Reflecting on what I learned about competition from my grandma and my African family
I wrote this for my friends but decided to leave it open to the world, it has been deliberately split into three parts, in hopes of doing the story justice while making it easier for you, the reader to get through it in your own time.
A slice of history (1/3)
The day before writing this, I received the news that my grandma had passed away. At 84, she had become frail and unable to feed herself, contributing factors which led to what I believe was her early demise. My grandma was born in São Tomé and Príncipe, a small African island nearest to Equatorial Guinea and Gabon—an island equally blessed in resource, culture, climate and cursed with the entrapments of a post-colonial African nation. Though she had a slice of time immersed in European culture while living with my mum and aunty in Portugal, the nation of two of her grandparents, her mental-models of the world never left her small equatorial home.
I knew her to be the kindest person I’ve shared time on earth with. Though many would say this about their grandparents, my intention in saying so is as much a compliment as it as a critical observation. By observing my grandma I developed some of the traits I value most about myself—she taught me to be quietly resilient, self-disciplined, welcoming, warm, reflective, inclusive and accepting of the complexities of the world around me.
She held a fundamental view that the future would be better than the past yet profoundly accepted that she had to play an active role in making it so.
I have a theory that her deepest truth was that she wanted nothing more than to live in a world in which all life on earth existed in harmony, a feat that in my view she demonstrably tried to achieve in her own small ways. My love of nature, the environment and plants can’t be traced further back than my memories of her working in our small farm in São Tomé.
Though she played a role in raising the matriarch of our family, my mum, my grandma was not a matriarch, she was an alchemist. She glowed in optimism and would turn her surroundings into a safe space for anyone, yet she never carried the burden of having the answers, giving advice or holding the family together—her wisdom was being accepting of the bounds of her sphere of influence. With every pound of optimism she equally carried the palpable weight of deep sadness. She held a fundamental view that the future would be better than the past yet profoundly accepted that she had to play an active role in making it so.
She grew up in a world where it was normal and widely accepted that trading secondary school education for manual labour is a reasonable choice a child can make, a perceived opportunity which she eventually took in her childhood—many children from her background at the time made the same choice in hopes of financially supporting their family. A difficult choice that meant later in her life she didn’t feel equipped with the tools she needed to make the impact she hoped to in her family and in the world. In reflection, this might’ve been why it was so difficult for her to adjust to a European lifestyle.
She wore her heart on her sleeve and was committed to leaving others in a better place as a result of her actions, caring and worrying deeply about her children, wanting nothing more than to leave them with the assets needed to lead better lives.
My grandma left this world at home, but she did not leave it in the family climate I believe she would have hoped to.
Writing was one of her favourite pastimes, she wrote letters when writing letters as a form of communication with friends and family was no longer necessary, she continued to do so at a point where she was already using a mobile phone to make brief contact with others. If it was meaningful, she wrote a letter, perhaps in this moment—a day after learning of her death, what I’m doing is no different.
A meaningful source of writing inspiration was her bible and various books of psalms, the only category of books I ever witnessed her reading.
Catholicism was a gift from our colonisers, it touched every aspect of the psyche and shared consciousness of the African branch of my family. The church was one of the few places I observed uncontested unity from my family—I’ve observed the same truth in other religious families from various backgrounds.
In a nation seeking to find its identity post-colonialism, battling economic poverty, it seemed to me that everyone was racing to be better than their neighbour or to emerge more victorious than their peers.
My grandma left this world in her birthplace, but she did not leave it in the family climate I believe she would have hoped to. At the time of her passing, my mum and uncle had been in a decade-long feud concerning her wellbeing and who should be taking care of her in her feeble state, a feud that led to her leaving this world without all of her children beside her, something I believe would have brought a sense of fulfilment while drawing her last breaths.
From my own personal experience, other families in my homeland fall victim to the same complex family dynamics that lead to relatives passing away, without loved ones being close. I know this isn’t unique to my country and family intricacies are a fundamental part of the human experience—what I do know to be unique, is the economic and cultural climate in which these events take place.
The ancestry of our family is made up entirely of slaves for a long and meaningful slice of time. Portuguese colonisers brought slaves from mainland Africa, populated and created São Tomé and Príncipe, an island which had previously been uninhabited, at least that is the history I am aware of. A strong sense of identity rooted in thousands of years of history is not what you’ll find in the shared consciousness of the nation.
Growing up I observed fierce competition amongst members of my family, primarily targeted at other siblings and relatives. In a nation seeking to find its identity post-colonialism, battling economic poverty, it seemed to me that everyone was racing to be better than their neighbour or to emerge more victorious than their peers. A counter-intuitive approach to solving what I believe now to have always been a complex local and national problem.
A nation evolving its psyche (2/3)
São Tomé achieved independence just over half a century ago in 1975, from her birth in 1937 to her last day in 2021 my grandma’s life largely took place in a country struggling to redefine itself. By my definitions, São Tomé is not a poor country, it’s rich in culture, music, food and natural resources—but it is economically stricken by poverty.
It’s difficult to not envy a child with a fancy western toy when you are surrounded by children whose families can hardly afford clothing.
