Thursday, May 31, 2007

Farewell to all that: Tranquility was never on the agenda

The Late Fathia Nkrumah
This article is by Gamal Nkrumah.....


It was not meant to be a marriage made in heaven. It was a political union between Mediterranean-oriented North Africa and the rest of the continent, often pejoratively termed sub-Saharan or Black Africa. Yet Fathia Nkrumah's life story is a modern fable representative of a certain era. For fleeting moments in the late '50s and early '60s, it captured the public imagination throughout Africa. The young Egyptian woman who left her country to marry the most illustrious African anti-colonial leader of his time was inevitably invested with iconic qualities.






Fathia is my mother, of course, and my memories of her life as Mrs Nkrumah are necessarily skewed. She was thrust onto centre stage -- that much I know. In many respects she was rather ill-equipped for her role, but she coped reasonably well with being in the public eye. Her official persona was more demure Diana than imperious Eva Peron, although stardom did come naturally to her. After her husband's death, she seemed to disappear; I know she has handled that quite well too.




In her day, women ambassadors were a rarity and, by virtue of the political nature of her marriage, she became an unofficial envoy of her country. She mingled with African and world leaders, playing hostess to Charles de Gaulle, Haile Sellassie, Chou En-Lai and Nikita Khruschev. She had the dubious honour of being the only Egyptian woman to dance with the Duke of Edinburgh when he accompanied Queen Elizabeth II on an official visit to Ghana in 1962. "He was very funny. He turned to me and said: 'I am certain that the crowds will only call your name.' And they did. He was right," she muses.


She understood what part she was to play when she stepped on stage, and she also learned how to come to terms with life behind the last curtain. Upon her second return to Ghana in 1975, crowds lined the streets. She engaged in easy banter with the onlookers as we strolled what was then the main market in downtown Accra, Makola. The market women presented her with brilliantly-coloured, intricately-designed wax print cloth, and they exchanged pleasantries for a while.


In the autumn of 1978, she flew to New York to receive a gold medal awarded posthumously to my father at the United Nations headquarters, during a special session of the UN committee against apartheid. "First of all, let me thank the General Assembly most sincerely for their very kind decision to pay such a singular tribute to the memory of my late husband, Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah. He himself, I am sure, would have considered his contribution to the international campaign against apartheid as a duty, without looking for international approval or award. But alas, his untimely death has robbed us of his presence and encouragement," she told the assembled world leaders.


Mother was born and brought up in Zeitoun, the third daughter of a civil servant and a diminutive but iron-willed woman who raised her children single-handedly after her husband's untimely death. In many respects, Fathia was a very ordinary Egyptian girl. After completing her secondary education, she worked as a teacher in her school, Notre Dame des ApĂ´tres. Teaching did not appeal to her, however, and she took a job in a bank. Then opportunity knocked, in the person of my father. My grandmother's firstborn had left Egypt with his English bride and, when my father proposed, she was reluctant to see another of her children marry a foreigner and quit the country. Mother explained that Nkrumah was an anti-colonial hero, like Nasser. Still, my grandmother did not relent: she refused to speak to Mother or bless the marriage.


The new bride, who had cut herself off from her family and country by marrying Nkrumah, was isolated in more ways than one. She spoke little English, while her groom spoke neither Arabic nor French. Within three months, however, her tenacity had served her well, and she was able to deliver speeches in English, Ghana's official language. Genuinely fond of her new adopted home, she rarely yearned for Egypt. She was happy to escape the suffocatingly conservative culture she grew up in and happily embraced the rich vibrancy of Ghanaian culture. She was amazed at the fierce independence of Ghanaian women. They liked her in return; the powerful "market women" who controlled the textile trade even named a traditional kente cloth design after her -- Fathia fata Nkrumah or "Fathia deserves Nkrumah."


Against her family's wishes, then, she embarked on a journey deep into the colonial Africa of the late 1950s. Only her uncle agreed to accompany her on the long journey to newly independent Ghana. For a month before the wedding, the young bride could not sleep a wink. She had been summoned by President Nasser, who asked her if she was sure that she wanted to accept Nkrumah's proposal of marriage. Marrying a head of state -- of the first African country to achieve independence from British rule, in fact -- entailed duties and responsibilities, sacrifices and potential risks. Having heard the president's warning, Fathia replied promptly: "I would like to go and marry this anti-colonial leader. I read his autobiography -- I know of his trials and tribulations, of his struggles during his student days in America and Britain, and of his spearheading the anti-colonial struggle upon his return to his homeland. I am deeply impressed." Only her family stood in the way, she informed Nasser. She had little idea of the challenges that lay ahead.


It was late December and Cairo was experiencing an exceptionally cold winter. Khartoum, the first stop on her journey, was very hot, unbearably so. She spent the night there with her uncle and the next morning headed west, stopping over in Kano and Lagos, Nigeria, before landing in Accra.


