Men in Black. In Church.

Church is big in Ghana, as it is in Nigeria. It is a massive industry. For perspectives, the largest church accommodates north of 10 thousand attendees every single weekend. I grew up in Nigeria, with even bigger churches, so this did not come as a surprise to me. Living outside Nigeria for a prolonged period of time has made me inured to a certain way of life.

Church here is fantastically dubious and loud. Loud in more ways than one.

I attended a big church. Service was designed to start at 11am. I was there at 11am. Apparently, I was taking myself too seriously. Service didn't start until 11.40am. Music and a 'firing' message define how good a service is. Or at least perceived to be.

The music was a mix of English and local language with funky dance rhythms. The music was indeed good. It was like watching a live band with great audience engagement. It was also uplifting and good-vibe music. A mixture of melody, poetry and dance. It is easy to see why many look forward to their Sundays; at least good live music is guaranteed. There are benefits to faith. Some of these are well documented: longer lives, healthier living and generally happier lives. In a continent of bleak hopes, church is more than a coping mechanism, it is the very thread of survival that many hang on to. Whether it is a viable solution to the myriad of practical issues that people face is another question. As music blasted and people danced, in that moment of complete abandon, they looked very happy. Maybe in a state of flow even.

After the music came some prayers. Prayers are witty and sometimes infused with rhymes. The congregation chimed along with loud 'amens'. Maybe it was just something I noticed and there wasn't much to it, but the prayers seemed to eulogize the pastor as much as it called out to God. There were phrases like 'by the unction of the Apostle General', 'through the altar of our father, the Apostle General' and so on.

Some more singing and then the Apostle General came on stage. Titles are important in Ghana. There is the Archbishop, the Apostle General, the Premier Lady. Why so many big names? I am not sure. I have a theory. Big sounding names create power distances that are then exploited for control. Since there is only one Apostle General, his uniqueness makes him god-like and hence creates a certain aura around his persona.

On stage, the pastor started by reeling off statistics about his achievements: the thousands of people listening and watching online, the parishes and churches that they have established in the UK and the US, the hundreds of people who have submitted applications to become leaders in his church and how lucky we all were to be seated with him while all others have to settle for watching him online. It felt repulsive to hear that but the crowd was rapturous. The next 30 minutes continued in a similar manner. More stories about the 'man of God' and then the sermon started about 40 minutes after he first stepped on stage. I wonder how much productivity is lost just because people spend hours in church listening to stories like this. I love good stories. I actually believe stories are important and they form a huge part of our identities. But pompous stories can be a huge bore. These stories were mostly like that.

The style of delivery is part stand-up, part motivational and part sales speech. "The good life is about sowing a seed". "Your blessings are tied to your giving" I won't say the message was entirely nonsensical but a huge part of it looked like sophisticated solicitation. During the service, people who felt 'moved' by the message trooped to the altar to sow 'a seed'. They dropped money, knelt and prayed. And they did this repeatedly over the course of the service. And there was a separate offering and tithe announcement; even more people came out to give. A money cult. Money is used to define success. At one point, the pastor looked at a group of five guys sitting in front and said: "I prophesy you will sit in these seats in front until you become millionaires". There was a thundering "Amen". Then the guys (all of them) went forward to make offerings. It looked robotic and hypnotic. Maybe this is only so to the uninitiated.

The pastor finishes his sermon. There is more singing and the service is over. He sits in front, surrounded by men in black: black specs, black shirts, the kinds you would notice with politicians. They control the queue as they try to have a word with their pastor. Maybe he was right when he said we were all lucky to have him in flesh. The men in black are a clear demonstration of how lucky the congregation is. They shove people aside a bit, looked very serious and a bit scary even. You get access to behold him in flesh, if you are extra lucky, you get to talk to him but first you have to get through the men in black.

I left the church equal parts confused and fascinated at how honed the craft of people management (with a taint of manipulation maybe) was and how hooked the thousands of people I met there were.

There was also an insight that I couldn't shave off. We all have a problem of classifying issues: mixing the personal with the interpersonal and making decisions for certain aspects of life based on bias from other aspects. Money for instance can only solve money problems. So, when you conflate money problems with relationship problems and you throw money to God to solve problems that thinking should solve, then you end up getting the wrong answers. Most people I saw in church today likely went back home with the same problems they came with.