When loved ones are called home

In the past week, I’ve been in the general neighbourhood of death and dying. Three deaths were out and about in my space. On Saturday, July 2, my favourite senior cousin, Mina Adobea Appeah, was buried. On the same day, a very fine journalist, one of my many famous former students whom I’m so proud of, Sammy Okaitey, was also laid to rest. Two days earlier, last Thursday, June 30^th, the Editor of this newspaper, and the writer of one of the best and longest-running columns, Merari Alomele, checked out and with that, brought an abrupt end to the Sikaman Palaver column.

Cousin Mina:

My cousin Mina was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. Tall, gorgeous and with a face you can’t forget. There I was, holding my mother’s hand, to watch as she was pushed into her coffin. This was the second time ever in my fifty-something years of life I’ve witnessed this grand farewell act of pushing a dead body into a coffin. I couldn’t cry. I was frozen. I watched with intensity as the ‘handlers’ struggled to force and fit Mina’s stiff body into the coffin which suddenly appeared to be too small!

I so dearly loved Mina but as I watched the bizarre farewell scene, it hit me that it’s been a long time since I spent any quality time with her. With shame, I realised that I’ve been too busy with my career –teaching, consulting, writing, television and traveling! I doubt if Mina knew how much I loved her, adored her, and looked up to her as an older cousin.

But it was too late to tell her my heart message. All I could do was to take in the privilege of being one of six people to witness her final moment and the nailing of the coffin. I stood there, alive but stiff too, wondering, ‘Mina, is that it?’ Apparently, that was it! So, when would it be my turn since this is the fate of all living beings? What a troubling life (death?) question! Mina was 68. Her funeral was packed with church-goers. I moved from Mina’s funeral to the next – Sammy’s

Sammy Okaitey, a fine Journalist called home!

Gone too soon, of course! At just 52, Sammy has checked out into eternity. I’ve never thought of the Accra Sports Stadium as a site for a funeral! But Sammy Okaitey, a fine sports journalist, literally commandeered hundreds of people to the stadium for his funeral and to see him off next door at the Osu cemetery. Having worked up the rank from a reporter (with specialization in sports) to become the News Editor of Ghana’s leading newspaper, the Daily Graphic, Sammy Okaitey’s funeral was packed with journalists and media practitioners as well as the who-is-who of the sports world in Ghana.

Boxer Azumah Nelson was a solid presence. So were Kabral Blay Amihere, Akoto Ampaw, Kofi Nyantakyi, Ransford Tettey, Affail Monney, Kwasi Gyan-Appenteng, Kofi Yeboah, Cofi Koomson, Enimil Ashon, and many many more. Much of the staff of the Graphic Communications Group as well as leading journalists from the Ghana Broadcasting Corporation, the New Times Corporation and the private media showed up at Sammy’s funeral. It was a farewell party for one of our own and by that, a get-together for the living.

Sammy’s funeral was a place to find journalists who have been lost in action for as long as Abraham was a school boy. After all, Sammy was for almost three decades, a permanent fixture on the media scene and exceled himself. I do not understand sports but I could understand him, and by that, he succeeded in cracking a little window into sports for me. But another funeral awaits!

‘The Sikaman Goes Home’: The Book

The hearts of many readers of the ‘Sikaman Palaver’ column are broken over Merari Alomele’s death. His was a unique name. There are many who buy or pick up The Spectator just so they can read what Alomele has written. But now he is gone. Fortunately, despite the fact of his death, he has left jewels of himself behind through his writings. Dear reader, what would you leave behind on the day you’re called ‘home’? What impact are you making in your corner of life?

Dear reader, if you’re one of the lovers of the ‘Sikaman’ column, won’t you buy a book – ‘The Sikaman Goes Home’? Alor, as he was affectionately called, has written so much week after week, year after year. If his classy pieces, including his award-winning articles, are compiled, a couple of books could come out of him even in death. Amazing! Impressive!