The bride-to-be reacted to the tropical climate in a decidedly unromantic way: with swollen feet and a heat rash that turned her pale skin screaming scarlet. A doctor was summoned. "What's wrong with her?" the prospective groom demanded. The doctor reassured him and the wedding went ahead. Not one to waste time, Nkrumah married Fathia the evening of her arrival in Ghana: New Year's Eve, 1957-1958.


Few were told about the marriage plans. Even Father's secretary was taken by surprise when she heard the news on the radio. The ceremony was a very simple affair, which came as a shock to an Egyptian bride who expected an ostentatious marriage ceremony befitting a head of state. It was to be the first of many such cultural shocks. A handful of ministers and my paternal grandmother, Nyaneba, were present. Grandmother, who was blind, pulled Mother's hair; after a few tugs she declared that the bride was not African even though she was assured her hair was jet black. The two women later developed a close affinity, which mother attributed to the fact that Nkrumah had very little time for either his mother or his wife.


It was an inconspicuous ceremony -- a civil marriage since my father refused religious rites. Mother and her uncle were shocked to learn that there would be no priest officiating over the marriage ceremony, no veil, no walking down the aisle, no zaffa (marriage procession), nor even the customary zagharit (ululations).


At first, many Ghanaian women did not take kindly to the idea of Kwame Nkrumah marrying a foreigner. The militant women's league of the ruling Convention People's Party was especially galled that the national hero had married a "white woman," even though Father explained to them that his bride was an African despite her fair skin.


Christianborg Castle, renamed Osu after independence, was at the time the seat of government and Nkrumah's official residence. It was also to be Mother's home for the next five years. As a child, I often caught her watching the Atlantic pound the rocky headlands upon which the castle was built. It was a forbidding place, originally built by the Danes as a slave trading fortress where thousands, perhaps millions of Africans were shackled and shipped to the Americas. Everyone knew the place was haunted with the ghosts of the slaves, and at night, the deep dungeons often echoed with screams. Even Sir Charles Arden-Clarke, the last governor-general of Ghana, confessed that there was one particular room in which he dared not sleep because whenever he did he was awakened repeatedly during the night by incessant knocking, banging of doors and groaning in the hallways. Mother, however, often spent the night there alone. Both my younger brother Sekou and myself were born in Christianborg, while my sister Samia was born in Aburi, a beautiful mountain retreat some 30km north of Accra. Mother loved the cool and refreshing mountain air there and it was her favourite escape from her official duties.


Between sober marriage ceremonies and haunted houses, then Fathia was fast absorbing the different aspects of West African culture. On the other hand, she immediately took to Ghanaian food. Kontomre, or spinach and smoked fish stew; yam cakes; fried plantains; and her all-time favourites kenke (a fermented maize dish traditionally eaten with fried fish, chili, onion and tomatoes) and the rich red palm oil stews of fish, crab, prawn and snail. But she also taught the cooks at the Castle how to prepare Egyptian dishes. Father nicknamed her "rabbit," because she always insisted on green salad as a side dish, which most Ghanaians of his generation thought rather odd.


Much of Mother's experience in Ghana first lay behind the castle walls, and later within the confines of the presidential palace, Flagstaff House. At Christianborg, peacocks roamed freely and the beautiful blue birds' piercing cries filled the air. The lawns were meticulously kept, and the driveway lined with ornamental palms. Bougainvillea splashed brilliant shades of vermilion and crimson against the white walls. Still, presidential life was far from idyllic. The daily routine was frequently punctuated with nerve-wracking assassination attempts. Mother was always poised and calm in such situations. In August 1962, Father, who was away in northern Ghana, had a hand grenade hurled at him at close range. It missed him, but killed a small girl who was offering him a bouquet of flowers. Father had to be hospitalised for two weeks for his deep shrapnel wounds. For weeks we watched with trepidation as, still recuperating, he would come out of his office every afternoon and cross the battlements into the residential part of the castle. In 1964, one of the guards at Flagstaff House attacked my father as he returned from office. The assailant was overpowered after killing a bodyguard, Salifu Dagarti. My father's white suit was blood-stained and we children were frantic with fear. I still remember the looks exchanged between my parents -- no words were uttered, though. Mother ushered us into our bedrooms and left us to attend to my father. Incidents such as these left an indelible mark on the family.


