A few weeks ago, during the church meeting, Pastor asked for those who had experienced a degree of madness to raise their hands. I was led to raise mine, though I couldn’t remember having such an experience at that time. Later, the Holy Spirit reminded me of how I was saved from insanity sometime in the past.
In April 2021, I returned from school (the boarding house) for the Easter break. Everything began on the Saturday following the day I returned. I had dinner and went to sleep; that was the last thing I remembered. The events that happened afterwards was recounted to me. According to my mum, I woke up a few minutes later, complaining of a severe headache. She thought it was just a normal headache, so she gave me paracetamol and poured water on my head. But nothing helped. I began to insist, speaking almost prophetically, that we go to our church, for my healing would come from there.
The next day, Sunday, my mum took me to the church so that our Parish priest could lay hands on me. According to her, when the priest saw me, he said, “Take him to the hospital, take him to the hospital.” But I begged him to lay hands on me, so he did. After the church service, I was taken to a chemist to get some medicine. At first, they thought it was acute malaria, but after giving me the medicine, they found that nothing improved. I was then taken to the first hospital, where I stayed for about two weeks. Although the doctors attended to me, I didn’t respond to treatment. Then, I was taken to a church where the pastor prayed and rebuked what was stopping my body from responding to the medication. After the prayer, I began to respond to the treatment a little bit.
Some weeks later, I was transferred to another hospital—the Federal Medical Centre in Umuahia. There, I was admitted first to the emergency ward. While in the emergency ward, I would shout and scream to be taken out of the hospital. I had many experiences, including sleeping in the ward with a dead body without realising it.
Later, I was moved to the children’s ward. In that ward, I saw people with various illnesses. Even though I wasn’t feeling well, I was frightened, especially when I witnessed a child of three months with an illness that caused her to swell abnormally.
Since the doctors couldn’t determine my condition, a brain CT scan was conducted. It revealed internal bleeding in my brain, even though I don’t remember any accident or event that would have caused such. They also discovered I had an ulcer. Several medications were given to me, but nothing changed. Different neurosurgeons came; one would recommend his own medicine, then another would cancel it and prescribe a different treatment. This went on for about a month, with my parents spending large sums of money on medication. Each medication cost around ₦5,000 and above, not to mention the injections or drips.
While in the hospital, my behaviour became erratic. I would call inanimate objects human beings! I also developed an uncontrollable hunger. I would eat in the morning and still want more after a few hours. It got so bad to the point where, if someone visited me, I would try to take their food with me. Once, I even searched through a visitor’s bag for edibles; I didn’t find any but only found clothes, so I asked, “Why don’t they eat clothes?” I was so desperate for food that nothing seemed satisfying. At first, all these experiences of my ill health felt like a dream. And I would pinch myself to confirm if I was awake or asleep – it was real.
Amid all this, people showed me love. I felt deeply cared for—church members, friends, and others visited me, called me, and even sent financial help. One classmate even jumped the fence to see me. I truly felt loved, and I thank God for all those who cared.
Sometimes, when people visited, I wouldn’t let them leave. I’d cry and shout so that they wouldn’t depart; often, they had to hide to slip away. On other occasions, I would run out of the hospital, telling my mum I didn’t want to stay, almost as if I knew my healing wouldn’t come from the hospital.
After about a month of no improvement, the hospital declared there was nothing more they could do and that I needed to be referred to the Federal Medical Centre in Enugu for further treatment and surgery. By this time, my parents had exhausted all their money, even borrowing from family members. After we had waited for a referral letter from the hospital that never arrived, my aunt called from Cross River State (Akanpa, precisely), saying that I should be brought back because a program was to be held by a prophetic Catholic priest. My mom signed an undertaking to take me out of the hospital despite my lack of recovery, and we left. On the day we left, I stayed outside from morning until we finally departed, despite being begged by a nurse to go in. I ignored her and remained outside as though I already knew that day was the day I was to leave.
