I can get hugged in London for free…
A sequel to “my dead grandad was the most consistent man in my life.”
I wrote a travel diary to describe my adventures in Freetown. To God… the less I say… the lower my hypertension… I went for my cousin’s wedding in December. It was an opportunity to finally meet all of my family members I hadn’t already met. So people like my uncle Adebayo, and Aunt Christina uncle Ade (different person, I’d met his wife, Auntie Claudia, just not my uncle. Oredola, the bride, the twins, baby “Cess”, Imani, and my cousins Waltina, Walton and Desreen. Also, the old faces of people who I had met before. But I digress…
I saw my grandmother on more occasions that trip than my entire life.
I’d met her twice previously, and I’d seen her Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday of that trip. Plus Boxing day and the 28th.
And you know what? The harsh truth is… it is too late. Maybe not for some people, but it is too late for me to forgive them.
The harsh truth is I can get hugged in London for free.
I say that as my grandmothers have died. I grew up knowing 6 grandmothers. Grandma Gloria Grosvenor, Grandma Joyce Davies, Grandma Omo Harris, Grandma Veronica Davies, Grandma Mary Davies and Grandma Margaret Love Richards.
In 12 months I have lost my beloved Grandma Joyce and Grandma Mary. Grandma Margaret died in the pandemic, I only have grandma Omo, Grandma Veronica and Grandma Gloria left.
In terms of Aunties and Uncles, seeing as my mum ostracised me from the Harris family when we moved from London, I don’t have them either.
As an adult, I have casual relationships with family, far more loose than I would like. I wanted to have a close knit family, which is something I plan to give to my children. They will have people. They will have that wealth. That will be their blessing. I don’t have that.
As I have said, there is a world of difference between. “You are a bad person” and “you neglected your responsibilities to me”
The indisputable truth is that en masse, my family neglected their responsibilities to me.
As I said in “my dead grandad was the most consistent man in my life” “You don’t beat a child when they spill whiskey, you beat them when they spill water.”
I am not mad about the lack of love or response when my dad died, I was… but I’m not now. But who decided that a 4 year old’s birthday was not important? Or an 8 year old? Or not to send a Christmas card to a 5 year old? Collectively they all did. The problem wasn’t that Auntie X or Uncle Y didn’t send me Christmas card/call me… it was that no one called or sent me cards... Only grandad remembered my existence on special occasions. Bearing in mind he was buying gingercake for Dontina on a weekly basis, that is the least he could do. I was the “out of sight, out of mind” niece/granddaughter. And actually that’s okay. It didn’t matter as long as they didn’t claim that they cared.
What hurt me was when my mum claimed that they do care. They don’t. When my dad died, I went through hell. I had no support system other than my mum who was breaking down due to the loss of her husband.
The worst did happen, I was alone. And to add insult to injury, my dad died in July, in November my mum went to Freetown, effectively until end of February. I was so alone, my grandma didn’t call me to say “Are you okay?” Nope that whole time she called once… to say “thank you for the money I sent her.” Not happy Christmas, not happy new year, nothing. My 30th birthday, 2 months after dad’s death. No one called me.
My mum’s 59th birthday, was just over 6 months after dad’s passing. I called up my cousins. Deji and Dontina. I love my mum very much and I know she will forever be devastated by my father’s passing. So the first birthday after his loss she was in Freetown. I said to them “please throw a party for my mum, I don’t want her to be alone on her first birthday as a widow. It used to be the 3 of us, now there is 2 it wouldn’t be right for her to be on her own.” These were the same words that Deji used in her speech, to my mum. And you know what? The family showed up. I spent about £250 buying food, drink and cake and the family ate for a few days on my money and you know what? They showed up… for her. My mum cried, she was so happy/lonely. But I was able to bring a smile on her face because she’d never had a surprise party before. It was only then was I added to the family group chat. Once everyone had eaten free food, curtsy of Annetta, that was the only time I was worthy of being added to the family group chat. Because clearly I wasn’t a family member before that. I was not family enough to be invited to the party I paid for, but I was family enough to be sent pictures afterwards. But my mum had the best time I could give her and that was the most important thing, so I let it go. It was only after this event, when my mother was extolling the virtues of her family, I said to her “I don’t have a family, when my dad died, they didn’t call me…” The very next day she put the family on blast for not calling me. Everyone blew up my phone like I was a drug dealer on speed dial. You would think my dad had died that week the way they were calling me, I would get 3 calls a day for almost a week. Oreh, Desreen, Donwalt, this is how I got these people’s numbers… Because my mum cussed out the entire family for not calling me.
