Tuesday 10 May 2011

The Ogyakrom Charismatic Preacher: Part-Magician, Part-Voodoo Priest & Juju-Man - A Short Story By Kofi Thomoson

When Kojo Asem's friend Yaw Bonu-Nsempa, visited him at his home, he was astonished that Asem could put up with what to him amounted to noise at unacceptable decibel levels and asked him: "This is easily one of the most outrageous and provocative examples of persistent public nuisance cases that I have ever come across, Kojo. How can you tolerate such noise?"

As it happened, Kojo Asem lived within shouting-distance of what his friend Yaw Bonu-Nsempa, with some considerable wit, said had to be, "The religious world's equivalent of three super-competitive micro-enterprises in the lucrative business of selling hope, each belting out, in ruthless competition for available potential paying-customers, eardrum-damaging decibel levels of music."

Needless to say, the loud songs were interspersed with equally-loud sermons filled with promises-galore - of a cornucopia of material benefits said to be coming the believers' who worshipped with them's way: courtesy the power conferred upon the sundry men of God who preached to them. And all of them firm in their belief that they were somehow blessed with a direct link to God Almighty - who had also apparently given them miracle-producing powers.

In a superstition-ridden nation full of what a social-commentator once described as fence-sitting moral cowards, and hypocrites, who never spoke out openly against anything, those Ogyakrom "spiritual churches" were amongst the biggest noise makers, going.

But they were getting away with it, because most of those they were inconveniencing, were too frightened of being labelled by those selfish modern-day Pharasees as agents of the Devil, to protest against their selfish and callous disregard of others' fundamental human rights.

Kojo Asem, however, liked to think that he had thus far put up with his share of those infernal "anointed" noise-makers, because of his enlightened personal live-and-let-live philosophy of life.

In his view, it had enabled him endure that regular racket for nearly fifteen years, all told - during which the blessed culprits had multiplied from the original two to the present-day four. Such was life.

Luckily for him, he planned to leave the house in question at the end of the year. He had no doubt that some of the anointed-snobs, blessed online hackers and born-again peeping-Toms (imagine that: supposedly Godly individuals, who were online hackers and peeping-Toms. The mind boggles, dear reader!), who lived in the area, would be glad to see the back of him - as he was not their idea of an ideal neighbour.

It amused him that despite evidence to the contrary, in the shape of the kiosks, car sellers' yards, car mechanics' workshops and charcoal sellers springing up as squatters to carry on business regularly, they still insisted that the neighbourhood was a "first-class residential area" - despite its downwards journey along the slippery slope from its once-genteel and high-pedestal past, towards a new station in life as a veritable shanty town.

He hoped, for their sake, that whoever came to live in the house, in his stead, after he had departed from it, would not be as irreverent as he was, and would rather be the type of person that was enthralled to those who believed that they had the power of God Almighty vested in them - and received direct communication from him too: on top of that particular aforementioned blessing.

Worst still, in the view of his religious neighbours, was that in addition to being an agnostic, another of Kojo Asem's many sins, was the fact that rather than have a well-kept lawn, when he was not growing corn and vegetables in it, he insisted on keeping what should have been his garden, as a haven for all manner of living creatures, such as: birds; butterflies; lizards and other reptiles that took up residence there at such periods, as well as the few stray cats, who had the good sense to drop in on them, from time to time too, to enjoy the earthly paradise of the people-free, natural and relatively-wild urban-space, created for them to enjoy, by a nature-loving part-time recluse and eccentric full-time writer.

Well-known amongst his small circle of acquaintances (and even smaller number of friends!), for being a blunt no-nonsense fellow, who didn't suffer fools gladly, no one who visited
Kojo Asem and heard the noise from the "spiritual churches" (that hemmed him in and assailed him without let or mercy!) failed to ask in amazement, how he could possibly stay sane, with all that din going on.

Being an original-thinker, and someone who luckily always sought and found the positive in even the most negative of situations, that outrageous noise made by the churches around him, often made
Kojo Asem wonder, what it was in their national psyche, which stopped the good people of Ogyakrom from copying the brutal efficiency of the government of Rwanda - which found a rather neat solution to the problem of noisy "spiritual" churches: government approval for only church buildings that had been sound-proofed, for Christian worship in that dynamic little African nation ruled with such an iron-fist, by the prickly and criticism-averse President Paul Kagame.

And often times, amidst that selfish and inconsiderate noise-making,
Kojo Asem wondered, if perhaps the end-time - during which the Holy Bible says all manner of churches and men of God would mushroom in nation after nation around the globe - was not now actually upon the people of Ogyakrom.

And as a friend put it: "Why all this fervent headache-inducing and wholly unnecessary racket, Kojo - given that God can hear even a whisper from the outer reaches of the Universe?" Why, indeed, dear reader, when God can even read the unspoken thoughts going through our minds, do they need to make such a racket, one wonders?

It was at such times that Kojo Asem also pondered, how lucky people like him would be, were Christianity to be similar to Islam, in one respect: that one couldn't found a church and denomination of one's own.

Incredibly, in the nearly fifteen years that he had lived in that part of the Ogyakrom suburb of Obiara-Enye-Obiara Amantem, he had never once heard any of the masters of the universe (whose materialistic sermons he was forced to endure regularly!), talk about character, the need to live a life above reproach always, and to be Christ-like in one's day-to-day interactions with others, by living an ethics-based lifestyle underpinned by compassion.