My family was poor by European standards, but it wasn’t poor in comparison to other less privileged families in São Tomé, in the same reality where my friend would regularly come to visit my house simply so he could have some food for lunch, I received modern western toys that my mum would send to me from Portugal—where she was working at a dry cleaners and earning what by the standards of folks in the island was a good wage.
As families with Portuguese ancestors started to branch out of the island to reside in European countries, exploring the home of some of their ancestors and former colonisers, both pre and post-independence—a natural divide and tension grew in the cultural norms and mental models of those who lived in Europe and those who remained in São Tomé, despite the shared history.
Healthy competition, in my view, has the power to create network effects that benefit both the individual and the network which the competition is taking place in.
In the climate of financial poverty I briefly experienced, any semblance of economic stability can be fuel for envy and competition. It’s difficult to not envy a child with a fancy western toy when you are surrounded by children whose families can hardly afford clothing and perhaps your family is also just getting by.
Economic poverty does not directly correlate with unhappiness—the children in São Tomé are the most joyous I’ve ever seen, very early on they become a hybrid of engineers and artists, crafting marvellous creations to keep them entertained and in healthy competition with each other, I recall some children becoming incredibly proficient at building the most intricate toys with nothing other than dried breadfruit and sticks. Given I was born and spent my childhood in the island until the age of 6, I believe the artist-engineer duality is a trait I carried forward with me.
When I reflect on the fact that the children in my birthplace perceive themselves as being the custodians of their own joy and entertainment, architects of their aspirations, I feel a great deal of pride and it remains to be a crucial part of my mindset.
As I got older, I observed the growing divide in my family as individuals sought greater and greater financial freedom—this directly impacted my grandma and her siblings as they battled to acquire the remaining few assets from their parents when they passed away, some going as far as threatening to physically harm each other.
I observed the beautiful parts of competition start from childhood as children competed against each other to create the best toys. Healthy competition, in my view, has the power to create network effects that benefit both the individual and the network which the competition is taking place in, pushing the boundaries of what is possible. Equally I saw competitive drive that once powered childhood toy cars become the crux of family inheritance greed.
Competition at its best starts with individuals taking on a challenge to be better versions of themselves — positively impacting those around them, and finding adversaries that serve as incentive to continue on the path of self-actualisation.
The other facet of competition is where it becomes destructive and reckless, crushing any obstacle in its path in pursuit of what at times can be an arbitrary goal—not grounded in real-world value and ignorant of its network effects.
Breaking glass ceilings in glass houses (3/3)
The history of a country told through the lens of outsiders is detached from the depths of experience, however profound the attempt at documenting its truth may be, it will lack colour that can only be shown by those who have experienced it first-hand. I am not a historian, nor am I someone who has directly experienced the history and evolution of São Tomé, what I am is someone who spent half of my childhood there, with an ancestry pool largely composed of people who ended up in São Tomé and a lifetime of being surrounded by its culture through my family.
Your victory does not have to come at the cost of the misery of others
In family gatherings, I’ve directly experienced instances in which guests eat better than the people in the household, a mindset grounded in being protective of our neighbours and seasoned with competitive mindsets of social perceptions of financial status. My people remain welcoming, kind and giving, including when it’s detrimental to them and their families.
Competition, unchecked, can become a dangerous and destructive game of perception where realities are twisted to portray a desired narrative. Competition at its best starts with individuals taking on a challenge to be better versions of themselves—positively impacting those around them, and finding adversaries that serve as incentive to continue on the path of self-actualisation.
My grandma did not feel equipped and empowered with the resources she needed to help her manoeuvre the power struggles between my mum and my uncle, though she tried in her own ways, unsuccessfully, to bring them together and experience her last years in a family that is united. She sought answers and support in religion, while she was alive I was grateful that it was a great source of emotional support.
I’ve learned that healthy competition does not result in casualties, individuals can be victorious without causing direct emotional harm. Your victory does not have to come at the cost of the misery of others, pure competition protects the network and preserves a culture where competition can persist.
Unchecked family competition was not the only factor, perhaps not even the most meaningful, but it played a significant role in my grandma spending the last of her days without her two European daughters, my aunty, mum, and some of her grandchildren near her. An experience that has reinforced my belief in competition without casualties—I believe no one should pay for the perceived victories of individuals.
Historically I’ve distanced myself from being associated with the word competitive, and would never describe myself as such, even though I’ve always relentlessly pursued bettering myself and others around me where possible. My grandma’s passing has taught me why I distanced myself from that word.
In a world where she is no longer here, I would like to continue nurturing the seed that she planted in my mind and work towards a reality in which there is greater unity amongst all life on earth and our human families. A shared vision of a better future and a collaborative approach in pushing each other will get us closer to that world, unchecked, mindless competition will take us in the opposite direction.
I no longer fear the word competition, but I now know that more than ever in the history of our species, we need competition networks and habits that benefit us all.
I’m fortunate to have shared a slice of time on earth with you, it reassures me knowing that I have a part of your code in my genetic makeup. You were an entire planet for me and for many, I want to make sure I thank you for teaching me to think beyond myself and be inclusive of the world, which is why I opened this personal letter to the rest of the world—I hope you rest in peace grandma, you will always be loved.
