Milagros Tsukayama Shinzato

“Eat it all, mottainai to throw it away.” Although two years have passed, I still miss my mother. “If you run out of ajinomoto, use shoyu (soy sauce) with sugar.” I still remember so many pieces of advice she gave me! “If you cook with tanchi, the food tastes bad.” My mom was always right. Food is prepared with love, without tanchi (being upset).

My mother wasn't openly affectionate and neither was my grandmother (oba). Both were widowed with small children in difficult times: my oba during the war (1944) and my mother during Peru's economic crisis (1985 ...

I spent almost all of my childhood with my grandmother. Her customs, which were of course very Japanese, were reflected in her daily life. She didn't celebrate Christmas, but she did celebrate Oshogatsu (New Year in Japanese).

In those days, I remember that preparations for Oshogatsu began on December 31. Starting at dawn, we cleaned the house, while my mother cooked. She spent the entire morning cooking tofu, a pork dish with turnips and carrots, kombu knots, plenty of sushi and even sweet potato and vegetable tempura. All of this food was prepared as an offering for the butsudan ...

Chieko Kamisato is a Peruvian-American Nisei who spent time at the Crystal City concentration camp in the United States between 1944 and 1946. Recently, she visited Peru to reconnect with some friends as well as with the past. Her memories, reflecting a lifetime of difficulties and overcoming obstacles, deserve to be shared.

The story begins with her father Junken. Originally from Okinawa, he arrived in Peru in 1915. Awaiting him were his older brothers, with whom he worked in various trades. Seven years later, he brought over his wife, Kami—Chieko’s mother.

Junken and his brothers walked the streets ...

“Don’t sweep the house at night or you’ll become poor” or “if you cut your nails at night, the devil will come for you.” Even more prophetic, “you are going to cry…” which my oba always said when she saw the cat washing herself. I heard these and other sayings while growing up. When my oba left us, we didn’t hear such things as often, but there are a few (in addition to many other traditions and beliefs) that are part of our memory; if nothing else, they are reminders of my oba. As they say ...

¿Quién me inspira a ser mejor? Creo que mi oba. Aunque hasta ahora, no sé cómo ella hacía para luchar contra los problemas, salir adelante y ayudar a los demás. Y, como si fuera una heroína, nunca esperaba nada a cambio.

Mi oba tenía 92 años cuando falleció y yo, 9. ¡Había más de 80 años de diferencia entre nosotras! Y creo que eso le daba cierto “halo” de misterio a mi oba. Nunca me contó sobre su historia. Apenas soltaba comentarios espontáneamente, de cuatro o cinco palabras, que ...