Describe a time you helped someone

I'd like to talk about a time when I helped my neighbour, Doña Marta. She is about seventy-five years old and she lives alone in the apartment next to ours in Medellín, because her husband died some years ago. She is like a grandmother for me.

Last year her bank closed the branch in our neighbourhood, and they told to all the customers that they should use the mobile app. For a young person it's easy, but for her it was a nightmare. She didn't know how to check her pension or pay her electricity bill, and she was very worry that somebody will steal her money.

So I decided to help her. I went to her apartment on three Saturdays, and every time we sat in her kitchen and practised together with her phone. I wrote all the steps in a notebook with very big letters, because her eyes are not so good. The first time she was getting nervous and she wanted to give up, but in the third Saturday she paid her bill alone, without my help.

I felt really good about it. She was so happy that she cooked arepas for me every week since then. But also I realised that many old people have this problem, and nobody is thinking about them when they make new technology.

The person I helped was my neighbour, Doña Marta, a widow in her mid-seventies who lives on her own in the flat next to ours in Medellín. She's known me since I was a toddler, so she's practically family.

Last year her bank shut its local branch and told customers to do everything through the mobile app instead. For most of us that's a minor inconvenience, but for her it was a real crisis. She had no idea how to check whether her pension had come in or how to pay her electricity bill, and she was terrified of pressing the wrong button and losing her savings.

So I offered to give her some lessons. Over three Saturday afternoons we sat at her kitchen table with her phone, and I walked her through each task again and again until she could do it herself. I also wrote out every step in a notebook in large capital letters, with little drawings of the icons, since her eyesight isn't great. The first session was a bit tense, because she kept apologising for being slow, but by the third Saturday she paid her electricity bill completely on her own, and the look on her face was priceless.

Helping her was more rewarding than I'd imagined. She's been sending arepas round every week ever since, which is very sweet of her. But it also opened my eyes to how many older people are being left behind by technology that's supposedly designed for everyone.

The person I'd like to talk about is Doña Marta, who lives across the landing from us in Medellín. She's a widow in her late seventies, fiercely independent, and since she's watched me grow up, she's always treated me a bit like a grandchild she can boss around.

Last year her bank closed its neighbourhood branch and more or less told its older customers to fend for themselves with the app. For someone my age that's a nuisance at worst; for her it was genuinely frightening. Overnight she'd lost the ability to check that her pension had arrived or to pay a bill, and she was convinced that one wrong tap would wipe out her savings.

So I offered to coach her. We spent three Saturday afternoons at her kitchen table, and rather than doing things for her, which would have been quicker, I made her do every task herself while I talked her through it. I also made her a little manual: each step written in thick capital letters, with a sketch of the icon she needed to look for. The first afternoon was hard going, because she kept apologising and wanting to give up, but by the third she'd paid her electricity bill without my saying a word, and she was so pleased with herself that she rang her sister to tell her.

It was one of the most satisfying things I've done, partly because it cost me so little. She's been sending round arepas every week since, which I certainly don't object to. But it also left me rather uneasy about how casually banks assume that everyone has a smartphone and the confidence to use it.