I first remember meeting Aunty Joan in my last trip to Cameroon. Fifteen years ago, she came to my father’s town in Kumba. She was the tall woman who moved with poise and grace. She was the woman who practically lived in the outdoor kitchen in my grandmother’s house. I would visit her during sunny days in this kitchen. I sat on a stool across from her over a pot and we talked about a variety of topics, such as her aching fingers that worsened with cutting cassava and how to make “puff-puff”. During our conversations, I realized that the smoke and the ashes from cooking were too much for me to bear. I would run away from the kitchen and stand outside. Then, I would turn back and realize that Aunty Joan was still in the kitchen. “How do you deal with the smoke?!”

I was baffled by her reaction: a coy and downward smile illuminating her precious cheekbones greeted my eyes. She said, “Mama, I’m used to this.”

As God allows me to continue on this path of life, times will arise in which I say, “The smoke is too much. I need to escape.” However, I will always think of how you dealt with the smoke (both in the kitchen and in life). I will remember your unassuming manners and your smile.

When you saw my tearful reaction to the last smoke, you said that crying would not solve anything. While I still shed tears for you, I hold dear to the lessons you have taught me and smile at the sweet memories we shared. Aunty Joan, I will get used to your new address in Heaven.