If I told you I had been married before, would you believe it? Well, it would have been true if the rumours of that day were accurate. Walk with me down this aisle as I recall how it happened.

Growing up, I spent most of my basic education—from primary 4 to JHS 3—traveling 10 kilometres from my house to school. While I had a bicycle that could get me there in about 45 minutes, I wasn’t always ready to use it—because of laziness, stubbornness, or sometimes because I was too late to rely on it. This led me to resort to a practice: begging for free rides to school most days. This involved mostly stopping strangers—mainly small-scale miners—who were going in my direction, since my school was in a mining community with a busy road, to get free lifts. This worked almost all the time, except twice when I had to walk to school after failing to get one; I arrived exactly when they rang the bell for break time, and other times when I didn’t get the lift on time.

This practice of getting help from strangers built compassion in me to assist people stranded on the road in search of transportation, especially in my area where certain places lack available public transport, such as traveling from my place in the eastern part of Talensi District to the capital at Tongo in the central/western part of the district. This act of kindness allowed me to help a lot of people until one day, when it put me in very hot water.

On a fateful hot Sunday in late 2021, I was returning from ministering UNBOUND Healing and Deliverance to a friend’s mother at our main station, St. Theresa of the Child Jesus Parish in Tongo, and was heading home afterward, with my Bible stuck to the part of the motor that separated the seat and the steering. It was all smooth and normal as I rode my mother’s 10-year-old Super Access motorbike, which had a reputation for stopping in places one would hardly expect. Though weak, I used it as if it were the latest model in town, entering every bush, pothole, or rough road with it. Getting to the middle of the journey, at what seemed to be the border between the east and west of the district around the Community Day School E-Building—started under President Mahama in his first tenure, which was now suffering from dust that stuck to it after not seeing contractors in a long while—this young girl ran out of the bush near the school to stop me for a lift. Without thinking twice or even asking her where she was headed, I stopped, and she hopped on. I didn’t even look at her face.

The ride was okay until I was about to take the final turn at the Y-junction at Sheaga, which diverged the road for those heading to the mining area and those going to Namoalug or Tindongo Market, where I stayed. That's when a man shouted at me to stop while running to sit on his new Apsonic motorcycle, commonly called Obama. I was about to stop when the girl asked in fear that I should run, and without thinking, I obliged and took to my heels—albeit on the motorbike. The man from behind started a fast and furious chase after me, and although my motorbike was old, it was a ride within my territory, and I knew the terrain better. I rode as fast as I could, but realizing that running on the open main road was not good since he had a better machine, I decided to divert to a rougher road leading to the hill that divides my beloved Namoalug into two main sections: Namoa-Tengre to the west and Namoa-Zulnyang to the east. I thought I had evaded him until he suddenly showed up from behind, and the chase started again. I became frightened, acting on instincts without thoughts, until I arrived at the base of the rocky hill where a small hollow valley created by rainwater running down the hill would not permit a motorbike to easily pass. The moment I stopped, the girl jumped down and ran toward the houses. The abrupt stop made my Bible fall. I tried calling out to the girl to stop—now I was ready to talk—but she was far gone, and the man was now behind me.

Parking his motorbike as quickly as he could, he ran toward her direction but in vain. He came back to me angrily, accusing me of conniving with her for something I didn’t know. He wasn’t ready to talk to me calmly and, running back in the girl’s direction, I took my Bible, put it back where it was initially, and gently rode behind the hill until I got home, passing through the community clinic. I parked my motorbike and settled down in peace, telling no one about the incident.

In the evening, I had the urge to pray when I heard my elder (step) brother come to our place and tell me that I was summoned to our chief’s palace the following day. This was the first time such a thing had happened. I felt a bit surprised and, not knowing what to do, I started to pray in the spirit. As led, I prayed against any form of curse that might have been rained on me or any bad pronouncement whatsoever.

I woke up early the next morning to head to the chief’s palace with my brother, but the news had quickly spread: one of Salmawobil’s sons, who is a pastor, had taken a wife against her father’s wishes. Well, I was the only son of Salmawobil at a marriageable age who was not yet married—my elder brother and my one-year-younger (step) brother were married—and people expected it. Moreover, I was the only Christian among them, and while I was surprised to hear the title "pastor" from the description the man gave to spread his news around, my Bible on my motorbike gave me away, and so many people have addressed me as such, even if it was our first meeting ever.