The next day, my mum and I were to travel to Cross River State. Before we left, my dad’s friend mentioned a pastor who would take my dad and me to see a man, unaware that this pastor was Eckankar. The following day, my parents, the said man, and I drove to his place in Akwa Ibom (Eborukana, precisely).
When we arrived, something inside me already told me that this wasn’t the right place, yet I couldn’t resist. I asked my parents to take me away, but they didn’t. The man wrote a list of things needed for my healing and said it was due to a spirit from the water and that sacrifices were required. This is how my hair was shaved off. I was taken to a big river at midnight to do something I don’t fully remember, and afterwards, he bathed me with what I believe was not normal water—the bath being done in stages. He further gave me something to apply to my skin and something else to take as medicine.
I believe this is how I became dedicated to things I don’t fully understand, and I do not doubt that all these things laid their hands on me. I spent one night in that man’s house.
The next day, my dad returned to work while my mum and I continued our journey to Cross River. Upon reaching Cross River, my aunt began to cry when she saw me, and my mum joined her—I couldn’t understand why. That evening, I was taken to a prayer house to meet a woman of God. While there, I felt that this was not the right place for me either. I stood up with authority and walked out, telling my mum and aunt to join me when they were finished.
This woman then wrote her own list of assignments. After some negotiation with my people, they agreed on a certain amount (I don’t recall the exact sum). We were essentially stripped. Her assignment involved washing my head with coconut water—something I could have just drunk. I had forgotten this detail until I recalled a comment from Pastor a few weeks earlier about those whose heads were washed with coconut water, and I remembered I was among them.
I attended various church programs. Bear in mind that these weren’t the original church program that brought me to Cross River. When the day of the main program arrived, my mum and I went for consultations, and my healing began when the Catholic priest laid his hands on me while placing a Bible on my head and declaring words of freedom. For the first time, I carried something heavy on my head without experiencing a headache. After that, I attended other deliverance programs held by him. Some practices—such as praying surrounded by candlelight and breaking coconuts and olive oil while declaring warfare on enemies—seemed strange to me, but I had faith in God. Through this priest, God healed me, though not completely, as I still felt occasional headaches when stressed.
That was the beginning of my serious walk with the Lord. I had a firm conviction that God saves, but growing up in a Catholic background, I didn’t understand the concept of justification. I don’t recall going out for an altar call. I was laid hands on, and I began to walk in the gifts of prophecy and words of knowledge, and my faith grew, even though I wasn’t aware of the baptism of the Holy Spirit beyond what I knew as a Roman Catholic boy. Sometimes I even prophesy in my sleep, and often I say or pray for things that later come to pass.
I am the only child of my mum, so you can imagine how she felt watching me go through all of things I went through. At one point, I looked at my parents and couldn’t recognise them because they looked so thin and stressed from everything that had happened. From that time, I began to seek the face of the Lord and pray once a week, as I was taught in church.
Before my first day at God’s Lighthouse, which was in December 2023, I spoke to a childhood friend, saying that the only thing that could pull me out of Catholicism was God. I didn’t know I was speaking prophetically, but God made it happen. I was invited by one of the brothers in church, and I even went to my former church that Sunday morning before coming (and that was the last time I went back there). During the meeting in GLH, I experienced a physical manifestation of light in my eyes. After the meeting, I couldn’t see clearly for a few days, but eventually, my vision was restored.
While the prophetic team prayed for me as is done for all first timers, they declared that the Lord intended to take care of the surgery needed for my head—a surgery the hospital couldn’t complete. For the first eight months after I came, I lived free from headaches until I stumbled into sin. The scripture “Before I was afflicted, I went astray” (Psalm 119:67) became real to me. However, when I confessed and was restored, I regained my healing. Now I only feel occasional stress headaches, but nothing like they used to be in the past. I thank God for His healing power upon my life.
© GAM 2025
