Dear Dr. Edward Kofi Omane Boamah — faithful Catholic, intelligent and handsome man; strongly built, loyal, honest, vibrant, lovingly humble, modest and bold.

The hours between 3 a.m. and 7 a.m. will never be the same again for me personally.

The devastating news of your cruel, untimely demise shattered my world. It is heartbreaking, and though painful, we must now learn to accept and acknowledge the reality of your passing.

Omane, we have agonised — over and over again. We have tried to steady ourselves, making arrangements for your funeral — what an awfully painful burden to foist on us!

Indeed, I was lethargic that fateful Wednesday morning, 6 August 2025 — a day that began like any other.

I posted a treatise, unlike my usual conversations, though you were accustomed to my lengthy musings in our personal exchanges. Omane, the poignancy of my mantra is now more relevant than ever: if it is fair, equitable and just, then so be it. Yet, there is absolutely nothing fair or just about the cruelty of your passing.

Friend. Doctor. Strategist. Planner.

Thinker. Advisor. Advocate. Therapist.

What shall I say now to Sister Rita, to Ekua, to Ama and Yaw?

Yes, Ama is just like me — today, I take that as a compliment.

The shock of your passing is incongruous. Your ‘cerebral’ pal is broken.

I see you, watching closely and carefully, meandering toward us, registering your protest and angst.

As we draw strength from memories of your life, imagining a future now cruelly cut short, your presence is painfully missed.

Omane, knowing you and working alongside you for all these years, travelling together — it was a privilege and an honour.

Who will now pay for a room just so I can use the bathroom? Share your antibacterial handkerchiefs and tissues with me? Scold me for shaking too many hands or eating snacks from the open market?

Introducing all kinds of friends to me — Dr. Ernest Nkrumah Addo, Dr. Ensaw, Abeka, Berlinda, Adwoa, Kafui, and yes, Etta?

Who will adjust my legal opinions and teach me to view settlements with a deeper understanding of human nature? You were endlessly versatile.

To sit with you, eat with you, walk and exercise together, plan for our future sustainability — your beloved “our tomorrows and our sunsets” — was your constant preoccupation.

Our paths crossed nearly 25 years ago. You brought a friend and strategic partner to meet a consultant deployed by the late Professor John Evans Atta Mills to my then-humble colleague’s office on High Street to discuss research.

You told me why you came to me — because our dear Uncle Ato Ahwoi had told you who I was and that the future Running Mate HE John Dramani Mahama, then Spokesperson and former Communications Minister, was also my relative.

You regaled me with stories of your role in the CJA, the promulgation of GETFUND, and your leadership as NUG president. Through you, I met many who remain dear friends today.

This was the start of my next chapter — stepping openly into politics, joining you for protests and agreeing with my now-husband to pursue activism publicly. The rest is a story for another time.

Our children were in school together for years, and decisions were made after deep consultations with you — about homework, schools, teachers, subjects, and trips.

Yes, we finally got your kids to Senior School and mine to College.

Omane, Ekua, will soon be going to college — to a college of your choice. I await her results and admission letter. You planned to take two weeks off to accompany her.

President John Dramani Mahama has often called you and Stan Xoese Dogbe my twin brothers, because I always knew where to find either of you. I was your full-time partner in crime, in conspiracies and beyond. I had you both on a leash, andyou were, in turn, my guardians.

In this tiny triangle, we encouraged and supported each other, sharing family milestones and private lives, however small. That is how we survived.

I drank deeply from your fountain of wisdom — nuggets on family life and living outside politics. You harassed me about my lukewarm Catholicism, urging me daily to return to Mass and youth activities we loved. I am a better woman for it, dutifully following your sterling advice and example.

Now that you have left me to mourn, I am walking faithfully in your footsteps — learning to forgive more, move on and accept that being lied about, envied or disliked is part of life.

You told me to cut back on friendships because they drain time and energy. “JB, be selective… not all relationships have to be nurtured,” you said. It worked beautifully. Life is softer and easier when you live it your way. I am still arguing with you over this and everything else.

This ending was not your way — not our way — but if it is God’s way, we must humbly accept it.

Funny, the competition to be your most treasured friend or “sister” is fierce, and the jury is still out.

Our relationship took a new turn before the 2016 campaign. “JB, you are going to be President John Mahama’s spokesperson — nobody speaks for him like you do; you are credible and loyal.”

That’s when you became my coach, advisor and constant guide.

You taught me patience, and this was a virtue you exemplified right until your final moments. I know you are watching — agonising but resting in the Lord’s bosom.

You were an incredible human — the only truly unapologetically consistent politician.

Where do I begin? How do I tell your story, and where do I end?

After the 2016 elections, the criticism you faced was harsher than anyone could imagine. After President Mahama’s avalanche of criticism, it was followed a close second by Stan Dogbe’s and then yours. Mine was more collateral than real.

You took a leave of absence, went to the prestigious London School of Economics and planned for eight years — the biggest political comeback ever.

Our meetings in modest places in London, the bold conversations — always strategic, realistic and pragmatic.

From 2017, you knew we were on an eight-year mission: to secure a historic victory for John Mahama’s second term.

You poured yourself into this. Your mantra: “Organise, don’t agonise.”

And indeed, we won massively in 2020 and 2024 — outcomes no history of Ghanaian politics can ignore.

The phenomenal parliamentary results and the unprecedented performance of President Mahama in 2024 were your victories as much as his.

Thank you, Dr. Edward Kofi Omane Boamah, for your unrelenting sacrifices. You gave everything — including your personal life — to ensure redemption for many.

You silenced and confounded your fiercest critics in ways words cannot express.

No ode could fully capture your legacy.

Your unalloyed love, work ethic, loyalty, courage and pride, your consistency and principled stance — even when many would falter, you stood firm.

Dr. Omane Boamah, I will not stop agonising. I have decided to deactivate all the cameras you gave me. I’m calling you to speak with my Wofa, John Dramani Mahama, because I am his daughter and cannot tell him such things.

Omane, I took a picture of my food and I am sending it to you now — please, please respond.

It is 3 a.m., the chat box is silent; no one has commented since your untimely departure.

Omane, please vet my mum’s new prescription quickly.

Our next meeting is pending — give us a date and time, please.

We haven’t broken bread in a while — in your words, hopefully you’ll be on time.

Today, you’ll eat banku and okro — no garri soaking with Milo (imagine that, only an only child would eat garri soaking and add Milo, but you did it happily with that boyish grin).

You flatly refused to agree that men can mentor women — you won that debate.

With every step, you paved the way,

Inspiring me to chase my dreams, day by day.

Your kindness, patience, and love, a treasure rare.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time.

Rest now, dear friend, your journey’s done,

But in my heart, our friendship has just begun.

I’ll cherish every moment we shared — a precious find.

Farewell, my dear friend, Dr. Edward Kofi Omane Boamah!

You will be missed!

By Joyce Bawah Mogtari