He was poor, without want and who gave thanks to his Almighty God for his life. These folks sing and dance for just about every occasion, including a funeral. A brother in the church past away last Thursday night and a simple traditional funeral was experienced by the entire village. It was 5AM Saturday morning and we could begin to hear very loud music from a sound system. This is the way the community would be alerted of the celebration that would be a part of their day’s activities. The music was African Gospel and with the beat, quite literally swayed your whole being. The closer I walked to the proceedings, the louder the sound penetrated your body. I was asked to speak a few words about this gentleman for I had befriended him during our visits to the branch a number of times. The gathering had begun and most mourners were not in the black or red clothing signifying a mourning state. They were all dressed in brilliant colorful dresses and wraps. There were two awnings erected for people to escape the heat of the sun with the village Chiefs and dignitaries at the head of the compound.
This man was 74 years old and had died in his sleep. He had one daughter with whom he lived. He was a simple farmer with one farm measuring approximately 2 acres. He was illiterate and had never written his name. I remember when I had heard that he could not read or write, I placed a pen in his hand and with my hand covering his, printed his name. I gave that to him so he could look upon his written name, something he had never seen until 5 months ago. He raised Plantene and Cassava along with a small crop of Cocoa. He was a native of Abomosu and had not traveled out of this district during his life. Over four years ago he was approached by a neighbor with the news of a church that claimed to have authority from God and would he be interested in attending with him. Shortly thereafter he entered the waters of baptism and attended faithfully the remainder of his life. He sat on the right side of the chapel along with 4 other older men- most were widowers. He lost his wife to a snake bite over 10 years ago and remained faithful to the love he shared with her. He had not held a leadership position in the community or Church. He had never ridden in a bus or seen the big city of Accra. He was just a simple man who gave thanks to Almighty God for his abundance. The abundance you ask, a small farm, strength to plant and harvest, a daughter who took him in after her mother died, and a faith to carry him through the eternities. Tall, lean, raw boned, man of integrity and gentleness who graced my life while we have been in Abomosu. He loved flowers and raised “heavenly beauties” he use to call them, as he shared with Sister Dalton and myself as we walked through his small garden of native flowers. The most impressive was the Bird of Paradise that seemed to flourish in his patch by the home. They were most impressive and brought much joy to him when he plucked a flower and placed it in Sister Dalton’s hair. The softer things of life were his joys and rewards.
I thought, as the music was pounding the beat through the earth we were setting upon, could this be following the council of the Brethren as outlined in the Handbook of Instructions, dignified, solemn, and a spiritual experience for all that attend? There were people dancing and waving white handkerchiefs above their heads. There was soft tears by most of the mourners as they viewed the body of this man; there was a bit of confusion, at one point, as the casket the maker demanded more money from the daughter, during the services. Members of the Church from all of branches had traveled to this spot, to pay their last respects to a man who had touched their life in some small way. This was not to be a funeral as most dignities would demand but a gathering of folks who respected this man’s simple yet rewarding way of living life. Most as I found out later had received at one time or another, a bouquet of flowers from this man’s garden, usually delivered while they slept and was a welcome sight when they arose from their slumber. Was this really what this man would have wanted, I thought? It was answered in that very moment as a comforting feeling filled my breast as I surveyed the scene. The women were dressed in the most exquisite colorful dresses, a tribute to his collection of vibrant colored flowers; men wore their traditional wraps with brightly colored sashes tied to their waist; and the children had vibrant bows tied to their dresses and shirts. The coffin is usually draped with a white cloth that represents a sacred passing of a loved one. This humble soul’s simple white coffin, was literally covered with every color of bright, lively colored cloth found in Africa. People were comforted as they continued to bring brightly colored pieces of cloth and gracefully placed them on his casket. It was an explosion of color and happiness shared by the entire village, as I gazed over the compound. A happy sending for one who had shared his lovely flowers with so many. This truly was an emotional event for all us to share our love for this simple man who was poor, without want, who gave his life for his All Mighty God. Without men like Agyei Kwame in our lives, surely our sojourns would be without color or joyful moments. Oh, that our lives may be so celebrated is my humble prayer. Agyei Kwame 1937- 2011
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