My fortunate day was 11th August 1968, when I first met AuntieMonica, whom I now affectionately call “MamaMonica,” in the United Kingdom. At that time, my parents were also in the UK, and she graciously agreed to raise me upon her return to Ghana. Her husband, Wofa Yaw (of blessed memory), was my father’s elder brother. The foundations of my education and achievements stem from the care, discipline, and nurturingMama Monica provided. She instilled in me a love for reading — I had to read a certain number of pages from storybooks before bedtime, though I would sometimes plead for her to read instead. Even when I threw tantrums, she was always patient. Those bedtime moments remain some of my most cherished childhood memories. When she visited us in Chingford, London, in August 2015, our conversations often revolved around Ghanaian life, especially the ongoing “dumsor” situation. We would listen to talk shows on the radio, analyse the news, and burst into laughter together. “Dumsor, Dumsor!” she would say, her tone a mix of humour and concern. On the occasion of my First Communion in 1971, she took me to an excellent tailor in Fante NewTown who sewed a beautiful white shirt and black trousers for me. At the celebration that followed, I looked so smart that everyone wanted to take photographs with me. That thoughtful gesture touched my heart deeply and remains unforgettable. “Eii Saa, AsemAba, Eii Saa!” — those words bring a smile to my face even now, recalling her responses to puzzles, surprises, or amusing moments during her visits in Chingford in August 2017. There was also a memorable moment of misunderstanding that taught me patience and understanding. After all the festivities, and just as Christmas lunch was about to be served at my primary school on 21st December 1972, MamaMonica arrived to pick me up to accompany her to the Senior Staff Club for crockery, china cups, porcelain, and cutlery for her 27th birthday tea party that evening. Though I was initially disappointed to miss the school lunch, I was later pacified. MamaMonica has been a mentor, guardian, and comforter — a true mother in every sense. I remain profoundly grateful to her for accepting me as her piesie (eldest son). We shared countless precious moments together — evening walks, words of encouragement, and the lovely Christmas presents I always looked forward to receiving. I hope and continue to pray that the Almighty blesses you with good health, strength, and long life — that youmay live to become a centenarian, surrounded by your great-greatgrandchildren, hugging and cuddling themwith the same boundless love, grace, and compassion that you have always shown. God richly bless you, MamaMonica. Happy 80th Birthday! With love and gratitude. Kwabena Baidu The Birthday Journal 131
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