I’m done

Yesterday was another traumatic experience dressed up as a family event. My dad’s anniversary.

Where do I begin?

My mum organised the event. Ultimately, it was insufficient, with one or two people standing out.

Positives first.

1.      My aunt Judy. Who drove our food and catering equipment to London.

2.      The Baffoes. 2 sisters and a brother of an infamous family of 4 stepped up royally for us, cleaning, ushering, providing hugs and words of encouragement and love… I’d not really seen them since leaving London in 2005.

3.      My cousin Elon and Micah, for providing fun. I’d have collapsed if not. Elon brought my mum flowers. Gent. We trolled each other as if I was still 12 and it was amazing to have the banter.

4.      My cousin Amira’s daughter Beryl and her little brother Beale, named after my dad, for planning their holiday in Europe around attending the event. They are from Australia originally and their mum gave the family tribute at 2am Australian time. Neither of them met my dad. Beryl emigrated to the UK from Australia during lockdown 1 and my dad was shielding, and Beale is here for a holiday, in the UK for the first time.

5.      2 separate families who despite not seeing my dad since 2005 both donated money to my mum because they couldn’t attend the funeral, but could attend the 1 year. It was incredibly kind and generous of them.

6.      The food was incredible. I’m writing this next to a tub of rice accara, the jollofrice was wonderful, there were fishballs, and vermicelli, beans (too much) and rice pap (a kind of porridge that is eaten at special occasions both hot or cold, hot is best, with a dollop of strawberry jam because I’m an English heathen) ginger beer, rice bread and “cake.” (pound cake) I bagsied jollof rice, accara, ginger beer and cake I came home this morning with the most important thing of all…the accara which will heal my soul and hurt my waistline. We also had so much drink my cousin asked for a supermalt… I gave him 7. And we still had 2 ½ crates of that particular drink alone afterwards.  I was so proud of his British girlfriend who has been with him for 5+ years and has learnt the African ways and so came prepared with a fabric bag inside her fancy one to take food home. Well done, Abbie. There was also the main favourites both fizzy and juices. And about 60 bottles of water left over (possibly more) no one went hungry or thirsty. We even bought disposable tuple wear so people would have the ability to take food home as is customary. We still had tonnes left over, possibly because we were missing a band (read below) what do I care? The food was good and a good 100 people will eat this week blessing my father’s spirit, my mum’s hospitality and my bank account for paying for half of it.

Negatives.

1.      I wanted (weeks ago) the tables to have yellow roses on them. Real ones. My mum ambushed me the day before the event with the suggestion and was amazed when we couldn’t source enough roses to make it good with 24 hours notice. Thus I got all the stress of the idea, with none of the payoff of success.

a.      It would have been a welcome touch of colour. My old church was exactly as I remember it in 2005 and it’s 2022 now so that goes from quaint to problematic real fast.

2.      My dad’s cousin from Manchester being a dick to me, he didn’t hear me say “Hello uncle,” and so he said “it’s hello uncle to you” and proceeded to frame our short the conversation around a title he’s done nothing to deserve. His companion shamed him, because he told him I greeted him very warmly and respectfully despite never meeting either one before. My manners were on point, we were quite literally in the middle of a hall with 100 other people talking and so could barely hear one another, so he didn’t need to shame me just because he couldn’t hear me. Culture also dictated that I not correct him for his mistake.

3.      My uncle Claudius doing absolutely nothing when we got to the church. When it was time to unload the car, there were the Baffoes working for my dad, my aunt Judy working for my dad, new church stewards working for my dad who had never met him and yet his brother-in-law… sat on his broke ass and bitched about having to pay for the ice delivery of £25. He literally sat in a chair by the door, greeted his mates and played with his phone like an adolescent. That’s a whole post in itself.

4.      The table cloths arrived at 2:55 for a 3pm service.

5.      The order of service arrived at 3pm for a 3pm service.

6.      The souvenirs’ arrived late too, so the people who left directly after the service didn’t get them.

7.      My mum’s outfit arrived so late after the service had started that she gave her tribute in what she had even though the service started late. My dress arrived the day before, only after they’d said they wouldn’t do it. I had a backup dress thankfully.

