Tribute from husband
- Nov. 23, 2017, 12:12 p.m.
The voice of silence spoke with compelling force: “Ladé, sröwó or yé mah! Ladé, there stands your wife!”. Indeed, there stood Vivian Wellington. And so it was that the voice of silence proclaimed the beginning of a journey of miracles and wonders. It is impossible for me to pay adequate tribute to Mrs. Vivian Wosornu, my beloved wife, anchor and guardian angel.
Decades down the road, she decreed: “Call me Mawuvi.” Mawuvi means God’s child. The following is a sample of what Mawuvi was to me and our children, as well as our friends and my relatives.
Mawuvi you were my prophetess. Together, we shared some powerful God-moments. You converted our home into a sanctuary. You pulled me up with your delightful, therapeutic and mischievous sense of humour. You were personification of innocence, sacrifice, humility, patience, contentment and empathy. You were a second Sarah: mother to one and mother to all. Mawuvi, by melting the hearts of the good and the great in cities where we were strangers, you eased my burden. You were both Muse and scribe. Mawuvi, you were a sage, AND a woman of fragrance, with nails ablaze in scarlet, unafraid to flaunt. You were an eagle cloaked in the feathers of a dove. Through direct and personal experience, Mawuvi, you showed me that indeed, “with God nothing shall be impossible.”
Vivian was innocence personified. Although aged 24 years, Vivian’s body was still a baby’s! Our God moments were many. Some were spectacular. I believe that God let me peep into those moments because of you. Here are two examples.
Lost In Darkness and Fog
It was Easter, 1964. You and I were returning from one of our many honeymoons. Those were the years! The whole of Britain was one huge construction site! The beginning of motorways and autobahns was underway. Road-blocks, diversions and giant road signs were everywhere. Add to these darkness, mist and fog and the drivers’ nightmare became perfect.
We had reached a complex round-about somewhere in the mid-lands. We were lost. And, it was night. Combinations of darkness and fog are made worse by headlights. So, it was that you and I became totally helpless!
Then, it happened. The Lord Himself stepped up to show us how to escape. The angel took the form of a policeman on a bicycle in the middle of nowhere, and, in the dead of night.
“Clinging, Clinging!” he rang his bicycle bell, knocked on the glass door and shone a torchlight into our Morris Minor. Without waiting for our response, he prophesied: “My children, Glasgow, I presume?” Again without waiting for an answer, he instructed: “Follow me, my children. This way…This way!”
Meekly, speechless and trembling, we followed the red tail-light.. Two minutes later, policeman and the red tail-light were swallowed up by the darkness. You and I were too petrified even to say “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, God!” Such was the power and the overwhelming force of God’s deliverance when we met our first God moments together.
Our other God-moment happened in the Far East. You and I were caught up in a storm. The sea billows were hills high. Our boat was tossed around like a toy. Frightened tourists began to scream.
Through it all, the Lord Himself took the form and the shape of you, Mawuvi, Vivian Wosornu. There He laid, head on my lap. And, like a baby, the innocent you slept. In utter disdain of the storm, you slept on until the landing stage.
Mawuvi, my guardian angel, you showed me by example, saying, in silence: “The Lord is here! Sronye, (husband of mine) ignore the storm! Copy me. Learn of me. The Lord Himself is here. Ladé, be not afraid.”
AVE MARIA: HOME INTO A HAVEN OF PEACE
By the grace of God and due to your own deep spirituality, you turned our home into a haven of peace. Even little children bore witness. As they passed by our gate, one of them was overheard saying. “Eeeei! Naa Yesu! Ma sumor ma ya Yesu gnor.” Meaning “Oh! Look! Jesus! I want to go to Jesus.”
I thank you for these rare blessings. The writings on our walls read: Jesus is Lord, God Reigns and Ave Maria!
