Prayer as commodity, By Bamidele Johnson

In 2006, I took a friend to the American Embassy for a visa appointment. He passed the night in my place, so it was up to me to drive him there. We arrived a bit after 4am and met a shoal of visa applicants already waiting.

A few minutes after arrival, a young man came and started singing Christian choruses. He was joined, mostly by women, who sang rather lustily. It was somewhat surprising how enthusiastically they sang because many would not have had a good night’s sleep and should still feel groggy. But they were in full voice, as they went through the repertoire of choruses led by the man.

After the hearty singing, the man ordered the crowd to close their eyes and bow down their heads for prayers, which were exclusively visa-themed. I thought that was no nice of him.

When the prayers ended with resounding collective Amen, the man moved to bring a box and said people needed to drop money into it to give legs to their prayers.

There was no holding back, as people leapt off their seats, creating a mini-stampede to toss naira notes in the box. He had milked, very successfully, the desire or desperation for the almighty American visa. My friend did not join in. Neither did I, as I wasn’t an applicant.

I had no way of knowing how many were successful with their application. My friend, now a US-resident doctor, was not. On our way back, we spoke a bit about the man’s scheme, concluding that what he did carried a whiff of extortion.

I do not think many would agree with our position and after that day, I saw in many places-bus parks for inter-city travels, bus stations for intra-city commute and markets-where preachers pulled the same or similar trick. At bus parks for inter-city travels, prayers are hawked for “journey mercies” by non-travelling street preachers who, at the end, seek that they be “blessed”.

I never gave money, as I thought what they were doing was crass. At bus stops for intra-city trips and markets, the prayers focused, along with loud preaching via battery or generator-powered public address systems, on success in whatever the commuters were going out for on a particular day. Donations are also requested and obtained.

I suspect that the preaching does not interest commuters, whose minds are focused on their destinations and their objectives. Prayers, however, loosen the purse strings. In double quick time. The prayer hawkers, over the years, have stepped up a bit, framing their commodity as “prophecies”. Now, it more of “I want to or I prophesy into your life”. This, I think, the preachers believe is more authoritative.

The prayer hawker’s trick, perhaps unsurprisingly, is being pulled on social media platforms where people, with whom you have just become friends or follow, begin to chat with you and the conversation, within minutes, doglegs into prayers.

“Today, you will receive God’s blessings and breakthroughs that will make your enemies to this or that” is one sample. I used to say Amen, but quickly discovered that it was a prelude to solicitation. They want school fees, rents, transport fares, data bundles, food and support for medical bills.

The most outrageous I have seen was on Instagram a few weeks ago. An account bearing the photograph of a young lady followed mine and out of courtesy, I followed back. I was immediately sent like a 10-paragraph prayer, to which I did not respond.because I knew I was about to be reeled in.

Undaunted, the sender sent a lengthier message to announce that her mom was about to be discharged from the hospital, but that was being held back by her family’s inability to raise N430, 000. The bill, she said, was N500, 000 and all they had managed to raise was N70,000. I replied with “LOL”.

She then told me that she wasn’t joking and sent me a photo of a woman on hospital bed, adding that God told her to contact me and was certain I’d fork out the balance. I replied that even if she, with whom I had had a brief interaction, was hit by a bullet, I wouldn’t bring out N4, 300 let alone the whole amount she wanted.

She apparently thought I was kidding, so she sent some test result and a lengthy prayer she thought would melt my heart. The speed at which the message arrived suggested to me that it had been prepared and tested on other people. Even those affidavit guys at Ikeja High Court don’t type at such speed.

Again, I ignored her. Next up was the emotion-adorned “dear, please answer me in the name of God”. I had had enough and blocked her. As hard-hearted as it may come across, making prayers into a commodity or wares, I suggest, should be discouraged whether in person or virtually.

• Johnson is a journalist and company executive in Lagos