life – Adomonline.com https://www.adomonline.com Your comprehensive news portal Fri, 28 Aug 2026 15:22:01 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.9 https://www.adomonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/cropped-Adomonline140-32x32.png life – Adomonline.com https://www.adomonline.com 32 32 When giving life becomes a matter of life and death: Ghana’s maternal mortality crisis https://www.adomonline.com/when-giving-life-becomes-a-matter-of-life-and-death-ghanas-maternal-mortality-crisis/ Fri, 28 Aug 2026 15:21:59 +0000 https://www.adomonline.com/?p=2701300 A few hours before he was due to bury his wife, a young Ghanaian man wrote words no husband should ever have to write.

After just 19 months of marriage, he was preparing to say goodbye to Theresa Boakye Dua, the woman he described as his best friend, soulmate and the love of his life.

She was only 31.

She had gone to the Greater Accra Regional Hospital, popularly known as Ridge Hospital, expecting to have a scheduled Caesarean section and return home with her newborn.

Instead, she died.

Her husband says the circumstances surrounding her death have left him devastated and angry. He believes failures in the healthcare system and what he described as negligence and unprofessional conduct contributed to her death.

As he prepared to lay her to rest on Friday, August 28, 2026, he promised that her story would not end at the cemetery.

“The full truth will be told,” he wrote.

For him, this is no longer only about the loss of his wife. It is about ensuring that another husband does not receive the same devastating news.

It is about a mother who should have gone home with her daughter but instead had to mourn her.

It is about a newborn boy who will grow up knowing his mother only through photographs, memories and the stories his family will tell him.

And, increasingly, it is about a question many Ghanaians are asking: Why are women still dying while giving birth in a country where so much is known about how to prevent maternal deaths?

A tragedy that should not be normal

Pregnancy is supposed to end with a new beginning.

Families prepare clothes for the baby. Names are discussed. Rooms are arranged. Mothers count the days until they can finally hold their children.

But for some families in Ghana, childbirth has become a moment of unbearable uncertainty.

A woman can walk into a hospital pregnant, hopeful and looking forward to meeting her baby, only for the family to leave without her or both of them.

That reality is difficult to accept.

And it becomes even harder when the death is believed to have been preventable.

The story of Theresa has triggered anger and sadness on social media, with many people sharing their own experiences of childbirth, Caesarean sections, delays in receiving care and losing loved ones.

Some stories are difficult to read.

Some are stories of mothers who never returned home.

Others are stories of babies who survived but were left without their mothers.

Together, they paint a troubling picture of a maternal health crisis that cannot simply be reduced to statistics.

Behind every maternal death is a name.

A wife.

A daughter.

A sister.

A friend.

A mother.

And a family forced to continue living with an absence that can never be filled.

The numbers tell part of the story.

The Deputy Minister of Health, Dr Grace Ayensu-Danquah, recently described maternal mortality as the worst-performing health indicator among Ghana’s health indices.

She disclosed that Ghana recorded about 945 institutional maternal deaths in 2025.

She has called for a different approach to tackling the problem, stressing that the Ministry of Health cannot solve maternal mortality alone.

One of the concerns she identified is the failure to recognise high-risk pregnancies early enough and refer patients to facilities capable of providing specialised care.

That can mean the difference between life and death.

A pregnant woman who needs urgent attention cannot afford to wait.

A woman losing blood during childbirth cannot afford unnecessary delays.

A mother in distress cannot afford a system where responsibility is passed from one person to another.

Every minute matters.

Is a Caesarean section really safer?

For many expectant mothers, a Caesarean section is viewed as the safer option when complications arise.

Some women even tell friends and relatives that they would rather have a CS than go through normal delivery because they believe it offers greater protection.

But a Caesarean section is still major surgery.

It requires trained professionals, functioning equipment, blood when needed, proper monitoring and quick action when complications occur.

The procedure itself cannot guarantee safety if the healthcare system around it fails.

That is where the conversation must go deeper.

The question should not simply be whether a woman delivered naturally or through a Caesarean section.

The question should be whether she received the right care, at the right time, from the right people.

A woman should not have to die to become a mother

There is something deeply painful about maternal death.

