February 3, 2020
by Ama Dadson
From our very first date Kofi challenged me to be more open to life’s vagaries, and it set the
tone for a deep and lasting friendship.
We’d gone for a light dinner at the African Village, Labadi Beach Hotel and scrutinized a brand-new copy of Virginia Ryan's coffee table book that I brought along to show off. The book was based on an exhibition of paintings Ms. Ryan had curated called ’Almighty God and the Apostles of Accra'. Kofi carelessly dropped a forkful of 'kelewele' on a page, which made me very annoyed indeed. He just flicked them off and kept on turning over the pages as if nothing had happened. I sulked in silence until he noticed. Grinning and apologizing, he told me I shouldn't be quite so uptight about it.
After dinner, we’d gone up to his place. On entering his flat, I was drawn to his bookshelf, an eclectic collection, several of which I'd read or had intended to read. My eye fell on 'Maus', the graphic novel by American cartoonist Art Spiegelman. He asked whether I’d read it and when I said no, he offered to loan the signed edition to me, with dire warnings about what he'd do if I didn't take care of it or return it. I instantly reminded him I wasn't the one eating off his books. We sat down and had a couple of glasses of wine and talked books. So was the nature of our friendship; wicked, often irreverent humour at the heart of it all and Kofi pushing my literary and cultural boundaries by sharing so much of his interest and passion for the arts, tech, music, films, fine dining, but mostly prose – his own and a vast variety of interesting posts and op-eds from great writers and thinkers all over the globe. It was always a great joy to surprise him with something he hadn't read or heard of.
The first book I gave him was 'The Dangerous Book for Boys' by Conn Iggulden written for 'every boy from eight to eighty.' I was concerned about how gadgets like playstations could take over kids’ lives and keep them indoors. He was too. (I didn't realise how much worse it was going to get with social media!) He promised to do some of the great father-son activities in it with Dani, his son.
In 2010, we worked together on a fundraiser, 'Haiti: Ghana Responds' Concert for the victims of the Haiti earthquake and that was when I saw him in his element as a dedicated community organiser, 'doing something' with his passion for humanity and social justice in Ghana and beyond. It was an intense, focused planning session with several great meetings held in his flat where he was always the congenial host. I was impressed by (and sometimes a bit jealous of) his vast and diverse network of friends and supporters who adored him.
On January 15, 2018 I was thrilled when he posted on FaceBook, along with the beautiful logo designed for the concert by Eibhlin NiChleirigh: "One of my proudest moments, being part of the team that produced this event to raise funds for Haiti after the devastating earthquake. Kwesi Owusu, Adai Sai, Yvonne Kumoji, Lydia Maclean, Blay Ambolley, Abena Appiah, Ama Dadson and many other good souls helped make it possible. #AfricaTheGreat".
Kofi was so open with his words, which will continue to inspire, educate, amuse, annoy and, yes, make me less ‘uptight’. Thanks to the 'synthetic ever-present present' of social media, since his death, I find myself searching through hundreds of messages, texts and posts that he wrote over the years on Facebook and Messenger, laughing, crying, reliving his experiences and finding at the end, heart-breaking stoicism and flair as he faced first losing the use of his vocal cords and then the possibility of the 'terrible unfathomable finality of death.' (quotes- @BelTrew).
The last thing I shared with Kofi about a week before he died was Spoken Word Grammy nomination Sekou Andrews & The String Theory 'Good Vibes', a genre-bending EP of spoken word and symphony orchestra. The piece made me think of Kofi immediately and he loved the (closing) lyrics:
'..We're composed of vibrations that ripple and collide
Our bodies are instruments that harness good vibes
Our cells keep our score
Our music is alive
Our voice hungers for harmony
We are symphony We are tribe.'
Kofi, I thank God for your life and friendship. It will take me a lifetime to accumulate all the facets of your exceptional and beautiful mind. I draw comfort from the thought of continuing the journey of discovering you through all the people who love you and you have touched.
