Let me tell you a story that still makes me shake my head and laugh every time I remember it. It’s about the day I met a beggar who, apparently, had standards. Yes, you read that right.
It all started one hot Tuesday afternoon in Accra. The sun was burning like it owed someone money 🌞🔥. I had just left my friend Kwame’s place after watching a movie and eating all his biscuits (don’t judge me, he offered). I was feeling good, full, and even a bit generous.
As I walked to the roadside to pick a trotro, I saw a man sitting by the corner. He had a small bowl in front of him and a cardboard sign that said, “Please help me. God bless you.” The usual.
He looked dusty, tired, and hungry. My heart softened immediately. I reached into my pocket and pulled out all the coins I had left. It was maybe GHS 1.20 in coins. Not much, but hey, every little helps, right?
I smiled, walked to him, and dropped the coins gently into his bowl with a small nod. I was expecting a “Thank you” or even a smile. Do you know what this man said?
He looked at the coins, then looked at me like I had just insulted his ancestors 😳.
Then, with the calmness of a rich man in a Range Rover, he said, “Eii... coins?”
I blinked. “Yes... coins.”
He shook his head slowly. “Bro, I don’t take coins.”
Wait. What? I looked around to check if I was being pranked. Maybe there were cameras somewhere. Maybe this was a TV show. But nope, it was just me, the beggar, and a confused lizard nearby 🦎.
“You don’t take coins?” I repeated.
He pointed at the bowl. “Yes. I only take paper. At least GHS 5.”
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t know if I was allowed. This man, who was sitting on the ground, with dust as his cushion and a plastic bowl as his bank, had just rejected my hard-earned coins. Coins that survived trotro mates, pure water sellers, and kelewele women.
I stood there for a few seconds, not sure if I should feel insulted or impressed. I finally said, “But bro... it’s money.”
He nodded. “Yes, but it makes too much noise. It’s embarrassing.”
I nearly fainted 😂. Embarrassing? The same coins that help people buy meat pie and transport? This man said it was noisy.
Now, the funny thing is, I had a GHS 10 note in my wallet, but something in my spirit refused to bring it out. That day, pride and poverty were fighting in my wallet. The GHS 10 note looked at me like, “Try me and see if we won’t sleep hungry tonight.”
So, I picked up my coins from the bowl, looked the man in the eye, and said, “Okay. Keep praying. Maybe the angels will bring you paper money.”
He smiled and said, “Amen.”
I walked away, half angry, half laughing. How can a beggar reject coins? Even my own piggy bank at home doesn’t complain.
As I waited for my trotro, I kept replaying the moment in my head. I even started questioning myself.
Was the coin too old? Did I drop it rudely? Maybe my face looked like someone giving punishment, not help?
But then, something even funnier happened.
As I got into the trotro, the mate shouted, “Last seat! GHS 4!”
I reached into my wallet confidently... and my hand came out with only the same GHS 1.20 in coins I had picked from the beggar 😭. The GHS 10 had disappeared. Gone. Vanished. I checked again and again.
No note.
Now it was me who needed help 😩.
I turned to the mate and said, “Please, this is all I have.”
He looked at me. Then at the coins. Then back at me.
And he shouted, “Ei! You dey beg or you dey join trotro?”
At that moment, I felt the spirit of the beggar enter my body. I understood him deeply. Life was hard. Maybe the coins really were too noisy 😔🪙🪙🪙.
I had to get down from the trotro and start walking. That sun that was burning earlier? It turned into firewood heat. I was sweating like jollof at a party.
As I walked home with my noisy coins jingling in my pocket, I finally got it.
Maybe some people don’t want to beg with noise.
Maybe some people have silent suffering.
Or maybe... just maybe... the beggar was secretly richer than me 😂.
From that day, I stopped giving coins to beggars. Not because I was angry. But because I didn’t want to hear, “I don’t take coins” again.
Moral of the story? If you're going to give, make it paper. Or just send momo and avoid shame 😅📱💸
The Day the Coins Followed Me Home 😅
So after walking for nearly thirty minutes under the blazing Accra sun with my noisy coins in my pocket and shame in my chest, I finally reached home. I opened the door and flung myself on the sofa like a tired wrestler after round 10.
As I sat there, fanning myself with a church program flyer from 2017, my roommate, Joe, walked in.
Joe looked at me and asked, “Chale, why you dey sweat like you thief fan?”
I sighed deeply. “Joe, today… today the streets showed me pepper. A beggar rejected my coins.”
Joe burst out laughing immediately. He laughed so hard he almost dropped the bread and groundnut paste he was holding. “Wait wait wait… a beggar? Rejected coins? Like, actual Ghana pesewa coins?”
