Jayne Buckman-Owoo
Jayne Buckman-Owoo

Tribute to most deserving niece: Naana Jayne Buckman-Owoo

Scripting a praise-worthy brief either on, or, about anyone and for whichever reason is, not a picnic; because the writer fights mind wars over the pulls of exaggerations and omissions.  

Both are greater hassles than the discomfort of the sudden death, as has occurred with Naana, and communicated to me.  

My shock coincided with my immediate prior evening’s wonderings, about not hearing from her and her mother, my sister, that week.  

Otherwise, the telephone conversations had been a routine “how do you do”, since I retired to relocate at Cape Coast 18 months ago.   

My student

I had earlier assessed Naana as a precocious young girl, after she had endured traumas early in life.  She was my student and dear niece at the Ghana Institute of Journalism (GIJ).  

And I take some reluctant relief, in being part of a small number of colleagues to have been given the opportunity, in part, of tutoring her with her mates of clever male and female youngsters, who were determined to be exemplary professionals in one of our world’s ancient and modern life’s risky-callings, at one level; and at another, indeed the close, a self-satisfaction that ‘‘you faithfully served’’ your course. 

We call it journalism 

Naana made it beyond the grade without fuss.  She was an affable, possessed an instant  chippy-chippy-chirppy-chirp smile.  She was impressively respectful and had a ‘beaucoup’ presence one could not ignore.  

Of course, she had her faults.  Yet, one word resonates among her colleagues, that she is ‘’irreplaceable’’.  

My niece

She was more so, by the side of her mum and within our family at large, even at the bottom line, when you had nothing to describe her; and particularly from today onwards.

The other part was the privilege to advise and encourage her on a number of issues and challenges of life, except that throughout, she never mentioned her health was declining.  

I am indelibly proud of her, thinking about the circumstances now. 

 The final sentence in the hymnist “God moves in mysterious ways” runs, “God is his own interpreter; and he will make it plain.”  

 ‘He will make it plain ‘dabi’ (someday), the Fantis say, but I am afraid that ‘dabi’ suggests infinity and compels two acceptances to repeat “Nyame noara tse n’adzease na obekyire mu dabi’’; and finally, Naana, da yie.   

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