Memories of my grandfather
Mawuena Akyea
I turned to my father, but he just looked past me, so I turned my head to see what he was looking at.
My grandfather shuffled in. His movements were slow, and the cane he held in his gnarled left hand clacked against the cement ground. One of the men
and I rose quickly to aid him, but he just raised his hand, and pointed to our respective seats. We sat down. My grandfather slowly lowered himself into the
armchair at the front, and we all sat, waiting. Then he said, “Speak.” At once there was a flurry of conversation and there was rapid speaking and accusations
were being thrown around. He again raised his hand and the room fell silent. Then he gestured to one of the men, giving him permission to speak. The man
spoke. Then it was other man’s turn and he spoke as well. Then it was my grandfather’s turn.
His voice was soft, so soft that we all had to lean in to hear him, and we hung on to his every word. There was no English, just Ewe, our native language.
Pure Ewe. No English mixed in here and there to describe something abstract. He was eloquent and very articulate, using proverbs, so that we could
understand precisely what he meant. After he was done, he slowly rose up, asked one of the other men to help him and left.
His words were poetic and precise and as a poet, and a lover of language, I will never forget the effect those well chosen words had on me. And if, by that
10 minute encounter, he could have such an effect on me, then I cannot imagine the effect this man’s sermons, spreading the Word of God, had on his
congregation. This man, born on August 1st in a small village and growing up to be an intelligent young boy and eventually becoming a school prefect. This
man, who was a small town kid who seized opportunity when it came, in the guise of a big city, and held it tight. This man, who came to own several successful
businesses and was close to expanding his wealth beyond Ghana. And the greatest of all, even with all of his wealth and success, he threw it all away to
become a true minister. Not the false ones of today, who believe their ticket to heaven is a gold plated Rolex and Armani suit and money from the very people
they are supposed to be helping. No, my grandfather did it the old fashioned way. The Methodist Church in Peki needed a minister, and there was none
available. God called. And all he said was “Send Me.” He sold all of his businesses and moved back to rural Peki, to help and to serve the community that had
reared him.
So if there is nothing we can take from today, remember those two words. “Send me.” Whether it is a cry for help, a job that needs to be done, helping out
at a soup kitchen or something as simple as going to get the paper in the morning, be the proactive one and say “Send Me.” For when you are unable to perform
your duty, or unable to save yourself, someone will be sent to you. That is what Felix Mensah Akyea will be remembered for. Sacrificing everything he had, to
help others. So please, let’s have a moment of silence for the Very Reverend Felix Mensah Akyea.
Mawuena Akyea is a student at the University of Wisconsin and the son of E. Aggo and Dzigbodi Akyea. Mawuena’s grandfather, the Reverend Felix Kwasi
Mensah Akyea, died July 24, 2008 in Peki, Ghana, West Africa. Reverend Akyea was a renowned Methodist minister in Ghana who founded several schools in
Ghana and served as a village elder.
My grandfather shuffled in. His movements were slow, and the cane he held in his gnarled left hand clacked against the cement ground. One of the men
and I rose quickly to aid him, but he just raised his hand, and pointed to our respective seats. We sat down. My grandfather slowly lowered himself into the
armchair at the front, and we all sat, waiting. Then he said, “Speak.” At once there was a flurry of conversation and there was rapid speaking and accusations
were being thrown around. He again raised his hand and the room fell silent. Then he gestured to one of the men, giving him permission to speak. The man
spoke. Then it was other man’s turn and he spoke as well. Then it was my grandfather’s turn.
His voice was soft, so soft that we all had to lean in to hear him, and we hung on to his every word. There was no English, just Ewe, our native language.
Pure Ewe. No English mixed in here and there to describe something abstract. He was eloquent and very articulate, using proverbs, so that we could
understand precisely what he meant. After he was done, he slowly rose up, asked one of the other men to help him and left.
