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The Prophet (part 11)
Priscilla had gone away. She needed to pay an old debt, and the creditor had promised to visit violence on her whole family if she didn’t pay the GH¢700 by 8pm. Another woman was waiting in the other bedroom. He was about to join her when the voices started.
“You are here already?” Antubam said. “You deserted me completely as I went through the ordeal this morning.”
“Your own stubbornness got you into that situation. You must never approach those book people again. Do not get into any argument with them. Enjoy the money, the power and the women we have given you. You can never win.”
“And what about the man, Gidigidi.”
“The stick will give you all the protection you need. He talks a lot, and he likes fighting. But as you told him, he has no brains.”
“I need people to help me. The two girls were reliable, but they are gone. All the others are thieves.”
“They are thieves? And what are you? Remember that in the business you have chosen, there are many risks and dangers. We will try to help you. But you are very greedy’.
“The girl, Betty, told me that I will receive punishment sooner or later for deceiving people and for using the name of God. Is it true? Can you help me avoid this punishment?”
“Don’t worry about any punishment. Leave everything to us. We will give you all the protection you need. And by the way, the fetish priestess has made a request to Nana Kofi Broni to release you to her one day every month to keep her company.”
“That must be a very big joke. I will never, never again sleep with that old drunkard with rotten teeth. Never.’’
“She has already presented drinks at the shrine. If you don’t go, we are under instructions to fly you there by five o’clock and take you back home by six o’clock. If you don’t obey, your manhood will vanish and never return’.
“Have you people come to help me or torment me? Why can’t you find someone else to satisfy the old witch’s desires?”
“Next time you say such a thing again you will receive more lashes than you did last time. Start preparing for Sunday’s service. You are about to become the most popular prophet in Ghana.” The voices seized, and a strange silence seized the atmosphere.
Antubam was perplexed. What, he wondered, had he gotten himself into? He only wanted to grab that beautiful girl, Betty, marry her and have five or six beautiful children with her. But his desire for that girl seemed to have released a chain of confusing events.
Apart from the fiasco at the shrine for which he had to go and perform pacification rites at the shrine, he was compelled to have sex with that stinking old priestess. Her mirrors couldn’t bring up the image of Betty, yet she blackmailed him into having sex with her. And now the dwarfs want him to make that repulsive act a monthly ritual.
How annoying. But could he afford to lose his manhood? What would he do with the regular supply of two women a day? And how could he give birth to children? And what was he going to do with the threat from that fool of a competitor, Gidigidi? The stick provided by the Okomfo saved him on that occasion, but what would happen when he was eating, having a shower, or sleeping?
And now the dwarfs claim he was about to become one of the most popular prophets in Ghana. He was thrilled at the prospect. It meant more money, more power and control over people’s lives, and of course, more women. But at what cost? At the back of his mind, he felt an urge to go to Betty, confess everything to her, and ask her to help him start all over.
It was clear, Antubam thought, that a power far greater than Nana Kofi Broni was behind Betty. From their own mouths, the Okomfo, the stinking priestess and even the dwarfs had all indicated that Betty and her ‘book’ were too much for them.
But did it make sense to go to a girl you badly want to subdue and, having failed to achieve your aim, now go to her for help? How could a proud man like Kofi Antubam go through that? No, the cost of going to Betty was too high. He would continue to enjoy being a false prophet for now. Perhaps, if he got into trouble sometime in the future, he would go to her for help. But as for now, the show must go on.
Betty and Mary started work with Morrison Construction, and established a relationship that continued for many years. Completely satisfied with their honesty and hard work, Mr Morrison entrusted the acquisition and supply of materials in the Eastern Region to them, and concentrated on the other aspects of his work.
He paid for their admission to the University of Technology to undertake a sandwich programme in building construction, which they did online and on some weekends. They forgot about Antubam completely.
Kofi Antubam continued in the church business for many years. He became very popular for his miracles, and for several other things. On a few occasions police were called to the church premises to control his assistants who often exchanged blows over the sharing of money.
Quite a number of husbands confronted him for destroying their marriages, and he became known for raining insults on radio callers who asked him ‘stupid questions’. But he faced his main problem at home.
