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When cometh another Felix?–Tribute to a bosom friend

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“When I am gone, release me, let me go.
I have so many things to see and do,
You mustn’t tie yourself to me with too many tears,
But be thankful we had so many good years.

I gave you my love, and you can only guess
How much you’ve given me in happiness.
I thank you for the love that you have shown,
But now it is time I travelled on alone.

So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must,
Then let your grief be comforted by trust.
It is only for a while we must part,
So treasure the memories within your heart.

I won’t be far away for life goes on.
And if you need me, call and I will come.

Though you can’t see or touch me, I will be near.
And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear,
All my love around you soft and clear.

And then, when you come this way alone,
I’ll greet you with a smile and a ‘Welcome Home.’ ”

― Robert Bryndza 

I am heartbroken by the loss of my bosom friend which occurred about five weeks ago. I am, however, honoured to have the opportunity to reflect on his life today.

Indeed, readers, it is very important that we acknowledge and fully experience the emotions of this moment, on which I have earmarked to say goodbye to Felix Ameni Annoh-Quarshie, my companion, my soul mate and my confidant.

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It is fascinating to note that my good friend Felix might have foreseen his call to eternity before it actually occurred. As a Realist and a mystic man, I believe so, because of what my friend and brother said to me about three-quarters of a year ago.

Uncharacteristic of him, Felix stormed my office unannounced early this year with the intention of coming to congratulate me on my elevation to the position of the Editor of The Spectator last November. I recalled, vividly, something intriguing happened when he entered my new office, and I now comprehend why he did so.

At the time, I was writing a tribute of a senior colleague journalist who had passed on the eve of Christmas day, last year. Strangely, Felix walked straight to where I was sitting, ignoring my beckoning to him to sit, and corked his sharp-looking eyes at the screen of my desktop computer for a brief period.

Unexpected of him, he quietly but emotionally said: “Kwapay (as l am affectionately called), if I go (die) before you go, please, write the same intro for me in your tribute, ‘wati’.” “Why?” I asked. “Because, the poem you used as the intro for your colleague is very insightful, very discerning and very deep,” he replied with a baritone voice. I swiftly retorted, “You’re not going to die anytime soon, bro.” But, he insisted, and I gave him a weak nod.

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As if by design, today, Felix’s body lies motionless at a funeral home at Haatso in Accra, awaiting burial at the Madina Cemetery next Saturday.

Felix came into my life about 45 years ago, and the first day we met, in Accra, instantly, we realised it was going to be a long journey of intimate friendship. Little wonder, we found ourselves living as neighbours at Madina a few years later. It was semi-detached apartments belonging to his mother. My parents had moved in from Burma Camp; he had relocated from a bungalow situated near Sankara Circle, where his father and stepmother, both senior police officers, and his siblings resided. Sincerely, I didn’t know it was his family property until the day he moved in to join his mother, a retired staff of the University of Ghana, Legon.

Hence, our friendship gained roots, very solid and firm to the extent that we were even sharing the same room. I nicknamed him ‘Adjei Koti’, because his Sankara-based parents were police officers; he nicknamed me ‘Kwapay’, claiming it was another name for Kwabena (we were both born on Tuesday), which I doubted, though, but accepted it to satisfy him.

Young Felix was a staff of Barclays Bank (now Absa Bank); I was a pupil teacher at Labone Preparatory School at Madina, but later enrolled at the Ghana Institute of Journalism in Accra, and passed out successfully to become a Sports Writer for Ghanaian Times. Felix introduced me to the driver of their staff bus that I was his younger brother, so he permitted me to board the bus to Sankara Circle and continued from there to New Times Corporation, near Kwame Nkrumah Circle, where I work to date.

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He was not a church fan, but I managed to convince him to join me to my church, Queen of Peace Catholic Parish at Madina Old Road every Sunday for first Mass. In spite of our busy schedule, we joined one of the Madina football teams, Islamic Stars and played in the Legon-Madina Football League at the third division level. He played centre back, because he was over six feet; I played right/left half back. The blend was fluid, and it was marvellous to watch us play.

As our friendship kept growing, it suffered a setback. I vividly recollect it was a rainy Saturday evening when my parents called us to announce their decision to relocate with me to an area near Ritz Junction, on the border between Madina and Adenta. The tears that flowed from our eyes upon receiving the ‘bad’ news was so infectious that, it even compelled my mother to shed tears also

It was a tragic time for Felix and I. So this friendship, the most important things we have had in our lives, was going to crash? The invaluable love and support we got from our friendship was about to collapse? These were the questions that popped up in our minds, and it was conspicuously reflected on our sad faces as we tried to cope with the news.

