In a move that will surely make the Guinness Book of Heavenly Records, the Office of the Presidential Envoy for Interfaith and Ecumenical Relations has instructed all religious leaders to submit their prophecies for government review — effectively making Ghana the first country in the world with a “Customs and Excise Division for Spiritual Imports.”
From now on, before you can tell your congregation that the President will be toppled by a coconut falling from the Jubilee House tree, you must fill out Form P-666 in triplicate, attach two passport pictures of the angel who gave you the vision, and present it to the Elvis Afriyie Ankrah Prophecy Verification Desk. Processing time: three to forty days, depending on whether the Holy Spirit queues in the “Express Service” line.
This divine directive follows a tragic accident involving government officials, military personnel, and NDC executives — a national mourning that has, somehow, birthed a new spiritual bureaucracy. The government insists it’s about “peace and prosperity,” though some Ghanaians suspect it’s also about ensuring God’s press releases are properly edited before going to print.
Critics, however, are having a Pentecostal field day. Kojo Memsah tweeted: “So we are now going to spend taxpayers’ money to feed charlatans who announce fake prophecies? We could just buy them Netflix subscriptions instead.” Another Ghanaian wag asked why we don’t just hand over the country to religious leaders outright. After all, with this new system, governance is already halfway outsourced to Heaven’s subcommittee on African affairs.
And yet, the question lingers: why invest billions in STEM schools, universities, and brain-research labs, only to end up with a national think tank that runs on dreams, visions, and a man in Berekum who swears he saw the Vice President’s political future in his morning bowl of koko? At this rate, we might as well scrap the education budget entirely and fix the Accra-Kumasi road — at least potholes don’t speak in tongues.
Some optimists say this could finally bring structure to Ghana’s prophecy market. Soon, pastors will carry government-issued prophecy licenses, complete with expiry dates and QR codes for authenticity. Others fear the process might get corrupted: “For a small facilitation fee,” one anonymous church elder whispered, “we can make sure your prophecy passes review — even if it’s about a meteor hitting Parliament on Tuesday.”
Meanwhile, the streets are buzzing with anticipation for the first officially sanctioned national prophecy, rumored to involve a white horse, a gas cylinder, and a minister of state spotted buying second-hand wigs in Kantamanto. The truth, of course, will depend on whether the prophecy survives the red pen of the Presidential Envoy.
Ghana — where we once imported used clothes, now importing used visions, repackaged for national consumption.