Then when I went to Freetown I gave my grandma more money than she has ever spent on me, my entire life. Its not about money. Its about the fact that she is my grandmother and she likes getting money as a gift. I ask you… I am her granddaughter, does she know what I like receiving as a gift? Nope, she has only ever given me inappropriate shoes and an ambiguously worded plaque. But when my mum goes to Freetown I send her money, as a “I saw this and I thought of you” I saved half of my dollars in Freetown to give to her. Why? Because that is a gift she would appreciate. I did it in the same way I used to give my dad money. I remember, she was sitting down when I did it. I let her into me and my fathers secret handshake. She didn’t know what that meant to me. I hugged her, wished her merry Christmas and happy birthday, and then slid my hands down from her shoulders to her hands, and shook her hand, still maintaining eye contact and talking to her about how I wish her good health, she said thank you and pocketed the money so that the person sitting next to her on either side would never know that she’d just received money, they would think that the “English Granddaughter” is so formal that she greets her grandmother by shaking hands. This was the first time I’d done this since my father’s passing. It meant a lot to me. I honor her because she made my mother who she is, and my mother is very dear to me. Not because she has done anything for me in particular. My family…As I have said on multiple occasions, have done nothing for me personally.
When my uncle Claudius came to the UK, in 2022, not only did I send for him, but when his suitcase didn’t arrive I bought him underwear and a jumper to make him more comfortable. Father’s day, my first without a father, I bought him beer and marmalade from Fortnum and Mason (Not just any marmalade either, double award winning marmalade and local beer from a microbrewery in Hampshire. The point isn’t that it is from Fortnum and Mason, the point was I went and looked for the best marmalade I could afford and made sure it was special because I am a great believer in everyday luxury) because my mum said he liked marmalade and beer. I wanted him to have a nice Father’s Day because we’d taken him from his own family to be in the UK and so I didn’t want him to miss out. When Auntie Waltina came to the UK, I took her to the Ritz. (I regret not spending more time with her, because I was so busy with work) I quite like my auntie Waltina, she’s what I would call the “fun auntie” Auntie Beatrice is the sweet auntie. Auntie Claudia is the youthful auntie. If she dyed her hair, you could have her pass for a woman in her 40’s. In fact, even with grey hair you could still say she was 40, just with grey hair. Its not that I do not like my family, it is that I only like my family, and I only do for them what I would do for someone I like. Even with people I like I am very generous. But it is from a place of respectful distance. I will not go out of my way to help these people because when I was a child, nothing was done to build a relationship with me. Prior to Deji and Uncle Claudius arriving in the UK because Deji got absolutely fantastic A Level results, I hadn’t met any of my family. I was 16 when Deji arrived and I adored it, it was the closest I had to having a sister and I mourned her leaving bitterly. It was the only golden summer of my adolescence. She’s smart as hell. She crotchets, (at the time I would knit) and we both loved books. I finally understood why she is Glena and I am Beatrice. We were the original sisters Beatrice and Glena Grosvenor just the next generation down… The remake.
When I went to Freetown they asked me if I would come more often. I made the excuse of “its expensive” they said “Oh every 2-3 years then” Sweetie. I have my father’s spirit. Veni, Vidi, Vici. I came, I saw I conquered. There was no way that I was going to go back to Freetown ever other than the obligatory time I would need to show my own children where their beloved grandfather who rests with God is from. Nothing else would get me into Sierra Leonean airspace. I make an exception there this year because I will be going to Ghana, a mere 2 hours away at Christmas and I will want to spend Christmas with my own mother.
