As I saw her launch herself towards him, wielding her cane high in the air, I knew for sure this time, she would knock him out. But, as she got closer, he smiled and, in a whisper, said: “Victoria Habibi,” and in an instant, her anger miraculously melted; there was calm as if nothing had happened. Then he would take her hand, kiss her forehead, and together they disappeared towards their bedroom.

I sat down with my nine-year-old self, confused again. How could two people switch their emotions that quickly? But I learned this was the love of my paternal grandparents Habib and Victoria Hanna — honest, explosive, passionate, caring, and devoted. No matter the circumstance, they would always find their way back to each other, never going to bed angry.

Growing up, I had the good fortune to live with them circa 1984 to 1986 in Kansas City. Habib, a quiet, small-framed Lebanese man who spoke fluent Arabic, had one daily dress — black pants and a crisp white cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up. My grandmother Victoria, a strong-willed, regal woman, was assertive and fearless. She wore only black clothes with a string of pearls. Her hair was always immaculately pulled away from her face to expose her intense black eyes. She was the complete opposite of my grandfather, the embodiment of courage, but the real courage, not the superficial facade type. The courage you feel when it needs to be exposed.

My father once recounted a period when my grandfather displayed impatient disregard for my grandmother’s forward thinking in giving him business advice in the late 1950s. He would ignore her, and Victoria took note of his condescension. One Sunday afternoon she told Habib she was using the car to take my father and his siblings for ice cream. When late evening came and Victoria and the children never returned, Habib realised she had boarded a plane en route to Lebanon. When he arrived, Victoria had already placed her children in school and set up a business. That was the grit and tenacity of my grandmother.

However, even though Victoria was spirited and fiercely independent, she was also effortless in her devotion to her home. Her abiding purpose of caring for her family, home and grandchildren was unshakeable. Living with her during my most impressionable years positively impacted my life’s conduct.

However, Victoria was no different from every Jamaican grandmother I had known. And my friends, who also spent a part of their childhood growing up with their grandmothers, tell me the same thing: “If it weren’t for my grandmother, I would not be who I am…”

The truth is, many Jamaican children have, at some time or the other, had their grandmothers integrally involved in their lives; whether they had to live with them as their mothers worked in another place or they stayed with them after school, or they were instrumental in their activities, grandparents, especially our grandmothers, are a mainstay for the direct inculcation and promulgation of sound family values.

Therefore, how do we care for our grandmothers after they’ve cared for us? In other words, who helps to care for them, especially if there is no multi-generational wealth? Or if they get ill and have no pension or retirement benefits?

Living in a multi-generational household is common in Africa and Asia. It is also common in the Caribbean. New studies reveal that children benefit when their parents have strong relationships with co-parenting grandparents (University of California, Berkeley, November 2020).

Here in Jamaica, approximately 31.8 per cent of households today have at least one member who is 60 years or older. According to the Planning Institute of Jamaica (PIOJ), older people in Jamaica make up nine per cent of the population. That total is expected to grow to 17 per cent by 2030.

Yet so many of our elderly cannot survive daily. So many of them do not have pensions and, even for those who do, inflation has eaten away their purchasing power — worse if they get sick and need continuous medication and treatment. This problem is not unique to Jamaica.

Nearly one in five people aged 59 and older in the US said they didn’t have a retirement account, 27 per cent of respondents said they hadn’t set anything aside for their later years. Furthermore, for those aging Americans who do have retirement accounts, persistent inflation has derailed their lives (Bloomberg, April 17, 2023).

Now, there are global advocates for the implementation of a universal guaranteed income or universal basic income (UBI) to provide a social welfare system in which all citizens, regardless of their income or employment status, receive a regular, unconditional sum of money from the Government or other institution. The idea is to provide a safety net for all individuals to alleviate poverty and inequality and provide a basic standard of living for people to afford.

In Jamaica there are support services through the National Council for Senior Citizens (NCSC), the Drug for the elderly programme (JADEP), and the National Health Fund (NHF), all of which provide access to meals, health care, and medication in some form or another. The Ministry of Labour and Social Security’s (MLSS) Golden Age Home also provides senior living services and other mental health support through its Mental Health Unit.

This year the MLSS cut its budget towards the support of the elderly from $978.5 million to $589.4 million, a reduction of 40 per cent. Now $181.4 million assists the NCSC’s coordination of the Golden Age Project and advises on matters relating to the welfare of the aged and $408 million to the Social Assistance for the Elderly Programme which gives an average $3,400 monthly cash grant to 20,000 individuals 75 years or older.

Any progressive Government plans for its aged. Based on the national budget, the future of our elderly in Jamaica is bleak. While their age cohort will increase, there is no corresponding increase in their income. Moreover, there is no social safety net to protect and provide for them. Therefore, we must rethink our National Insurance Scheme (NIS) to address its adequacy in supporting them in their retirement and a realistic national health scheme for implementation.

The objective measure of a society is in how it treats its most vulnerable. It was the elderly, our grandmothers and grandfathers who helped to raise and care for many of us who lead today. It’s time we show some reciprocity and respect for their care.