His words were poetic and precise and as a poet, and a lover of language, I will never forget the effect those well chosen words had on me. And if, by that
10 minute encounter, he could have such an effect on me, then I cannot imagine the effect this man’s sermons, spreading the Word of God, had on his
congregation. This man, born on August 1st in a small village and growing up to be an intelligent young boy and eventually becoming a school prefect. This
man, who was a small town kid who seized opportunity when it came, in the guise of a big city, and held it tight. This man, who came to own several successful
businesses and was close to expanding his wealth beyond Ghana. And the greatest of all, even with all of his wealth and success, he threw it all away to
become a true minister. Not the false ones of today, who believe their ticket to heaven is a gold plated Rolex and Armani suit and money from the very people
they are supposed to be helping. No, my grandfather did it the old fashioned way. The Methodist Church in Peki needed a minister, and there was none
available. God called. And all he said was “Send Me.” He sold all of his businesses and moved back to rural Peki, to help and to serve the community that had
reared him.
So if there is nothing we can take from today, remember those two words. “Send me.” Whether it is a cry for help, a job that needs to be done, helping out
at a soup kitchen or something as simple as going to get the paper in the morning, be the proactive one and say “Send Me.” For when you are unable to perform
your duty, or unable to save yourself, someone will be sent to you. That is what Felix Mensah Akyea will be remembered for. Sacrificing everything he had, to
help others. So please, let’s have a moment of silence for the Very Reverend Felix Mensah Akyea.
Mawuena Akyea is a student at the University of Wisconsin and the son of E. Aggo and Dzigbodi Akyea. Mawuena’s grandfather, the Reverend Felix Kwasi
Mensah Akyea, died July 24, 2008 in Peki, Ghana, West Africa. Reverend Akyea was a renowned Methodist minister in Ghana who founded several schools in
Ghana and served as a village elder.
| Reverend Felix Mensah Akyea |
By Mawuena Akyea
My father asked me to write a eulogy or some kind of speech detailing the life and
times of my grandfather, The Very Reverend Felix Mensah Akyea. I was honored to do
this, but I was also very nervous. I wanted this to be perfect, and how on earth could I
write about a man as storied and revered as this? I got a document listing milestones
in his life and I started to write, and then suddenly, I realized I was going about this the
wrong way. Personal accomplishments and milestones are universal for every human
being. That is not what is important. What is important is how these accomplishments
affected others. That is what people are remembered for. Not so much for what they
did, but for what it did for the rest of society or an individual, good or bad. So please,
indulge me while I share an encounter I had with my grandfather that affected me
profoundly.
My father asked me to write a eulogy or some kind of speech detailing the life and
times of my grandfather, The Very Reverend Felix Mensah Akyea. I was honored to do
this, but I was also very nervous. I wanted this to be perfect, and how on earth could I
write about a man as storied and revered as this? I got a document listing milestones
in his life and I started to write, and then suddenly, I realized I was going about this the
wrong way. Personal accomplishments and milestones are universal for every human
being. That is not what is important. What is important is how these accomplishments
affected others. That is what people are remembered for. Not so much for what they
did, but for what it did for the rest of society or an individual, good or bad. So please,
indulge me while I share an encounter I had with my grandfather that affected me
profoundly.
I was in Peki, Ghana. We were celebrating my grandfather’s birthday and a family reunion. But before the
celebrations could commence, there was a conflict at hand in the village and my grandfather was called upon to resolve
it. I begged my father to let me go because I believed I would be a witness to something extraordinary. After many
protests from me, he finally relented. We walked over to where they were meeting and sat down. Even though things were
quiet, there was this low murmur amongst the five other men in the room. The tension in the room was palpable. The
murmurs started to get louder and louder and angrier and angrier, and then a great hush fell over the room. I was not
talking, but I sucked my breath in deep because it had gotten so quiet and I did not want one sound to escape my mouth.
celebrations could commence, there was a conflict at hand in the village and my grandfather was called upon to resolve
it. I begged my father to let me go because I believed I would be a witness to something extraordinary. After many
protests from me, he finally relented. We walked over to where they were meeting and sat down. Even though things were
quiet, there was this low murmur amongst the five other men in the room. The tension in the room was palpable. The
murmurs started to get louder and louder and angrier and angrier, and then a great hush fell over the room. I was not
talking, but I sucked my breath in deep because it had gotten so quiet and I did not want one sound to escape my mouth.