I had held romantic notions of if my mum emigrated, I would spend my maternity leave with her at least with my eldest child so that I would have the help I would need to raise a baby. I now see that to be a foolish fallacy, it isn’t what I want my child, even infant, to experience. Whilst slumming it in the UK isn’t ideal, my God, there is no way my precious babies will go to Freetown. Maternal mortality is the worst in the world, and whilst I so badly want my mum to be happy and I know my mum will be happiest in Freetown, I cannot stomach the idea of putting my child at the mercy of politicians who hate their country so much to leave it thus. I, as a mother cannot do that. There is no amount of “fresh fruit” that will make blackouts worth it. When you have a toddler, let say there is a blackout in an inopportune moment and they tumble down the stairs, or fall on the rocks because even in peoples compounds the pavement is not level. There is no “sweetness” to Sierra Leone that I would lose a child over. The truth is there is no sweetness to Sierra Leone. They have sun. So does basically every other nation other than northern Europe and America. But the difference is that most places that have sunshine and fresh fruits also have things like 24/7 electricity, decent hospitals not built/run by NGO’s and roads that will not kill you. They have law and order, people eat daily, several times a day. Sierra Leoneans act like Sierra Leone is the only place that God made beautiful. Kenya is beautiful, South Africa is beautiful, Malaysia is beautiful, China is beautiful and they don’t screw their people over to the same level as Sierra Leoneans.
There is no pull or desire to be with family either, they aren’t my family, because when I needed them, the only time I needed them they went about their lives. And they knew how much I loved my father. In fact that is the only fact they knew about me. Annetta is an accountant and she loves her father so much she sent him to Rome and the Caribbean. When that man died, I needed a mental hug, I needed someone to keep me company, when I was going through real hard times, the loss of my father, being plunged into Sierra Leonean traditions, the huge task of preparing a pandemic funeral. But there was no automatic pull to comfort me. Because whilst the Sierra Leonean phrase is “You don’t beat a child when they spill whiskey, you beat them when they spill water” the English phrase is better. “You don’t rise to the occasion, you fall to your standards.” There was no standard of caring for me when I was a child, so no, when my dad died there was standard of caring for me as an adult.
The harsh truth isn’t that I can get hugged in London for free. The harsh truth is that my Sierra Leonean ancestry has been nothing but a curse to me. Almost every bad thing in my life can be attributed not to me being African. But to me being Sierra Leonean specifically.
Lets break it down.
As a child, I paid heavily on several levels for the Sierra Leonean attribute of asking English/Western relatives for money. We didn’t have it, we gave it anyway. I paid for it in terms of my own health, I paid for it in terms of my fathers/ health, I paid for it in terms of money, I paid for it in terms of the opportunity cost of that money being saved for my parents retirement so my parents can afford to retire without me. So no, I don’t joke about it. Its not cute, its not funny, its not a laughing matter it is a matter of deep hurt. Because we were only every contacted when someone needed money.
“Happy birthday Uncle Audu?” Never happened… Not unless they needed something. Then when he died they spoke nice words over his corpse. Boo, you were 42 why are you asking your uncle for money?
Lets not forget that he had 2 sons and 1 son sent 3 birthday presents ( and 0 christmas presents) to his father his entire life, one of them I had to ask for and if I didn’t he’d have never done it… And that is the good son… The other one’s wife sent a Christmas card once maybe twice with pictures of the grandkids…so that they could ask for money later. These same children were born as to put a gun to my father’s head. When did I start giving my parents Christmas and birthday presents? My first occasion was when I was 7 years old. My cousin Eddie gave me £5. I think this was the only time he ever gave me money, hence I remember it. He also took me away to Bournemouth and God will bless him for that. Anyway, it was the summer holidays and I knew my dad’s birthday was in about a month, I was only just old enough to contextualise time. So I saved that money and bought my dad handkerchiefs. Because dad was the only person I knew who used cloth handkerchiefs. He loved the gift and said he’d wear these handkerchiefs at my wedding (he didn’t but the thought counts. He’ll wear them in heaven for my next one.) The next time was when I started receiving money for school lunch at 14… and from there on in I have never stopped. Are you telling me that a 14 year old girl has more memory, effort and money towards her father than a 24 year old man? Or a 29 year old man? Are you in fact serious? Why didn’t they remember dad’s birthday because dad supported them far later into adulthood than he would ever support me? Its not even the money… its sending a card? Why is it they weren’t able to financially support themselves and send dad birthday and Christmas money unconditionally… The only unconditional birthday present dad received from Clarence was dad’s last ever birthday and even then I topped it up but that was my decision because again, I knew my dad liked receiving money and I thought it would be nice if he got £100. One… unconditional birthday present without asking dad for money afterwards… in 39 years… And this is the “good son” Why is it my brothers didn’t send dad monthly money to thank him for raising them? It didn’t need to be the same amount as I give, it could have been £5 and month and dad would have boldly as brass used that money to buy the Economist or go to car boot sales and tell everyone that it was his son’s money that was paying for it… You want to know how I know? I took my dad to Rome… I organised Clarence to give dad $50 and I made that 40 Euros and a card… Dad bought some souvenirs with that money, and it to this day is on my parents mantlepiece? Where are the souvenirs my money bought? Boo, they would be found in his bag years later. He liked them momentarily… But he cherished the gifts Clarence bought him. So why is it they didn’t do it more often? No one is mad at you for occasionally struggling, we all struggle. We are mad because you made an intentional decision to be broke and to drag us all down to unbelievable amounts of hell with you.
