="dcr-173mewl">
I studied biology in Iraq for my undergraduate degree and I worked in a pathology laboratory. In my twenties, I fled the place where I was born and raised as the Islamic State advanced. I arrived in the UK in 2014, only intending to stay for a week, but became a refugee. Living in London, I took a job for the NHS. I loved being part of the health service, starting as a laboratory assistant before training doctors and nurses.
Like most people who move to the capital, I'm in a roommate. I often cooked for my roommates and colleagues too. It was a way to show my love and express my creativity. In addition, my mother is a very good cook. I grew up eating wonderfully. In London, I spent my weekends cooking Iraqi meals to share with my mom's advice on FaceTime. The smells and flavors of Iraq filled the kitchen. When I missed home the most, cooking and food helped me stay in touch with my heritage.
In the beginning, cooking casually was enough. But I wanted to try to find out more. So, at 27, I took a few days off and approached restaurants for work experience. A new restaurant in the Middle East offered me a position to help them develop dishes and design the menu. From there, I did small independent food jobs on the side, while continuing to work in the hospital. That's when I heard about the School of Artisan Food in Nottinghamshire and their annual refugee scholarship with a charity called Tern. I studied there for a degree, an intense commitment of six months. Most of the course was spent on pastry, pastry and viennoiserie as well.
Pastry made perfect sense to me, much more so than the breakneck speed restaurant kitchens. It is a humble job, which requires patience and time. It slowed me down, changing my perspective on cooking. That's where I met Neil, now my partner. He was on my course, having previously worked in construction. When I finished school I was working in a bakery in east London when Neil called to say that he and a friend were taking over a bakery in Manchester. Did I want to be part of it? After one visit, I said yes and moved north.
That was three years ago. It hasn't always been easy. At Campanio, we're a small, neighborhood business with a real community spirit. We do all kinds – sourdough, pastries, breakfasts. And we supply businesses, from small cafes to Michelin-starred restaurants. Developing new recipes is always my favorite responsibility. Opening the doors was a challenge, then the confinement arrived. Now we are grappling with energy and food prices, and with the economy. But I don't have a single regret. My family is of Assyrian origin, has been through a lot and is scattered all over the world – before Isis, we were fleeing genocide. We have learned to create a home within ourselves, rather than relying on a specific place. Through my recipes and our continuing bakery.
‘Tonight? Well, we're full again: Aji Akokomi, restaurateur, London .pageElements.ImageBlockElement" class="dcr-173mewl">What's Your Reaction?
