From the vendor's place of business, I imagined that she's from Mali but didn't press; my focus was on identifying the porridges within several pint-sized tubs. A fellow customer, fluent in English and less shy, confirmed that this one was millet, its closest companion, corn, and both, sweet. Millet-and-yogurt thiakry was available, too. That customer also offered the name "moni" (spelling mine) before rejoining an impromptu klatch of open-air fashion consultants.
Unlidded, the porridge revealed itself as a millet couscous with dark flecks that presaged a gingery kick. Good, but probably better rewarmed, if I could have waited. Later I realized that the variety featuring corn, which I've tried in a similar setting, was likewise called moni. It might be that "moni" simply means "porridge" in Bambara, Mali's most widely spoken vernacular language (and the nation's lingua franca, if you set aside French). More investigation to follow.
Sidewalk table at the Timbuktu Islamic Center
103 West 144th St. (Lenox Ave.-Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd.), Manhattan
Friday only, roughly midday till midafternoon
