•Ace Journalist, FEMI AKINTUNDE-JOHNSON Reveals A Lot
Recently,
veteran Journalist, Femi Akintunde-Johnson wrote about Prophet Taiwo Ojo in an
article titled: TAIWO OJO: IS THIS PROPHET FOR REAL? I woke up today with a
swelling itch… to write about this interesting man. Just before mid-day, it
became a compulsion...so here we are!“I met Prophet Taiwo Abel Ojo online,
through my wife, during the initial lockdown that came in the wake of the first
wave of the Wuhan gift to the world, COVID-19. That was around June 2020. “
His ministration was mostly in Yoruba, a language I love to hear, but a
work-in-progress to speak as deeply and fluently. This man ignited my interest
with his familiarity with the scriptures, virtually inexhaustible anecdotes of
his personal calamities; his humorous interjections with some of his
lieutenants, and a general sense of passion for things of God, especially
prayers, fasting and songs of praise.
A
careful and regular listener would have been fully aware of Ojo's life story:
from the village boy adept at farming, hunting, and surviving the harsh
realities of rustic lifestyles, to the vagaries of itinerant evangelism, and
sundry acts of abject poverty. In impeccable Yoruba, his translators
struggle to transmit as quickly and as accurately as possible into English, for
the sake of non-Yoruba congregants. Even his most efficient translator (Lanre)
sometimes trips over a few of Ojo's heavy metaphoric Yoruba words and
symbolisms, tinged with the iconic Ibadan dialect, though he is of the
Ogbomosho stock.
Another unique aspect of Ojo is his sheer
energy - a remarkable capacity for a man who looks anywhere from 45 to 55 years
old. When we came in contact with his "Prophet Taiwo Ojo Live" on
Facebook, he was straddling around 2,000 and 3,000 viewers - and I was often
amused when he requested repeatedly: " e share e nigba metala…"
(share it - the FB link - 13 times), or some higher number. Confession: I
refused to do so. After all, I was just "sounding him out"...why
would I share what I hardly knew? Today, his "online members" are
verging close to 10,000 on Facebook, with comments in excess of 50,000; and
similarly so on YouTube.
But
his services, between two hours and four, or more, were electric. And rapid!
God bless data providers and sellers! This man is on the pulpit every day,
twice! And thrice on Wednesday/Thursday and Friday/Saturday for vigils. Each
programme (he claimed he was divinely instructed) is headlined by a specific
title: Every morning, except Sunday, is Isoji Ori Afefe (Online Revival) which
runs live from his Ibadan location, and on social media, between 7.30 am and
9am. Every evening, between 7 and 8pm is for Àsotele Woli (Prophetic
Declaration). The vigils are conducted in a fairly large auditorium, CAC
Covenant of Mercy (Majemu Anu) church, off Iwo Roads, in the Adelubi area; and
sometimes at the huge expanse of their campground, Mercy Camp, in Osengere,
along Ife-Ibadan expressway. The vigils (Oru Itusile - Night of Deliverance)
run from 12 midnight to about 4am. And because Ojo is a poor timekeeper, his
programmes run beyond the allotted time, with the connivance of his live audience
who often egg him on. Virtually, all the prayer meetings run late.
Apparently,
no one cares, and hardly a dull moment, when Ojo is in his elements. Yet, it's
astounding that several people are always around and milling for every service
- to the chagrin of advocates of safe distancing and face masks, I suppose.
Sunday morning is a different world: from 7am to 1pm is a walk in the park; yet
the evening service is never missed! He's like an incredible man-machine -
without a flagging speed, nor a hoarse voice.
Another
of his peculiarities is his uncommon frank and unique prayer points. You sense
that this man has been so brutally beaten by life's vicissitudes for decades
that nothing now matters to him but seeking holiness; being immersed in fasting
and prayers (he mentions days and weeks of fasting, and trips to sundry
'mountains' that sound far-fetched to the uninitiated), and surrendering
himself to be used by God as He pleases. He churns out prayer points, laced
with vivid testimonials, and corroboratory passages from the Bible, then laced
with an "if-you-like-stand-and-pray-or-if-you-want-
sit-and-waste-your-life" admonition, as he rumbles through an hour or more
of relentless prayer tussles.
Many
of his online parishioners come from all over the world - I kid you not - to a
quarterly three-day revival (broadly themed "72 Hours") at the
Osengere Mercy camp which, I believe, can contain more than 8,000 people. They
claim different acts of miracles: healings, extraordinary turnarounds,
spiritual upliftment, overcoming demonic attacks, reversals of misfortunes,
etc. Interestingly, Ojo is always quick to disclaim personal knowledge of the
miracles, as he insists that he merely follows the "voice of God" he
hears, and responds to...the same who has led him to take countless actions and
acts of self-denial.
Many top gospel artistes and guest ministers
have graced the platform of Covenant of Mercy: Bola Are, JA Adelakun (Ayewa),
Elijah 'Olorunosebi' Akintunde, Bunmi 'Omije-Ojumi' Akinnanu, etc. By the way,
it was on his stage that Tope Alabi made the "Oniduro Mi' gaffe...and he
wasted no time correcting her error, even before it went viral.
Any
open-minded observer would be entertained by Ojo's delivery and performance -
he bounces off borderline limericks and jokes on some of his pastor acolytes,
like Laide, the man with the facial marks; Yinka, the good-looking pastor whose
command of English is even less elegant than Ojo's; and Taiwo, his pot-bellied
deputy who tries to keep a straight face as much as possible. There are a
couple of elderly pastors that Ojo apparently defers to, and are thus a little
immune from his jocular darts - Baba Adebowale and Baba Adeleke. Even some
members of the choir and a few regular congregants are now fairly well-known to
Ojo's admirers because of his occasional jabs at them: Sister Bridget, Bola
'Dudu', Bola 'Pupa' (all in the choir), Saida, Iya Michael, Alhaji… their
interactions, often one-sided, make the extensive prayer sessions less humdrum.
In
spite of his humour and flourish in ministration, Ojo is also a highly
disciplined and fair-minded person. He doesn't cavort for dues, tithes and
offerings as is common in some of today's churches. "I don't need your
money, it's your salvation I'm after" - he regularly warns in his best
English pose. He walks the talk often - publicly lambasting any of his
lieutenants who show favouritism in giving privilege to anyone to jump the
queue for the long and draining counselling sessions with Ojo. No one is too big
to escape the queue, and he often berates highly-placed individuals who storm
off, offended that they are not accorded "due protocols" in
recognition of their statuses. Well, if he is even-handed to his family
members, to the consternation of his aides, how much more important are strangers?
That's a man I'll love to meet one day - to ask: is he really real?
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