Here we make a toast to the name of one untiring soul, he who lives in the dawn of his time. Even as he strides these parts, with the swiftness of feet and wittiness of mind, I can bet he is yet to live out the first hour of the foremost day marking his first of a thousand seasons. Krobea: named for fame, famed for his name - the Hand of Favour has nurtured a man sobered with fervour. Able tenderer of Citizen Number 2, commandant of a penning front; lovely family man; seniormost; his mentees are a legion. On this day, as we celebrate a man fashioned of worth, we seek for him, in prayer, a path of wholesome provisions. That men may rise and gods may curse, dwarfs may confound and heathens may abound, but this vessel of candour shall be exalted beyond all reproach. The writings on the walls speak in tonnes. The pens on the platforms did well write, raised, and the sheets very well dried. The words from the mouths deafen the ears. The unspoken nearly equate the unheard, but both...
It is February 8th again, the birth date of one man whose youthfulness has tasted the waters of strife, pain and setbacks. It is the birth date of one whose usefulness has transcended family, profession, and party. I speak of a man whose numenclature wears many colours : from Ibrahim Alhassan to Dwomoh Mensah Stephen, from IB to the high school-inspired Scorpion. His accolades come in as many effulgent shades, same as he comes across as a man most acknowledged, even at first sight. On this day of your birth, eighth February, two thousand and twenty, even as you take stock of the numberless strides you have made in these thirty-something years of living, lurking, leaning, laughing, lacking, learning, and loving, I pour out these words as a testament of having known you for the purehearted lionheart that you are : exemplary teacher, family man, teacher unionist, party communicator! I am but a boy in your sphere of brotherly friends, family and friendly brothers, but, hear me...