I have been avoiding writing this tribute until Uncle Ernest asked me if I was not going to write a tribute to my sister. I told myself that writing the tribute means I admit she is gone. I didn’t think it would meet her approval and standard.
There’s no one I know in my life who could write or rewrite a poorly written speech, as fast as she did. There’s no better strategist I know in my life than my younger sister, Mawuena.
There were different sides to my sister. Each of us in the family, school mates, corporate circles, religious or faith circles, political landscape, business environment, etc, know something extraordinary about Mawuena.
To me, she was my cousin, friend and role model.
The first time I saw Uncle Ernest and his family was on the compound of this same Holy Spirit Cathedral in the 80s. Mama had brought me here for a 5J Junior Marshallan event. When Mama said, “There’s your Uncle Ernest, let’s go greet them,” I refused, saying, “they are like ameyibor yevu o, and I am a barracks girl.”
She was slim and tall and stood there like she knew everything. I was intimidated by her posture. Mama found that amusing, considering I was bold and fearless at that age. She left me standing there. I took cover behind a car, watching as she exchanged pleasantries with them.
Many years later, when the bond of sisterhood tightened, I told Mawuena the story, and she laughed her heart out. I admitted to myself and to her that I needed to learn from her; and I did. She was strong-willed, but also soft at heart. She cared for people and was often taken advantage of, sadly. She gave her heart to people who didn’t protect it and make it flourish. She was bruised but endured it with stoic silence. Life indeed, pummelled her soul but life was also kind to her.
She was my partner in strategically avoiding the landmines in the political terrain. Those who didn’t know that we were family and snitched about me to her were the butt of our jokes. We promised each other to keep up the appearance of “all is well and it SHALL be well.” She will exclaim “eeeiiii mama, this politics is dirty.” I would respond with our clarion call, “we are LAMADU GIRLS.” In Ewe, “lamadu” means MEAT THAT YOU CANNOT CHEW.
Mawuena stood by me when I became the Deputy Minister for Tourism, Culture, and Creative Arts. She was the GIPC boss and I stood by her as many things took her by surprise in that political appointment.
She wished things were more structured. She wanted us to be more strategic than spontaneous, deliberate than wishful. She would send me messages on what she thought was wrong and how it could be solved for the betterment of our party and country. I fell in love with her brain.
We went on trips outside of Ghana to ‘breathe’ as we put it. It was our time to share sweet gossip about her father, my beloved Uncle Ernest, H. E John Drama Daramani Mahama, men and many other things in life. We planned our future. She would look at her daughter and say, for her sake, we have to keep pushing.” “We need our own war chest, mama. We are the Lamau Girls.”
When I contested the primaries in 2019, she spent time with Martin and I to ensure everything went as planned. At some point in the wee hours of the morning of the elections, she looked at the number of people gathered in the house and asked, “Did our parents send us to school for this?.”
I said, YES. We won but sadly, our party lost.
I love cooking and she loved eating my food. Mawuena, Dogbeda, her daughter and I had fun in my kitchen eating, laughing and dancing. My sister loved borborbor! Lord!
She supported me emotionally and spiritually. When Martin fell ill, we shared our fears and leaned on each other for strength to deal with the situation. She stood by me till he left. When my son was getting married she played her “daadia” (small mother in the Ewe language) role beautifully. Mawuena was a very compassionate person.
In January this year, she was certain the breakthrough was finally here when she came back from a trip abroad. Mawuena, you gave me so much hope. Yet, I wish you weren’t so strong about the things that troubled your heart and mind, Mawuena. I wish you had shown your vulnerability, too. I wish you had the courage to confront the demons that stole your joy, peace of mind and everything else.
I wish, o how I wish, I had the courage to speak about the things that made your heart ache, sister mine.
My heart aches. I am devastated. I am shattered. O Lord, please receive her soul and welcome her into your bosom. Lord, reward her for all she did that pleased you and forgive her for her iniquities. Keep her safe until we meet again.
Mawuena, dzudzor lè nutifafa mè na hè dè nyuie norvinye.
Babaa na wo!