A woman becomes pregnant because she is preparing to bring another human being into the world.

She carries that child for months, endures the physical and emotional demands of pregnancy, and finally arrives at the hospital expecting help.

Her only “crime” is being pregnant.

Yet, for some families, the reward for that journey is a funeral.

That should never become something Ghana accepts as normal.

Young husbands are becoming widowers.

Children are growing up without mothers.

Parents are burying daughters who should have been celebrating their babies.

And families are left asking whether something could have been done differently.

The anger is growing

The reaction to Theresa’s story shows that people are tired.

Many Ghanaians are no longer willing to see maternal deaths as unavoidable tragedies.

They want answers.

They want accountability.

They want hospitals where patients are attended to promptly.

They want health workers who understand that behind every patient is a family anxiously waiting for good news.

They want systems that work even when the hospital is busy.

And above all, they want women to feel safe when they walk into a health facility to give birth.

This is not an attack on every healthcare worker.

Thousands of doctors, nurses, midwives and other health professionals work under difficult conditions every day and save lives.

But good workers cannot compensate for a system that has gaps in supervision, staffing, equipment, emergency response and accountability.

Where failures occur, they must be investigated.

Where negligence is established, there must be consequences.

Where systems are broken, they must be fixed.

Theresa’s son will grow up without his mother

Perhaps the most painful part of Theresa’s story is the child she left behind.

Her husband now has to raise their son without the woman they both expected to have beside them.

The baby’s birthdays will come.

His first day at school will come.

His graduations will come.

There will be moments when he achieves something and instinctively looks for his mother.

But she will not be there.

That is the real cost of maternal mortality.

It does not end when a death certificate is issued.

It follows families for years.

It changes childhoods.

It changes marriages.

It changes futures.

Something has to change

Ghana cannot continue discussing maternal mortality only when another mother dies.

The country needs sustained action: better emergency response, stronger supervision of health facilities, improved referral systems, adequate staffing and equipment, and clear accountability when preventable failures occur.

Expectant mothers must also receive timely information and respectful care throughout pregnancy and childbirth.

Most importantly, maternal deaths must be investigated properly so that lessons are learned and the same mistakes are not repeated.

Theresa’s husband may never get his wife back.

Nothing can erase the pain of losing her at 31.

But perhaps her story can force a difficult conversation.

Perhaps it can push authorities to look more closely at what is happening in our hospitals.

Perhaps it can remind every healthcare worker that the woman lying on the hospital bed is not just another patient.

She is someone’s wife.

Someone’s daughter.

Someone’s sister.

And, very often, she is someone’s entire world.

No woman should have to fear that becoming a mother could cost her life.

Not in Accra.

Not in Kumasi.

Not in Tamale.

Not in any part of Ghana.

Pregnancy should bring hope, not fear.

Childbirth should mark the beginning of a life, not the end of one.

For Theresa, that chance was lost.

For the women who are still waiting to give birth, Ghana must do better.

ALSO READ:

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Prudential Bank Ladies celebrate IWD with candid talk on love, life, and livelihood https://www.adomonline.com/prudential-bank-ladies-celebrate-iwd-with-candid-talk-on-love-life-and-livelihood/ Mon, 30 Mar 2026 16:23:33 +0000 https://www.adomonline.com/?p=2646010 It was a scene of warmth, elegance, and candid conversation at Prudential Bank Limited’s Head Office as the Bank’s female staff came together to celebrate International Women’s Day (IWD).

Far from a formal corporate event, the gathering took the form of a serene “girls’ tea session,” complete with purple-themed decor, a hearty breakfast, and lunch. But the true highlight was the conversation, as three accomplished women shared insights during a panel discussion on the perennial challenges of “Work-Life Balance and Office Romance” in the demanding world of banking.

The panel featured Lilian Antwiwaa Asante, Head of Human Resources; Nancy Evelyn Korkor Oheneba-Dornyo, Unit Head for Branch & Channel Monitoring; and Elsie Kumordzi, Branch Manager at the Ring Road Central Branch.

The discussion quickly centered on the idea that “balance” might be a myth. Lilian Antwiwaa Asante challenged the concept, saying, “You can’t balance. Home comes to work, work comes to home.” She argued that the pursuit of perfect equilibrium is futile and suggested women focus on achieving equity instead.

