The friends were standing before the colonial restaurant in which Queen Elizabeth II once took her tea after inspecting the Botanical Garden on the Aburi Mountains just at the outskirts of Accra. It was in the early morning hours. Heavy fog was watering the delicate plants. Their eyes walked from left to right seeing Dansoman, James Town and Kasoa peacefully lying down; even the Zongos of Accra were peaceful after serious violence caused during the night.
“Prophecies in Africa are rampant, especially this time of the year,” was Kwame reflecting what was going viral in the Media. “I know this will not stop but go on for years to come, as our wicked mind needs a counter fight, a balance instrument to bring us to normal senses. In the world of the White Man prophecies are not known. Their Pastors are not talented for it, yet we run to their societies and enjoy a better life…not perfect live…only better life.”
Kojo turned to him with sorrow in his voice, feeling heavy heartbeat in his chest: “What is more important in life, a bunch of Prophets, fake or real…or living simply a better life?”
Kwame was laughing out loud: “The answer, my friends, is simple…a better life is better for all of us,” he paused for a moment, turned around seeing vendors opening their shops for mainly tourist from abroad, “…real Prophets are the icing on the cake to make a better life, a glorious life and reach destinies after destinies.”
“If you ask me…”, said Kojo passing Kofi Annan`s simple house hidden behind high gown plants towards the edge of the mountain overseeing Accra getting busier: “Prophecies should only be given when asked for to individuals and then proclaimed to them straight…not be given about and to societies… about people being born or die. What sense does that make after all. Predictions based on certain parameters to draft a plan that helps a society to move ahead unto a higher level…yes that makes sense.”
Kwame joined in with his ideas: “You mean…while private prophecies have a good chance to be influenced directly for a better outcome of life, something public prophecies cannot achieve…so they are unnecessary for a better outlook of nations and people determining their faith?”
Kojo sat down next to a plantain chips seller that was feeding her new born baby, no time for recovering from her hard delivery process: “I do not want to step on the feet of any real Prophet, yet I think the wise men should reconsider their mandate given to observe whether or not it is in the best interest of Nations not to speak what they know and what their hearts and souls shout out to them, rather to engage in the hard and complicated groundwork to change individuals with their private prophecies one on one…that to me seems to be the better way to move a Nation forward.”
“Will they listen to you?” “Most likely…not,” answered Kojo. He walked across the street. His eyes saw a White Man in the distance stretching his arms to the sky. He stretched and stretched his body, stood on his toes, regardless of the hard work done and dangers to fall down the mountain. “I cannot believe it…do you see?” was he pushing Kwame into his right hip, “…do you see what he has achieved…do you see that?” He was shouting out loud for anyone around them to hear.
“Yes…you do not have to shout so loud…I have eyes to see,” tried Kwame to cool his friend down. “He is holding a white cloud in his hands!”
“Unbelievable…how is that possible,” was Kojo rubbing his eyes. “That guy has nothing…no given mandate for glory…no magnet in his hands…no supernatural or natural resources to grab that cloud that on its wings takes him far…very far…above us all!”
“Take it easy, my friend,” pushed Kwame him over to the other side of the road to walk down Aburi Mountain at which base Special Ice was their destiny for the day, “what that man is doing is not a miracle…he is using his brain… and that one tells him how to perform the impossible; simple as that.”
“And we Blacks have no brain?” “We have…to destroy ourselves very well,” responded Kwame.
Kojo remembered a friend from Kumasi and the sad story she shared with him: “She wanted to start a business in Ghana and was sending out some big boxes with various used items to Bantama. Her youngest brother that had worked in the used clothing and shoes business before but was laid off was mandated by her to sell the goods and test the market for the right containers to come in due course. The rest of the family got jealous, their evil spirits destroyed the whole operation as each of them wanted to sell the goods claiming as family members they have a right to be part of it whether qualified for the job or not. They did not want to allow one qualified and mandated family member to do his best and get the best prices after which my friend had the intention to share part of the profit with various family members to support all of them one by one. She realized that jealousy among their family destroyed her plans and exposed hidden evilness of people she had helped before in various ways.”
Kwame mentioned: “So, she stopped the whole business that could have lifted up all family members step by step over time…instead they fall down crashing rubbing their shaking head in the dirt of Ghana´s soil complaining to GOD that their lives are in misery…asking him for his mercy and their natural helpers.”
“We are wicked…stupid in so many ways…we best qualified to destroy our own future and our own selves,” entered Kojo and Kwame the blue buildings of Special Ice.
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