Trotro Matters: A Bully Of A Prophet Part 3


The bully of a prophet drilled me dred. I couldn’t understand how the opinionated me could not speak my mind. I consoled myself with a recent story of how a loud radio presenter, Blakk Rasta literally lost all traces of his eloquence when he was questioned on the floor of Ghana’s Parliament on a matter he discussed on his programme.

To my dear readers, who speculated I may have increased my offering from GHS 2 to GHS 10 because pastor bully terrified me, let me do you the honour of disappointing you.

I recall telling the driver’s mate I wanted to alight at the next stop. Unfortunately, I never got to do so before dumsor forced me to end my blog post prematurely. Feel free to refer to the concluding paragraphs of the part 2.

Now, let’s hear the continuation of the matter with the bully…

I finally alighted from the bus and walked from the Dzorwulu Junction to the office. For want of a better expression, “my back suddenly felt heavy” (a transliterated phrase). I thought of things the other passengers might be saying about me. But hey, they are entitled to whatever opinion they formed. The bully episode is over. Halleluyah.

So I got to the office a quarter past 7, sat at my desk, and said a prayer. I headed for the washroom to offload a burden (not the kind you are thinking about, lol). I gently unwrapped the pastor’s paper and shoved it into the water closet. Leaving the washroom, I felt relieved as I closed the whole unfortunate chapter on the bully and his wahala.

Let me fast forward to what happened when I closed from work after 5 pm. As is my custom, I joined a trotro from the same Dzorwulu Junction to Tema. And for the first time that day, I enjoyed a smooth and peaceful ride all the way home.

At home, I took my laptop from my bag. And while at it, a piece of paper dropped to the floor. With excitement i picked it up only to find it was the same paper Bro Bully gave me. I was stunned and alarmed. The smile I had on my face transformed into a feeling I can’t describe. I knew there was no way that paper could make its way from the washroom into my bag. The whole thing didn’t make sense.

  • Do I really need to call this bully for answers?
  • Will he terrorize me again?
  • Is he the reason I’m going through all this?

Chai, what a day!

Ghanaian Bully Stories


Click here to read Trotro Matters Part 4


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