However, we had the belief that, it had been ordained by the oracle, that our friendship was never to be put apart, it could only happen temporarily, but not for long. The D-day finally came, and I left with my parents for our new place.

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Incredibly, a few weeks after our relocation, Felix relocated also to our area, about two minutes walk away from where we lived. Initially, my parents and I thought Felix was only joking, when he broke the news to us. But it was not an ‘April Fool’ statement he made.

Apparently, he had moved into his father’s new house, ahead of the rest of the family. We hugged each other immediately after the good news broke, and tears of joy flowed, reinforcing the bond of friendship that existed between the two of us

My narration cannot be complete, if I fail to recount how Felix decided to spend the rest of his life with Hetty, his dear wife. It all started when he was transferred to their Kotoka International Airport (KIA) branch. Hetty was a staff of M&J Travel and Tour at their KIA office. I joined Felix at the airport every working day, so we returned home together, because he worked late into the night. He worked until the last flight of the night arrived before he closed.

One evening, he expressed his intention of proposing to Hetty, if only I gave the green light. We agreed I scrutinise only her ‘vital statistics’ and give my findings and recommendation, because he knew her character already.

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Apparently, he knew her, because she was a school mate of his younger sister, Jemima. According to Felix, Hetty used to pay Jemima a visit at their Sankara residence, and got to know that she was a serious ‘Chrife’ just as his sister. So, the only confirmation he needed from me was whether her ‘vital statistics’ were standard. As an experienced examiner, I inspected thoroughly, and she got full marks. Highly motivated by the recommendation, Felix expressed interest in her which she agreed. They started a serious romantic relationship before Felix took her to the altar. Their marriage was blessed with two beautiful children, Felix Jnr and Janice.

Felix was an introvert but easy-going. I am extrovert and easy-going, too. He hardly shared his secrets with friends or family members, except me.

Certainly, it is very devastating when you lose a friend, who is so close to you, to death, the inevitable. The pain of losing Felix, a man so important and special to me, cannot be overstated. Indeed, death has unfairly torn us from our lives. But I would find some relief in the fact that others have gone through a similar bereavement, and have felt the same emotions I am experiencing at the moment. Maybe, that should inspire me to feel less alone.

As Robert Southey, a poet laureate, said: “The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired.”

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So, rest in perfect peace, Felix, and may the Almighty God keep you in His bosom until the last days of resurrection when we shall meet again. Amen.

By Emmanuel Amponsah

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Cry my beloved Ghana

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Someone said, if we cannot plan for an occurrence as predictable as the annual rains, then what else can we plan for as a country?  God has caused nature to schedule rains for specific periods or months within the year and everybody knows this. 

One need not be a meteorologist to tell that the rains will fall in May and June every year.  Any serious person who has something that the rains can affect, would therefore plan taking into consideration the likelihood of the rains falling.  Therefore to find out that a whole country like ours, had not planned effectively, is mind-boggling. 

The report by the World Bank that fiscal policy measures by the Finance Minister has led to no money being released for the World Bank sponsored project to deal with the perennial flooding situation in Accra, is so disappointing.  The fact that this contributed immensely to the flooding in Accra, is an understatement.

There have been fires in our markets, but who is checking the wiring on a regular basis as a system designed to prevent future outbreaks?  The occurrence of fires in our markets is something that must engage the attention of government and all the stakeholders.

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The causes may be several but if a system of proper fire prevention is in place, l believe the number of occurrences will be drastically minimised.  Electrical wiring for instance has been found to be one of the causes of market fires.  Fire as we know from the experts, can only happen if these three things are present, namely source of heat, combustible material and oxygen i.e. air. 

lf any one of these is missing, there will be no fire.  It has been realised that heat generated in wires have caused fires in the past and therefore, an effective system must be put in place to ensure that, only certain approved qualified electricians, can execute wiring jobs in our markets instead of the current situation where different electricians execute wiring with different types of wires, of different quality, dimensions etc. 

Preventive inspections schedule must also be put in place to endure compliance with uniform wiring standard, as well as adherence to expiry dates of the wires.

What baffles me is why some MCEs and DCEs are still at post while things are deteriorating in their areas of influence and yet the President or the Minister for Local Government seems to be unwilling to relieve them of their positions.  People have lost their lives, official count is about 37 lives, properties worth millions of Ghana Cedis have been destroyed, people’s livelihoods have been destroyed and they are at ground zero.

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We can go on and on and on about the devastating impact of the recent floods.  Suddenly, we have these local authority heads, all over the place, demolishing buildings after the flood.  Is this not insanity?  Where were the LUPSA Engineers who issue permits at the local assemblies? 

