TERRIBLE CHRISTMAS EVE IN TEMA

Christmas was nigh. Despite everyone agreeing that it was such a bad time to have any kind of celebration, you just knew there was always going to be a select group who would not really care-Christmas for them was a big deal, regardless.

The streets of Accra were characteristically filled with human and vehicular activities. Commuters were typically all over the place, either to catch the last bits of products on sale before the actual celebration, or attempting to make the last commercial vehicle to get to their home towns.

The vehicles on the road had practically tripled; the congestion was sickening and the snail-paced movement of the cars typified the atmosphere on Christmas Eve in parts of the Ghanaian capital, Accra. Everyone was out and about.

It was also the same day I had to make a trip from Accra to Tema after I had closed from work in time for the 2014 edition of my Church’s five-day convention expected to commence that evening, with guest pastor Stephen Shelley from the United States of America, set to take centre stage.

The church announcer sent word for the last time the Sunday before the 24^th   ,arrangements for the 2014 Camp to come off at the traditional venue, Tema ; we were to report that evening, and attend the service, after which buses were to convey us to our hostels. This year, it was not Tema Secondary School, for our lodging place.

Travelled from far and near were participants from sister fellowships in and outside of the country-(Nungua,Obuasi,Banana Inn,Madina,Kpando,Kumasi,Tamale,Odumase,Akatsi,Akate,Afram Plains,Ho,Adjei –Kojo,among others) in Ghana and Togo, Nigeria and some from Uganda. The numbers were huge!

Church service ended at about a half past 09 p.m, and the real struggle was to begin. People were dotted all over the premises like the cloud of bats which usually fill the skies at 37, during the evenings or like the busy kantamanto market on a market day.

Their luggage were consequentially occupying, especially considering it was a five-day long convention. Mothers had come with their children, cookers ,food stuffs and heaters.

a sectional view of the auditorium as the evening service
that night was ongoing

Joshua and I were anxiously waiting our turn to be bused to the hostel-which we later will learn, was a Montessori school called ROSHARON at community 12.

We were joined by James and Selasie, who fellowship with the host church, as we sat watching the storm of people literally fighting off one another to make their way onto the bus.

Time flew past. Those of us who had travelled from Accra felt our strength and energy leaving us. The first service was power-packed and energy-sapping. Like the proverbial fatigue, suffered by athletes who play their sport so much so that there’s little or no time for rest in between games, we could barely keep our conversation flowing for a minute.

We decided to do a taxi cab to the hostel at community 12 from the church premises. The bargain was stretched. The driver would not beat down his charge from GH 10 TO 6.His insistence that we paid GH 8 from community 11 to 12 was met with little resistance from the group, particularly because we were physically drained.

At the main hostel of the Montessori, we were met with a clumsy atmosphere. The air smelt of sweat, even though the matron and her kitchen staff were preparing meals for the next day across the pavement leading to the canteen.

Everyone was at an activity or another. Then we heard an announcement from a screaming instructor. The place was crowded; we had to be conveyed to the annex of the same school at community 11.

What a night it was turning out to be. The ladies were fortunate to have secured some sleeping space for themselves.Those of us who could not, got aboard the bus and headed for ROSHARON crèche.

On the bus-I saw it all; from the drooling mothers, to the openly breast-feeding ones, to the snoring babies, to the chatterboxes.

There were no mattresses over there. The sisters were to occupy the ground floor, which was fitted with transparent glass windows and doors, while the brothers would make do with the first.

As the sisters changed, we could see them through the window and the door. This prompted another decision to move the sister from there to another lodging base at Ashaiman.It was past midnight, and the idea did not sound particularly clever to the sisters upon first thought.

The hostel was converted to a “male only” base, the sisters were bused away to where we would later learn to be the premises of a sister fellowship at Ashaiman-Adjei Kojo.

Now we got our room, offloaded our stuff and began to think about how to get mattresses. Apparently there were mattresses at the church premises, and then some at the first hostel at community 12, only that the latter was being hired at GH 10 per individual for the five nights.

James did not think it was a good idea to pay for the mattresses, so he suggested we returned to the church premises to get them at no fee.

The clock had almost chimed 01:00 am, when we set off on a journey to the church-I, Joshua and James.

James claimed to know a short route from the hostel to the church, so he led the way.

Apparently, James did not know the routes he swore we could pass to the church. We walked and walked and walked in circles through more than six communities and we still could not locate the church.

The streets were dead silent, everyone, except revelers at the Monte Carlo night club was asleep. We walked for hours and still could not see anybody. I got frightened.Intermittently; I would miss a heartbeat when the sound of our footsteps grew louder. Dogs in the neighborhood would bark upon hearing our banging footsteps-and that got me the more scared.

I almost gave up, same did Joshua. But looking at how far we had come, there was no turning back at this point.

James would not allow us struggle in peace, every now and then he would bring up a needless discussion, with stories about how we could have reached our destination had we taken a different route at the intersection, or other.

Every passing minute, I would sent a whatsaap message to Joshua expressing my angst at the trauma this lad called James, who claimed to know to entire Tema metropolis, like he knew his palm, has made us go through. I would say to him (Joshua), “will this James guy just shut up”.