My brothers on the other hand dad used to pull the phone out of the socket because he didn’t want them calling on his birthday because that meant they hadn’t remembered his birthday in advance to buy him a card. Tell me… is this normal family behaviour? No? Didn’t think so.
Then we have the wider family. Yes Arnold was a drunk but lets talk about others. At first I would like to highlight the exception to the rule. My mum lent her twin brother some money when I was a child. First thing that happened they signed a legal document promising to pay. Let’s not forget the reason he asked his sister was because he is a business owner (poultry farmer) and his birds succumbed to a horrible disease that killed them all and he needed the money to buy the more stock. No one can plan for such disasters, and I am glad my mum helped. Not only did he pay her back, but he also gave her some land in gratitude. That is the only land my mum owns to this day.
Now we get to the rule. My brother Arnold? Count his transgressions in the tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands when you count opportunity cost. Maybe millions. Arnold should have been the baller of the family. He got his Microsoft certification when that was a rarity. There are people I know who are in this country with lower qualifications than him and the lowest I know that someone is earning was £86,000 in 2015… With lower qualifications! The average is a couple hundred grand and the highest is a millionaire (Uncle Andrew) So Arnold robbed us all when he decided to not work. Not only should have been sending dad on multiple holidays per year, paid off dad’s mortgage and bought that man an audi for the love, and care and time and money dad spent on him. He not only that he delayed dad’s retirement and continued to rinse an old, cancer stricken man out of the little he had, both in terms of health and money. So yeah, he robbed us all. Also lets not forget that Clarence actually did rob us all when dad bought him a place to stay when he was about to be homeless. Also lets not forget that this is a typical scenario amongst siblings when someone has had a major achievement and someone else robs you of your spotlight. Clarence decided not to pay rent the entire year dad had his surgery for laryngeal cancer. That was the year I organised dad a trip to Rome, and much as I hate harping on about past achievements, it is still the single best thing I have done in this life. I lifted the spirit of my father when he was at his lowest. I showed him love and care in the day to day, but I gave him a trip and an opportunity of a lifetime and he deserved to be happy about that for a while… nope, I didn’t even buy my dad a month’s happiness. Not even really 2 weeks… before Clarence decided to play around with his landlord to the point of being kicked out. My parents needed to salvage the sale and that cost me £13k. The biggest amount of money I had spent on anything barring my wedding. And this guy, not content with his little sister making sure he didn’t freeze in New Jersey winters not only did he not thank me, but he also actually stole from me. $3000ish dollars and put me in legal jeopardy in a country not my own. Yeah… and he’s considered the good one. All because he didn’t succeed when he tried to sell the house from under dad. Arnold did succeed when he sold land fraudulently that belonged to dad. Clarence didn’t when he tried selling the house in America from under dad. And that is why he is considered the good child.
No lets not even talk about my brothers…My cousins that also sold dad’s land illegally despite dad putting food in your mouth and clothes on your back for over a decade (Yes Alhaji we’re talking about you today, you too Patrick) Or owing dad money and writing him a fraudulent cheque then ghosting for over a decade (yes Eddie… its your turn to be dragged out) Or showing up 5 months pregnant at your uncle’s door despite speaking to him earlier that day from GHANA and not mentioning that you are travelling, let alone mentioning that you are travelling to the UK and you’d given the UK government my dad’s address ?? (Amira your turn) Or writing a fraudulent will that disowned my grandmother’s only son and left the entire family estate to yourself, defrauding your little brother several times taking bribes and trying to get him into legal trouble in the UK when he didn’t yet have his residency by trying to dump your grandchild here? They’d have sent us all back if they had caught us. My dad’s career as a minister? In tatters, before his probation would have ended…The land of my birth and the only land I had ever called home? They’d have me deported back to Freetown, a land I didn’t know… 3 years before I got my citizenship. All because you are a selfish and wicked person. Everything my parents would have built, would be for absolutely nothing. For 15 years. Because of my aunt Priscilla.
