Trotro matters: My encounter with a bully of a Prophet

You recall me telling you about my trotro experience with a prophet
whose loud voice, crude mannerisms and terrifying delivery of the
gospel of Christ virtually barred me from making or receiving phone
calls all through my journey from Tema to Dzorwulu.

When I couldn't bear the noise levels any longer, I mustered courage
to politely alert him on how his sermon was bothering me and all other
commuters who were too scared to talk. I called out to him. "Papa
Osofo, can you kindly tone it ….." Before I could finish my carefully
rehearsed speech, the man choked on the words, "Did I hear you say
tone it down". I gasped and nodded concurrently as if I didn't
understand English any longer. From the silence I felt all around me,
it finally dawned on me I was all alone in this fight.

He continued, "Boys of today, when you are preaching, that's the time
they'll fix their earpiece to listen to useless music; when they're
done listening to their music, they will ask you to tone down.
Devils!" Now, all eyes were on me as I sat sweating, speechless and
profusely nervous. I had finally met my meeter in a trotro surrounded
by beautiful. ladies. Yawa kwraaaa.

Realizing my lyrics had failed me for the first time, I confidently
plugged my earpiece into my ears, and raised the collar of my shirt to
create the impression I couldn't be bothered. Only I knew that was
fake. While pretending to be tough, I couldn't wait to either get to
my destination or for him to bring the sermon to an end. Luckily, the
latter happened quickly as if the guy could read minds. I couldn't be
bothered though; at least my wish for a quiet atmosphere was happening
shortly.

The pastor (I don't recall how he introduced himself) asked for an
offering from all commuters who felt touched. I quickly took GHS 10
out of my pocket and gave it to him. The man watched the money with
amusement, affected a giggle to make it seem like he'd been kidding
and suddenly wanted to lighten the mood in the vehicle. I still
remained quiet in my seat knowing fairly well my fat offering had
taken him by surprise.

A little while, the pastor said: "Boss take my number and call me
later tonight. The Lord has told me something about your future". I
took the number, shook my head in my mind's eye and told the mate I'll
be alighting at the next stop. The prophet's face fell rough.

As for calling him, it's a complete no no. I have passed the stage
where men tell me what God said just because I was coerced to give an
offering. On a lighter note, this prophet revealed so
many soft spots I never knew I had. For example, I could never have
imagined my eloquent self could ever be speechless or extremely polite
when I had every good reason. not to be. A-S-E-M.


By: Paa Kwesi Forson

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