“Yes,” I said, still traumatised. “He said he only accepts notes.”
Joe wiped tears from his eyes and said, “Chale, this be spiritual. We need to pray.”
But before we could call any prayer warriors, we heard a knock on the door.
Knock knock knock!
Joe opened the door and guess who was standing there?
No, not the beggar (that would have been too much). It was our landlady, Mama Dora.
“Boys,” she said, “NEPA has disconnected the light again.”
“Ah! Mama Dora, but we paid!” Joe shouted.
“I know,” she said. “But they said somebody dey tap light from this compound to power cold store. So now they say we should pay reconnection fee. GHS 200.”
Joe and I looked at each other. I whispered, “I still get coins…”
He gave me one eye and hissed. “You want her to slap you?”
We tried to negotiate with Mama Dora.
“Can we pay half?” Joe asked.
She said, “Half light be what? I should switch it on only in the kitchen?”
Joe smiled awkwardly. “That could work.”
Mama Dora walked away shaking her head and muttering something about useless tenants who watch football all night and can’t pay light bills.
Now here’s the funny part.
That night, there was no light, no fan, and no food. The coins in my pocket were jingling louder than ever, as if mocking me.
Joe turned to me and said, “Bro, those coins are cursed. The moment you gave them out, your life started spoiling. We need to throw them away.”
“I can’t throw them,” I said. “It’s still money.”
“Okay then, use them to buy something tomorrow. Let’s break the curse.”
So the next day, I decided to go and buy bread and groundnut from the junction shop with the coins. At least, I could get small breakfast and maybe fix my broken luck.
I entered the shop, greeted the woman and said, “Please, GHS 2 bread and GHS 1 groundnut paste.”
She smiled and started packing it.
Then I pulled out my coins.
The woman paused.
She looked at the coins. Looked at me. Then said the deadliest words I’ve ever heard:
“Ah… coins?”
Here we go again 😩.
I nodded. “Yes, aunty. Legal tender.”
She chuckled. “Ehh, I no get change for coin oh. You go add GHS 1 more?”
I stood there confused. “But I gave you exact amount.”
“Yes,” she said. “But you know say coins dey slow business. I no dey accept too many.”
At this point, I wanted to ask, Is there a secret WhatsApp group where all sellers and beggars have agreed not to take coins again? 😫
I sighed and walked away without the bread.
As I reached home, Joe laughed again and said, “Bro, even Satan accepts coins for your soul. But Accra people? Never.”
The Coin Redemption Plan 🪙💡
Now I was determined.
If no one would accept my coins, then I’d use them.
So I gathered all the coins, put them in an old socks (don’t judge me), and headed to the nearest bank. I was going to deposit the money and transfer it to my momo.
Smart, right?
Wrong.
I got to the bank and joined the queue. After thirty minutes of sweating and holding my socks like a confused Santa Claus, it was finally my turn.
I placed the coins on the counter with confidence.
The bank teller looked at them, looked at me, and said, “Sir, you need to sort them. By value. And wrap them.”
I blinked. “Wrap?”
“Yes,” she said, “in paper rolls. Like GHS 1 in 10 pesewa coins. Then GHS 1 in 20 pesewa coins. Until you reach GHS 10 minimum.”
So I had to do maths?
“Can’t you help me count?” I asked.
She smiled the smile of someone who had already clocked out mentally.
“Sorry, bank policy.”
I carried my socks back home in shame. Joe saw me and just started clapping. “Round of applause for Broke Santa!”
We sat down, poured the coins on the floor, and started counting. By the time we finished, it was midnight.
I had GHS 5.40 in coins.
And still, no one wanted them.
—
Final Part: The Coin Legacy 😂
A week passed. I gave up trying to spend the coins.
Then, something magical happened.
Joe’s little cousin came to visit. He’s about 6 years old and full of energy.
He saw the coins and screamed, “Uncle! Can I have these? I want to use them for my susu box!”
My heart warmed instantly. “Of course! Take everything!”
He gathered the coins joyfully like he had just found gold. He smiled at me and said, “Thank you! I’m rich now!”
And just like that… I was free.
Free from the curse of noisy coins. Free from rejection. Free from walking long distances with GHS 1.20 in shame.
And the next day, when I passed by the same beggar again… guess what?
He was holding a sign that said: “No coins. Thank you.”
I shook my head and whispered, “This country will humble you.”
😂😂😂
Moral of the story?
If you have coins, just keep them for children or your susu box. The streets of Accra are not kind to metal money.
And next time you want to help someone…
Ask first: “Do you accept coins?”
Because these days, even beggars have standards 😎🪙💸
THE END.
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