Diella Teku
In a stunning turn of events that has reignited public outrage over religious deception in Ghana, self-proclaimed evangelist and former fetish priestess, Patricia Asiedua, widely known as Nana Agradaa, has been handed a 15-year prison sentence with hard labour by the Accra Circuit Court. Her crime? Orchestrating a meticulously planned money-doubling scam under the guise of Christian charity and spiritual deliverance.
The court’s judgment was delivered shortly after a mandatory pregnancy test debunked her last-minute attempt at delaying justice—a ploy some critics say was just another chapter in her long-standing playbook of manipulation. The test confirmed she is not pregnant, clearing the legal path for what many believe was a long-overdue sentence.
Her Honor Evelyn Asamoah, the presiding judge, minced no words. She described Agradaa’s fraudulent acts as “skillfully executed” and “utterly remorseless.” According to the court, the scam wasn’t spontaneous—it was premeditated, deliberate, and designed to exploit the unwavering faith of vulnerable followers.
At the center of the case was an all-night service held at her Heaven Way Champion International Ministry in Weija, where multiple churchgoers claimed they were promised miraculous financial multiplication—if only they handed over their cash first. Once the money changed hands, Agradaa mysteriously vanished. Some victims had sold belongings or borrowed funds, convinced they were investing in divine abundance.
Worse still, the court highlighted a 2022 televised broadcast in which Agradaa boldly claimed to possess supernatural money-multiplying powers. That performance, broadcast to thousands, led countless Ghanaians to send money in hopes of a spiritual windfall—returns that never came.
Moments after her sentencing, when brought out of the courtroom, Agradaa turned to journalists and said “Mpaebo no a”—a cryptic Twi phrase meaning “only prayers” or “let it be prayers.”
This statement came in response to a journalist who asked if she had any words for her church members before heading to begin her sentence. Calm but guarded, Agradaa gave no further comment, leaving observers to interpret her remark as a final spiritual plea or a quiet signal of resignation.
Agradaa’s transformation from fetish priestess to Christian evangelist has long raised eyebrows, with many critics accusing her of swapping one hustle for another—trading traditional spiritualism for the pulpit, not out of conviction, but convenience.
Her sentencing has ignited renewed calls for regulatory oversight of churches and spiritual institutions, particularly in a country where religion is deeply entwined with identity, hope, and survival. Critics argue that the state can no longer afford to turn a blind eye to “prophets” who prey on the poor, using the Bible not as a guidebook, but as a prop.