Elsie Kumordzi shared her experience transitioning from a relaxed early career to a high-pressure banking environment, highlighting the strain it placed on her early relationship. Her advice: be “intentional” about carving out ‘me time’ amidst the chaos.

Nancy offered a compelling alternative, advocating for “Work-Life Integration” over balance. “In life, there’s no perfection anywhere,” she said, urging colleagues to prioritise well-being and self-care to avoid burnout.

When the conversation turned to office romance, the panel emphasised the importance of self-awareness and clear boundaries. The speakers agreed that a successful workplace relationship requires understanding personal values, respecting professional obligations, and maintaining mutual respect to ensure ambition and affection can coexist.

Organised by Prudential Bank’s Human Resources Department, the event aimed to inspire younger female staff, foster self-belief, and equip them with practical tools to excel both professionally and personally.

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Keche blesses fans with new single, Life [Video] https://www.adomonline.com/keche-blesses-fans-with-new-single-life-video/ Mon, 30 May 2022 16:08:30 +0000 https://www.adomonline.com/?p=2119776 Ghanaian music group, Keche, made up of Keche Andrew and Keche Joshua, has dropped its latest jam, Life.

The song encourages fans never to give up on the struggles of life, urging people to focus on their doings and not those of others.

In an interview on Adom FM’s Ofie Kwanso, where the song was premiered for the first time, Keche Joshua said they were inspired by ‘living a life that doesn’t condemn others’.

Someone might be wondering how long you have been doing your job or driving your car. They think it’s easy to get those things. Don’t look at someone’s style and think they got it easy. If life was easy… The song explains itself. You don’t have to judge anyone because life is not easy, they told the host Jerry Justice.

Meanwhile, speaking on why they refused to jump on trends, Keche said they stay “sidelined” to their own genre because trends die with time.

According to Keche Joshua, their motive for staying away from trends stemmed from the late Ghanaian musician Castro ‘Underfire’.

I don’t remember the last time we wanted to follow the trend. We never thought about Azonto. We are the party guys. I feel like if you are not talented, that’s when you hop onto trends.

One thing I love and learned about Castro is that, he doesn’t know trends. When he comes to Kaywa, he will tell him, ‘I have something in my head, let’s do it’.

For us Keche, we create the song and if we get the beat, we do it and move along. When you follow trends, and it dies, you die with it, Keche Joshua maintained.

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I saw my life flashed before my eyes – Fella Makafui recounts how she almost lost her life https://www.adomonline.com/i-saw-my-life-flashed-before-my-eyes-fella-makafui-recounts-how-she-almost-lost-her-life/ Sun, 20 Mar 2022 15:46:10 +0000 https://www.adomonline.com/?p=2093419 Ghanaian actress and businesswoman, Precious Fella Makafui Frimpong, has narrated a health condition she suffered recently that would have possibly spelt her end.

Taking to her verified Twitter page, Fella Makafui said she woke up in high spirits and full of health up until sometime later at work.

According to her, she felt her life flash before her very eyes so quickly and she thought it was going to be her last day on earth.

Fella Makafui said she was rushed to the hospital on the afternoon of March 18, 2022, not knowing what her fate was going to be.

She went on to indicate that things were restored for her and was grateful to have seen a new day.

The YOLO actress thanked God for her life and added that she was going to work more on her health and also ensure she would fulfil her dreams before the unexpected happened.

Her post on Twitter read:

I saw my life flashed before my eyes yesterday !! The whole thing happened fast and if it was the opposite I think that would’ve been it !! Went to work healthy and was rushed to the hospital in the afternoon. I woke up today grateful for life and most importantly learnt to take care of myself first before anything!!

I need to make time for my health, live life with no excuses (which I’m used to…I don’t want to die one day and regret not doing all the things I wished to do while I can !! Moral lesson of the day TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF FIRST!!