8.      The flowers, they were beyond paltry. It was disgraceful. My father, a known horticulturist, had a tiny posy for flowers. I put a bigger wreath on his grave 2 days prior that cost £50. I found it disgusting. My mum tried to patch it with buying cheap supermarkets flowers but that offended me more. Gaudy and cheap and shows lack of love, care and effort. Anyone does that to me when I die, and to quote my father “I will show you that the dead have power.” (Creole translation)

9.      My uncle only had to pay for the ice because my mum went AWOL to buy the cheap flowers with my aunt Judy. Who had my wallet because I apparently can’t leave my wallet in the ladies toilets in God’s house? So, we l locked my wallet in my aunt’s car and she had the car keys. I didn’t know that the ice was payment on delivery, I only had that cash because I was going to get my nails done. He was the only one with cash. But wouldn’t let it go until he was paid. He wanted money “for collection” which we weren’t even going to do and didn’t do in the end. It wasn’t in the order of service because it’s not a main Sunday morning service so you don’t/ can’t expect people to want to give it.

10.   Most people arrived late. Almost no one arrived for the posted time and we started at 3:15pm because we didn’t have everything we needed to begin.

11.   My mum raised hell over me doing exactly what I said I would do. I had had problems getting my nails done for the event. I’d tried multiple times. So the day before I told my mother would go back and try one last time. I sent her a message saying I was in the process of doing what I had said and she raised hell. Made 100 different types of rudeness (Creole phrase) and I was on a train at the time. I got off at Woking on my way to London, took the train back to Basingstoke then took a taxi to Farnborough to deal with her temper tantrum. Everyone was cold to me when I arrived because she’d clearly spent 1 ½ hours bitching about me and my vanity for wanting to look good for my father’s event.

12.   She was going to set me up… she asked me to read the tribute to my dad. I refused because the same conversation I had with her that said I was going to do my nails was the one she dropped that she wanted me to read it… she said she’d send it. ”At midnight” she sent it 10 ½ hours later. Then asked me if I’d rehearsed it in the car with my aunt Judy and Uncle Claudius in an attempt to shame me… it didn’t work.

13.   She asked me to do the vote of thanks but didn’t tell me who I was thanking.

14.   Worst of all. My mum wanted a “secular pop song” at dad’s anniversary. No bad thing, right? My dad liked John Lennon, Sam Cooke and Jack Johnson. My mum picked a song I had specifically said no to. Because the lyrics were awful and off message a poor man’s “you raised me up,” the melody was dire a poor man’s country music, and the singer was a poor man’s Shania Twain. Thus, you can imagine what assaulted our ears for 3 minutes. Because it was in public I couldn’t go and have them shut it off. What irritates me most is that she did it sneakily.

Quite literally it was embarrassing and pointless and she forced her godawful music choice on everyone’s unsuspecting ears because this is what she does when power goes to her head. She does stuff that doesn’t make sense, tries to force it on you and then will try to alter reality to make it make sense. I swore a deep and furious vengeance for this because what she did was devious. I said no to that song unambiguously and in all circumstances for the just causes previously stated, she did it anyway.

When I confronted her about the music she said “some people process differently to others” I’m sorry, how many ways can you process the word no? There are only 2 ways. The correct interpretation, and the rapists interpretation. She chose the latter and we all suffered for it.

15.   My dad’s schoolmate turned priest did exactly the same thing later, he was given the 2 readings for the service, he discarded them. He instead read out 4 new readings then barely referenced them in his sermon. For those who aren’t religious. A church service can be based on a bible reading. If there are 2 that work in harmony then at a stretch you do 2, with the second one being lightly referenced.

Again, my mum chose the readings, and I just left her to her L.

You never do 3, you sure as hell don’t do 4. 1 reading can provide a 15 minute sermon and some priests can preach for up to 45 minutes on 1 reading, so 4 is a monologue of epic proportion’s… The service had communion,(something we’d also specifically agreed as a family not to do) and ended up being 2 hours and 20 minutes… for a man who was punctual and hated long services.

16.   Then, the Albert academy band, who were meant to do a momentous thing for their award-winning teacher, they were meant to do the music, these people do concerts. They pulled out saying they had a commitment that same day (which they all knew about and no one said anything about) they sent their president of the band to give us the news at 3:05pm… for a service starting at 3. Hence, we started at 3:15pm.

