Kwame Mensah

We used to walk and not talk much. A road, a bit of weather, the same route home. That was enough. I would take another of those walks now.

Kwame was the person you called when something needed doing. He did not ask a lot of questions. He just came, and he stayed until it was finished. I still catch myself waiting for his van on the street.

He kept tools in order and promises the same way. If he said he would come, he came. A quiet man, and a steady one. That was the whole of it, and it was plenty.

Dad never missed a school play. He sat in the back and clapped the loudest, then found you afterwards as if that had been the only thing on his day. It probably wasn't. He made it seem so.