Welcome, dear reader!

For this tale, we’re about to step into a world of prophecy and deceit. Two words that really shouldn’t be found in the same sentence, but sadly are, a lot of the time. This haunting tale will be quite the read. Let’s get into it!

“Everybody say in the name of Jesus… ohhh, you are too quiet, you are too quiet, say in the name of Jesus… as I clap my hands… and stomp my feet… every evil altar… in my father’s house… in my mother’s house… fighting against my destiny… fighting against my glory… fighting against my uplifting… by the fire of the Holy Ghost… catch fire! Catch fire! Catch fire! Clap your hands and pray!”

The atmosphere in this small and humble Pentecostal church in Accra on a Sunday morning was electric: thick with passion and fervent spiritual warfare. It was a cacophony of desperate and determined prayer, with every soul present passionately warring in the spirit for their destiny. The ceiling fans might have done their best to provide the room with some cool, but they had no match for the heat this spiritual exercise brought.

While the congregants prayed passionately in their seats, from the corner near the pulpit, a group of prayer warriors held microphones to their lips and fired off in tongues, their voices overlapping in spiritual harmony and wild intensity.

And at the pulpit, leading these fiery prayers, was the young guest prophet, smartly dressed in a blue striped kaftan. A young man in his late twenties slowly gaining prominence for being a man of prayer and accurate prophecy.

Prophet Amos Manford.

His voice carried a steady authority that belied his youth as he moved around, roaring declarations over the sound of the fiery atmosphere.

“Let every serpent of the night—be roasted! Let every altar resisting your marriage, your favour, your next level—be scattered by fire! Heyyyy, ebrosteke! Mandolebro kusa! Your story must change tonight! Power must change hands! In the name of the Lord Jesus!”

The prayers continued unabated, with everyone fully immersed in the moment, fighting all those unseen powers and principalities working against them. Suddenly, Amos stopped, looked at the congregation, squinting his eyes before pointing at a woman in a colorful kaba and slit sitting three rows back.

“Madam,” he stated,  “The Lord says today is your day of visitation!”

The woman hesitated for a moment, unsure, until someone nudged her. Slowly, she pointed to herself, silently asking if it truly was her the prophet was speaking to.

“Yes, you,” Amos confirmed with a smile. “Step forward. The Lord has a word for you.”

The congregation erupted in a chorus of hallelujahs as she timidly approached, her face a mix of hope and wonder.

As she stood before Amos, flanked by ushers behind her, the young prophet closed his eyes for a brief moment and then spoke, his words deliberate and clear.

“Your name is Maame Abena Nhyiraba. Is that correct?”

The woman nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes, that’s my name!”

A ripple of excitement surged through the crowd, with some of the prayer warriors cheering Amos on.

“Odiifuo!”

“Ahh, prophet of God!”

“You come from Kumasi, but you’ve been in Accra for some years now,” Amos continued, his voice rising with each revelation. “You have three children, two boys and a girl, but it seems as though the enemy has been attacking your family for a while now. Am I speaking the truth?”

Maame Abena gasped, clutching her chest. “Yes! Yes, Prophet, it’s true!”

“You’ve been praying about your husband,” Amos nodded as he paced about. “There’s been tension in your home because of financial struggles. And your daughter… the youngest of your children… I see her name is Emily… she’s been ill for months, but the doctors haven’t been able to find anything wrong.”

At this, Maame Abena dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all true, Prophet. Everything you’re saying is true!”

The congregation erupted into cheers and applause.

“Ahh, a true prophet!”

“Prophesy, man of God!”

Amos raised his hand, and the congregation quieted slightly. He then looked at Maame Abena. “Maame Abena, it is good you came today. The Lord says today is the day of breakthrough for you and your family. Please, stand to your feet!”

She rose shakily, her sobs still audible as the ushers behind her helped her.

Amos placed a hand lightly on her forehead and prayed fervently. “Father, in the name of Jesus, I declare freedom over this family. I declare liberation over this family. I declare peace, I declare financial breakthrough, I declare healing! Every chain of oppression, every working of the enemy, we cancel it now in the mighty name of Jesus!”

The room vibrated with the sound of collective “Amens!”

He removed his hand and looked directly at Abena, his eyes blazing with conviction. “Go home and anoint your daughter with oil. This evening, lay your hands on her and declare her healed. The Lord says you will see what will happen tomorrow morning. Your family’s story is changing from today!”

Maame Abena nodded, shutting her eyes as she whispered a ‘Thank You Jesus’ under the noise of loud cheers and shouts of thanksgiving.

Amos stepped back and turned to the congregation, raising the microphone to his lips. “People of God, make some noise unto the Lord for what He is doing in this house today!”

