A Tribute To Professor John Bright Kobla Aheto Esq – From Togbi Kwaku Ashigbi And Family

My tribute will not be short; it cannot be short; it should not be short. I have so much to say, so much to tell. It will not be read in church; it might never be read, but I will write it long; I will write several times. It is my way of grieving. Let them allow me to grieve as I know best. This tribute will be long; it will go on for a long time. Let me be; let me write it. If no one reads it, Prof will read it, Tordia will read it. He will, in fact, mark it. So I better get it right. Oh Prof, oh Tordia…

Prof, you have been a mentor, a father, an uncle, and a friend to me. It is difficult to write this tribute because we still have unfinished business. Even from the other side of life, you are still teaching me life lessons—chief among them, not to procrastinate. There were serious discussions that I deferred, never believing you would leave so soon.

Prof, how could you leave this soon?

Who have you left behind to take up the mantle of developing Tsiame? No one can wear those shoes. Your selflessness and dedication to your people in Tsiame—who will carry that torch now? This Easter, at the Nuneyo Za celebration, I stood before the people of Tsiame and told them you had sent me to deliver a message. Yes, I was chairing the event on your behalf. All the years we have done it, I have done it with your support. So what will I do now?

A Vision Interrupted

You drafted me into the TDM Mentors team, and all I said and did there was under your direction. There is so much we were supposed to do for Tsiame Secondary School—we were going to establish it as a Global IT Certification Center. What do we do with that now?

You were the Chairman of the Board of Trustees for the Manfred Ashigbey & Regina Gakpanuvor Foundation. Who will provide direction for the foundation now? What about our plans? How are we going to carry them on?

“The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him.” — Proverbs 20:7

My Academic Pillar

Prof, you were one of the reasons I could complete my Doctorate in Business Administration. You would not let me rest until I finished it. You supervised my completion, read my thesis, and, on our way to Tsiame, we had a Viva, where you gave me a distinction. So if the Director-General of GTEC questions my doctorate, you see why I do not care. He cannot untie the laces of your shoes. If you say it is good, it is good.

When I told you I was pursuing an MA in IT Law, you encouraged me to do more. You said even at your old age with your failing eyesight, you were still learning. Another master’s degree was no achievement to you, but what made you happy was my choice of the course.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11

Embracing Our Heritage

Oh Prof, why have you left so soon? Who will I discuss leadership and development issues with now? Around you, I began to appreciate our Anlo traditions and culture and started to question beliefs I had held—especially regarding the African ways of worshipping our God.

Yes, we are Christians, and Christ is the pillar of our faith. But God did not make a mistake making us Africans, Ghanaians, and Anlo. How our forefathers related to God before the white man came here was not fetish. We need to understand our source to be able to develop.

Oh Prof, who will teach me now?

As the Anlo saying goes: “Ame si medze ame ake mekpɔ eƒe ŋu o, eƒe ame ŋutɔ ye megakpɔa eƒe ŋu hã o” — “One who does not honor others and look after them will not be honored by their own people either.” You, Prof, honored everyone, and that is why we honor you today.

A Heart of Selflessness

Prof was selfless. He would always have gifts for the old folks in Tsiame during Christmas and Easter. He became my major customer for my rice. He liked the local rice I grew and would buy several bags to distribute during the holidays. Who will buy them now?

Efo Kwaku was your beloved cousin, and you quickly introduced me to everyone as his son and told them of your relationship with him. I hope you have seen now where you are. What are you telling them about us, and what are they telling you about us?

Your love for my grandmother Dugbavi, your aunt, was profound. She would always tell me that you had come home and visited her before she died. When she died, you provided the leadership for us to bury her. I remember the Agbaza we danced together at her funeral. Oh Prof, you had several parts.

“A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children.” — Proverbs 13:22

Stories and Memories

Who will tell the stories of all our forebears? You had all the pictures. We need to work on books about Tsiame and our family tree. Hmm Prof, there is still a lot of work to do.

I remember you at my mother Regina Afi Gakpanuvor’s 80th birthday. You stayed with us throughout the event at the high table. Oh Prof, my mother could not believe you are gone. She says rest well in the Lord and extend her love to her husband she has not seen for 45 years. Tell him that she has remained celibate for him.

Joyce and Neri say they miss you. Rest well, Prof.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” — Psalm 116:15

Unfinished Business

Prof, we have a physical project to build—a guest house in Tsiame. How will I start and finish that? Please wage the war on our behalf for those who want to encroach upon our land.

There is a company that wants to prospect for silica in Tsiame. What is your charge for me? This project, if it should happen, should not leave your people worse off. We should not suffer any health challenges, and we should have an equity stake in the business, so we have the future benefit of the project and not sell our lands for pittance.

As the Anlo elders say: “Ame nyateƒe ƒe nu mele edziedzi o, eye ame maɖifɔ̃ ƒe nu hã mele egbɔgbɔ me o” — “What is truly good for a person does not destroy them, and what is worthless does not bring peace.”

Final Days

That Easter Sunday when I had to rush back to Accra because you were not well—seeing you at the hospital and driving you home—I was still hopeful. Prof, I prayed, and I believed you would get well. Hmm, those were difficult days for you.

But alas, when death wants something, life is no match. You have gone to join your Creator. You have fought a good fight. You have served your people. You have taught us all. You have brought honor to your people.

Another Anlo saying comes to mind: “Ame si wɔ ame nyui la, eƒe ŋkɔ me nɔa eme o” — “The one who does good for others, their name does not perish.” Your name, Prof John Bright Kobla Aheto, will never perish among us.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day.” — 2 Timothy 4:7-8

Rest in Peace

Oh Prof, rest well in the bosom of Christ. May the angels welcome you into paradise.

Rest in peace, father of the people.

Rest well, the ultimate mentor.

Rest well, our patriarch.

We will carry on with your work, though the burden feels impossible without you. We will remember your lessons, your laughter, your wisdom, and your love for Tsiame.

As the Anlo say: “Ame si wɔe la, eƒe dɔ wɔe o” — “What one has done, they have done; but a good work continues to speak.” Your work will continue to speak through us, Prof.

Until we meet again in the presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” — Revelation 21:4

This post has already been read 89 times!