Check out the tweets below:

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29 years of life as Michael Owusu Addo – Lessons learnt from Sarkodie’s career https://www.adomonline.com/29-years-life-michael-owusu-addo-lessons-learnt-sarkodies-career/ Tue, 11 Jul 2017 06:15:43 +0000 http://35.232.176.128/ghana-news/?p=283071 Twenty-nine years on earth can be long enough a time to do a lot of things; to make petty and grave mistakes and to achieve things that are bigger than the world.
Ghana’s Rap King Sarkodie turned 29 years on July 10th and over this 29-year period, he’s done so much for himself and for mother Ghana.
I first encountered Sarkodie through the radio. He was performing on Adom FM’s Kasahare Level and his style was one that I fell in love with. With his ‘speedster’ freestyle form, Sarkodie would bully the other underground rappers on the show and always swept the votes. It got to the point where I got angry whenever anyone voted for any artiste other than Sarkodie on the show.
Since then, this rapper has moved on to craft quality art, to win awards, to perform before international audiences of repute, to mentor university students and to create businesses; both failed and successful. Oh and let me not forget his marriage to Tracy.

Sarkodie has gone through what we can call the ‘hustle refinery’ and has emerged a strong and vibrant brand that shall stand the test of time. Although he said that he has often looked up to Obrafour in his music career, Sarkodie has grown to do more than the living legend did; giving credence to the track that the two did together: ‘Okodie.’
If there is one thing that I have learnt from Sarkodie, it is that no matter how far and hard life pushes you, you should have the sense of purpose and direction to make sure that you stay on course. Always have a plan and stick to it.
So, until we celebrate 30 years of Sarkodie’s life on Mother Earth, it’s one time for your man, Obidiponbidi.

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Why I had to terminate my baby’s life https://www.adomonline.com/terminate-babys-life/ Mon, 15 May 2017 07:48:08 +0000 http://35.232.176.128/ghana-news/?p=118651 Last year, stand-up comedian Lou Conran had to end her pregnancy at 22 weeks – five-and-a-half months. She is now preparing a show about the experience for the Edinburgh festival, hoping this will encourage people to talk about a subject that is often covered in a blanket of silence.

Last year I had to end my pregnancy because my little girl was too ill go full term. It was devastating and there’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.

One thing I have learned over the past year, is just how many people go through an experience like this, and yet it’s simply not spoken about.

Is it because people don’t know what to say? Is it because people are frightened of upsetting you, or is it simply because it’s just too tragic a situation to even comprehend. That it’s easier to say nothing?

Who knows?

Half the battle with baby loss is dealing with other people’s reaction to it

One thing you do have to deal with is the well-intended people who panic so much about saying the right thing that nine times out of 10 they get it completely wrong, much to my amusement.

Among the inappropriate comments I had last year, were:

1) “Oh you’ve got loads of presents. You should lose a baby more often.”

2) “We’ve had a chat and we’d like to offer you our sperm.” (Five days after I’d given birth)

3) “You’ve lost weight, how’ve you done that?”

Half the battle with baby loss is dealing with other people’s reaction to it, and to you, and not only have you got all that going on but of course there’s the admin to deal with.

I’d signed up to the usual websites, Boots Mother & Baby pages, Mothercare, the “What fruit is your baby most like?” apps (which led to anxiety for a week, when it was a grapefruit, because I was convinced I was going to hate my child… I hate grapefruit) Also, the baby name sites, hypnobirthing and NCT.

Cancelling these however, isn’t as easy as just clicking a button to subscribe. There should be another button that says, “Oh dear, you’re no longer pregnant, we’re so sorry, press here and we’ll say no more.” But there isn’t. And then there are the Facebook targeted ads. And the junk mail. And and and. The list is endless.

When I got pregnant at the age of 41, it was a shock to say the least. It wasn’t supposed to happen because three years earlier, medical types had told me my dusty womb was barren.

It was wonderful but it completely floored me.

At the 12-week scan I was nervous. I was scared my baby would be diagnosed with one of the three conditions they were looking for: Downs, Edwards or Patau’s. I hadn’t heard of the other two, but Downs I thought was a high risk given my age. If the baby had had any of these then I guess that I’d have dealt with it.

The test results came back and all was fine. Except me. I couldn’t get excited. My midwife said that your pregnancy controls you, you don’t control it and in hindsight it makes sense now. At the time I put my lack of enthusiasm down to the fact that I felt absolutely awful. Sickness morning, noon and night. Having to nip off at gigs to vomit in between acts was a joy.

