In Coqui, an Afro-indigenous village just south of Nuqui in the Chocó on Colombia’s Pacific Coast, the people began to forget who they were.

Coqui was first settled in 1830 by a small group of men who stumbled upon the spit of land between the mangroves and the ocean while cutting down trees on the Río Baudó. Over the next century it grew to around 200 people, mostly Afro-Colombians with a few Emberá. They survived on fishing mostly, setting out to sea before sunrise in groups of two or three, and collected mollusks called pianguas from the mangroves. Most families tended small fincas carved out of the jungle too, growing yuca, plantains, and cacao, and various fruits. Collectively they grew rice, of which artisan varieties thrived in the swampy mangrove soil, and the surplus was sold to Nuqui and beyond.

The community thrived. They lived within the limits of what their ecosystem could provide. They wove elaborate baskets and hats and hammocks from coconut husks and other natural fibers. They sang songs and performed dances. Using everything they had around them, their gastronomy grew rich and varied. They made atollado, a risotto like dish that was one of dozens of ways to use the rice they grew. And tapao a fish stew with whatever tubers they had around, seasoning it with achiote and the herbs from their gardens. They made sweet things with the cacao that was growing in their trees and had more fruits (guanabana, mangoes, araza) than they knew what to do with.

As the community expanded and the Chocó became more connected to the rest of Colombia, problems arose beyond their control. To keep up with industrial rice coming from Buenaventura they planted other varieties that could produce more, however, they were less nutritious and didn’t grow well in the soil. Narco trafficking made the coast less secure. Shrimp trawlers and commercial fishing depleted fish populations. Many had to leave the village, mostly moving to cities to go to school or find work. Younger generations left the village before being taught about the plants and animals around them. Traditions were lost. Fincas were abandoned. Coqui’s communal memory began to grow dim.

When it seemed like all hope was gone, tourists discovered the Pacific Coast. Over the past decade, security in Colombia has improved dramatically and new parts of the country opened up to visitors. The Pacific was undeveloped, and remains so today, though the lush rainforest covered mountains that crash into a pristine ocean, where whales congregate just off shore for part of the year, is hard to keep a secret. The trickle of tourists that has come has been enough of a spark to begin the resurrection of Coqui. And it brought Leonor Espinosa to them.

Through the open kitchen of Zotea, you can see the jungle and the rain. It’s coming down like buckets, then slows momentarily to just a drizzle, then picks up again before stopping all together. It’s late 2018 and the first day of the restaurant, which Espinosa, whose Bogotá restaurant Leo is widely regarded as Colombia’s best, helped open just off the beach in Coqui. A dozen or so women are in the kitchen and the steps behind it. There’s Cruz Mélida Martínez, aka Mama Cruz, one of the community leaders, who everyone looks to when there’s a question. Some of the women are cleaning pianguas. Two others are grating coconuts, for which the meat will be used to make coconut rice or to flavor stews. Others are squeezing the juice from limes or bitter oranges, which they’ll mix with a local firewater called viche or panela. They are mashing papa chino (taro); cutting carambola, basil, and tomatoes for a salad; or shaping albondigas de pescado (fish meatballs).