#prayerwarrior

This my neighbor in the homebound taxi is notorious for … chanting.
As in chanting religious verses. Yes.
And he doesn’t see the awkward glances from passengers who've had a hard day with bosses breathing down their neck, or whose sales have refused to come through, and all they want to do is doze off as they hope and also pray for a better tomorrow.
Naye me I know this man. I know him well, and as he enters, I am praying, “God please deliver him to the back of the taxi, please.” 
The other day he chanted for six out of the eight miles home, successfully out-competing the radio. But there he is now, plopping himself heavily into the seat, in his bulky agbada and lugging two bags laden with God-knows-what. 
First, a freshly boiled cob comes out of the smaller bag and he proceeds to chomp it down army-worm style down—- in the five minutes we're waiting at the Wandegeya lights! 
I know the drill. The other day it was a mix of ground nuts and hard corn... and then the chanting began. Another time it was these milky biscuit sticks... and then reciting verses went into full gear. 
I try my best not to look at him but from the corner of my eye I can see him unzipping the bigger rucksack. 
Just then, someone calls and he answers the phone. “Wait, I'm traveling! Nja ku koonako!". 
But a quick glance reveals the string of 99 prayer beads being tugged out of the side pocket. I hold my breath. 
Then before I know it... ... the chanting is in full session. 
Bead by bead. And we're still five miles away. 
Anyway, I console myself that kasita he is not like the ones who preach for four minutes and then in the fifth minute they are urging all those who “feel how their preaching has touched them", to pray a conversion prayer.