I first met Mr. Ebo Quansah, fondly known to many as Uncle Ebo in May 1998. The introduction came by way of a dear family friend, Mr. Kwamina Longdon, whose mentorship and confidence in my ‘limited journalism matched only by Uncle Ebo’s generosity of spirit.

That very day, he hired me as an intern at the Ghanaian Chronicle without hesitation, placing me under the guidance and tutelage of William Nyarko who was the News Editor of the newspaper. That was the kind of man he was: decisive, trusting, and ever willing to offer a young person a shot.

Working under Uncle Ebo was like stepping into a whirlwind of energy and wisdom. He was a mood all by himself, at once stern and caring, deeply principled yet never too far from a good laugh, which for those who had the pleasure of sharing his company, was often punctuated with prolonged coughing.

Uncle Ebo made sure his staff were not only seen and heard, but also cared for. In a newsroom that could often be hectic and demanding, his presence was an anchor and refreshing.

As an editor, Uncle Ebo was uncompromising in the best way. He pushed me beyond my limits, nudging me, sometimes shoving me out of my comfort zone. With him, I covered general news, sports, court cases, investigations, and business news, learning to adapt and refine my craft across genres.

When deadlines piled up or his calendar overflowed, he would hand over his revered sports column to me to ghostwrite. It was a responsibility I did not take lightly, and one that taught me the value of trust, diligence and craftsmanship.

The last time we met was at the funeral of Uncle Kwamina Longdon almost a year ago. There he stood, in the company of other stalwarts like Mr. Joe Aggrey and Ken Bediako, men who had shaped Ghanaian journalism in profound ways. We exchanged pleasantries, shared memories, and in that moment, I was reminded of how lucky I was to have been mentored by a man of such stature.

Uncle Ebo’s passing is very difficult for me to come to terms with but his legacy as a journalist, an editor, a mentor, and a deeply humane soul lives on. I owe him a debt I can never fully repay, except perhaps by striving to pass on what he gave so freely.

Uncle Ebo had a well-rehearsed response whenever I checked in on him and asked how he was doing: “Paa Kwesi, ma woakaa nyi”, to wit, “this is what is left of me.”

That one-liner, delivered with his characteristic blend of wit and realism, summed up the man Ebo Quansah. It reflected not just his enduring humility but also his deep self-awareness and acceptance of life’s ebbs and flows. Beneath the humour was a quiet resilience, a man who had given so much of himself to his craft, his country, and the people around him.

Dayie, Uncle Ebo. Borbor Ekumfi won dehye papabi. Onyame nfa wo kra nsiye.