I Brought My Granny Abroad to Help With My Twins. I Regret It Every Day

[Ayodeji adebayo]

Source: ZikokoMag 

When Gbemi* (33) found out she was pregnant with twins, bringing her maternal grandmother to the UK for omugwo felt like the perfect way to fill the gap her late mum left behind. She imagined warmth, support and a comforting sense of finally having a mother figure by her side. But just a few months in, the experience has been anything but peaceful.

 

She shares how her dream of a smooth omugwo abroad turned into gossip, tension and a countdown till her grandmother’s flight back to Nigeria.

 

This is Gbemi’s story, as told to Adeyinka

I lost my mum the year I graduated from university. It’s been over six years, but some wounds don’t really heal; they just dull with time.

 

Since then, my maternal grandmother has been the closest thing I’ve had to a mother figure. But even that relationship has always been complicated. Granny was never really present in my life. She lived in another state and only showed up occasionally — family functions, maybe Christmas if she was in the mood. But as I got older, especially after my mum passed, I found myself holding onto her in ways I didn’t even realise.

 

When I relocated to the UK in 2019, we weren’t particularly close, but I’d still call her occasionally. You know how Nigerians are with parents and grandparents. If they’re still alive, you better maintain that connection. I’d send small amounts of money when I could. Her number is saved on my phone as “Big Mummy”. Somehow, that label comforted me, like a small reminder that I still had “somebody”.

 

When I came back home for my wedding in 2023, I spent more time with her than I had in years. I had been in Nigeria for a month, and she practically camped at my dad’s house to be around me. Every time we talked, she said the same thing: “As soon as you give birth, I don’t care about my age; I’m coming to take care of my grandchild.”

 

She always laughed after saying it, but I liked the idea deep down. I grew up seeing people do omugwo — their mums or aunties coming abroad to help with their newborns. I thought losing my mum meant I wouldn’t get that experience. My granny’s offering made me feel like maybe life was giving me a small second chance.

 

I was over the moon when I found out I was pregnant in 2024. And then, at our 12-week scan, we saw two tiny beans floating on the screen. We were going to have twins. I cried. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy. But I was also terrified. My husband and I agreed we wouldn’t bring any family over for omugwo. We’re both first-time parents, and we wanted our peace. But twins? That changed everything.

 

After much discussion, we decided to invite my grandmother. She was the safest option. Old? Yes, but still agile, and I already had a relationship with her. It also felt like a way to honour my mum.

 

When I told Granny, she almost screamed down the phone. The joy in her voice? I won’t lie, it made me emotional. From that moment, she became super involved. She called me every other day, asking how I was feeling, advising me on food, prayer, what Yoruba herbs to drink, and what to avoid. Sometimes, it annoyed me, but most times, it warmed my heart to have her care for me that way. Yes, it wasn’t the level of care my mum would have shown if she were alive, but it sufficed.

 

She arrived two weeks after the twins were born in early 2025. I still remember standing at the airport with my husband, bleary-eyed from sleep deprivation, but excited to see her. For the first few weeks, she was amazing. I don’t know where 70-something-year-olds get their strength, but Granny was always ready — bathing the twins, rocking them to sleep, singing lullabies in Yoruba. Nothing fazed her. I told my husband, “We made the best decision.”

 

But then, the complaints started.

 

First, it was the bed. It hurt her back. We bought extra duvets and swapped the mattress with the one in our room. Then, the food. “Everything is tasteless. Even your pepper doesn’t have pepper.” I started buying Nigerian foodstuffs from African stores, sometimes begging friends coming from Nigeria to buy foodstuffs. Still, it wasn’t enough.

 

It was always one complaint after another. “It’s cold.” “I can’t sleep.” “This heater is too harsh.”

 

Every day, something. I kept my cool. I told myself, “She’s old, she’s homesick, this is normal.” I also had a tough time adjusting when I arrived in the UK, and I wasn’t a 70-something-year-old caring for twins. But then it started getting to me. I’d spend money on little things for her — wrappers, scarves, even jewellery — and she’d just glance at them and toss them aside.

 

The real trouble started when I began getting calls from Nigeria. One uncle called and said, “Gbemi, why are you treating Mama like this? She’s old, she’s taking care of your twins, and you won’t even feed her well?” I nearly dropped my phone. Feed her well? Another aunt called and said, “I don’t like the things I’m hearing o. Mama is over there struggling, and you people are treating her with care. She’s also old and shouldn’t be going through that much stress at her age.”

 

I couldn’t believe my ears. This woman, the same one I was spending my hard-earned pounds on, was telling people in Nigeria that we were starving her? I confronted her gently the first time. I said, “Mama, please, what are you telling people back home?” She looked me dead in the eye and said, “Nothing o. You know these people, they like to exaggerate.”

 

At first, I believed her. But the stories kept coming. Apparently, I wasn’t just starving her. I was disrespectful. I didn’t “take care of her well” despite all her help with the twins. It got worse when I noticed rashes on one of the twins. After some digging, I realised she’d been using a black soap mix I told her not to touch. I didn’t want that for the babies; I preferred mild baby products.

 

I confronted her again. This time, she kept quiet. Later that week, my aunt called me again, more accusatory than the last time. “Gbemi, how can you accuse Mama of trying to spiritually harm your children?”

 

Harm my children? Where did that narrative even come from?

 

Since then, everything has felt awkward. She’s still helpful with the twins, no doubt. But every day feels tense. The house feels weird. I find myself avoiding conversations with her unless necessary. Even my husband, who was initially her biggest fan, has started keeping his distance.

 

The worst part? My family in Nigeria has started dropping hints. “When Mama is coming back, I hope you know you have to appreciate her well. You can’t just let her return empty-handed after all this stress.” “People give their mums millions after omugwo. I hope you’re planning ahead.” I’ve not even recovered from childbirth. I’m still sleep-deprived, emotionally exhausted, and now there’s an invisible price tag on my grandmother’s “help.”

 

I feel so betrayed by the whole experience. I thought this would be a second chance to experience some version of motherly love. Instead, I feel like I imported drama into my home. Now, my husband and I are counting the days until her return flight. It breaks my heart to say it, but I regret bringing her.

 

I’ve spoken to some of my older friends about this whole thing, and they all say the same thing — old people can be funny like that. They complain, gossip, and act hard to please, but they genuinely mean well at the core. Maybe that’s true.

 

I know my granny loves my twins. She doesn’t leave anything to chance when it comes to caring for them, and I know she’s been helpful. But I also know this isn’t the peaceful, healing experience I imagined. Right now, I only feel drained financially, emotionally, and mentally.

 

[Author]

Posts