09/15/2026
One Thursday afternoon in Luanda, the city breathed its warm ocean air around us as I visited my cousin Emelda Cativa with my boys, their grandmother, and their aunt Helen Kasusuma. Emelda, radiant in her quiet grace, and my brother‑in‑law Cativa, steady and kind, welcomed us with the warmth only family can give. Their three beautiful children moved through the home like beams of joy, filling every corner with laughter.
They prepared a comforting soul‑food meal — the kind that tastes of memory, of heritage, of hands that cook with love. And before our visit came to an end, they placed in my hands a stunning, hand‑crafted baobab tree — Africa’s iconic “Tree of Life.” Each fruit on the tree was engraved with my name and my boys’ names, and the trunk was hand‑printed with a beautiful personal message, every curve shaped softly and intentionally by a human hand.
As I traced the carvings, a familiar ache rose gently within me — a memory of the artwork my father once shaped with such care, before illness left the left side of his body without much strength. The baobab felt like a whisper from him, a soft echo of his creativity, his resilience, and the beauty he poured into the world.
In that gift, I felt the weight of our ancestors, the strength of our roots, and the tenderness of family who hold you close even across oceans and years. It was a gesture that made the day sacred, a keepsake my boys and I will treasure for a lifetime.
May God bless cousin Emelda and her beautiful family for their kindness, their generosity, and the love they poured into that unforgettable afternoon.