The response was thunderous.

Tambourines and clapping hands combined into an explosion of sound as the congregation hopped about, shouting praises. Maame Abena had her hands in the air, tears running down her face as she gave glory to God.

Amos, smiling now, clapped along with them, his voice cutting through the din. “Yes, He is a good God! And He is still in the business of doing miracles and changing destinies! Maame Abena, please, you can go back to your seat. Victory is yours, in the name of Jesus!”

***

Thirty minutes later, and the service was over. The rest of the prophetic session had been just as powerful and revealing, with Prophet Amos leading the congregation to pray and delivering accurate prophecies to certain people. Now, in the back office of the church, Pastor Ebenezer Sowah, the lead pastor, smiled warmly across the table at Amos, who had a plate of small chops—two meat pies and two spring rolls—along with a bottle of Malta Guinness in front of him.

“Prophet Amos,” Pastor Ebenezer commented, his tone full of admiration, “you really allowed the Lord to use you powerfully today. The whole church was really blessed. From the sermon to the period of prophecy… my God! What a blessing!”

Amos nodded, offering a modest smile as he took a spring roll and munched on it. “It’s all by grace, Pastor.”

“Yes, yes! God bless you. You know we are a small church, but we appreciate your ministry. May the Lord reward you openly for all to see.”

Pastor Ebenezer handed him a small white envelope, thin in appearance. Amos took it with both hands, thanked him politely, and tucked it into his Bible without opening it.

The two engaged in conversation for a few minutes as Amos finished off his small chops. Once he was done, Pastor Ebenezer stood to his feet, stretching.

“Please, pass by again anytime, Odiifuo,” he encouraged enthusiastically. “Our doors are open to you any time. We’ll be more than blessed to have you minister to us again. I believe this is just the beginning for you.”

“Amen,” Amos responded thankfully, rising to his feet. “Thank you, Pastor.”

After stepping out of the office and engaging in a round of warm handshakes and a few lingering compliments from the remaining congregants, Amos stepped outside.

The sun was as hot as anyone living in Accra would expect, and the buzz of the streets were standard too. Hawkers selling their wares, cars moving across the roads, and trotro mates shouting destinations from their side.

Amos walked slowly down the road, hands in his pockets, his Bible tucked under his arm, and a dark expression on his face.

Sure, it had been another powerful day, but… the same old reality did not change for him. He had been doing this prophecy ministry since the Lord had directed him to begin after completing his seminary education, and did not have a job. The Lord had instructed him not to get one, with a promise that He would be his provider.

A year and three months in, however, and Amos was far from impressed. His head was barely above water financially, and the honorariums he constantly received were no different from the one he had just received: thin and full of notes enough to keep him afloat for up to just two days.

“God,” he mumbled, shaking his head, “this can’t be it. It just can’t.”

He glanced around at the street vendors busily selling their wares. He knew without a doubt that some of them had much more cash than he had ever made, despite pouring out prophecy, prayer, and power upon the lives of many people.

“How am I supposed to keep doing this, Lord? I show up like You tell me to. I pray. I fast. I worship. I go to all these churches and bring joy people’s lives like You direct me to, and still… nothing? No car, no apartment, not even steady income? Just broke boy vibes? Ahba!”

He kicked a stone off the sidewalk, watching it skitter into a gutter.

“People are getting free from spiritual oppression, families are being restored, healings left and right… and me? I’m walking home. On foot. Again.”

He stopped, exhaled deeply, then looked up at the bright sky.

“Father Lord, You said a worker is worthy of his wages,” he muttered. “So… where’s mine? Where’s the reward? I’m not asking for a mansion—okay, maybe I will at some point—but still… is it a sin to want to live decently?”

His tone grew sharper, tinged with a mix of irritation and disbelief.

“I’ve been faithful. I’ve been consistent. So chale… What-what’s this delay? Or do I need to pray louder and fast longer for heaven to hear me? Because this—this is getting tiring, God.”

He paused at a quiet corner, watching the traffic in the distance as his shoulders slumped slightly.

“Do something. Soon. Please,” he murmured, softer now. “I can’t keep doing powerful things and living like some unemployed university graduate after national service. It’s not fair ooo, it’s not fair.”

He let the silence sit for a moment, then resumed walking, with his steps slow and his face set in a brooding frown.

In front of the congregation, what you’d find was a young man, passionate about the Lord Jesus Christ and the ministry of prophecy. Off the stage, however, Amos Manford was not the same fiery, Spirit-led gentleman.

He was one frustrated guy in desperate need of a major breakthrough from the God he was working for.

Mmm, this is obviously one anointed prophet. His frustration is something to be weary of, though…