When a Giant Sleeps: The Passing of Apostle Dr. Kwadwo Safo Kantanka
Some years back, I was sitting in a trotro, squeezed between a woman carrying tomatoes and a man humming loudly to himself. Out of nowhere, a Kantanka car drove past us. Sleek. Bold. Different. For a second, everyone in the trotro turned their heads. Even the tomato seller whispered, “That’s Ghana-made.” And honestly, I felt a little taller that day.
Fast forward to this morning—I was lazily scrolling on my phone (half fighting sleep, half deciding whether I should skip breakfast) when I saw the headline: “BREAKING NEWS: Apostle Dr. Kwadwo Safo Kantanka is dead.” I froze. My thumb literally hovered over the screen. I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s true. The Star of Africa, as some call him, has gone quiet.
Now, here’s the thing—I never met the man. I don’t even know anyone who personally knew him. But that didn’t matter, because his presence was everywhere. On TV, with those invention shows where he’d unveil stuff you’d think only existed in sci-fi movies. In conversations with uncles at chop bars who’d argue that “Kantanka alone can fix Ghana.” Even on social media, where young people would half-joke but half-dream about buying his cars.
In my opinion, what made him stand out wasn’t just the cars or the machines. It was the mindset. He made us believe that brilliance wasn’t only imported. That innovation didn’t have to come wrapped in foreign packaging. And in a country where we sometimes doubt ourselves too quickly, that was a big deal.
Of course, not everyone agreed. Some folks said his inventions weren’t practical, or that they’d never reach global standards. And maybe they were right, maybe not. But here’s the part I admired—he kept going anyway. He didn’t wait for perfect. He just did. And I think that’s where most of us struggle.
Now he’s gone, and I can’t help but feel a little… orphaned? Like a tree we leaned on has suddenly been cut down. And it makes me wonder—who’s next? Who’s going to dream that big and dare us to believe? Because if we let his vision die with him, then what was it all for?
Maybe that’s the real question: do we treat Kantanka as just a memory, or as a challenge to think bigger, risk more, and believe in ourselves a little harder?
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Do you want me to push this into an even more emotional angle (almost like a eulogy), or keep it as this kind of raw reflection piece?