It never ceased to amaze him that the focus of so many of today's "spiritual church" preachers had shifted so dramatically from Christianity as a character-forming worship of God, and fellowship with like-minded souls to enable one stay on the straight and narrow path.

Today, the impression one got, was that the "spiritual churches" were focused on Christianity as a reward-system: in which, through miracle-producing pastors, the dreams and material desires of the believers who paid the most cash, were supposed to be met - by the present-day Ogyakrom equivalent, of preachers who were in effect, composite figures moulded into one, from a combination of the pre-colonial era fetish priest, voodoo priest and juju-man of the folklore of ancient times (all of whom, incidentally, also conjured for sundry seekers of riches and other favours in their day - and under the selfsame African sun that has shone since the very beginning of time).

Yet, curiously, when it came to their own material well-being and personal sustenance, those selfsame "spiritual churches" did not want to rely solely on the mercy of God Almighty. Miracles and visions did not come into that all-important business, for them at all. For that, the religious world's equivalent of a ponzi-scheme, which was their business model, had to be abandoned! That was for losers - and they, naturally, were mega-winners: selling empty dreams for hard cash. And hard cash is King!

Alas, the famous "offering" and "tithes" had to come from the pockets, wallets and purses of the lucky and plucky souls they sold impossible dreams and futile hope to, in those holy miracle-production entities (otherwise known as "spiritual churches!"), across the length and breadth of the landmass of the sovereign territory of the Ogyakrom nation-state.

It struck Kojo Asem, that when he was growing up as a young boy, character-formation and consideration for one's fellow human beings in one's daily life, was the objective of the Presbytarian minister; his Anglican colleague as well as his Methodist, Baptist and Roman Catholic counterparts.

In those good old days, when charlatans of any hue and type, hardly existed in all of Ogyakrom, people did not "found" churches. Those who felt they had a "calling" would go to a highly-respected church seminary, to train as priests and ministers of God.

Kojo Asem felt that perhaps the question Ogyakrom's doubting Thomases ought to ask, was: Were today's "spiritual church" pastors indeed part-magicians, part-voodoo priests and jujumen, all rolled into one super born-again Christian preacher? The trump-card of the aforementioned preachers, was that the threat of being labelled a "Devil" stopped the average person from treating them with anything other than the proverbial kid gloves.

But, certainly, there were many ordinary Ogyakrom citizens who he was sure would certainly concur that a majority of those colourful characters, could be safely described as part-magician, part-voodoo priest and jujuman.

Did the evidence not consist of the magic-like solutions they offered the Holy-ghost-punters, who flocked to their miracle-production centres in their numbers, to hear their vociferous something-for-nothing preaching of wealth and prosperous times to come?

Although it was nearly midnight, the earnest folk at the Caring and Sharing Miracle Church International were at it again, as Kojo Asem yawned whiles he shuffled towards the bedroom, in his not-at-home-ever German medical doctor wife's flip-flops, which were way too big for him, to turn in for the night - after completing his revision of that day's writing.

The confounded din was a small contributory factor to his beloved Afia Broni's estrangement from him, he reminded himself. How could he expect the personification of efficiency and orderliness to put up with such a racket - that potent daily reminder that inefficiency and disorder were the distinguishing features of the Ogyakrom system?

How he missed her German organisational abilities and efficiency - but this was Africa, not some tropical Teutonic Fatherland. What did she expect - why did the woman not show some compassion, for goodness sake?

The voice of its newest man of God, whom he had nicknamed Falsetto, on account of his being gifted with a hilarious falsetto singing-voice intruded into his thoughts, carried along by the breeze wafting in through the open windows, as Presiding Bishop Dr. Oboniyefuor's booming bass-voice trailed off with its usual bombastic edge to it, "Are you hearing me, somebody? I said, are you hearing me, somebody? Holy Ghost fire. Holy Ghost fiiiiireeee! Hey bababababa, hey bababababa, bababababa, bababababa bababababa, Aaaaaameeennnn."

"Absolute gibberish," intoned Kojo Asem, to himself. Another day's end, and yet another night's all-night service in full swing at the Caring and Sharing Miracle Church International. "Hmmm, life," Kojo Asem said wistfully, as he looked forward to the move to the new house at the end of the year.

"What bliss that would be," he mumbled to himself, as he turned to lie on his left side, in anticipation of drifting off into yonder beckoning dreamland - and leaving the desperate souls in search of their miracle-produced riches, to their own devices.

They could look forward to their own all-night dreams - of the riches that would be conjured for them tonight, but which would manifest some day, at some indeterminate point in time going forward, in their empty, frustrated and desperate lives, by the part-magicians, part-voodoo priests and jujumen at the miracle-production centre, otherwise known as the Caring and Sharing Miracle Church International.

Then suddenly, out of the blue, like a bolt of lightening searing through the darkness outside, Falsetto suddenly let out an eerie scream, as if possessed: "Halleluuuuujaaaaah!" And an almighty roar in response, came charging back from the Holy-ghost-punters: "Aaaaaaaaaaameeeennnnn!"

It was like a twenty-vehicle convoy of eighteen-wheeler juggernauts, with shorn exhausts, gone crazy revving up on a slip-road junction, leading unto a busy highway that they were impatient to get unto. It was so charged with emotional energy, it sounded as if it could be heard in the whole of Ogyakrom and beyond, right up to the heavens. It was going to be another of those long nights, Kojo Asem knew.

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