"The Last Dance of My Cousin Angel"

Angel and I were more than just cousins- we were raised like sisters under loving care of our grandmother. We grew up sharing clothes, secrets, and Sunday morning chores. Even though we had very different personalities, our bond was unshakable.

We had this healthy competition that followed us through childhood. Whether it was who cleaned the house better or who topped the class, we pushed each other to be our best. But where I found joy in turning the simplest ingredients into a meal, Angel loved everything fancy. Month-end, Easter, and Christmas were her favourite cooking days. That's when she'd shine- roast chicken, creamy bakes, grilled lamb, and fresh cakes. Her food reflected her dreams: rich, colourful, and full of flair.

I, on the other hand, was always grounded in the reality of having or not having. I could make a simple potato curry feel like a five-star meal. I found joy in everyday meals, while Angel saved her energy for special occasions. Despite our different approaches, food remained our shared language -one she spoke in celebration, and I spoke in survival,

In 2007, as I was preparing for my wedding tea party, Angel was seriously ill. She had been diagnosed with Tuberculosis and was living with AIDS. The sickness had taked its toll on her body, but never on her spirit. I had accepted that she might not be there to witness one of the important moments in my life. But Angel had other plans.

Instead of hosting my tea party elsewhere, I decided to bring it home - to the very place we grew up. I wanted Angel to feel the warmth of love surrounding her, even if she couldn't with participate. But she surprised us all. That morning, with unimaginable strength, she got out of bed. She tied her apron, went to the kitchen, and made the most mouth-watering roast chicken with grace of someone who knew this would be her final gift.

And then something unforgettable happen Angel danced.

In South Africa, we have dance called Pantsula -fast, joyful and expressive. That day, Angel danced Pantsula like it was her last performance. The sickness melted away in those few minutes. It also reminded me the stories we used to be told by nurses and doctors when she was admitted to hospital, "They said every evening when the headaches and body aches comes back like waves: she would put on her hills and model for them and share how pretty and cook she was". The sickness melted away in those minutes. She smiled, she laughed, looked at me with the most beautiful small eyes, and she held me tight, whispering "You're going to be alright."

Three months later, she passed away.

Her death left a huge void, and 6 kids without a mom but that day-the roast chicken, her dancing, her light-became one of my most cherished memories . Angel reminded me that love is louder than pain, and joy can still find its way into our darkest hours.

Even now, when I cook roast chicken, I think of her. I remember her laughter, her belief in me, and the way she turned a sick day into a celebration. She gave me more than a dance. She gave me more than a dance, she gave me courage to keep going, I get sad sometimes when I think about all of those I have lost, parents, grandparents, cousins but what always console me every one of them left a mark that is unreplaceable. We lived a very simple life with Faith, so I'm not surprised she was the way she was after all "She was my aunt child"

"Some people leave behind heirlooms; Others leave behind memories seasoned with love- like Angel's roast chicken and her final dance."