With the news that I had probably absconded with someone’s daughter the previous day, I was now planning how to defend myself before the chief and his elders. I was friendly with the chief and knew he would be greatly disappointed in me, but luckily, he was not around. That was not the main problem to worry about. Upon reaching the palace, it was the man who had chased me the day before, seated with an elder sitting before our elders. Apparently, he had gone back home to his community in Yameriga to report to his chief, who sent a delegate to ours to seek a solution to the problem. His request was simple: I had to produce his daughter for him to take back, else there would be a great diplomatic problem between our community and theirs.

He mentioned that his daughter was suspected of being after some boy—they didn’t know who—and I was the suspect for the moment. She frequently ran away from a junior high school boarding school in Bolga back home in order to spend time with him. She was more interested in getting married than going to school. Our chiefs scolded me for my foolishness and advised that the best way to have approached the whole issue was to take the girl to the palace, where she could be helped, rather than trying my own ways. While my defense was that I was trying to protect her from a strange man—her father, whom I didn’t suspect—who probably wanted to harm her, my defense was not strong enough. I was given an ultimatum until that evening to produce her, and if interested in marrying her, to follow the right process—they (the elders) could help.

I stood now in confusion with a great dilemma: I didn’t know where this girl would have run to, and to add salt to the injury, I didn’t even look at her face to recognize her anywhere if I met her. I returned home to see what I could do and prayed throughout the day. When I got home, the news had reached my mother, who found it as funny as I did, but my younger (step) brother who was married wouldn’t stop making fun of me. It was becoming dicey for me, but I had the kind of peace that not many would have in such great turmoil, standing on the brink of causing a conflict between my community and another.

It was in this moment that I remembered a conversation I had heard from my mother when she received a call the night before from someone who was asking for the whereabouts of her “Pastor-child.” My mom obviously didn’t think it was me, but rather spoke of my elder sister, who was ordained a prophetess some months earlier after Bible school. Remembering this call helped us trace the caller to find out more about what she was talking about. Luckily for us, her house was just about 200 meters from where I stayed, and when I got there with my mom, the conversation revealed where the girl would most likely be.

Apparently, after running northward after getting down from my motorbike in the direction of Bolga, she turned and went southward to Buug, also known as Bu-Namoalug—a part of our community that was physically separated from us by two communities, Gbane and Sheaga—but we did everything together as one. The girl had an aunt who lived there, and she frequently stayed with her during her vacations and found solace there. It was where she was headed when she stopped me. She was also running away from her father, whom she said was not treating her well, and more especially because her stepmother was cruel to her. Upon reaching the house of her aunt and the conversation coming up, the description of me led her aunt to call another relative who was staying behind our house to inquire more about me.

This was the information needed, gotten on a silver platter—well, all through the help of the Holy Spirit. I got an elder from our house, with whom we went to where the girl was, and after speaking with her aunt, she decided to release the girl to us to return to the chief’s palace. In less than two hours after the ultimatum was given, the girl was restored to her father, who was sternly asked not to touch (beat) her upon sending her home. I went back home in peace, thanking God for the miracle.

Everything was back to normal until a few days later when the man called me through my elder brother to meet up with him in a bar near our house. He had a serious conversation with us. He confessed that, in the heat of the event when his daughter ran away after dropping off my motorbike, he had spoken curses against me, and there was a need to reverse them. Traditionally, this would involve participating in a sacrificial ritual where he would revoke his words of curse on me. While my brother (who is a traditionalist) supported the idea, he knew I would not, and that was my stand: I would not involve myself in any form of sacrifice. I told them as bluntly as I could that I would not be involved in any sacrifice and that even before his confession, I had made prayers against all forms of curses he had pronounced on me. The Holy Spirit had laid that in my spirit the moment his curses went out. Moreover, before that whole episode, I had led someone through UNBOUND, which included breaking curses.

What started as an innocent gesture of kindness to a young girl in need escalated into an inter-community issue, involving curses and rumours that I was married. But in all this, I had a peace that made no sense, I had joy in chaos, and with the help of the Holy Spirit, what was a big issue was resolved in a matter of a few hours.

God is good.

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