|
Yes Ma, where and how do we begin
to pay you tribute for the mother you have been
for us and the footprints you left behind on the
sands of our lives! For most of our lives,
indeed all our lives you were the only parent we
knew, and what a parent! You raised us from your
heart, for which we are eternally grateful.
Life at Mantsefuuhe in the early years were
harsh and brutal in the middle of the bush, in
sharp contrast to where and how you were raised,
but if you ever complained about having to walk
long distances to fetch water or even longer
distance to buy food, we never heard it. You
even had a sense of humour about it. Once in a
taxi along Cantonments Road when you directed
the driver where to turn and he asked “what, is
it the house in the bush?” you proudly responded
“yes, that’s where I live!” Widowhood at an
early age with eight children aged between
twenty years and six months brought extreme
challenges but then the Anchor, Jesus Christ on
whom you rested your faith became very clear to
us. You prayed for the proverbial buffer to be
placed on your head to make it easier to carry
the load, and you vowed that if you had to sell
your belongings to raise us and educate us, you
were ready. You had to find a job; sometimes
working nights but your Anchor carried you on
the dark bush paths safely home each time.
Time and space prevent us from giving the dozens
and indeed hundreds of examples when you really
showed your parenting instincts. You impressed
on us the need to study hard and get the highest
education we could possibly attain. Our Big Bro
even with meagre resources did his best to buy
our provisions for boarding school. You scolded
us for our infractions but never hesitated to
praise and encourage us for our achievements and
further spread the news among your friends. A
case in point was the number of times you
brought your friends over to hear Carl at a very
tender age play the organ even without the
ability to read music. Consequently, many years
later after he had studied music in school, you
gave his music teacher permission to take him to
Canada for further studies. What a mother!
You were so concerned about our well being that
you once travelled all the way to St Monica’s,
Ashanti Mampong to bring Stella and Eva home
when Stella had fallen sick just at the time
school was breaking up for the holidays. Then
there you were once on the wet platform at the
railway station, barefooted, sandals in hand and
your cloth pulled up to your knees, anxiously
waiting to meet Eva as the train inched in
slowly because it had been raining all day and
the rails were flooded. What a mother!
Ma, you were mother not only to us but to all
our friends who came into contact with you not
only when you were raising us but friends that
some of us have acquired in countries where we
live now. Who would forget the young men who
filled the compound playing music, with their
girlfriends in tow, and even those who felt your
warm embrace so inviting that they would move in
if only for the duration of the school holidays.
Then we remember the shoulder you provided our
friends who lost their spouses at early ages
just like you, who still hold on to and cherish
the comforting letters you wrote them more than
thirty years ago.
You raised us by example so we couldn’t but
espouse your faith and follow you to the
presence of God with songs of praise and service
to our fellow human beings. You left behind a
daughter who at age 67, graduated from Trinity
College Seminary with flying colours and is now
such an asset to the Diocese of Accra; another
daughter, a commissioned Healing Minister in the
Episcopal Diocese of New York; a renowned
musician who plays the organ for both Ghanaian
Methodists and Anglicans in Toronto; a son who
plays in his church band in London; a son who
plays in a band here in Accra; and a son who
with your encouragement, is preparing to publish
your father’s very interesting documents and
journals. Even your dogs Patience and Agoodzi
followed you on your trips to early morning
Mass. They would wait patiently outside the
church and escort you back home after the
service.
We have watched you shed sorrowful tears for the
loss of Fa; we have watched you shed tears of
joy when we got married, tears of joy when Miki,
the last one of us was on his way to secondary
school. But we have watched you shed some tears
for which we could never assign reason because
we were too young to understand. Ma, you led a
difficult life with such dignity, such grace and
such joy that only God Almighty could have
granted you.
During your last days, even when you had lost
your sight, you never lost your sense of humour
to the extent that you would sometimes fake
death. You never stopped praying for God to call
you home because you felt you had finished your
work, yet your prayer always ended with either
“Lord have mercy” or “Thy will be done”
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jnr once said
“It does not matter how long you live but how
well you do it”. Ma, you lived long and did it
so well that heaven has now gained an angel. Our
friends here and abroad who have also come to
call you Ma all join us to thank you so much for
all your love.
Farewell Ma, we will miss you.
Also profiled
on Ghanadot, works by
Kofi Fosu Forson, artist and grandson of
Mrs. Constance Myra Adorkor Telfer.
|