I think an honourable mention needs to be added to this because despite the horrors of the above… The worst thing that has ever happened to me in this life… is still my eldest brother bringing out a counterfeit last will and testament of my dad ON THE DAY MY DAD DIED… so yes whilst my dad was dying he was having fraudulent documents drawn up to say that dad was leaving him thousands of dollars worth of property in Sierra Leone and who knows maybe some of the UK and USA stuff too… ON THE DAY I LOST MY FATHER… I was not allowed to mourn… he was already looking to con me… his baby sister into spending £1,500 to send for him to come to the UK for him to go ghost on me and his family…who he’d recently abandoned. My dad had died about 14 hours previously and lets not forget he’d seen my aunt Priscilla do this exact same trick of a fraudulent will to my dad 10 years previously and he’d seen how much it had hurt dad and now he wanted to do the exact same thing to me… his baby sister who he’d never met… Yeah sounds harsh when you spell it out coldly doesn’t it?
As you can see, bold, shouty capitals for emphasis, which is why I always considered Creole to be an angry language, because whenever my dad used it, he was always angry. Always shouting down the phone. There is no reason to wonder why. Its abundantly clear. They give us reason to shout. And I want nothing to do with that particular madness that grips that side of the family.
But lets’ not even drag out my disaster of a father’s side of the family. Lets talk much closer to home. My cousin’s wedding. I was a bridesmaid, not because she knew me. But because my mum paid for her university education. Yep that’s correct the same aunties that wouldn’t buy a Christmas card for a child, it is the same people my mum dropped £30k on. And there were times she didn’t have it and she asked me to loan her the money. And I did. That is something I will never tell Oreh. Why? No need, she’s Dr Williams now/ Dr Adeyemi. But her dad drank her school fees. That is an indisputable fact. My mum had met her maybe once when she decided to shoulder responsibilities that belonged to her then-living father. But here’s the thing. Oreh is the second born. Deji is the first born… so he didn’t just drink Oreh’s school fees, he drank Deji’s too. Which is why he couldn’t then funnel Deji’s school fee money towards Oreh, because Deji had been a scholarship kid, because she got some of the best results in the country, she received a full ride scholarship, then she went to stay with Grandma Gloria who lives near the university so basically university was essentially free. When God is blessing you with your first child and your second child wants to do something expensive isn’t the reasonable thing to do to make hay whilst the sun is shining? Nope. Me personally? I embody the energy of “if her father is content to drink her school fees and not see her become a Dr, then who am I to argue?” I’m not wanting there to be a Dr in any family bar my own enough to put my hand into my own pocket when the parents aren’t content to do anything for it. I don’t see why my “I love you” should cost me £6,000 and his “I love you” is free. I’m the cousin and he’s the father. There is an ocean of difference between “can” and “should” I “could” pay her school fees that year… She isn’t my child she’s in fact less than 4 years younger than me. So it sure as hell isn’t my responsibility.
Lets talk about every time my cousins joke about me sending grown adults money. “money for plane tickets” for my cousin to come to my wedding. Money for birthday presents for someone I met 5 weeks ago. Its not funny. Does anyone send me money? When Oreh married, all the aunties spent money on her. Even my own mother who protested bitterly. She still spent $300. When I married? Nothing. Again we repeat the phrase. “We do not rise to the occasion, we fall to our standards” and once again… there is no standard of care when it comes to me… “I can afford it” apparently means you can’t enhance my life by doing something sweet. So in both bad times and good my dad’s side of the family are a disaster and my mum’s side of the family do nothing unless I cuss them.
Which is why I say with my whole chest.
I’m good…
I don’t want you to hug me. I can get hugged in London for free.
Grace and Courage.
Annetta Mother Smith.