Can someone please explain this to my poor British brain. If you have 2 events booked for the same day months in advance, please explain to me why it is the day of both events you realise that you have 2 events and not the day you take the second booking? You are a musical band, so you have to practice the music for both events. My dad’s service had 7 hymns. The other event would have had more. Why do you realise it on the day? At 3pm? Our order of service was printed Friday. Anytime before then they could have pulled out and it would have been less embarrassing. We’d included them on the order of service and that was the only thing I was looking forward to. It was a real coup, and it was only because of the fact that my dad was a multi award winning teacher that did wonders for that school did they agree to it.

The excuse was pathetic. They’d known about the clash. They’re playing for a rival schools thanksgiving service. They apparently reached out to my dad’s old school to see if they could do a joint band, like AC/DC and Bon Jovi doing a concert. The Sierra Leone Grammar School (dad’s old school) said no, (there was 6 of them at the service, they’re not a big school, they’re the Eton of Sierra Leone. But in all this communication, they failed to speak to us? Before 3pm on the day of the service? Disgraceful. Sweetie, thanksgiving season is a specific time of the year for the establishment elite schools of Sierra Leone. June and July. I haven’t stepped foot in Freetown and I know that. Because almost 95% of people who emigrated to the U.K. are from those elite schools. They are the educated classes and went to schools that are the Eton, Harrow and Winchester boys of Sierra Leone. Dad would have been so upset.

17.   Then we have a random man doing my dad’s tribute from his old school. He was a few year’s younger than dad at the school and had no stories about him other than my father making a donation to the old boys association just before he died. I remember that donation, because dad was sick at the time, was able to sit downstairs for the last time and he told me he wanted to donate. He didn’t have any money at the time and I didn’t want him to fret so I whipped out my phone, asked him how much he wanted to donate and paid it for him. That was my money we were talking about. Dad did so much for charity, but if the person knew him at all they’d know it was a faux pas to mention the sum donated. There is a bible verse that dad clings to. “When you give to charity, let your left hand not know what your right hand is doing” I.e keep it a secret. Then he called my uncle Emile “my second father” my uncle Emile who I haven’t seen since 2018 and had 0 impact on my life is my second father. Because all girls my age need daddy issues as some sort of rite of passage.(I’m 30???)

18.   Then we had the litany of inaccuracies. Apparently, my Mum’s name has changed about 3 times during the service despite being printed on the order of service. Let alone being married to my dad for 31 years. How are you claiming to be a close personal friend of my dad and you can’t say his wife’s name? Apparently, my dad was a mute for 2 years instead of 4 months according to one of his closest friends and confidants (self proclaimed) and the same dude decided to air out Smith and Griffin family grievances of the past 20 years out at my father’s memorial. Something that my dad found deeply hurtful and I know didn’t tell many people, of his top 5 friends, I’d say 3 people, including this guy knew about it.  While of course giving us all a detailed history of his own career… like we gave a damn. The narcissistic energy was high. He only got the gig because he is the son of my dad’s primary school teacher who was a very influential in his life. But he failed to mention his mother’s influence, like he got the job on merit of his friendship. Such a good friend that you can’t say his wife’s name.

His sermon/tribute was so bad that the minister in charge fell asleep and had to be given water to be revived.

19.   Palm oil ruined my dress and the souvenirs. It leaked in a bag and when I reached down into the bag to get a souvenir I got a handful it that sprayed everywhere. Apparently the only thing that gets palm oil stains out is sunlight. Awful stuff. It was a beautiful dress. I spent ages cleaning up the palm oil, it gets everywhere.

20.   My divorce still coming up. People asking after my husband because they don’t know I am divorced and the lack of ring on my finger coupled with if I had a husband and he didn’t show up to my dad’s occasion then I’d be divorcing him for lacking love and effort.

21.   My aunt Maggie, formerly my favourite Aunt Maggie, acted like a petty bitch and didn’t come because her daughter and I are no longer friends. The fact that she thinks we’re no longer family means she was never my family and I’m glad she’s informed me of the depths of pettiness. The entire rest of the family was there except her and her family. The disrespect towards my dad and cruelty towards my mum has been noted.

