Today, Dagbon lowers its royal gaze, for a great tree has fallen in the land of Gbewaa.

The talking drums do not merely sound; they mourn. Their voices travel from Yendi to the farthest corners of Dagbon, carrying the sorrow of a people and the honour of a throne. The Gbewaa Palace stands wrapped in sacred silence as His Royal Majesty, the Yaa Naa, takes his place among the ancestors.

He was more than a king; he was a father beneath whose shade many found identity, strength, and belonging. In his reign lived the dignity of the royal smock, the splendour of the durbar, the courage of the horseman, the rhythm of Damba, and the ancient wisdom of a people who have carried tradition through centuries with pride.

Though the king has journeyed beyond our sight, his name will not fade from the memory of Dagbon. It will remain like a royal banner lifted by the wind — a banner of peace, courage, unity, and honour. The Lion of Gbewaa may rest, yet his roar will continue to echo in the conscience and destiny of his people.

To his kith and kin, and to all who stood in reverence, the farewell was not merely a funeral; it was a living poem of culture. It was solemn, organised, dignified, and deeply rooted in the customs of Dagbon. Every rite, every gesture, every gathering bore witness to a people who know how to honour greatness without losing the tenderness of grief.

My deepest tribute, therefore, is also to the people of Dagbon. In a moment heavy with history, they walked with calm, discipline, and grace. They guarded the sacred bridge between yesterday and tomorrow, and by their conduct, they honoured not only the departed king, but the enduring soul of Dagbon itself.