Live in Peace and Light darling. Your music is ALIVE!
We’d gone for a light dinner at the African Village, Labadi Beach Hotel and scrutinized a brand-new copy of Virginia Ryan's coffee table book that I brought along to show off. The book was based on an exhibition of paintings Ms. Ryan had curated called ’Almighty God and the Apostles of Accra'. Kofi carelessly dropped a forkful of 'kelewele' on a page, which made me very annoyed indeed. He just flicked them off and kept on turning over the pages as if nothing had happened. I sulked in silence until he noticed. Grinning and apologizing, he told me I shouldn't be quite so uptight about it.
After dinner, we’d gone up to his place. On entering his flat, I was drawn to his bookshelf, an eclectic collection, several of which I'd read or had intended to read. My eye fell on 'Maus', the graphic novel by American cartoonist Art Spiegelman. He asked whether I’d read it and when I said no, he offered to loan the signed edition to me, with dire warnings about what he'd do if I didn't take care of it or return it. I instantly reminded him I wasn't the one eating off his books. We sat down and had a couple of glasses of wine and talked books. So was the nature of our friendship; wicked, often irreverent humour at the heart of it all and Kofi pushing my literary and cultural boundaries by sharing so much of his interest and passion for the arts, tech, music, films, fine dining, but mostly prose – his own and a vast variety of interesting posts and op-eds from great writers and thinkers all over the globe. It was always a great joy to surprise him with something he hadn't read or heard of.
The first book I gave him was 'The Dangerous Book for Boys' by Conn Iggulden written for 'every boy from eight to eighty.' I was concerned about how gadgets like playstations could take over kids’ lives and keep them indoors. He was too. (I didn't realise how much worse it was going to get with social media!) He promised to do some of the great father-son activities in it with Dani, his son.
In 2010, we worked together on a fundraiser, 'Haiti: Ghana Responds' Concert for the victims of the Haiti earthquake and that was when I saw him in his element as a dedicated community organiser, 'doing something' with his passion for humanity and social justice in Ghana and beyond. It was an intense, focused planning session with several great meetings held in his flat where he was always the congenial host. I was impressed by (and sometimes a bit jealous of) his vast and diverse network of friends and supporters who adored him.
On January 15, 2018 I was thrilled when he posted on FaceBook, along with the beautiful logo designed for the concert by Eibhlin NiChleirigh: "One of my proudest moments, being part of the team that produced this event to raise funds for Haiti after the devastating earthquake. Kwesi Owusu, Adai Sai, Yvonne Kumoji, Lydia Maclean, Blay Ambolley, Abena Appiah, Ama Dadson and many other good souls helped make it possible. #AfricaTheGreat".
Kofi was so open with his words, which will continue to inspire, educate, amuse, annoy and, yes, make me less ‘uptight’. Thanks to the 'synthetic ever-present present' of social media, since his death, I find myself searching through hundreds of messages, texts and posts that he wrote over the years on Facebook and Messenger, laughing, crying, reliving his experiences and finding at the end, heart-breaking stoicism and flair as he faced first losing the use of his vocal cords and then the possibility of the 'terrible unfathomable finality of death.' (quotes- @BelTrew).
The last thing I shared with Kofi about a week before he died was Spoken Word Grammy nomination Sekou Andrews & The String Theory 'Good Vibes', a genre-bending EP of spoken word and symphony orchestra. The piece made me think of Kofi immediately and he loved the (closing) lyrics:
'..We're composed of vibrations that ripple and collide
Our bodies are instruments that harness good vibes
Our cells keep our score
Our music is alive
Our voice hungers for harmony
We are symphony We are tribe.'
Kofi, I thank God for your life and friendship. It will take me a lifetime to accumulate all the facets of your exceptional and beautiful mind. I draw comfort from the thought of continuing the journey of discovering you through all the people who love you and you have touched.
Live in Peace and Light darling. Your music is ALIVE!