Anthea with her
mum in Tanzania
in 2010
Credit: Courtesy of Anthea Rowan
The day my mother forgot who I was, I was so shocked I laughed; I thought she was joking. It was December 2019 and she was staying with me and my youngest daughter Hattie, then 22, in Kenya, where I was working temporarily. She had been with us for months, but it was as if she hadn’t seen me for ages. Out of the blue, she asked when we’d first met. The more I tried to persuade her that I was her daughter, the angrier she became. For the rest of her trip, she remained unconvinced and distrustful of me.