In today’s world, it’s not uncommon to hear beautiful, heartwarming stories about loved ones only after they are gone. At funerals, we listen to moving tributes and think, “What a life well-lived.” But wouldn’t it be better if we shared these sentiments while people are still alive—so they could understand the profound impact they’ve had on us?
As a staff member with nearly three decades at the Ghana International Press Centre (GiPC), the headquarters of the Ghana Journalists Association (GJA), I’ve seen the highs and lows of the media industry. My journey since 1997 has been filled with invaluable experiences, moments that shaped me not only as a professional but also as an individual. One of the most significant relationships I’ve had during this time is with a man who came to be more than just a ‘Boss’—he became my mentor, my friend, my confidante and a second father.
The GJA has long been at the forefront of playing the watchdog as enshrined in the 1992 Constitution of Ghana and supporting Ghanaian media, especially during election periods. I look back with nostalgia at the regional seminars and workshops on electoral reporting, and how the GiPC served as an election resource centre for both local and international journalists. It was a pivotal moment in our country’s history, and it cemented my belief that one person’s efforts can indeed make a significant difference in a larger process.
For me, that person was “my boss,” as how I’ve saved his contact on my phone. He’s strict, no-nonsense, yet affable and jovial—a joy to be around. In many ways, he reminded me of my late father. Our paths first crossed in 1996 when he arrived in a blue GJA van, smiled warmly, and said, “Young man, how are you?” We struck up a conversation, and he told me to stop by the office if I ever needed anything. When I told my mother about the encounter, she said with a smile, “That’s Mr Bright Blewu the General Secretary of the GJA—such a kind man.”
Over the years, Uncle Bright, as I fondly call him, became like a second father to me. He would stop by after work to engage my mother in conversation, often telling jokes that would have her laughing for minutes on end. It became a cherished family routine. There was even a time when we had no water at home, and Uncle Bright brought us water from Sowutuom, where he lived. Such acts of kindness only strengthened our bond.
More than just a mentor, Uncle Bright became a guiding force in my life. He shared countless life lessons, especially about making the right decisions and how those choices could shape the future. He helped mould my path in journalism, from my early days at the Ghana Institute of Journalism (GIJ) through to earning my master’s degree. He often said, “There are many branches in life, but focus on the one that will lead you to where you want to go.”
There was one incident during a GJA end-of-year party in Koforidua that I will never forget. The Aburi road was still under construction, and while I normally wouldn’t think twice about seatbelts, I would always buckle up when Uncle Bright started speeding up. He’d laugh and say, “Fear, fear, young man.” One night, as we descended from Peduase past midnight on a winding, unconstructed road, my mum called, worried about our whereabout. Ever calm, Uncle Bright reassured her that we were fine, just as he always did.
As his close companion at almost every GJA event, be it official or personal, I learned countless lessons from him. During one of the GJA awards ceremonies, we had to print the event brochure in Tema, but halfway through the process, the power went out, and we couldn’t get it printed in time. While everyone was panicking, Uncle Bright simply said, “You can do your best to make things work, but nature has its own course. Just do your part and let nature take its course.” It was a simple yet profound reminder to accept what we cannot control.
Throughout his tenure as General Secretary of the GJA, Uncle Bright’s commitment to hard work and excellence was unwavering. The Press Centre became our second home, with late nights preparing for awards, workshops, and meetings. We were often the first to arrive and the last to leave, and those long hours shaped my work ethic. He also never let grumbling or complaints fester—he believed in facing challenges head-on.
One of the most valuable lessons I learned from Uncle Bright was about maintaining neutrality in journalism. He often said, “As a journalist, you must always ensure that facts remain paramount. Tell the truth, even when it hurts, because the truth will always stand tall and vindicate you. Don’t let anyone intimidate you.”
Uncle Bright was at the heart of GJA operations from the early 1990s to the mid-2000s. He was the anchor of the national executive, a calm and collected presence who approached his duties with passion and purpose. He remains the only person to have held both the roles of General Secretary (elective) and Director of the GiPC (by appointment)—a testament to his dedication and impact on Ghanaian journalism.
For me, his mentorship and friendship were transformative. He not only shaped my career but also played a significant role in shaping my character. His legacy lives on, not just in me, but in the many lives he touched. It’s a reminder that the impact of a mentor or father figure goes beyond words—it’s seen in the lives they help shape.
By FIIFI NETTEY