Now, you’ve made me cry forever Mos- B
By Osman Benk Sankoh
It was the New York-born Irish author Stewart Stafford who said, “Do not weep for those who have found Death’s embrace early, for they weep for us who linger on in this mortal world of pain.”
While I am tempted to embrace the positive aspect of Stafford’s quote about dying young and escaping the tumultuous and perilous world we live in, I would not have traded the loss of my dear friend and brother, Mos-B, for anything. With a wife and children to care for and his unwavering determination to bring positive change to his country through music, I would have preferred he continued to persevere, regardless of the circumstances.
I still vividly remember where I was when news began to stream online about Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, battling for his life at a Los Angeles hospital. I had attended a testimonial football match in honour of Kelvin Segbwe, one of Liberia’s soccer stars, who had retired from active football in Europe. President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf was also attending the farewell match, which was played at the Samuel K. Doe stadium in Monrovia.
After playing 73 international games for the Lone Star, the Liberian National team, and scoring 17 goals, the midfield maestro retired at 35, ending a career spanning two decades.
The excitement and emotions in Monrovia that evening were palpable as we gathered to witness Segbwe play for the last time.
As the match unfolded, the journalist in me couldn’t resist checking my phone repeatedly, like someone waiting for a paycheck notification.
On June 25, 2009, at 50, Michael Jackson was pronounced dead due to acute propofol intoxication, a fatal overdose of the sedative propofol combined with other benzodiazepines.
Similarly, I will never forget waking up in the early hours of Sunday morning on October 21 to the news of the passing of Sierra Leone’s music sensation, Mos-B, whose real name was Moses Bangura.
I had spent the entire night celebrating at Fatmata Kandeh’s 40th birthday party at the View restaurant, partying until 4:00 a.m. when my friend Sallieu Kanu dropped me off at home. I took a shower and, unusually for me, kept my phones away to catch some much-needed sleep before my almost ritualistic Sunday morning visit to Peacock Farm in Wellington to see my parents.
But amid it all, I found myself checking my phone. Chi Chi, a colleague I had just met, was eager to keep Alpha Sesay (Elingie), Morris, and myself off our phones, insisting that we should not be working. I tried to comply, but my resistance was short-lived.
First, Bunting, a friend sitting across from me, called and asked me to take photos of him. I immediately switched to my Facebook and Twitter accounts and began to see photos of Mos-B. Music icon Jimmy B had posted, as had several other bloggers.
Alfred Fornah, formerly of IOM, had also posted, but in my mind, it appeared to be a promotion for a project the musician was working on. The thought of death did not cross my mind.
Just the other day, Mos-B had gone live to talk about his new hairstyle. Previously, he had urged us to join him in celebrating his “hardworking and prayerful” wife’s birthday. He had also praised Drizilik “for representing us on the cypher.” Mos-B had even congratulated the APC and the SLPP for “coming back together” after agreeing to a dialogue to address issues arising from the last elections.
As if that wasn’t enough, just two days ago, he had given us a teaser video of a song he would release on Audio Mack the following Saturday. On October 26, the soon-to-be-released song would be available on all streaming platforms, and on November 3, the video would be on YouTube.
I’ve listened to the teaser. The song was titled “Last Night,” and the lyrics resonated deeply: “Last night, last night, you made me cry, last night, you made me cry, cry, cry, cry. You promised, you told me you would never leave me; you promised you would never leave me.”
Now, those words made sense. It was likely his way of hinting that the end was near. Mos-B made me cry when I heard of his shocking passing.
Mos-B, you have made me cry forever, and indeed, you have left your wife, children, father, fans, and the rest of your family in tears.
I can’t quite remember how Mos-B and I connected, but I realized that in a short time, we had become like family. Over the past three years, our friendship, which started on social media, blossomed when we finally met face-to-face this year.
He shared some of his ambitious plans with me, even suggesting that I become his manager in some capacity. I declined, as music and entertainment were not my areas of expertise. Instead, I introduced him to Lizzy Bangalie, a colleague from our time at St. Edward’s, who was now based in France. Their managerial relationship was short-lived as Mos-B was in overdrive.
He was in a hurry to accomplish his goals, taking charge of his social media accounts, making public statements, and insisting on being present during meetings with producers and industry professionals. He had to move forward.
Now I understand where that drive came from. Perhaps he had a mission on earth, and knowing that time might not be on his side, he was determined to leave a lasting legacy.
Mos-B, my dear friend, this is not how we envisioned things or wanted them to be. We do not have control over when and how we take our last breath.
However, we take comfort in the knowledge that your time on earth, though brief, was impactful. Chernor Bah, Minister of Information & Civic Education, mentioned yesterday morning that you recorded a song for “Purposeful”, the organization he founded and previously worked for.
I spent yesterday morning listening to Sweet Salone, a song you created for “War Child”, an organization dedicated to improving the resilience and well-being of children living in violence and armed conflict. “This na the tem we all for cam together and forgive we sef for we mistake,” and the song instantly resonated with a nation emerging from the trauma of war. “Sweet Salone” became a national anthem.
Next on the playlist was the song Maloholima (a song for Mama). Sung in English and Limba, your native language, it expressed gratitude to all mothers for their sacrifices for their children.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, you returned, and as the authentic influencer you were, you educated us about the virus and gave us hope that we could overcome the pandemic by following the guidance of healthcare workers.
We were eagerly anticipating “Last Night,” but instead, you dimmed the light on us.
As you transition, Mos-B, please convey our regards to Shine the Godson; give a “gbosa” to Amara Kabba; exchange a high-five with Bunny Mack, and offer immense respect to Daddy Loco, Ebenezer Calendar, and our DJ JC, Jenner Cole.
Rest in peace, Mos-B, and may your legacy endure.
