Kindness to my grandmother

Since we’ve been away my grandmother calls me now. You would say this is normal behaviour, but prior to this summer, my grandmother quite literally did nothing for me. Something I deeply resented. But when she started calling me this summer I realised the low bar that my family offer that this was seen as heroic effort and that I had to “meet them where they are” so I did. I have since acted like a loving granddaughter, £100 for Christmas and birthday (Grand total that was spent on me 0-18 £20 max. (I know those shoes were £5 but I’m pretending that granddad sending me those 11 cards before he died when I was 6 cost the other £15)

so I have decided to give money to my grandmother, in the fashion of a loving granddaughter. I don’t regret it because this appeals to my dutiful ingrained self (but sometimes it makes me sad that it has come to this, I rarely feel loved unless I am useful and whilst giving money to my grandmother doesn’t make me useful to her it does mean I am being nice to her and extending an olive branch, tenderising my grandmother’s heart for me, because for decades I didn’t exist to her. Not because I live in the UK, but I believe my family lower my humanity due to the fact that I was born in the UK and am comparatively wealthy. Never mind the fact that I didn’t choose where I was born, nor that it shows incredible disrespect to my mother (if you care about someone, someone who is precious to them is precious to you, which is the basic logic around nephews and nieces, you love your siblings and so you take care of your nieces and nephews by an extension of those siblings.) But this is how people in Sierra Leone see me. Its sad that I have to buy affection from my grandmother, but it seems like I do so here we go.

That’s the truth of it.

Grace and Courage.

Annetta Mother Smith.