For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me ... Job 3:25

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it.

It has just rained in the early hours of this Bank Holiday morning. I hear the rain outside, like the sky shedding tears relentlessly, after some bad news had broken. It's still dark, though the occasional idiot races down my road, as if escaping some unseen evil. You would think that with the wet roads, some might know better.

The thunder that awoke me has receded into the distance. I am not sure which particular drum-roll made me jump out of my bed, but after a long, cold drink (of water), I have gathered my thoughts sufficiently to be able to put fingers to keyboard, and let the thoughts that have confused me over the last few week escape, in an effort to make sense of what is the inevitable destination of the road called life.

My father was larger than life. He was infectious. He was a good story teller and as he grew older, he would tell stories of his youth that used to amuse and shock his listeners in equal measure. At the time that I became aware of his existence in my life, he was the party man. He had numerous friends who would come round to party to music on his gramophone.

In 1969, when we moved to Ghana, i lived with him in Larteh, an existence that was far removed from the one in Kilburn that I was used to and most accustomed with. At the time that we lived in Larteh, there was only electricity for up to 6 hours a day, in the evening, from the generator up the road. I do remember when the street lights were first introduced. That was a year or two after other people were landing on the moon.

I remembered when he would get dressed up early in the morning to commute to Accra to his city job. He would arrive back late at night, and I would remember eagerly waiting for his return each evening.

I remember one wet afternoon, he came back with his friend, Mr Clottey, and said, "Kwabena, Get your things - we are leaving". I did not even think to ask where! In my excitement and youthful exuberance, I thought anywhere else was better than here. I am sure there are many theological analogies that can be made here, but that is a comparison for those who are well-equipped to do so, not me.

That was the next turning point in my life when I came to know him as a loving father, yet a strict disciplinarian. It was the first time that I had lived with both my parents and siblings together after 3 years. Our relationship developed a new dynamic. He would take me to his workplace and I would see how he related to his work colleagues, all who respected him. We would meet with friends from his school days.

He was an Odadee from Odumase Krobo (1955 year group) and boy, was he proud of it. Even till later years, he was still contributing to the success of the school, by appearing at launches and opening ceremonies. It is no surprise that all 4 sons attended his alma mater.

My love for jazz stemmed from his record collection at the time. He had Ray Charles, Fats Domino, Jimmy Smith, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, the Adderley Brothers, Grant Green, the Ink Spots, James Moody, Sammy Kaye, Sammy Davis Jr, Dean Martin and many others. I then got properly introduced to soul through 3 seminal records, Al Green's "Let's Stay Together", Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" and the Temptation's "Masterpiece". We also had Jim Reeves, but it seemed like every household had Jim Reeves at the time. There was also a complete recording of Handel's Messiah by the London Philharmonic Orchestra and choir.

The next big turning point which dictated the direction in which my family life changed was in 1976. I returned from my first term in secondary school to find that my father, a staunch Presbyterian had discovered something new called "the Baptists". The rest, as they say, is history. There was no more smoking, drinking and fast, hard living. Contrary to expectation, the respect among many of his peers grew. There were a few who shunned him because of his change in the lifestyle, and mocked him for "finding Jesus". I suppose, my mother would be able to tell you more about that than I can. I, and my brothers, discovered a new man, a changed person, he was kinder, more focused - and yet that twinkle of mirth in his eye never left him.

As a natural leader, he stood head and shoulders above his peers, naturally commanding a presence, and air of authority that others had to learn to assume. Perhaps I am being presumptuous here, but some of that mantle was on the shoulders of my siblings and I without us knowing what it was or having an understanding of its significance. Now, we know.

When he started a project, he would doggedly see it through to the end and then say rather philosophically, "Let's see what the Lord will do". One of the projects he most prided himself on was the translation of Baptist hymns from English into Twi. When I last visited Ghana, he proudly showed me the handiwork that he and Mummy had lovingly worked on.

My Dad was known for his catchphrases.

"On the line" meant that whatever stage of undress you were in, you had better get your sorry self into that car otherwise he would leave you behind. My brother Paul and I tested that one time too many. We have lived to tell the tale.

"Power" was time for devotion and prayer, either in the morning, or evening or sometimes both. Together as a family, we must have read the Bible at least 3 or 4 times through. As a time of fellowship and learning, it also had its lighter moments as everybody took turns butchering Biblical names. We knew the Benjamites, Ammonites, Peruzites, Sadducces, Pharisees, and read about Jephthah, Jezebel and most importantly, Jesus. No visitor who ever stayed late in our home, left without partaking of what became a very important standard in our house. In recent years, when we travelled and went back for holidays, it was the one thing that had not changed and I found myself enthusiastically getting involved. Of course, since there was no rush to get to work, or no tiredness after returning from work, proceedings had now evolved into reading the Bible , reminiscing about old times and general sitting on the veranda and watching the world go by.

"You damned Tetepooteh". None of us ever knew what a Tetepooteh was, so we never ever had reason to be annoyed or offended by the intended insult.

He was also a man of many names. He was Daddy to all; Paa Kwaku to most - particularly, the Larteh fraternity; Pastor or Osofo to church members; Ras Nasibu to his siblings and close family; Kpalogo because of his dancing skills from his previous lifestyle. Recently, we asked him about the origins of the name Ras Nasibu. He told us when he was born, my grandfather nicknamed him Ras Nasibu after an Ethiopian general who had routed the Italians in battle in the 1930s. He said that his son was going to grow up to be a leader one day. Based on that principle of faith, speaking good things into the life of our children does not seem to be a bad idea, I suppose.

In the early hours of Sunday morning, 6th May 2017, I received the phone call that I had been dreading, particularly as I had been seeing all the obituaries of parents of my fellow school mates on our WhatsApp page. One knew that the day would come and it would be inevitable but it was not expected this soon as the family had already bought tickets to prepare for a visit for his 82nd birthday. My brother, Josiah, sent me the verse from Job 3:25 soon after the phone call.

As somebody who writes so much on social media, it has taken me 3 weeks to finally admit that my hero, my Pastor, my father has died. I trust that one day, we will meet again. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says, I should not mourn as one without hope. I do not read that as I should not sorrow at all, just that I should weep but with the hope that one day we shall meet again.

There's so much more to say, but I guess if I said it all now, there would not be anything to write about next time.