For several years, Alor passionately touched on issues from A to Z about the state of Ghana, which he nicknamed ‘Sikaman.’ A compilation of his writings into a book would be a hot sale and the proceeds – the cash, ‘sika’ – could be used to bless his young children.

Enduring Questions:

So last week was an emotionally packed week for me. Tough! These were human stories that woke me up about beginnings and endings. Life is definitely very short. Here is an enduring question to ponder over. If you were reliably informed that you (me) have three hours, three days, three weeks, three months or three years more to live, what would you do? What activities would you choose to engage in and which ones would you abandon? Would you continue to waste your precious hours, days, weeks, months and years on inconsequential activities and thoughts?

All these deaths have reminded me of the brevity of life. Home going! Call to glory! Glorious walk to eternity! Home call! Transition! Call to higher service! These are flamboyant phrases used in newspapers to announce death. This death and dying thing is for all ages, all genders, all races – and all living beings. Eh, where is ‘home’? Oh, so where we live is not ‘home’? Yet, we spend much time and effort to build concrete homes? What is the ‘call’? Why the ‘call’? These are spooky thoughts. As you grieve the death of loved ones, you vicariously grieve your own.

So much love is displayed at funerals. If only we could show as much love to the living, the world would become a better place. These past weeks, a person I’ve considered a very good friend betrayed me. Being around these three deaths teach me the importance of forgiveness and redemption. When would you die? When would I die? The answers to these questions can never be known.

But one thing we should know for sure is that while we’re here, we should never treat others as if they’re trash and don’t matter. It’s unnecessary to hurt your loved ones. For now, there is one life to live. If, as scripture says, there is another life, then that would be a bonus. For the time being, we’re to live this life we currently have to the fullest and in goodness; in full acknowledgement to the brevity of this current life. Don’t neglect what is truly important. So, what is truly important to you? Go figure!

Rawlings Mystique, Fear, Love and Fatigue

He is an enigma, Rawlings is. Some love him. Some hate him. Some will die for him. Some wish him gone. Some understand him. Some wonder – W-H-A-T? Life is a mystery. It’s not every puzzle you can solve. So some things should just be left in the realm of mystery. Yet, on Saturday, July 9, ‘Congress TV Day’, we witnessed a fascinating phenomenon in Ghana’s history. The Rawlings Mystique seemed to have melted away and gave way to Rawlings Fatigue. Or, it didn’t?

The fear factor:

A few weeks ago during the celebration of the June 4 uprising, Flight Lt. turned ex-President, served notice for yet another ‘boom’ speech during the NDC Congress at which his beloved wife, Nana Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings, was contesting the sitting President, Evans Atta Mills. My head ached.

I bet that I’m not the only Ghanaian who has been suffering from Rawlings Fatigue. My daughter Darkoa, who migrated out of Ghana at the young age of 12 and recently relocated back home, remarked a few months ago after 17 years sojourn abroad: ‘Mama, when I was growing up in Ghana, Rawlings ruled supreme. He still reigns supreme. Why?’ I couldn’t answer.

How could one person overbearingly be preaching and yelling at a country for a generation and not get tired of his own voice? How could one person come across as the only one who knows what is right for a country that he ruled for a whopping 19½ years, the longest-serving leader of  Ghana? During the Rawlings regime, fear reigned. Bullying, intimidation, persecutions, kangaroo courts, culture of silence – were the order of the time. Now, Rawlings fatigue appears to have set in for the citizenry. Or it hasn’t?

Did she or did she not?

A confession. I cry when something goes wrong in my life. I even cry when I’m very happy. Don’t ask me why. Crying is something I do to get in touch with my feminine side. Tear drops and estrogen are lovely bedfellows.

So the grand question is: Did Konadu cry as she left the Sunyani Coronation Park that did not coronate her (Mother and co-founder of the NDC, the one and only legitimate Madam of our land, women champion extraordinaire of the 31^st December Women’s Movement), as flag-bearer? As she and hubby JJ sneaked out quietly in plain view on the long awkward historic walk out of the congress grounds, what went through their minds? What conversations have they had? Did the coincidence of 3.1 per cent and 31^st December hold back the tears but not the jeers? Oh, the magic power of numbers!