I’m so tired of disappointment. Really. It was bad. The good people basically took the edge off the bad behaviour and you end up with this strange relied that the bad behaviour didn’t manage to screw it up entirely. That’s entirely different to thinking the event went well. I did learn some useful things though.

v  People who love in oceans should not be around people who love in buckets. Disappointment will follow.

v  Don’t give crazy people power over you. It doesn’t matter if it’s a dress, order of service or catering, choose your affiliates well. Don’t play historical dramas out and get mad when history repeats itself. Leaving my auntie Tina with the order of service amongst other things was an entirely foreseeable disaster.

v  My parents are power hungry and if given half a chance will disgrace me for the chance to exert control. Nails, order of service covers, music choices, flowers. Anything for control.

v  You don’t rise to the occasion, you fall to your standards. And in the case of the Sierra Leone community… the standards are too low. The problems we faced were entirely predictable everyone behaved to typecast. My mum went imperialist and made poor choices. People that we’d relied on were so late it wrecked the day, because everyone assumed that they were the only ones screwing up and everyone else was behaving… they were wrong.

v  African men are lazy as sin. My uncle spent 2 hours on his phone like a 13 year old boy and then another man saw me working on something and called me to go unload things from someone’s car because he didn’t want to. Please explain why I want to? In a pencil skirt and heels?

v  Your pool of acquaintances is large, but the pool of people who will work for you is relatively small. Treasure those people. My primary school best friend didn’t show up for the memorial, but her little sister and mum did. I appreciate them. I’m not terribly bothered by Bisola’s no-show. I didn’t specifically invite her and so I was surprised that her mum came, and her sister even more so. I personally don’t believe I’ve ever experienced the depth or intensity of love I give to others and so I have such low expectations that I am genuinely surprised when anyone shows up for me.   

v  There are some people who will hold you in their hearts forever. I had not seen the Baffoe siblings properly since leaving London at 13. Yet my dad passes away and they were right there, with hugs, warmth and enthusiastic dedicated service as if 17 years had been 17 days and I’d skipped church for a couple of weeks. Akua Baffoe (she’s married, I don’t know her married name) gave me the biggest hug and told me not to be a stranger, I could always come back to my mother church. I may just take her up on that. She was my Sunday school teacher.

v  The Baffoe family is also an example of African imperium done benevolently. Their father, The, Mr Baffoe (he has 2 sons) spoke to my mum when my mum needed technical support for the church service. His elder son Peter (my first crush, I was 13 he was mid 20’s my dad would have taken a “cutlass” (machete) to him) was the main man for technical support in the church but my mum couldn’t get hold of him. Mr Baffoe said his son “would be there” (think Tony Blair promising George W Bush to invade Iraq in 2002) and like clockwork, the entire family showed up, the youngest sibling, Kenneth, got a pass because his in-law had died over the weekend. Their father is my father’s age and maybe a bit above but is the last of the “Pa” generation, or the ruling patriarchal male. The people he spoke for are in their 40’s and have children of their own. But he can and does speak for them. When he speaks, to quote my father “his words fall to the ground” i.e. no one gainsays him. He is widely respected as patriarch of the church and his family because he is competency. To quote my father again. “Na so e fo be” (That is how it should be) a man being able to offer help to people knowing his children will obey him because he has obedient children, and he is beloved enough by them that he can ask them to do something, and it will be done. I hope and pray I gave my father that when he was alive. It’s something African parents love doing, having high achieving children then benevolently lending them out to others as a “community resource” there’s prestige in it.

There will be people who let you down and people who go above and beyond. Accept it and move on. The main thing that characterised this occasion was I didn’t loose my temper. Did I feel better? No, but did I throw my toys out of the pram after every blow? Also no.

With black people it’s manic and mania and I can’t deal with the mood swings. I almost titled this post “I’m done with black people” and I am. I want peace and the community is allergic to peace. People have normalised testing your patience beyond reasonable limits. I’ve just failed that test.

Ultimately,  I hope my dad wouldn’t have been too disappointed by the day.

Grace and Courage

Annetta Mother-Smith