Another shock now awaited us, one that would change the course of our lives and Father's, for he would never set foot in the land of his birth again. He was away on a special mediation mission that took him to China on his way to Hanoi. We stayed in Ghana where, on 24 February 1966, we were awakened at dawn by the din of artillery fire and explosions. Mother's first instinct was to tell us, in a firm voice, not to be afraid. The roaring of the unfed lions in Accra's zoo, a short distance from Flagstaff House, terrified us. Mother had the presence of mind to telephone the Egyptian embassy in Accra and ask the ambassador to contact Nasser. She had barely put the phone down when the lines were cut. A few minutes after Cairo was contacted, Nasser dispatched a plane to take us to Egypt, and safety. The gun battle for the control of Flagstaff House between the mutinous army and the presidential guards was intensifying. The presidential guards only surrendered when the coup leaders threatened to blow up Flagstaff House. Everyone, Grandmother Nyaneba included, was quickly evacuated and the hostile forces trooped in, ransacking the premises. Mother took a few personal belongings, which were promptly confiscated at a roadside checkpoint. She seemed fearless, berating the soldiers and reproaching them for their ingratitude. Even family photographs, letters and souvenirs were taken away, however.


En route to the airport, today still named after coup leader Colonel E T Kotoka, we stopped at the Egyptian embassy. Mother had to borrow a coat from the ambassador's wife, and jackets for my siblings and me. Next we were taken to Police Headquarters for interrogation. At gun point, we were ordered out of the car and told to sit on the ground in a clearing in the bush. Mother was outraged. The tense moments as the troops radioed for instructions dragged on. Eventually we were allowed to proceed to the airport.


A new chapter in Fathia's life was about to begin. After six years of raising her three children virtually single-handedly, she learned of father's death on 28 April 1972. We hastily travelled to Guinea (where he had taken up residence after the 1966 coup) via Paris and Dakar. Mother was not prepared for the sight of the emaciated body laid out in the coffin. Images of her husband's painful last days (Father died of cancer) were to haunt her for the next decade. For months on end she would lie in bed, unable to eat or sleep, withering away. As children, we could not understand that she was deeply depressed.


First, however, she gave a dignified performance -- the last of her career -- befitting Nkrumah's widow. A state funeral was staged for my father on 14 May, to coincide with the 25th anniversary of Sekou Toure's Democratic Party of Guinea. It was a Sunday. Nkrumah's coffin was laid temporarily in the Camayenne Mausoleum, where Guinea's national heroes were buried.


President Ahmed Sekou Toure, after whom my brother Sekou was named, officiated. For two long days at the Palais du Peuple in Conakry, mourners from all over Guinea, South African anti-Apartheid activists and freedom fighters, and representatives of African and foreign governments paid tribute to Kwame Nkrumah. Fidel Castro and Amilcar Cabral spoke touchingly of Nkrumah's vision and accomplishments.


Father's remains were exhumed and returned to Ghana on 7 July 1972, over two months after his death. An Air Guinea aircraft landed in Accra with Nkrumah's coffin and widow aboard. After a brief stopover, the sad party travelled to Nkrumah's burial in Nkroful, his birthplace in western Ghana. Grandmother Nyaneba, then well into her 90s, waited patiently for her son. Mother stood by her side. Grandmother was determined to remain alive to witness Nkrumah's triumphant return to Ghana. Only after her hand was placed on his coffin did the old woman at last accept that he was dead. Grandmother was to pass away seven years later in my mother's arms, aged 102.


Today, Mother lives a sheltered life in Maadi. She is serene -- an astounding trait given the trauma she has experienced. Far removed now from the ebb and flow of African politics, she views the past with a healthy detachment.


It was an emotional moment, though, when Mother and I visited Ghana in 1997 to attend the celebrations held to mark 40 years of independence. We visited the marble mausoleum in Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, built in his honour by the Chinese. We stood before a statue of Nkrumah inscribed with the CCP slogan, Forward Ever. The statue stands on the spot where he declared independence on 6 March 1957. A group of schoolgirls and their teachers were also touring the mausoleum that day. They insisted on taking a photograph with Mother. Once again, it was clear that, even for children born long after my father's death, affection for his widow came naturally. Mother was overcome with emotion and broke down. I tried to comfort her, but I, too, was overwhelmed. And I knew that, after all, Fathia could face this alone.


are we serious?



Get your own Slide Show!



Are We Serious?: Are we Safe?

Are We Serious?: Are we Safe?

Al Gore Seem to say, YOU ARE ALL WARNED!!!!! When i watched an encore presentation of Al Gore's Documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" I was shocked @ the "filla" (info) he released to the average gringo like me..

I knew there is Global warming but i was way off base or better say i was way too ignorant of the facts and figures and the effects this global warming is having and will have on our universe.

Lake Chad totaaly dried up, MT. Kilimanjaro has no SNOW PEAKS any longer, Greenland is melting and there are sever weather pattern changes all over the continents and we are so ignorant or maybe VERY RELUCTANT to do something about it.


I bet you that Al Gore got a rude awakening after loosing the White House so narrowly...


Proper displacement of frustration is what i deem Al Gore remarkable turn around after such a public humiliation.

He vexed his energy to do the right thing and take up this important task of "GREENHOOD"


Hey...