We kept doing this, with Joshua replying in similar fashion, angry and disappointed at the posture of James, who did not feel for once, that he was becoming a nuisance.

I looked onto my phone, and the time read, 03:40 am. Whoa!

We had just been walking for three hours and were still at it; just in search for the church we had only eight or so hours earlier, fellowshipped.

Hunger had also set in. As we walked further, we heard noise from about 150 meters away. The loud music drew us close. We envisaged there were people obviously gathered there whiling the Christmas Eve away.

At the nigh club, we could barely get anyone to speak to. The guys were busily doing their own things with the girls, amid smoking and drinking. The area was almost like there was a patch of fog-but hey! make no mistake there was no fog, no mist, twas cigarette smoke.

Right across the club were hawkers, from whom we bought a big loaf of bread and some bottles of sobolo. Immediately, we began eating; a crumb of bread tossed into my mouth, then a gulp of chilled sobolo, then another crumb, and then another gulp. At that point, what mattered last was the taste of what we were eating/drinking.

We walked a few meters up the street, past a few closed offices, restaurants, and churches, before meeting a taxi driver, who was deeply asleep on the bonnet of his car, with his “duster” covering his face.

He told us upon waking up that we had actually gone a long way past the church. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew! I did not like the sound of that, but it only meant we had to go back and trace a route he described to us. All of this suffering for only three guys, in the middle of the night? SAD!

He would not take us there even if we chattered. It was awfully late, and perhaps, he feared we were of no good-with my shirt buttons opened and my bag strapped to my side, he just thought we were up to some evil.

By the time we found the routes and got to the church premises however, it was already 04:00 am. At this point, I just felt by brains falling out of my head, my legs went numb!

The church compound was silent. Only two security guys; one, arranging the seats in the auditorium, and the other probably having a nap, close to the baptismal pool, made us realize how late a time it was.

After having us explain why we had come all the way, we explained in frail voices that we needed mattresses. Not sure if they were shocked or surprised, they opened the chamber where the mattresses were kept-and we pulled out three of them.

With the other half of bread and one bottle of sobolo each to spare, we lay in the open, yards off the baptismal pool building, and ate, while strategizing how we were going to get to our hostel,sleep,wake up, and still be able to make it for the 08:30 am service on “Christmas” day.

we lay in front of the building in the open,while
cold air blew our eyes closed.

The cold air blew our eyes close every time we attempted to have any conversation, while the mosquitoes of the harbor city will also not allow us relax. Around 04:30 am, a taxi entered and the headlights beamed so bright, that it woke us up from what we thought was sleep. A sister was just arriving from Ashaiman with her luggage, and had no idea, the directions to any of the two Montessori hostels.

James.as he lay in front of the building which
housed the baptismal pool around 04:20am

What did we have to do to get out of the stinker of a night we had had until that point?

Well, it had to be smart.Somehow; we convinced the sister she would get a place to lodge with the other sisters until the break of the day. We then put our mattresses in the boot of the taxi, and made for the main hostel at community 12, knowing fully well we were not going to get a place ourselves.

The matron and the kitchen staff were busily at their job; preparing Hausa koko to be served for the morning. She told us not to attempt trekking to our hostel at community 11 that dawn, because it was dangerous on that route. Now she had put in us, the fear of the unknown. The pavement in front of the canteen served as our sleeping patch, in the open. While we charged our mobile phones in the kitchen, we relaxed on the mattresses, thinking about what to do next, obviously in sleep mode.

Day was gradually breaking, but there was no hope we could catch any meaningful sleep before the morning’s service. Then out of the darkness, emerged a church brother with a cab. James again claimed to know him. I was fuming with rage the whole while that my BP would have escalated and reached the high heavens if I had checked it! James again? I thought to myself in a subtle manner.

He quickly dashed towards the car and after a long chat with the driver-who is a member of the host churh, he agreed to drive us to the hostel for nothing.Perhaps, God-sent, or even Divine! We had seen and witnessed enough already, and even God may have been feeling sorry for us.

The matron was particularly disappointed at the struggles we had gone through the whole night. She offered to help us in a certain way. She gave us our dose of Hausa koko and bread to carry along to the hostel. She warned us not to come later in the morning when mass distribution of food was on-going for another dose.

That was our breakfast already! In the taxi, I fell off, and before I knew, we were at the hostel. Ten minutes past five, the clock read. Others were up and getting prepared for the morning service, but we were now about to sleep. The moment I finished taking my bath and having my koko and bread, it was twenty five past five-I sank into the mattress.

It was “Christmas” day, but we had yet to catch some sleep. Before I knew it, I was up dressing up for service at half past six.

It felt like I had carried everyone’s burden on my head. My neck felt labored in supporting my big head, and my soles ached badly, not the kind of Christmas day anyone would want to have. As I made for church, all that was running through my mind was how I was going to keep awake during the three-hour long service.

Only ‘Faith by the Revelation’ was I going to rely on, for my strength was never going to see me through the service without fail.

Such a terrible Christmas eve in the harbor city!