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The Prophet part 3
In anticipation of a sizeable offering, he had brought a big silver bowl and placed it close to the ‘pulpit’. He kept glancing at it in the course of the service and noted with satisfaction that it was ‘doing very well’.
By the close of the service it was full. Immediately the final ‘Amen’ was said, he grabbed it and placed it close to his new desk. He managed to extricate himself from the people who wanted to thank him or shake his hands, and sat down to attend to the people who had lined up to consult him.
He gave them the required ‘directions’, taking appropriate fees after invoking special prayers. The last person to consult him was Mr. Kwame Dofu, who had specifically asked to be the last.
‘Osofo’, he started, ‘I wanted to discuss a special business with you, that is why I asked to see you last. I am in the gold business. There is big money in it, but there is also competition, so many of the people in it are using all kinds of powers. I came to ask for your special assistance. I want to win the confidence with the foreigners who come to buy gold, and the foreign big men at the mines who are able to give us big business. If you are able to help me, I will give you a very big reward. I have two friends who will also need your help. I will bring them too’.
‘Don’t worry, Mr. Dofu. I can help you. Give me two days to prepare, and come back for the necessary directions. You will certainly do big business’.
‘I knew you will help, Osofo. I am very glad I came to see you. Now, here is five hundred cedis for your petrol. When I come in three days’ time I will prepare fully’.
Now, Papa Antubam told himself, why did I wait so long to start this business. Only a few days, and things couldn’t be better. Wow!
He remembered that there was money to be counted. He moved to pick the big bowl, but two young smiling ladies stepped forward.
‘Osofo, we wanted to ask your permission to count it. I am Mary, and she is Suzzie’.
‘That’s very kind of you’, he said. ‘Please go ahead, but before that, please go to the lady at the kiosk over there and ask her to give you the cold box I left with her’. They brought it, and as they counted the money, Papa Antubam sipped two bottles of beer, which he had re-labeled as Sprite Orange Drink, just in case some inquisitive busybody asked stupid questions.
‘They finished, presented the neatly packed notes and coins to him’.
‘Osofo, it adds up to three thousand, three hundred and two cedis’.
‘Thank you very much, beautiful ladies’. Take a hundred cedis each for your kind effort. They gratefully accepted the offer, and were moving away when Antubam called them back.
‘Now, Mary and Suzzie, which one of you is married?’
‘We are both unmarried’, Suzzie said.
‘In that case, there is something you must do for me. You know this is a new church. You already know what miracles have started happening here. Bigger things are about to happen. Now, I want you two to be with me. I will give you senior positions in the church. And I will take care of all your needs. Fortunately, you are both very good looking. From today, you belong to me. What do you say to what I have just said?
The two ladies looked at each other for a minute, and smiled.
‘We agree, Osofo’.
‘Fantastic! Now take the money to my place, and since we are all hungry and tired, buy something nice for us to eat, and let’s see what interesting things the afternoon will do for us’.
The girls picked up the money bowl and followed him to his house. They dropped the items, collected money and left to buy the take-away food.
‘Now Suzzie’, Mary said to her friend, ‘what have we led ourselves into? We only wanted to pinch a few cedis, now we have agreed to be his wives, or is it concubines?’
‘You surprise me, Mary. This is the nicest thing that ever happened to us. How much did you pinch, by the way?’
‘250 cedis. Not bad at all for an hour’s work? But how can the two of us be his wives? Suzzie, what will people think? Did we go to the church for God’s help or to practice polygamy?’
‘You don’t get the point, Mary. Listen, this is no church. Any pastor who drinks alcohol disguised as orange juice and proposes to two congregants on the first day is no pastor. He is doing business with the church, thanks to some village jujuman. And as you clearly saw, he is overwhelmed by the money flowing. So we will help him. And I can assure you, he will not get even a kiss from either of us.’
‘How will we do that? He is a man, and we have agreed to be his wives’.
‘Give me just one hour. I’ll show you’.
They bought the food, and Mary also bought a bottle of Zap Whisky Medium. They laid the table.
‘Osofo, I brought a nice appetizer for you. You know your work is tedious, and you need to save some energy for tomorrow.’
‘Er, er, normally I stay away from alcohol, but you have a point, let me try just a little. Mary dropped small amounts into his glass, and by the time they finished eating, half of the drink was gone.
‘Osofo, I suggest we get a solid briefcase with a lock to keep your money. You should open a bank account. We’ll make payments into it, and you can sign cheques anytime you need money. For now we’ll record the denominations and the amount, then I’ll wrap it up – you can keep it under your mattress. Let me top your drink’.
‘You are so thoughtful, Mary. How can I thank you?’
As the girls pretended to be doing some serious calculations, Papa Antubam eased himself on the bed, hoping that the girls would soon join him for some fun. Within a short while, he was fast asleep, snoring rhythmically. The girls tucked the money under his bed, closed the door and went out of the house.
‘And how long are we going to keep this up, Suzzie?’
‘Not for very long. Very soon all kinds of women, single and married, would be fighting over him. The money and spiritual power will attract them. When he realizes that we do not want to have sex with him he will throw us out. By then I would have already set up my shop, and you would have opened your salon’.
‘You have worked it all out have you? You are a real thief’.
‘Me, a thief? Then what do you call Osofo Antobam? Let me tell you, Suzzie. Those people who are using the name of God to make money and use people are real criminals, and I will enjoy everything I do to Antobam. And I know your next question. Am I not afraid of his powers? What powers? I don’t fear his fake powers. Let’s go home and get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll fleece him of a few more cedis’.
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.