Much as I so badly desire for a woman to become President of Ghana (since for 54 years – still counting, the male leadership has not served us much), a Konadu presidency has not tickled me – at all. She has been in the cushy bed of power for so long to the point that she has learned to be bold. She has, over the years, authored her own narrative, some of which is not endearing; because it is decorated by fear.

But tied to the Konadu presidency would have come a certain Jerry John as First Gentleman. That is a no brainer! And, that has been a problem for many. Jerry John Rawlings is a wise man – nay, the wisest man in Ghana! The storied couple is Ghana’s prima donna, the epicentre of power, a state-within-a-state, our royal celebrity high-octane sweetheart couple decorated with a gold-platted triple-AAA rating.

For two decades, this country lived under the thumb of Mr Rawlings, while Konadu grew mightily in power. From the brief but ruthless AFRC days, through the long haul of PNDC and NDC1 administrations, the storied couple was glued to the centre of Ghana; an imposition.

In the past few weeks, some radio stations did an excellent job of playing back Rawlings’s voice – from his grand holier-than-thou entrance onto the Ghanaian scene through his many reincarnations with a crescendo to the last celebration of June 4^th uprising last month. Of course the voice had aged over the years, but one unmistakably single thread runs through: the shrill yelling commanding know-all characteristic in his tone – Blunt, Blustery and Bombastic (BBB).

The Fatigue! At long last!
Who would ever have thought that an NDC crowd, the Rawlings party folks, who have always adored the prima donna pair, would come any close to hooting at Rawlings and his wife, the king and queen (the father/founder and mother) of their party? I’ve been trying to identify the 90 people who voted for Konadu. The NDC did not treat the couple fairly. What a betrayal to embarrass the founder and mother!

Probably, the Rawlings mystique has long departed but they were too slow to read the signs, the glaring handwriting on the wall. When they began the awkward walk out of the congress grounds, they were by that act, acknowledging that the people who have always adored them were finally fatigued of them. The welcome, the tolerance, was finally over. Or wasn’t it?

But clearly, it’s not only NDC people who are tired of the Rawlingses. Rank and file Ghanaians are also suffering from Rawlings fatigue because they’ve been on the scene for far too long. NPP fatigue, floating-voter fatigue and the unlikely NDC fatigue have set in. The party he founded after boldly dropping the P (Provisional) from the PNDC to form his NDC, had over the years, become fatigued of his ranting and yelling and the need to rule and be in charge and control? W-H-A-T?

Times change. Now, from last week’s defeat by a mere John Mills, it’s apparent (likely?) that the fear we had for the Rawlingses may be gone! Thirty years ago, I would not have dreamt – nay, I would not have dared – to think of the content of this article. But now, my sleeping place will not change for writing this (in a state-owned newspaper!). I’ll not be the recipient of an ‘identification haircut.’ Times have truly changed.

Have you been healed of the Rawlings mystique, gone beyond fear, or you’re just fatigued? Freedom, you’re so sweet! The Rawlings myth is finally broken. Hasn’t it? The voice of the late Martin Luther King Jr., the American civil rights leader, rings true here: ‘Free at last! Free at last. Thank God almighty, we’re free at last!’

Why the Rawlingses never thought that they would ever over-stay their welcome is in itself shocking. That’s just the law of nature: whatever goes up comes down. Even charisma can wear off. It is not a matter of ding dong ding. But, the fact still remains that many still love them and may want to die for them. Those who love them truly love them. The enigma!

Enduring Questions: Would the beloved couple ever varnish from the public space? Who is this man who was born and bred (bread) and buttered in Ghana who does not sound like a Ghanaian? Why does JJ have an affected accent? How did he acquire it? Is it a Locally-Affected Acquired Foreign Accent (LAAFA) or it’s just your middle-of-the-road Blood Acquired Accent (BAA)? Go figure! No shaky, babe!