A ROSE SOLITAIRE FOR SOME SPECIAL FRIENDS
You were a rose solitaire for our friends. The angel in you so attracted them that they became extremely fond of you. And, because of you, I also became a beneficiary. I’ll cite only one example: an accountant in Glasgow.
Each time you were scheduled to fly home from London, this man ensured that you were ambushed by couriers. They were under orders to deliver to you, in person, parcels containing your particular favourites: a bouquet of red-red roses and a basket of fresh strawberries.
RELATIONSHIP WITH IN-LAWS
You were loved by all your in-laws. Because of you, my parents-in-law were tender hearted towards me.
MAWUVI, YOU WERE SELF-SACRIFICE PERSONIFIED
Mawuvi, through all these nearly 60 years since I met you, to me, you were self-sacrifice personified. Your years with me in Zambia, and decades in Saudi Arabia. It was a gigantic self-sacrifice. You never complained of boredom. Instead, you invested your time wisely. You hooked up with other expatriate wives. You played tennis with them. And you made me proud of you. You beat them at their own game. You won a silver Cup to prove it.
EAGLE IN DOVE’S FEATHERS
Mawuvi, you’ve fought my battles, especially when I wasn’t in the battle field to defend myself. One day, in the office of the chief Inspector of Taxes, the Eagle raised a fearsome shrill, saying: “Bö hu mini ng’wu ler eféé bö?” Meaning: “And you, too! What wrong has my husband done you?” In that manner you extracted from him a Tax Clearance certificate. The enemy had planned to chain me in hand-cuffs as I was boarding an aircraft. You fought that battle for me and saved me from embarrassment if not ridicule on paper parade.
MUSE AND SCRIBE
Mawuvi, you were at once Muse and scribe. You inspired a number of my poems. Some were dedicated to you. One example is “Leaves in A Cup”. For other poems you were the scribe who jotted the lines. The most enduring one is the poem entitled “Desert Rivers”. Mawuvi, because of you, I am not entirely unknown among the Ghanaian Poet.
MAWUVI, THE ARTIST
You had so many hidden and priceless talents. One of them was the fine arts. You loved vibrant colours. You would set your nails ablaze in scarlet. Upon our home also you showered your rich artist’s strokes
Final Work of Art
Your final work of art was reserved for our prayer room. The year was 2016. For your 80th birthday, you decorated our altar and made it a pleasing sight. And, because of you, our family had the unique privilege. We receive the Holy Sacrament at home. All that blessing was because of you
This testimony will be incomplete if I fail to acknowledge your final sacrifice. It also taught me the essence of forgiveness. At dawn one day, you woke me up. You said three things. The third was astonishing. You said:
1. I love you and always will.
2. Whatever wrongs I have done against you, please, forgive me.
3. From this day until I die, I shall devote myself entirely to the service of God. I have vowed that, the rest of my life, I SHALL LIVE AS A NUN.
REGRETS & APOLOGIES
Mawuvi, I miss you. If we were to have our lives all over again, I’ll say I am sorry, not so much for the wrongs I’d done you. My sins are too many to count, too grievous for public parade.
What I apologize for most of all are my failures to obey your decrees. Five of these are:
1. I regret that I did not tackle both the Royal College of Surgeons, and the Royal College of Physicians.
2. I regret that I did not allow you a walk among the lions.
3. I regret that I failed to buy for you your particular dream model of Mercedes Benz: The 2-seater 250 SLE Coupé, with sliding roof.
4. I regret that I failed to heed your advice when you repeatedly decreed: “Flee from the stock market. Keep all your spare cash in good-old-fashioned savings account. Twice the markets crashed. And twice we lost everything.
5. Above all, I apologize for having failed to see you as you truly were: a saint ordained by the Lord Most High.
You are now in heaven. Apologies of men avail naught where Angels sing the Amens. You are in the perfect peace with God.
Mawuvi, xede nyuei. Ezu gbe-adegbe Goodbye, Child of God. Until the next time,
REST ON IN PERFECT PEACE