At first, he was only dealing with dwarfs who only spoke in shrill voices. But over time, all manner of creatures appeared before him, physically and during his sleep. On several occasions he tried to call or go to Betty, but the dwarfs restrained him. He sought solace in whisky and gin, and quietly hoped that Betty, or Mary, or Suzzie, would find a way to save him.
“That must be a very big joke. I will never, never again sleep with that old drunkard with rotten teeth. Never.’’
By Ekow de Heer
Walk into any supermarket in Accra, Kumasi, or Tamale today, and you will see the modern Ghanaian diet packaged as ‘progress.’ You will see breakfast cereals with cartoon mascots, fruit drinks that are mostly sugar and colour, and snacks promising energy and happiness in bright fonts.
Even products loaded with salt and unhealthy fats often wear a health halo labeled as fortified or natural, while the real nutritional risk is hidden in tiny print on the back. This is not just a consumer inconvenience; it is a public health blind spot. Ghana is living through a silent surge of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension, diabetes, and stroke.
These conditions quietly drain household income and steal productive years. According to the Ghana Health Service (GHS) and World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates, NCDs are now responsible for nearly 45 per cent of all deaths in Ghana.
We cannot build a healthy nation on a food environment designed to confuse people at the point of purchase. Ghana must mandate simple front-of-pack warning labels (FOPWL) on high-sugar, high-salt, and high-fat packaged foods because consumers deserve truth at a glance, and industry must be pushed to reformulate.
Why Back-of-Pack Labels Are Not Enough
In theory, consumers can read nutrition panels. In reality, most Ghanaians shop under pressure, limited time, rising prices, and children tugging at their sleeves. The back label is a relic that requires a high cognitive load to interpret—essentially, the seller knows what is inside, but the buyer cannot easily tell.
This ‘information asymmetry’ is not fair. It is not consumer choice when the information needed to choose well is deliberately difficult to find.
Simple warning labels like the black octagons used in the Chilean Model act as a ‘stop-and-think’ nudge. They do not ban products but they simply tell the truth so people can decide.
Reshaping Our Food Environment
A generation ago, Ghana’s meals were mostly home-prepared, like kenkey and banku with soups and stews. Today, ultra-processed foods have become the norm, especially in urban areas. Children are growing up with sugary drinks and salty snacks as everyday items, not occasional treats.
If Ghana is serious about prevention, we must act where decisions are made—thus, the shelf. Warning labels protect parents from sugar traps and pressure the market to improve. When warning labels are mandatory, manufacturers start to compete to make healthier recipes to avoid the stigma of the label.
Addressing the Pushback
Industry will argue that labels create fear or that education alone is enough. However, health education is slow; labels work immediately. While the informal street food sector is a challenge, regulating pre-packaged goods is the practical starting point because the supply chain is traceable. We cannot wait until the whole system is perfect; we must start where action is feasible.
A 2026 Implementation Roadmap for Ghana
To move from talk to action, Ghana needs this 5-step plan:
- Issue mandatory regulation: The Ministry of Health, Food and Drug Authority (FDA), and Ghana Standards Authority (GSA) must define the label format and nutrient thresholds for all pre-packaged foods.
- Simple, bold symbols: Use plain language and clear symbols, such as “HIGH IN SUGAR,” designed for busy families, not experts.
- Transparent thresholds: Adopt technically defensible standards adapted to the Ghanaian diet.
- Transition and enforce: Provide a 12–18 month period for manufacturers to reformulate, followed by firm enforcement at ports and retail centers.
- National literacy campaign: The Ghana Health Service must pair labels with public messages explaining why high salt or sugar increases disease risk.
Conclusion: Truth Is Not a Luxury
Prevention is cheaper than treatment. A warning label costs little compared to the price of dialysis, stroke rehabilitation, or lifelong diabetes complications. A black octagon on a box of biscuits is more than a label; it is a shield for the health of all Ghanaians. It is time to put the truth where we can see it, right on the front.
By Abigail Amoah Sarfo
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Natives of the Kenkey Kingdom were mad with joy. They were still recovering from the hangover of the kingdom’s loss of the African Cup when their spirits were rekindled. Their great warrior, Zoom Zoom, stormed Melbourne and made sure that every Australian refused food. And that was after he had drawn contour lines on the face of their idol, Jeff Fenech.
