He felt sick suddenly, he was in pain! A pain we’d never ever seen before, he asked to be helped walk around the compound before being sent to the hospital that fateful day. I got a hunch but would have been stupid to tell what I felt – to me, the end had come.
He left for the hospital together with mom (indefatigable Hajia Fari) and big brother. She wailed when doctors requested his transfer to Korle Bu from Kotobabi polyclinic. There in the ambulance, Abdur Rahim Shaban ended his time on earth.
No need going over the mood and events thereafter. I attempt to bring to life the man who denied himself so much to ensure that his six kids will be well placed – reasonably – to take care of the woman he married – Hajia Fati.
To us, as his kids, ‘selfless’ pretty much describes the man who diligently stuck to his trade of barbering to educate his children. We had everything, but we grew up knowing our father was nowhere near rich.
None of his seven grandchildren so far met the old boy – it’s for those boys and girls I weep. At least we experienced his (fatherly) warmth, his (intellectual) depth – French, English, Arabic – and his (generous) width. There was a fine man who served us with his simplicity.
Cast us aside for the moment, the guy was totally respected by family members – those on his side and no less from Hajia Fati’s bloc. His pursuit of knowledge and thoughtfulness – which we saw and learnt – put him in a position of respect and reverence.
Yet when he died that fateful day, reality struck! I saw men cry and I’m certain I’ll most likely never seen them do so. Fuleira mourned more, Rayhann – who saw the end – plus Mariam and I seemed reasonably okay. As for Sherif and Sherifa, I can’t recall their contribution.
The reality I mentioned earlier is of how much little the old boy had amassed. His brown briefcase which we grew up knowing was all there was. It contained some old Arabic books. What was left behind the briefcase was his usual clothes and nothing more.
He was a powerhouse in the FULL sense of the word. A powerhouse like 'charter house.' Let me explain the bit about ‘charter house,’ we grew up when Charter House was Ghana’s biggest entertainment events company and they had a motto: ‘The power behind the performance.’
So was Abdur Rahim Shaban to us. Every good you saw us exude individually or en bloc was of traits we picked from him. Mind you, if the opposite resulted, it was because we had failed to heed what he had instructed us to do.
He loved to read, he did not have time but joined the British Council Library for us. He picked books for us to read in turns so he could return it and get us some more. Prior to that when Ghana Library was in its heydays, he dropped Mariam and Rayhann to read.
Countless times when he came home and realized we hadn’t eaten, he’d prepare food and wake us all up – including Hajia Fati to eat. He led us as a family and at no time shirked his responsibility.
He was our goalie/defender in all the times that Hajia Fati exhibited striking abilities. I was ever thrashed for jogging to Nkrumah Circle and back with some friends. When he heard the episode – he only wondered why and for what but Hajia Fati defended her action. Lol!
He had a great sense of initiative in his dealings. We lived in a compound house but much as he was hardly at home, NEVER did he exchange words with other tenants over anything. He seemed to believe one man could always sue for peace and live that very peaceful life.
Of course there were days that we did what all children do – upset their parents. But he won’t beat anyone of us save for a strong verbal reprimand which NEVER included insults, unlike the case of his opposite number. The legendary Hajia Fati.
It’s on hindsight that I try going into his mind to think of what kept that man awake, my belief is that he thought of how his kids will be more comfortable than they were at any one point in time. He was our manager, our driver, our friend with whom we listened to the BBC.
We did not have a television set, man did not buy one in his lifetime. We had a durable radio set, set and stuck to BBC shortwave. We woke up to BBC Radio’s Focus on Africa cock crow listening to Udwak Amimo, Tomon Doro, Togo Moyo and other leading voices on BBC.
When we usually returned from school to his barbering post, the radio over there was also on BBC so we listened to World News from Neil Nunez and co. We loved Outlook and waited for Network Africa and eventually Sports Roundup. Our TV escapades, story for later. Lol!
Abdur Rahim Shaban was a father to us only due to nature’s processes but beyond the father, was the friend, colleague at a point – even at our young ages – he was our chef, our signpost and one who is not missed – for we believe he left us enough memories of our time together.
One day when I die, I would want to be remembered for the qualities that Abdur Rahim Shaban lived. Even as I toss in my head the next to die amongst the remaining seven of us, I continue to live like dad and hope Allah takes my life when HE is pleased with me.