If they were doing their jobs, for which they are paid every month, they would have seen people constructing structures at Ramseyer sites.  They would have seen people putting up structures very close to the bank of streams or rivers and could have enforced the regulations, which could have averted the level of impact on lives and property.

One particular issue which drives me crazy is the Kasoa to Mallam Junction stretch of the N1.  The traffic jam between West Hills Mall and Weija Junction is due to the flooding of a place called Ataala.  Anytime it rains heavily, the area floods and vehicles moving from West Hills towards Weija cannot use their normal lane but are forced to switch to the inner lane of those headed towards West Hills Mall from Weija and it did not start yesterday.  I am so, so disappointed. God Bless.

By Laud Kissi-Mensah

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The palaver of daily chop money

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The romance between man and wife ends where chopmoney palaver begins. When the man is leaving for work and the woman’s face looks like a rainy day, anyone can guess that the chop money delivered is quite below sea level.

But when she smiles too broadly for comfort and waves her husband goodbye zealously, it means the man did not only perform well under the cover of darkness but also dished out the correct amount of chop money.

The typical matrimonial home is a complex one. Many factors contribute to fuelling or preventing occasional civil wars. When Pyram became a household word, some husbands and wives put heads together, went borrowing, sold their belongings and invested in the sham scheme.

When Pyram collapsed, many marriages got shattered beyond repair. Wives blamed their husbands and husbands complained about nagging wives. In a few instances, punches were traded. Crises could not be managed as debts soared and creditors wanted back their money.

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Chop money grew slim. Only Mr Kofi Annan could negotiate a truce between warring partners as daggers were drawn. The Pyram palaver brought more woes to Sikaman than the joy it was supposed to bring.

Many women have died from distress and frustration. All their resources which were joyfully invested in the scheme cannot be retrieved.

“Today, the Government says it cannot use taxpayers’ money to pay those who lost various sums of money to the two money-doubling banks Pyram and Resource 5000 Ltd. “We told you not to take your monies there and you didn’t listen. Paddle your own canoe, or canoe your own paddle,’ says the Sikaman government.”

The chop money palaver in Sikaman is getting heady. People are citing chop money problems for their offences. The newspapers report of a man who allegedly injected his three-week-old daughter with DDT because the wife was disturbing him with chop money matters too much. He is being tried by the courts.

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Some women claim they abandoned their babies because their fathers refused to offer chop money. So when they dump the babies in the latrine, they are relieved of any burden. Looks like maternal instincts are withering out of mothers. These are indeed times when mothers no longer love their children because of chop money palaver.

Stomach capacity

The amount of chop money a father gives out each day, week or month depends on the family size and the stomach capacity of each family stomach. Members of some families are very light eaters and little is spent on food. But for other families where some members have ‘double chambers’ the food budget requires additional funds.

Indeed, in some families, members have natural appetite for food whether or not they take peters (bitters). And when food isn’t enough, there can be an uprising against constituted domestic authority, the family equivalent of the Guinea Bissau rebellion.

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Yes, where one person can eat four balls of kenkey and cry for more, but is given only two balls, he can get angry and start breaking louvres.

The chop money size also depends on the level of nutrition typical of each family. Some families believe in the third world theory that QUANTITY is better than QUALITY. The bigger the banku and the smaller the fish, all the better for Ghanaians. Yes quantity, not quality. Such families stock maize in bags.

Those who believe in quality spend much on vegetables, meat and fish and therefore spend more, but it is worth it because they are healthier and stronger. They also spend on fruits and are averse to the “quantity supremacy” theory.

The problem with chop money issues is that when the correct amount is not flowing, the women think the men are misapplying their salaries in overt pleasures. They accuse their husbands of drinking too much bitters and burukutu, and they can prove the accusation using a formula. They only have to smell the breath of their partners. The fuse can be great!

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One woman told her neighbour when her husband comes back home drunk, he behaves like a walking distillery, swaggering like a drunken sailor. You’d think he has been baptised with raw akpeteshie or immersed in the stuff. Her only compliment was that in spite of his alcoholic status, the guy could perform. That is Viagra or no Viagra.

Women also accuse men of chasing other women in the same manner as a he-goat does. Half their salaries cannot be accounted for as a result, they claim. So when the chop money isn’t at least at sea-level, they must protest either noisily or stage a sit-down strike.

Domestic sit-down strikes by wives can cause problems. When a man takes full quarter and is expecting a wonderful dinner with soup and its accompaniments and comes to meet an empty table and a brooding woman, he can go berserk. The clash can be worse than a plane crash.

As it were, it all requires patience to make a marriage last, chop money or not.

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This article was first published on Saturday, July 11, 1998

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