“Aunty Ceci, what for?”, asked the hostess? “ Me de kor ma me kramain.” (To wit: “I am going to give them to my dog.”) Next thing we knew, you were crunching on the same bones, with a sly grin on your face. Everyone but I was surprised. Glancing at the confused faces around the table, you confidently explained, “Me kramain no sua enti ne se ennfifiri ye. Agye me bobomu ma no ansa na wetumi awe .” (My dog is a puppy with no teeth. I must break down the bones to make it easier for it to chew them.”). Hilarity and mischief on demand. That was so you. Oh Mummy! Life on this side will definitely never be the same. It feels like all the colour just left the picture. No one will ever be as remarkable as you. Since you’ve been gone, the mortar and pestle have been decommissioned. Who else can eat fufu 3 times on Christmas day and swear the meals are different because the soups are different? Who else can befriend a village hunter on cross-country road trips, stop by regularly to have a chat and share in his Mpusuo, then give him the best price for the day’s catch? Who will advise me to give my tourist friends an authentic local chop bar and palm wine bar experience and teach them how to chew both meat and bones? Who will swap novels with me and engage in lively chats about the writers and their perspectives? Who will support my monthly orphanage birthday parties and donate to my countless causes? Who will critique my duku construction, my fashion choices and sample my new recipes? Who will I have endless, playful and often meaningless arguments with? Who will I have life’s deep complicated conversations with? The house is too quiet now. Who will Nyamekye and I have silly giggles, teasing banters, tickles and unpretentious, childish fun with? Who will open my eyes to the blessing and joy of being chosen by God, to raise a child with special needs? Who will teach me to unwind, laugh at myself and not take life too seriously? This goodbye letter could never capture the love and fond memories I have of you, my darling Mummy. If Jesus thought it best to call you to himself, then surrender you to him, I must. I console myself with: Revelations 21:4 And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. You have entered that rest, Mummy. Now I trust Jesus to keep my treasure till we meet again. I thank God for giving me you. Thank you for being such an amazing Mummy, Auntie and Grandma. For the rest of my life I will remember that I am my mother’s daughter. May God grant me the grace to be worthy of honouring the incredible person that you have been to me and all your children. I love you Mummy. Always and forever. Your Girlie, Dela 1946 MRS. CECILIA JOHNSON 2025 34 A Loving Farewell
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