He left for the hospital together with mom (indefatigable Hajia Fari) and big brother. She wailed when doctors requested his transfer to Korle Bu from Kotobabi polyclinic. There in the ambulance, Abdur Rahim Shaban ended his time on earth.
No need going over the mood and events thereafter. I attempt to bring to life the man who denied himself so much to ensure that his six kids will be well placed – reasonably – to take care of the woman he married – Hajia Fati.
To us, as his kids, ‘selfless’ pretty much describes the man who diligently stuck to his trade of barbering to educate his children. We had everything, but we grew up knowing our father was nowhere near rich.
Yeah, way back when I used to be a last born, till riff and riffa popped up
None of his seven grandchildren so far met the old boy – it’s for those boys and girls I weep. At least we experienced his (fatherly) warmth, his (intellectual) depth – French, English, Arabic – and his (generous) width. There was a fine man who served us with his simplicity.
Cast us aside for the moment, the guy was totally respected by family members – those on his side and no less from Hajia Fati’s bloc. His pursuit of knowledge and thoughtfulness – which we saw and learnt – put him in a position of respect and reverence.
Yet when he died that fateful day, reality struck! I saw men cry and I’m certain I’ll most likely never seen them do so. Fuleira mourned more, Rayhann – who saw the end – plus Mariam and I seemed reasonably okay. As for Sherif and Sherifa, I can’t recall their contribution.
The reality I mentioned earlier is of how much little the old boy had amassed. His brown briefcase which we grew up knowing was all there was. It contained some old Arabic books. What was left behind the briefcase was his usual clothes and nothing more.
He was a powerhouse in the FULL sense of the word. A powerhouse like 'charter house.' Let me explain the bit about ‘charter house,’ we grew up when Charter House was Ghana’s biggest entertainment events company and they had a motto: ‘The power behind the performance.’
So was Abdur Rahim Shaban to us. Every good you saw us exude individually or en bloc was of traits we picked from him. Mind you, if the opposite resulted, it was because we had failed to heed what he had instructed us to do.
He loved to read, he did not have time but joined the British Council Library for us. He picked books for us to read in turns so he could return it and get us some more. Prior to that when Ghana Library was in its heydays, he dropped Mariam and Rayhann to read.
Countless times when he came home and realized we hadn’t eaten, he’d prepare food and wake us all up – including Hajia Fati to eat. He led us as a family and at no time shirked his responsibility.
He was our goalie/defender in all the times that Hajia Fati exhibited striking abilities. I was ever thrashed for jogging to Nkrumah Circle and back with some friends. When he heard the episode – he only wondered why and for what but Hajia Fati defended her action. Lol!
He had a great sense of initiative in his dealings. We lived in a compound house but much as he was hardly at home, NEVER did he exchange words with other tenants over anything. He seemed to believe one man could always sue for peace and live that very peaceful life.
Of course there were days that we did what all children do – upset their parents. But he won’t beat anyone of us save for a strong verbal reprimand which NEVER included insults, unlike the case of his opposite number. The legendary Hajia Fati.
It’s on hindsight that I try going into his mind to think of what kept that man awake, my belief is that he thought of how his kids will be more comfortable than they were at any one point in time. He was our manager, our driver, our friend with whom we listened to the BBC.
We did not have a television set, man did not buy one in his lifetime. We had a durable radio set, set and stuck to BBC shortwave. We woke up to BBC Radio’s Focus on Africa cock crow listening to Udwak Amimo, Tomon Doro, Togo Moyo and other leading voices on BBC.
When we usually returned from school to his barbering post, the radio over there was also on BBC so we listened to World News from Neil Nunez and co. We loved Outlook and waited for Network Africa and eventually Sports Roundup. Our TV escapades, story for later. Lol!
Abdur Rahim Shaban was a father to us only due to nature’s processes but beyond the father, was the friend, colleague at a point – even at our young ages – he was our chef, our signpost and one who is not missed – for we believe he left us enough memories of our time together.
One day when I die, I would want to be remembered for the qualities that Abdur Rahim Shaban lived. Even as I toss in my head the next to die amongst the remaining seven of us, I continue to live like dad and hope Allah takes my life when HE is pleased with me.
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