Are we all gonna perish under this fragile universe very soon?


I dare to say, NAY!

Yahweh promised He will not destroy the earth with water again thus the convenant of the RAINBOW.


Good Lord, How soon will this be that Africa will become a richer and prosperous continent before we destroy this world?


Please let theGood of Africa be manifested before the Messiah comes ooooh.


I was thinking of how to travel and all of a sudden, i was hit with this Al Gore Documentary.


Are my priorities right?


Oh Heaven yes they are right.

I must continue to live my Precious life and let not the fear of the future kill my present day.

Ok,
What could we talk about next?

I need to say Some few good men (politicians) in Ghana are making sense these days. Like Ato Ahwoi...

This dude made excellent analysis on the energy crisis in Ghana.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

PART 2

The sad faces of Darfur women.... Do they deserve this pain?

THE LATE DANNY WHYTE who passed away from Leukemia
www.dwib.org and support Danny's cause
Come to think about Danny Whyte's death, well the less said the better...

I think the few good ones are truly missed..
What do u care anyway about a handsome guy who died of Leukemia after frantic global search for a bone marrow match?
It is sometimes frivolous to think that hard work pays...

if that assessment was valid, Danny Whyte should still be alive.. PERIOD.
Crazy freaking world i sometimes think it is.

my mom's death last year brought me back to reality as i write this.

I hate to thik of the struggles in life but when the preacher man tells you.... " GOD MEANT IT FOR GOOD" you question whether he or she sincerely meant those words.
i am getting tired of cliche preachings these days.. or should i say the social gospel preachers...
someone wake me up from this dream ooooo
i have been in the dream of affliction for far too long and far to tired,
Help Help Help,,,, where art thou when the weary soul howls for your presence? where art thou when the misery of life seem to engulf the innocent?

Art thou help, a Turtle or a tortoise for you to tarry that long?
I don't think so...
Come NOW beloved help for the battle is too volatile for the faint hearted to continue.
Your worth as HELP will be meaningless if thou tarry too long to save the weary soul.
Come now help come now.

Are we Safe?








well said and rehearsed speeches makes life sometimes boring for the vivid and conscious person like me..


I love the thought of the missionaries coming to Africa in the name of salvation yet had the nerve to tolerate the slave masters trade.



how sad could this be in the times of today if we see preachers preaching the saving grace of the Messiah and yet condone the trade in human lives?






IT did happen b/4 and that the truth well said in honesty is better than a lie well rehearsed.






this is the reality of other so called religions who profess to love and yet preach hate in the secret meeting places.



Yahshua alone gave you and I life abundantly and we must appreciate it and stop FOOLING around.






My "demon" of internet pornography each day... how i seem to make a meaningful progress and Lust takes me down yet again..


is that the battle of the mind or the heart?


Answer me you "olde frail devil"


thou art ye a slave to thyself and thou thinkest you rule over me...


alas , i set me teeth on the iron bars and gnarl..


I am the bright morning star of my own life..


You have no rule over me soul


you miserable old frail devil.


i am who Yahweh says i am..


WHAT HAVE YOU TO DO WITH MY CREATION?


ABSOLUTELY Zilch..


Leave me alone you defeated foe..






My repetitive failure has made me consider the immediate option of getting married to quench this evil lust or really have to relocate to a distant no man's land away from the evils of modern society.






i am yet to consider the fact that Yahshua has given me the power over every principalities and powers and i can overcome this addiction to porn.






how soon can anyone help this "tortured" soul?



how soon can i see the shinning grace of Yahweh @ my doorstep?



how relevant will my salvation be if i cannot yet say i am wholly for christ?






i answer myself by saying it is not by works or by might but by the SPIRIT OF YAHWEH @ work in me.



i can make a meaningfull difference in my life and glorify Yahweh.






i am i @ liberty to say that, sometimes i wish i was born caucasian???



well, in my gut feelings, i sincerely wished so. that i could be free from human discrimination.






i deserve to be free from all prejudices and live my life on any continent i so desire to be,



But yet the system of the world thinks they can stop Yahweh's prophecy for our lives...



Hey YOU DUDES,,,,,,,,, Listen and listen well.



The will of Yahweh shall stand.



The people of Israel shall see the light and accept Yahashua as the TRUE & ONLY MESSIAH,



The broken hearted shall be comforted and them that wish us evil shall be ashamed.






Scream, Yell and Jubilate for this is the hour of Visitation.



i have seen the truth, That being myself is what is most profitable but wishing and hoping for acceptance is an illussion and i better wake up and SMELL the Starbucks KWOOFII(coffee).









I will ,and almost will get there.............









Watch out......



Yahshuah has empowered me to break every barrier of limitation.



I am free



I am free


I AM FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE






For the freedom of my parents are not mine! but


MY FREEDOM IS MY FREEDOM amd i celebrate my freedom.


















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