I am so touched to read the many stories of Victor’s family and adventures in Ghana. Although I never knew him in those days, I have had the privilege of seeing him smile and hearing him laugh for the last 25 years. I watched him dart in and out of the country, often arriving back in Phoenix late the night before he was to start a new class. Jet lag never slowed him down, always ready for his new students and his new adventures. One time I asked him about his grading grading policy and what he would do if a student was wavering between an ‘A’ and a ‘B’. He said, “they have to earn the ‘A’, I don’t give any breaks”. I told him he was tough but little did I know at the time how very tough he was and that he wasn't going to get any breaks even though we prayed for them.

My story is of his last challenge in life, his cancer. I remember our lunch at Pure Foods in Kierland, the day he told me he had severe backache, spots on his lungs and an elevated PSA. I begged him not to return to Ghana the next day but to stay in Phoenix as I told him he could possibly have a serious problem, perhaps a cancer lurking. He, the invincible one, felt certain all would be fine in Ghana, which of course it was not. I searched for him for months, no answer to his phone or email. I used to kid him that he could run but he couldn’t hide; I would always find him. Eventually, I indeed found him in the ICU in Houston having survived his transport from Ghana and months of radiation, chemotherapy and life support in Houston. Thank the Lord for Otuko, his rescuer.

Here is his story of determination, bravery, love for his children, and the will to live. Victor couldn’t walk as the tumor in his spinal column paralyzed his nerves, yet he sat up with help and went to physical therapy everyday, enduring the intense pain, determined to walk again. When he couldn’t walk, he made himself walk. When the pain was unbearable he bore the pain. When told that his cancer was incurable, he determined to live. He and Otuko took charge of his path, researching all therapies, all drugs, all possibilities for improvement. He tried every single possible course of chemotherapy, proven or experimental, all as cheerfully as any patient I have ever known. He reported every single shrinking of the tumors as encouragement. He told me he had no idea how his body could handle the amount of poisons that were pumped into his body to kill the cancer cells. He went to the library to keep his mind sharp, he went to the gym to stay strong, he continued to laugh at my teasing about how cute he was since he ‘shaved his hair’. He said don’t laugh when he told me how he got stuck in a wheelchair at Walmart in the men’s room when the battery ran out. Of course I thought it was horribly hilarious. I gave him no breaks, determined to get him to laugh each time we talked. He was an inspiration. I told him that he should write a book to help others find their way. I said, ‘If I ever have to walk in your shoes, I only pray that I will be as strong and determined.’

As you all know, Victor was a planner. He planned for years and years for his retirement in Ghana. He planned for his grants to continue his work after retirement; he planned for a long life. A few weeks ago, we had lunch again at the Talking Stick resort. He reported that he was to see his doctor to decide whether to stop his chemotherapy. I teased him about the different styles of canes he used to assist his walking, told him to ‘loose the hat’; I loved him without it. I could see in his eyes how much pain and suffering he was enduring. As we parted, he said, ‘I always loved you Susan, take care until we meet again!’ I said, ‘Victor, I always loved you too’, knowing full well that this was the end. He knew that I knew because he was a planner. 

Victor, we all loved you - me, my children, (Heather and Ryan), my grandson, (Jabari), your students, your devoted family, your fellow professors, your students, all those you touched in this life. My friend, indeed, until we meet again!