“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” – Psalms 90:12-14
It is unimaginably difficult to accept that you are gone. I prayed and asked the Lord to ease your pain, but never did I expect that it would mean saying goodbye so soon.
And now, here I am, searching for words that
can never fully capture what you meant to me.
You were caring, loving, endlessly supportive, and unfailingly generous – a trait you inherited from our dear mother.
I still smile when I think of the story you told me about my childhood. As a baby, you would push me in a pram on the back verandah at Odumase, but the moment I heard Daddy’s footsteps, I would leap out of it, landing on the floor – always getting you in trouble.
So, you devised a plan: whenever you heard
Daddy approaching, you would stand in front
of the pram, arms ready, catching me before I
could fall.
That was love in action, even then. At Achimota School, I was in Lower Sixth Form when you taught us General Paper for our ‘A’ Level exams. You were more than a teacher -you connected with your students, and they adored you. We all excelled in our exams because of you. Your 1971-year group
honoured you just last year at their luncheon –
little did they know it would be their last chance to celebrate you. Another group you taught English in Form 1 and 2 honoured you and other teachers three years ago at a Teachers’ Appreciation Day.
The love and respect they had for you was undeniable. I cherish the time we spent together – from the precious days you stayed with my family in the UK, as you awaited your appointment in Zimbabwe.
When you returned home four years ago, you came to my house first, staying for a while before going to Odumase because you were unwell.
By God’s grace and with the support of our cousins, who are doctors, you recovered and enjoyed many good years with your family before illness slowly crept in again.
On your behalf, I want to express my heartfelt
gratitude to our dear nephew Mate-Kojo
(Easy), who spent quality time with you in
Odumase, offering companionship when you
needed it most.
Our cousin, David Sackitey, former DCE, would often walk over to your place to engage in long discussions about international and
local affairs, as well as politics. Thank you,
David.
Our nephew, Nartey, held a special place in your heart. If a few days passed without seeing him, you would send for him-just to
make sure he was okay. Your love and concern for him were unwavering.
Some of my classmates and others, made the
long journey from Accra, just to spend time
with you, to sit with you, and to take you out
for lunch at Royal Senchi. To each of you, thank you for the warmth and companionship you shared with him.
Your classmates maintained a lively
WhatsApp platform, and though you were not
always active, whenever your trusted assistants were nearby, you would join in.
Those moments meant so much to you. To our brothers and sisters who lived with you on the compound – your absence has left a void. The morning and evening gatherings in
the courtyard, where your voice was always
present, have come to a standstill. Your
presence is deeply missed.
The children of the house and their friends
still linger outside your hall, missing the warmth of your space and the simple joy of
watching cartoons with you.
Time will not allow me to mention everyone, but please know that your kindness, your care, and your love touched so many lives. If I have left anyone out, it is not for lack of gratitude but because there are simply too many to
name.
To the nurses who gave you home care during your last few months and accompanied you
wherever you needed to go – your dedication
and commitment were beyond measure. Thank you.
The pigeons are being fed daily. They feel your absence and one particular one refuses to leave the house even after it has been fed by Victor or Hannah.
We miss you brother. Your loving and devoted children, especially your daughters, are heartbroken. Your grandchildren, too, feel the deep void your absence has left in their young hearts.
The pain of losing you is immeasurable.I cannot count the number of times you thanked me and my family for caring for you.
Your gratitude was endless – you even bought me kente, a beautiful token of your appreciation. But truly, my dear brother, it was an honor to be there for you.
Sister Koryoe left us two years ago – on your
birthday, a Thursday. Now, you too have gone
on a Thursday, just as Mamma and Daddy did
before you.
There is something profound in that,
something beyond our understanding. Please
pray for those of us left behind, so that when
our time comes, we too may join you all in
Heaven’s eternal embrace.
I find comfort in knowing that, upon your return, my Pastor friends and I led you to Christ. That, above all, gives me peace. Your
journey home was guided by love, and now you rest in His grace.
Every morning when you were ill, you would sing the Presbyterian Ga hymn:
“Leebi la le ete shi,
mi Nyomgmo minda o shi,
akeshi min hie ka,
lolo ye omobo naa”
with your sisters Djabaki and Korleki.
You were saying the Psalms with Paa T, your sons and your nurse when you went into the ‘deep
sleep’. I thank God for drawing you closer to him in your last days.
I Maa bi, O wo mi hedza. Bro Mate and I say a special fare thee well. My husband, children and
grandchildren will miss you. You were virtually part of my home because of your regular visits to Accra.
Rest in Perfect Peace.
May Mother Earth lie gently on you.
Your Sister, Mamle
(Mrs. Mercy Mamle Tetteh)