It wasn’t until I asked what sex the baby was that it hit me

At the next scan, I was excited, for the first time in five months. My friend came with me. We were excited to find out the flavour of the baby. Then, suddenly, I heard the sonographer say: “I’m just going to stop the scan here. I’m seeing irregularities that I wouldn’t normally expect to see at this stage.”

I just lay there, wondering what she was on about. She pointed out that the baby wasn’t well. Its body wasn’t growing the way it should. Its limbs were shorter than expected and there was a possibility that the baby had skeletal dysplasia, a condition I hadn’t even heard of, let alone considered.

“Is it because I don’t drink milk?” I asked, panicking, and thinking I hadn’t been doing the right things. “No. It’s nothing you’ve done; it’s unfortunately one of those things. It means that the sperm and egg just weren’t compatible during conception.”

She sent us to another hospital for a second opinion straight away, but in the car I knew it was game over. I just knew. The second hospital confirmed it with a bit more detail. The bones weren’t growing properly, the main issue being with the ribcage.

It didn’t feel real. It was like she was talking to someone else and it wasn’t until I asked what sex the baby was that it hit me. The sonographer confirmed it was a girl and suddenly it – she – became a real person, instead of this little alien growing inside me. Knowing her chest and ribcage were crushing her lungs was devastating.

I was booked in to see a foetal consultant the following week and the days in between were the longest of my life. All I wanted to do was sleep and not wake up until it was over.

“Your baby won’t survive outside of the womb,” the consultant said. “She could live a day but her lungs just won’t cope.”

Game over. I had to terminate my baby’s life.

Period pain they said, it might be a bit worse than period pain – yep, well, it was

The main question for me was, would I have to give birth to her? I couldn’t bear the idea of having to go through that. And my worst fears were confirmed. It wouldn’t be safe for me to do otherwise.

I started the process that afternoon. You get given a tablet that prepares the womb. You go home. You wait two days and then you’re booked into hospital where they induce you, and the worst day of your life begins. They call this “medical management”.

My friend came with me. She was amazing, as were the nurses. Like, amazingly fabulous. So sensitive to the situation. And step by step they talked me through what was going to happen.

You’re bombarded with questions. Do you want a post mortem? Do you want to see her when she’s born? What about the funeral? Gahhhhhh! I don’t know. The only thing I did know was that I definitely wanted her body to be left to medical research. Something positive had to come out of this, and if she could help answer a few questions about her condition then this had to be the right thing to do.

If you’ve ever been induced in pregnancy, you’ll know it’s not a picnic. It was around 3pm, and they put hormone tablets up into my cervix.

Period pain they said, it might be a bit worse than period pain. Yep. Well, it was. For a bit, then it got worse. I was given diamorphine around 6.30pm and I managed to float off with the fairies for a few hours, until it wore off and the pain was unbearable.

The doctors had only signed me off to have one shot of morphine, so the nurse went off to get me signed off for another one, and while she was out of the room, my waters broke.

I had been instructed to give birth over a bedpan in the toilet (I know, glamorous). My mate was with me and held my hand and my baby was born pretty much straight away, over the loo, around 9.50pm. Classy. We waited for the nurse to come back and then this is when the fun began because I couldn’t birth the placenta.

The nurse bought her in, in a tiny Moses basket – se was wrapped up like a new-born baby

I had to get back to the bed so the nurse followed me back, holding my baby between my legs, because she was still connected to me via the umbilical cord and the placenta, which wouldn’t shift. I pushed. I really pushed but nothing.

The baby was detached and taken away. The nurse spoke to her like she was a little person, like she existed, like she was my daughter, which was so comforting.

Then it all got a bit bonkers. The bed was surrounded by people, a doctor tried to manually remove the placenta, which was the single most painful thing during the whole scenario. That didn’t work, and I was rushed down to theatre.

I had an epidural. By this point I was tired, drugged, slightly delirious, and could not care less about what was happening to me.

The day after, I was checked over, I got my legs back and I was anxious to go home. I knew at some point the nurse would come back and ask if I wanted to see her. I hadn’t been sure I would want to, but I knew if I didn’t meet her I would regret it for the rest of my life. I was just dreading it because I didn’t know what to expect.

