The Table She Left Behind: Lessons Steeped in Prekese
Every lesson she taught began quietly — with steam, patience, and a piece of prekese steeping in hot water.
My aunt, a retired nurse and midwife, began many mornings that way. She’d drop the fragrant pod into a glass, pour boiling water over it, and let it steep while she ate her oats. She said it helped her blood sugar. I think it helped her remember.
She passed recently, quietly, and left behind lessons that continue to steep — much like the cup of prekese she began each morning with.
Those mornings taught me more about food systems than any Western culinary school ever could. She told me about her years in Keta, by the sea, when she’d help fishermen pull in their catch after work. Without a fridge, she’d fry fish hard so it would keep, smoke some, and dry others. Preservation wasn’t just about food — it was about dignity and foresight.
That conversation changed how I understood “technique.”
What Western kitchens might label overcooking was, in truth, a form of strategy — the original risk management system. It kept communities safe and nourished long before refrigeration and certification schemes existed.
Her kitchen was a classroom in leadership — rooted in care, memory, and adaptation. Every pot of soup was a study in resilience. Every meal was an archive of intelligence passed down quietly through practice.
3 Leadership Lessons Steeped in Prekese
1. Preservation Is Strategy
Our elders understood sustainability before it became a policy. Frying, drying, and smoking weren’t just culinary methods — they were responses to climate, infrastructure, and access. We call it preservation; they called it survival with flavor.
2. Knowledge Is the Original Infrastructure
What we now call “innovation” is often rediscovery. The wisdom passed from one generation to another — usually by women — holds the keys to community resilience. It’s time to treat custodians of this knowledge as essential stewards of the future.
3. Quiet Leadership Leaves Deep Roots
Not all leadership is loud. My aunt led through her steadiness — through the quiet rituals that anchored her days and held her family together. Leadership isn’t always about commanding space; sometimes it’s about creating one.
As I continue my own work, I’m reminded that every act of preservation — every shared recipe, every cup of prekese — is a small defiance against forgetting.
It’s how we remember who we are, and who taught us.
Call Forward
💼 If your organization, university, or conference is exploring how intergenerational wisdom can inform today’s conversations on leadership, sustainability, and cultural preservation—let’s bring this dialogue to your table.
👉🏾 Connect with me here.