By Pearlvis Atsu Kuadey
There are days when history does not whisper, it wails. Days when the heartbeat of a nation stumbles, and the silence that follows is deafening. Wednesday, August 6, 2025, will forever be such a day for Ghana.
In the quiet mid-morning hours, a Ghana Armed Forces Z-9 helicopter took off from Accra, carrying a team of dedicated public servants on a mission to protect the land, its people, and its future. But they never arrived. Somewhere above the forests of Sikaman, near Adansi Akrofuom in the Ashanti Region, the aircraft lost contact. Moments later, it crashed, marking the beginning of a nation’s sorrow. Eight lives, each priceless, were taken in an instant.
These individuals were not just officials and officers. They were fathers, brothers, husbands, and colleagues, each on a mission that prioritized country over comfort, service over self.
We say their names not only to mourn but to honour them: Defence Minister Dr. Edward Omane Boamah, Environment Minister Dr. Ibrahim Murtala Muhammed, Acting Deputy National Security Coordinator Alhaji Muniru Mohammed Limuna, NDC Vice Chairman Dr. Samuel Sarpong, national disaster relief official Samuel Aboagye, and the aircrew — Squadron Leader Peter Bafemi Anala, Flying Officer Twum Ampadu, and Sergeant Ernest Addo Mensah.
Eight fathers. Eight sons. Eight lives of service. Eight unfinished stories. These were not men chasing status; they were men answering a calling.
Across the nation, the grief has been immediate and immense. Flags fly at half-mast, but it is the hearts of Ghanaians that feel truly lowered. On street corners, voices fall into quiet, sorrowful tones. From Parliament to marketplaces, the loss has stunned every corner of this land. And in homes where these men once smiled, laughed, and loved, silence now hangs heavy.
World leaders, former presidents, religious bodies, civil society, and the international community have sent condolences, recognizing this not only as a Ghanaian tragedy but a global loss of lives lived in honour of peace and nationhood. Their words echo our heartbreak, but none can fully capture the pain etched into the hearts of their families.
Yet even in this unthinkable moment, something powerful stirs. In a country often fractured by political noise, today there is only one sound: sorrow. It is said that “what binds us together is greater than what drives us apart.” In the hours since the crash, that truth has never felt more urgent or more alive. Ghana is not broken. Ghana is mourning, but united in that mourning. North and South, Christian and Muslim, old and young. In our grief, we remember who we are: one people with one destiny.
This was not the loss of a party or a tribe. This was the loss of a nation. And in this hour, we do not look away. We look inward. We look toward each other. Because grief, when shared, becomes not just sorrow, but strength.
As the poet Professor Kofi Awoonor once wrote in Songs of Sorrow: “The firewood of this world is for only those who can take heart… That is why not all can gather it.” These men gathered the firewood. They shouldered the burden. And in doing so, they lit a fire that now warms a country frozen in mourning.
Questions will arise. They must. About safety protocols, aircraft condition, and accountability. And they deserve answers. But today, we do not rush toward analysis. We sit in the sacred stillness of mourning. We honour. We remember. We feel. Because these men lived not for comfort, but for country.
As poet Maya Angelou once wrote, “When great souls die… our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink.” And so Ghana, in all its resilience, stands momentarily smaller today, diminished by absence, yet bolstered by memory.
Let this be the moment we reclaim the meaning of public service. Let this be the moment we raise our expectations of leadership and ourselves. Let this be the moment when, in honouring the fallen, we find new purpose. We will remember them, not only through state funerals but in how we walk, how we govern, and how we love this country as they did.
Perhaps the greatest tribute we can offer is not just to mourn but to mirror their courage. To rise again, not because we forget, but because we remember. Their flight may have ended, but their courage did not. Their bodies rest, but their legacy must not.
And so, we gather, as one people in the quiet spaces where tears fall freely and in the public squares where unity now matters more than ever. Ghana has wept before. Ghana will weep again. But always, we rise not forgetting but remembering. Not broken but rebuilt.
May their souls rest in perfect peace. May their sacrifice never be forgotten. And may this nation, in its darkest hour, find its greatest light in each other.
