I remember that on that fateful day he was supposed to travel to Nigeria on an official visit but it was rumored that it was a ploy to see the famous prophet T.B. Joshua, his spiritual father.
I believed that as noble as he was, he would never lie to his dear nation, so I immediately silenced the naysayers' rumours. After all, he had enough strength for the past, present and future, and his triumphant return to Ghana after a medical examination abroad was a sign of victory! My heart leaped for joy as he jogged through the airport and tears of joy flowed down my eyes and of course the tears of millions to see the president back and fit.
The day he came home amid so many rumors that he was seriously ill, my heart melted in solemn praise when he spoke, but critics said he was nasal to my great dismay.
Yet again my ears heard what my soul longed for as his aides and ministers echoed the melodious refrain – “the president is very fit”.
I believed them because they always told the truth when they swore to heaven and earth on TV and radio stations to prove that our leader was well and often referred to the times he stood for hours when he always met the press.
I believed them because they always thundered the truth and proved that the "anointed" president was never bedridden as the so-called critics speculated. Indeed, the law of karma seemed to be very effective at the time as opposition leaders kept dying whenever such rumors about the president's health became trending.
I believed them because they were born for the truth and had a prophetic spirit, because they accurately predicted that an increasingly popular president might not even be present on the campaign floor. They pointed out that even if he was required to be present on campaign platforms, he would just wave to the cheering crowd and not even bother to speak. But unfortunately we were never told that he would be absent due to death and would be dragged through the streets in a coffin before a wailing crowd and abandoned at a place called Asomdwee Park!
So on that fateful Tuesday, when the president was once again rumored to be gone, I laughed out loud and inside, ate my food, cursed the naysayers, and expected one to die. Rumors spread, the weather suddenly turned bad and people's faces looked mournful, but I remained hopeful.
How could the whole president, whose birthday was only three days ago, just die for no reason? How could a man who is supposed to be in Nigeria just keep going? I persistently argued my case, waiting in vain for the ambassadors of truth to condemn the rumor once and for all.
I watched the radio stations, but all I heard were dirges. My heart started pounding. The TV stations were empty and it was as if everyone was afraid to speak. I held on to my stubborn hope that the news was fake, but eventually my cheerful face gave way to a mournful mood. I was shaking and tears welling up in my eyes when GTV finally confirmed the terrible news.
It was a lonely sad night. I saw strong men shaking their heads in disbelief and wetting their clothes with tears. I saw women wailing as if they had lost an only child. The eyes were truly blood red for the noble Mills who had made Mrs. Naadu's doctor a widow in a single day.
Days have passed and weeks, months and now 10 years have passed since the darkest day, but I still wonder why my hero's demise still has so many conspiracy theories and so many unanswered questions. How come they admitted he was sick after his death but insisted he was very fit when he was alive? How come the entire president sends his brother to buy a cervical collar at the local pharmacy instead of getting the attention of a specialist? How come it was a massive stroke when he was able to raise his hands and commit his soul into the hands of God? Did the media have any idea when they kept asking news pundits what would happen after the sudden death of a president? Why even the silence of the great tree that bore his noblest son when he passed on in the dispute? Was it a maternity hospital or an ambulance without a presidential escort?
The questions continue to rage, but I'm not sure there will ever be any suitable answers, after all, I agree with Ralph Waldo when he said, “The mystery is the answer to all that was, is, and will be. However, there are some things that I know, and I will remember them for the rest of my life; Just one day, a great leader flew to the creator without saying goodbye. One day, on a bitterly cold Tuesday evening, a new leader was sworn into office. Just one day there was no father for everyone and it was all red and black, and finally in one day there was no Yutong bus driver who addressed his passengers as "my brothers and sisters". Rest well our dear President Atta Mills. Aliu Mahama, Amissa Arthur, Kofi Annan and your very own J.J. The Rawlings, but our own Papa J, are all joined to you in death during this decade of your 10th anniversary. We all miss you so much. Forever in our hearts.
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