Dr Omane Boamah and I met in person for the first time at Rex Omar’s mother’s funeral on 13 April 2024. Naughty Rex had somehow conspired to plant me on the stage, surrounded by big NDC wigs. Omane and I were seated next to each other, and after a few awkward moments of saying ‘hello’ to each other, we started chatting. We were getting on famously, teasing and laughing like long-lost buddies. We ignored the few barbs we had tossed at each other after the Occupy Flag Staff House demonstration in 2014, as well as the curious stares from other mourners.
Of course, the conversation turned political. He had deep concerns about Ghana’s electoral system. As we chatted about that, we touched on a very unlikely scenario: could the two of us work together to ask questions and seek answers about long-lasting electoral reforms? I also expressed my deep concerns about the nation in general. I found myself telling him about how frustrated I was with the whole nation-building process. Before we parted, he politely asked for my number. I obliged, not really believing that he would get in touch. Surprise, surprise; he did.
That evening, between 5:50pm and 5:52pm, he forwarded some material to me, explaining his concerns about the electoral process. Then he added: ‘Good evening, Kojo. There’s still hope, don’t leave hope.’ I responded that ‘hope is gone.’ We laughed over that by exchanging some funny memes and emojis.
We didn’t chat again until 25 April 2024, when I had delivered a speech at the Vice Chancellor’s awards ceremony at Legon. Somehow, I felt the need to forward the video to him because my speech (Rock The Blessing: Time No Dey) contained more hope than I had expressed to him. I wanted him to know that maybe his encouragement, ‘don’t leave hope’, had yielded some fruit. He must have watched the video because he responded, ‘Thanks, and congrats ’.
Then on 19 May, he sent me more material on his concerns with Ghana’s electoral system. He was quite passionate about that. At dawn on 25 May, I sent him an inspiring speech by Shruthi Kumar for Harvard’s Commencement 2024. He quickly responded: ‘Thanks. But old man must be sleeping o .’ I responded with my old mantra: ‘Sleep is for the weak.’ He responded: ‘A compelling case aptly articulated in style.’ I responded further that ‘my fuller rendition is: Sleep is for the weak, those with little to wake up to, and those who can afford it,’ to which he responded with a ‘.’
We chatted on and off after that. He would send me materials on the electoral system. I would send him press releases by OccupyGhana, especially on Galamsey.
On 13 September, I forwarded to him this: ‘This is random information. Do with it as you please. Today, the kids of those egyabas who teased you for being dadaba, are dadabas. Yesterday’s proud egyaba is today’s dada, not egya. So all along, if like them, get some ahn, they will like….Completely random information. ’ His response was: ‘ Is this an allegory? I’m just asking on behalf of Nana Addo and Bawumia ’ I responded: ‘hahahaha. As I said, completely random information ’ We exchanged some funny memes and ended it there. That is the closest we ever got to discussing party politics.
On Christmas Day 2024, he must have been busy with the political transition, yet he was sufficiently gracious to send me a Christmas greeting from his family (attached). I responded (attached). When we exchanged happy new year messages, I also sent him some absolute nonsense (attached). We exchanged some more funny memes and emojis at this.
Later on 17 January, I sent him a flyer of the impending launch of the Company Law book I had co-edited. He responded with two raised thumbs. I added that ‘I saw the fake appointment. I hope the proper one comes through soon.’ He was uncharacteristically coy about that and sent just ‘.’ On 21 January, when the proper appointment was announced, I sent him ‘Finally, congrats.’ He became Minister of Defence. We continued with our on-and-off chats, some serious stuff but mostly lighthearted banter. Curiously, never an argument; just mutual, decent respect.
On 19 March, I sent him a flyer inviting him to participate in the Achimota Speaks Program that evening, which was on the Free SHS Scheme. We shared deeply personal stories about the educational choices we had made for our children and why we had made those choices. He, like me, had three kids, although mine are much older than his. At the end, he somehow felt compelled to apologise that he wasn’t going to make it to the program: ‘Regrettably, I have a tight schedule today.’ Of course, I knew he wasn’t going to be there. Later that night, I sent him a video of the event. We didn’t chat again after that.
Today, after hearing incredible news about the air crash, at 12:54 pm, I sent him a hopeful ‘Good afternoon.’ This time, and unusually, there was no response. Then I knew… because he always responded. Always. Worse, all I saw was a single tick that showed the message had been sent but not read.
Maybe I’m still holding on to hope that he’ll respond, although I know he won’t… or can’t. But in just a year and three months, after just one meeting at a funeral, we found and forged a connection that showed there is more that unites us than divides us: our shared humanity. I am certainly going to miss a man I met only once and miss our ‘unlikely’ exchanges, ‘secret’ chats, and friendly banters.
I will make time to condole with the family, his spouse, and the three kids he spoke with me so deeply and fondly about.
Farewell, Doc, and may the Lord grant you eternal rest and may what you strived to achieve inspire us to embrace our common humanity and strive for a brighter future… ‘DON’T LEAVE HOPE.’
© they call me ‘Ace’
