“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
“I don’t mind not having water,” I said. “I grew up camping.” Except I wished I could wash the supper dishes and get rid of the onion smell. Maman never left the dishes piled up after supper. She kept extra jugs of water on the counter — for emergencies — and used ammonia to disinfect everything. And she had tricks for making the apartment smell good, like putting a drop of vanilla extract on a cookie sheet and warming it in the oven.
A wave of homesickness washed over me. I thought about asking to call home, just to hear Maman’s voice, but I didn’t want Ginnie to think I was a baby.
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