The Christians of Ghana follow many different strands of faith, so many that it's sometimes hard to keep up with all the different types (I am always getting my singing and dancing Anglicans mixed up with my speaking in tongues Adventists). So far I've been to a few interesting Catholic church services (purely accidentally after getting to know the girls singing and drama group that practice outside the church in the late afternoons when I was on my way home from work to the other house where I used to live), seen many a lively Anglican service on a Sunday morning (and heard the many even livelier practice sessions held in the evenings during the weeks running up to them) seeing as the Anglican church is right outside my window, and witnessed an Adventist evening session where the participants were all reaching some higher spiritual level and all speaking in tongues (from the safety and comfort of a friends roof terrace I might add, bizarrely enough it was happening whilst we were enjoying pizza night).

So today, on the back of an unruly whim of curiosity which led me to asking my manager about the religious path he follows, I was subsequently invited to a service at the Deeper Life Ministry, happening this very evening. Part of me was curious as to what it would be like, another part of me was worried that by attending this one session I would be bound to some kind of commitment to this faith and expected to make this my Monday evening ritual from now until I leave. So far however, thanks to Ghana's free spirit and acceptance of difference, most people have accepted my curiosity about their religion, and invited me into their churches without expectation or pressure to conform. They basically accept that as a white person I tend do some strange things every now and again, but mostly, aside from asking me about whether I believe in God (something that most Ghanaians hold as a staple for life, just like banku and okra stew), they are pretty comfortable with my curious explorations of their faith.

By lunchtime, a printed copy of something entitled 'Daniels Uncompromising Decision' had made its way onto my desk, with a post-it note that read 'pre-session reading'. Wow, I wasn't expecting any homework. It was all about 'the conviction and courage of a true believer' and how, even 'when lions are ahead' it is still 'better to do God's will than hold back'. So I think I was getting the idea about the 'deeper' aspect of this faith. Under each section of the text was a long list of chapters and passages from the bible. Oh dear. I don't even own a bible...

Or at least I didn't, until I was given one by my manager as a gift just before we let for the session. It followed from his look of shock and confusion when I told him I don't own one, and I think he gave it to me to save face (my face) when we were at the service. So, under a gorgeous sunset over the hills of Burkina Faso, we walked the two hundred metres down the road to the 'church'. For all the money spent on marketing materials, flashy posters that I have seen, glossy magazines, and colour pamphlets, I was not expecting a building with only a couple of half-built walls and half a ramshackle tin roof. But I suppose to them it's money spent on getting people in in the first place, and keeping them there with commitment to faith, rather than enticing them with a nice building with a roof and a door.

Rows of plastic chairs were lined up facing a television screen that was linked with an array of wires to some kind of generator, which also provided the lights. My hopes of sitting somewhere at the back, tucked away where I could quietly observe and not stand out like a sore thumb were quickly dashed as my manager promptly chose prime seats right at the front, and my desire not to be noticed washed straight out of the holes in the walls as a ripple of 'nasara' whispers, giggles and murmurs passed through the rows of people behind. As the sun dipped down behind the hills, the bright neon lights flickered on and the TV popped into a fuzz of colour as the generator kicked in.

And thus it began, a huge Nigerian man with an equally huge voice 'leading nations of people to a deeper meaning in their Christian and spiritual lives' through the power of the T.V.. Lucky for me the service was in English, but unlucky for me it was still a version of English that I hardly understood. In between my desperate and pretty futile attempts to flick through the bible to the relevant page and passage, as the speaker jumped from Daniel to Peter to Paul to Hebrew to Esther to Psalms as fast as the desperate flies bounced from one fluorescent light to the other, I slowly began to figure out some of the key words of the service. There was the sound of 'Amen', which we were supposed to follow with 'Amen', and of 'Jesus Christ', which we followed with 'praise the lord'. The 'do you believe in God?!' was hard to mistake, as it was said with such ferocity about every other minute, and repeated over and over until the crowd literally boomed back 'I believe in God!!'. Now I see why there is only half a roof.

In between all of this, I quietly rolled down my sleeves, pulled up my collar, fastened my shirt buttons right up to my neck, and sneakily stretched down the legs of my trousers - in preparation for attack of the flies. Before you could say 'God made all things bright and beautiful' a swarm of nasty looking flies, insects and midges had entered the church, apparently equally passionate about their faith in this man, attracted to the T.V. and lights with dizzying fervour. It seems the prime time seats come with a cost, we were prime targets for these little b*****s, rocketing, spiralling, fluttering and aiming right for us the whole time, they were in my hair, my shirt collar, my eyes, and when I looked down a stream of army ants were heading straight for my shoe. Thankfully they annoyed so much that they managed to distract Bernard from the service for long enough for u to move to seats somewhere nearer the back, in the dark. It was some relief from the flies, but damn my legs were aching - I didn't dare put my feet anywhere near the floor again!

I waited the whole service for the hymn singing at the end, which never actually came anyway as the leaders were too busy bustling for cash and donations for their upcoming spiritual weekend, which I managed to avoid invitation too by sinking as far as possible into the sweaty plastic chair. After a few pleasantries with the other members, I managed to escape back into the night half bitten and half confused - it was an interesting experience to say the least, one that you might think would actually teach my curiosity a lesson, although I doubt it.

With love from the Deeper Life half-church,

Emma

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