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