Curiosity led me to wake up early in the morning to walk to
the place where the Annual Retreat of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana is
taking place. They have put up a giant tent near the stadium, where a good two
thousand people can gather. By the time I got there at 8:30 am it was about
half full, so I got a good seat, and by 9 am the place was packed. The church
has all sorts of high power amplifiers, giant screens, and enough electronic
equipment to launch a satellite.
When I first got there two young deacons were rapping at
full volume, exchanging throaty shouts that I couldn’t understand. They kept it
up for a good few minutes, and the exchange was clearly raising the fervor
among the attendants, who joined in the shouting and mumbled under their
breath. Then came a chorus, and another young deacon (dressed like the others
in jeans, t-shirt and ball cap), and for nearly an hour we sang in rapture
beautiful psalms although I could see the fervor was starting to boil, until a
dozen of people started having convulsions. This was an expected effect, for
the organization included a sufficient number of aides to restrain the
thrashing people, who one way or other were dragged to the front. They were the
vessel through which the Lord chose to speak to their congregation, and we
heard four or five of them speak the message of the Lord in between screams or
chilling bouts of laughter.
To ease the mood, the next deacon asked the people to dance
to the music, and in short few minutes the tone of the crowd changed from
solemn to joyous. A young man and his guitar then came on stage, and
accompanied a series of other deacons who engaged in a more harmonious rapping,
which with the backdrop of the guitar sounded more like cowboy poetry than rap.
The final music was provided by an ensemble of men, who
played percussion instruments and sang, and once again moved the crowd into
joyous dancing. By then we had been there for a couple of hours, and I for one
started to feel restless. But I wanted to hear the pastor speak, so I held my
peace in the best way I knew. We wnte through another round of testimony (which
I cynically thought was directed toward opening the purses of the attendants to
the collection), and we finally approached the moment of the peroration. The
speaker (for I am not sure he was a pastor) was introduced at length by a
deacon who stressed that we had to listen very carefully not on account of what
we were going to hear, but because the Apostle General had approved the
speaker. So now I know the head of the Presbyterian Church is the Apostle
General, whoever he might be.
The speaker was a financial advisor, CEO of his own company,
who proceeded to give a mixed pitch of the importance of investing in
securities, and how the power of compound interest guides us through the Lord’s
path, and thus is the way to make the church strong and financially secure.
There was a dab of spirituality in his words, but overall I was sorely
disappointed that this speech had been the culmination of 3 hours of religious
fervor.
After I came back home I started to work in my computer, and
was happily getting ready to upload my blogs to the internet when someone
knocked at my door. A smiling man expressed some surprise of seeing me very
much at ease and at home, and told me they expected for me to have already
gone. No, I responded, I won’t be leaving for another couple of days, early in
the morning of Monday. “But this room is being given to a new guest”, he
informed me. Well, that was some sort of news. So I pledged ignorance, sticking
to the fact that I was not scheduled to leave for a couple more days, and he
politely asked me to come talk down with the General Manager of Volta Hall.
I had met this lady before, and in a very amiable way we
went through the whole puzzle again. So she pulled the letter of reservation
she had from USAC, and sure enough it requested the room from June 30 to July
29. “Well, I guess they made a mistake”, I said in my most innocent voice, “I
really don’t have any suggestions to make”. The Manager thought for a moment
and said “Well, we cannot ask you to leave, so I will have to figure out
something else. But they should really have told us.” I remained silent, with
downcast demeanor, and quietly slid out the door. It is a pity, but at this
stage of the game I have zero interest of moving my stuff to a new place. Lo que
será, será!
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