We are gathered here today at United Church, the very place you loved, the very walls that hold so much of our shared story. And yet, you are not here with us, your children. That absence is louder than anything we have ever known. There is a silence where your presence used to be, and we are still learning how to breathe within it. It came as no surprise when you shared your wish, that when your time came, that everything should take place here, in this church. Of course it should. This place is woven into the very fabric of who you were, and who you raised us to be. Our minds drift back more than thirty years, to early Saturday mornings in this very building. We remember coming here as children, running alongside the neighborhood boys, sweeping floors, dusting pews, arranging chairs and feeling the quiet pride of doing something that mattered. Those mornings always ended the same way: all of us heading home together to eat beans and gari, a simple meal that somehow tasted like the best thing in the world. You gave us that. You gave us the dignity of work before the reward of rest. You taught us that laziness had no place in your world, and you didn’t just say it. You lived it, every single day. Despite everything you came from, despite your pedigree and your standing, you possessed a rare and beautiful humility. You set everything aside to work, to build, to earn a life with your own hands in Italy. You had a goal, and you pursued it without letting pride stand in your way. You showed us that purpose is greater than ego, and that hard work carries its own dignity. Your selflessness is something we could never fully measure. When your brother called, you didn’t hesitate even for a moment. You brought his children from Asafo, along with cousins, and you raised them as your own, no questions, no conditions, just open arms and a heart full of love. And as the years went by, your arms only opened wider. More nieces, more nephews, more lives folded into yours. We often marveled at how your heart seemed to have no limits. Daavi, we are forever grateful for the unwavering love and commitment you gave this family. You were the true matriarch of the Maame Abena Anla and Mr. Kwame Aikins lineage, the trunk of our tree, the steady ground beneath our feet. Daavi, yete wo so a, na y’asore! Your love for this country lived and breathed through your lifelong work as an educator. You did not just teach, you inspired. You saw potential in every person before they could see it in themselves. “To console those who mourn in Zion- to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that you may be glorified. Isaiah 61:3 (NIV) FROM CHILDREN TRIBUTE W 14 A Loving Farewell 1934 MRS. OBAA YAA AFRIFA 2025
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