The nurse bought her in, in a tiny Moses basket. She was wrapped up like a new-born baby and covered in knitted blankets, a little knitted toy by her side.

Her head was larger than I had anticipated and a reddy purple in colour but her little face was pink. Her tiny nose and mouth were perfect. The nurse took out her fingers, which were tiny and I just couldn’t believe this little person had been growing, in her own little way, inside me.

A new born baby hand in mother's palmImage caption I was sorry for not ever getting to meet her properly.

She was amazing. Yes she looked odd. Yes, she looked alien-like at first glance but when you’d been with her for a bit, you stopped seeing the unusual bits and just saw this little girl’s face and fingers. My little girl’s face and fingers. She looked so fragile, so delicate.

I stroked her tiny cheek, and she was cold to the touch but she felt so soft. I kissed my finger and kissed her cheek with it and all I could do was say sorry to her. I was sorry for not ever getting to meet her properly, for not being able to do the things other mums did with their daughters, for not being able to feed her, or change her nappy, or be a mum to her. I felt so sorry for that.

The hospital took photos of her and gave them to me in a card with her name on it. I can’t show those pictures to anyone because they wouldn’t see the baby that I saw. They wouldn’t see my daughter’s beautiful face. They would see her illness. I don’t need to hear what other people think. There are no words in this situation. And I wouldn’t want them.

After the worst week of my life had been and gone I did what I always do when I’m upset and stressed beyond comprehension, and that was to move all the furniture around in my flat, and clean it within an inch of its life, stinking of Eau de Domestos for about a week.

I started to try and get rid of all the baby things I’d bought. I’d bought a sterilising unit and gave that to my friend who had just had a baby, I’d bought a cot, and gave that to my friend who was due a baby, and I began to make patchwork blankets for other friends, that were having babies. I was surrounded by babies. Everywhere. But what do I do? Ignore my wonderful friends because of their good fortune and never see them again? No. I love them.

There we all were, all of us affected by the personal tragedy in front of us, in a box

I managed to create a massive blanket, and it’s beautiful. Unfortunately you can’t use it as a blanket because I managed to leave most of the pins in it and I can’t get to them to take them out because I’ve sewn the backing on, and I’d have to unstitch the whole thing, so it’s in a box in my room, as it’s basically a health and safety nightmare. But it was a good distraction leading up to the funeral.

When I went to buy a waterproof mascara the week before, I wasn’t prepared for the cashier to ask what it was for.

“Sorry?”

“The waterproof mascara. Wedding or funeral?”

“Oh… funeral.”

“Was it anyone close?” and for a split second I didn’t know what to say. I’d not had to tell anyone I didn’t know yet and so I just said, “My daughter.”

She gave me my change and walked off crying. It’s weird hugging a stranger because you’ve made them cry with your situation. I got used to it in the end because most of my friends cried when I told them, and in the end I got hardened to the fact that I’d have to comfort other people when it should have been the other way round.

Stone statue of a child holding a cross in a cemeteryImage caption The funeral was almost as harrowing as the birth itself

The amazing hospital organised my daughter’s funeral alongside others that hadn’t made it that month.

Unfortunately due to an error with bank holiday dates, my parents and I were a week early and inadvertently turned up at an old man’s funeral, which is exactly how I love spending my spare time with my parents. So we went home that evening, drank a shed load of wine and had another go the following week.

The real funeral was almost as harrowing as the birth itself, but it’s important to acknowledge these little lives.

All the caskets were placed at the front of the chapel and there was a 30-minute service. The grief in that room was claustrophobic but weirdly comforting. There we all were, all of us affected by the personal tragedy in front of us, in a box. I wanted to talk to the other mums, I wanted to hear their stories, I wanted us all to be united in our grief. But, typically, in our very British way, we all went about our business, heads down.

It’s been just over a year now, and I’m over the milestones that I was worried about. Christmas, Mother’s Day and her birthday. But I strive on. I’m trying to write my Edinburgh show about what has happened (I know it’s sure to be a barrel of laughs… insert scared face emoticon here). And through adversity positivity reigns, and hopefully writing about it will help people who have to endure this pain, and educate others.

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