Not quite a tribute, I said to myself while psyching up for this write-up.
That’s what happens when you cannot pretend you were a friend on 31st December those days.
If I were ever quizzed about my favourite 31st, I would perhaps have opted for a 31st November Movement, or better still, 31st February.
That’s why, on hearing news about the tragedy, I found it safer to chronicle memories of past encounters, avoiding the label ‘tribute’ which often praises poetry.
Between 1986 and now, I have been very cautious not to provoke a 31st Woman, or step on 31st high heels, even though I knew a few of their top brass: Mrs Cecelia Johnson, an old Viking from Sarbah Hall, Madam Benyiwa Doe, formerly a staff at Legon, one Edith Haizel, etc.
The top woman herself, Nana Konadu, I dreaded meeting, and was vindicated when I met her one day in 1987, stretched my hand for a handshake, and waited for hers till eternity.
Scratching my head for possible reasons for the cold shoulder, I later realised my folly.
My column a week or so before had overreached its bounds.
I had attended a Children’s Fair at the Children’s Park, and narrated my candid impressions.
Listen to my write hand and the trouble this courted for me:
‘The pavilions and kiosks at the Fair were scattered. Some were attractive, others were not.
I didn’t like the look of the 31st December Women’s shelter.
It was perhaps the worst among the lot, and didn’t hesitate to make this known to their representative.
It was a careless, makeshift wooden structure that wouldn’t survive the next day.
I was told by their rep that it wasn’t their fault.
The organisers thrust that shameful contraption upon them.
But I liked their spirit. They sold the cheapest children’s dresses and shoes I have seen in recent times.
And parents scrambled to buy these for their kids who were lost in fancy.’
That was my write hand: the same hand I had impudently outstretched for a handshake with the President of 31st December Movement.
Over the years, though,I came to appreciate Nana Konadu: her leadership skills, courage, and the self-confidence she instilled in womanhood.
Then was the phenomenal role she played securing for our dear nation, the intestate succession law that has tilted the scales in favour of married women on the death of husbands.
But behind the scenes was also this unspeakable caution she often gave to married men in public office.
Nana had seen men in power often attending public functions and retreats with concubines and side chicks! No way!!! She hurled missiles at wayward suspects, reprimanding them to attend public functions with wives only.
Who else could have championed women’s causes so boldly?
And when I thought our rapport had improved with time came another incident early 1991, when, as a writer for Uhuru Magazine, I aimed at a ‘scoop’ with the First Lady: an exclusive interview, which we planned as a front page story.
The First Lady had fortunately agreed and, through her secretary, even sent for a questionnaire. Days to the appointment, though, minds changed, and the interview was cancelled. Said her secretary, who now turned the guns on me: ‘The interview will not come on ooo.
I hear you have written something again!’ And what was my sin this time?
A week before the interview, my column had apparently played mischief, saying unkind things about an international First Lady’s conference scheduled for Accra.
My blasphemy was entitled ‘First Ladies and their Gentlemen’, whose content did not amuse First Ladies in military dictatorships; plus the following benediction, which broke the camel’s back.
‘As for 31st December Women, I am looking forward to a parallel association known as Husbands of 31st December Women, where names like Mr. Cecelia Johnson are likely to pop up.
But before any such association, will the mother organisation please make sure they have gone round whipping all 31st Women’s groups that hurriedly construct ovens and day care centres just for the eyes of their President? Some harvest tomatoes from other people’s farms to deceive her; others display day care centres not their own.
A few start a farm only because there are rumours of her coming.
One such farm in my own holy hamlet turned into wilderness a month after her visit.
Let her promise to visit next week, and the farm will resurrect, but this time with new landlords – grasscutters: a kind of 31st Grasscutter Landlords.’
That was enough to put off the interview.
When I missed that opportunity, it took several years to see Madam eyeball to eyeball.
In April 2006, the 31st red cap had long paled out, making a face-to-face feasible.
This was at a leadership conference in Johannesburg, when as Legon’s Pro-VC I had led student leaders and a few faculty to a roundtable with past African presidents: Kaunda, Mwenya, Rawlings, etc.
Our delegation included Dzifa Gomashie, at the time a small girl, Steve Ahiawordor, Nene Lomotey, Rosca Bosompem, etc.
It was a friendly encounter at a time Mr and Mrs Rawlings had been involved in a road accident on their way to the conference site, and she was narrating the ordeal to us.
Finally, there was a 2009 encounter in Berlin, a follow-up conference, incidentally attended by the two past Ghanaian presidents: Kufuor and Rawlings, who came with Nana Konadu.
Managing a prevailing tension between John and John was in itself a big challenge at the conference, but the American Convener Ambassador Stith did his best.
Two little incidents caught my attention the last day. At tea break, I saw the former First Lady, who was meters away, waving in my direction.
Was that meant for me, had I been mistaken for someone else?
I turned round to check further, and realised it was my attention he sought. ‘Eiii, where did I sleep last night?’
I waved back almost cheerfully, fighting off yet another incomplete handshake.
What was happening? In further consultations among the Ghanaian delegation, the truth was out.
The Former First Lady had decided to join the 2012 presidential race and was warming up to possible allies on the Legon campus. The warm gesture was, however, eclipsed by a final incident which left us speechless.
My Legon students hatched a plan to request a photo opportunity with their two past presidents, John and John, to promote harmony. The peace effort, however, backfired!
While one John had said yes to the group picture, the other advised the peace brokers to ask ‘Naana,’ whose answer turned out to be a vehement NO.
The disappointed students, however, succeeded in posing for separate pictures with Ghana’s past presidents.
The Berlin peace plan had failed.
So then, this has been a summary of my past encounters with Nana Konadu now departed.
I could well have attempted to submit this as a tribute, but dreaded a depressing feedback such as:
Sorry, you have no credit in your account.
By Kwesi Yankah
Kyankah@ashesi.edu.gh
