Adwoa Okorewaa : Wellspring of A Matriach

There’s been a constant presence in my thoughts lately: my grandmother. Her absence is a quiet space I’m still learning to occupy, a silence that echoes just how much she was the guiding light of my life. It’s only now, with her gone, that I’m truly beginning to see the full extent of how she shaped me.

My grandmother was obsessed with knowledge. Books, newspapers, even old scrolls —if there were words on it, she believed there was something to be learned. She wasn’t just a collector; she was a teacher, finding lessons in everything from history to cooking and using them to create her own training materials. Her books were her most prized possessions—bought, gifted, or written by her own hand. She wrote every day until the very last weeks of her life. It was her primary passion, her purpose.

Growing up, it was a common sight for us to be woken at dawn, as early as 3 or 4 a.m., to read and learn. We grumbled, we cried, but she was unwavering. Her belief was that the brain was most receptive at that hour, and no matter your age, if you were under her roof, you were going to learn. This started when my siblings and I were barely four years old. It was incredibly frustrating at the time, but the impact of those early lessons would reveal itself decades later.

It wasn’t until I was 35 that I truly understood the depth of her teachings. My husband and I went out to a jazz club in Accra, Ghana. We ran into an acquaintance who was there with a musician who sang in an orchestra.As we talked about his career, the conversation drifted to classical music, specifically Mozart.

To my own surprise, I found myself participating in the conversation, not as an observer, but as an equal. We spoke about Mozart’s collections, his last compositions, and the raw emotion embedded in his work. I was discussing the psychological frame behind his music, the very notes and their meaning. The musician, amazed, asked if I had studied music. “No,” I said, and that’s when it hit me. I was talking about Mozart, a composer I hadn’t thought about since I was a child.

Then, a vivid memory came to me: my grandmother’s books. When I was just seven years old, she had a literary collection on Mozart—his biography, his pieces, their composition, and their unique interpretation. She had made me read them, and unconsciously, that knowledge had stayed with me for over 30 years.

We talked for over an hour, and when the musician’s friend asked how I knew all of this, I said, “My grandmother taught me.” He was astonished that a woman who wasn’t a musician herself had taught me so much about a subject. But that was her genius—she believed that if you read a book, you should understand it. She would make me read and then explain the content, whether it was history, science, or, in this case, music.

When I got home, I called her immediately, bubbling with excitement. I told her how everyone was shocked and how I was amazed that I could hold such a conversation. Her response was simple and profound: “This is just the beginning.”

She taught relentlessly because she believed that every lesson would one day inform our lives, our contributions, and the value we brought to the world. She gave us a rounded view of life, not just for the present, but for the future. Her teaching methods were designed for the knowledge to stick, to become a part of who we were. I’ve realized how many other things I’ve learned from her have surfaced in unexpected conversations—from farming to the philosophies of ancient greece!

It’s hard to process her absence, but I know she is smiling wherever she is. She always said her wish was to continue teaching and writing until her last breath. Her passion was to pass on knowledge, and she fulfilled that mission every single day.

Through her, I’ve gained skills and a perspective that continue to define my academic and professional growth. I don’t just see things as they are; I see their history, their meaning, and their potential. My grandmother was truly unique, and her legacy of learning is the most precious gift she could have ever given me.

In her absence, I’ve come to understand that her teachings weren’t just about accumulating facts; they were about a holistic approach to life. My grandmother’s unwavering belief that every lesson would inform our future is a testament to her profound love and vision.

Adwoa Okorewaa was a master architect of a life well-lived, and I am her most grateful student.

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👉My grandmother’s lessons on Mozart were an ‘unseen curriculum’ that taught me about life’s rhythm. What’s a lesson you learned from an unexpected source—like a song, a book, or a simple routine—that has shaped your life? Leave your comments below!”

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