Not only did the terrible warrior transform Old Boy Jeff’s face into a contour map useful for geography lessons, but he also accomplished the feat of retaining the much-envied super-kenkeyweight title against all odds. The warrior had not been eating hot kenkey for nothing.
The Fight Against Fenech
When Jeff Fenech bit the dust in the eighth round, I was tempted to consider if Adanko Deka could not have faced him in any twelve-rounder, title or non-title bout. Adanko has improved tremendously, and soon he would be facing Pernell Whitaker.
Sincerely, I was pessimistic about Azumah’s man, who the last time took him through twelve grueling rounds of rough boxing. I expressed my fears to my colleague Christian Abbew, alias Gbonyo, who surprisingly had total confidence that the Australian brawler would fall, predictably in Round Five.
Gbonyo gave reasons for his contention, all of which I counteracted using the age factor. Fact is, I didn’t know that contrary to the laws of nature, Azumah was all the time growing younger.
When Fenech fell briefly in round one, I asked my brother whether it was the same Fenech that fought Azumah in Las Vegas. Sure, it was the same Fenech, all out to beat Azumah before his countrymen.
But the African Professor had no intention of making the Australian a hero. As he spun round the desperate Aussie, dancing and stinging out his jabs, it was not too long before I realized that the end was near.
The Eighth Round Showdown
Two minutes into the eighth round, the African ring-master proved to the whole world that he was a true son of Bukom. He himself was cornered, but like the tough nut he is, he managed to break free before overwhelming the panting Australian with several blows that made him crash headlong.
Moments after, the referee, expressing fatherly sympathy, stopped the fight to prevent an obituary. After the ordeal, Fenech’s fairly handsome face was full of newly constructed hills, valleys, ox-bow lakes—whatever. I noticed that his nose was very tired and had a miniature volcano sitting restlessly on it. Obviously, Jeff’s wife will have to nurse that nose back to its normal shape—but I’d advise her not to use iodine, otherwise her dear husband will wail like a banshee.
Reflections on Boxing
Because Mohammed Ali was the kind of boxer kids liked, many school-going kids often entertained the wish of becoming like him. I remember one day when I told my father I wanted to become a boxer, and he advised me to first complete my education to the highest level. Then, if I decided to become a boxer and was knocked out a couple of times, I’d fall back on my degrees and make a living.
Boxing used to be interesting when bouts were fought more with the mouth and tongue than with gloves. You had to brag well, psychologically belittling your opponent before beating him up physically. Mohammed Ali became a very successful pugilist because he also managed to become a poet. He often blew his horn across America, calling himself the “pretty boxer” and opponents like Joe Frazier “the gorilla.”
Ali made a living fighting hard fists like Joe Frazier, Ken Norton, Jerry Quarry, George Foreman, Leon Spinks, and Trevor Berbick. Twice he came back from retirement to fight just for money. It was Larry Holmes who finally pensioned him, and since then the great Ali has never been himself.
The Path Ahead for Azumah
When Azumah nailed Jeff Fenech on the cross and barked almost immediately that he was after the head of Pernell Whitaker, I was happy but concerned. I would have been happier if he had announced his resignation there and then—he would have been more of a hero. Beating Fenech in Australia is more newsworthy than facing Whitaker in the States.
With Whitaker, it might be a little difficult. The “Sweet Pea” is agile, has a crooked body like a snake with diarrhea, and stands awkwardly as a southpaw. He is known for having the fastest pair of fists and the rare ability to dodge punches no matter how close they may be.
Much as I do not doubt that Azumah can take his title, I also don’t want him to retire beaten. I want him to retire as a hero and live a fuller, healthy life.
As Azumah himself said after dishing Fenech, he is now a professor and has something to show for it. Like a true professor, I think it is time he resigned and took up training young talents who could draw inspiration from him and become like him in the future.
Closing Thoughts
I must say that although ageing boxers like Larry Holmes and George Foreman are making a name for themselves, boxing is not like the Civil Service, where you can even change your age and retire at 74. Zoom Zoom has delighted the hearts of the natives, and Sikaman will forever hold him in high esteem—but only when he retires as a hero.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 7, 1992.
