My Testimony

On the 1st of November, 2000, I began a 40-day fasting and prayer journey. I remember that day clearly. It wasn’t just another spiritual exercise—I felt in my spirit that something unusual had been set in motion in the realm of the Spirit. By 2 p.m. that same day, something happened that marked the entire fast. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t dreaming. I was fully conscious—yet suddenly, my eyes opened into a vision as clear as daylight. In the vision, a hand appeared before me, holding five official envelopes—clean, sealed, and arranged neatly, the way important documents are packaged. One after the other, those envelopes were handed to me. There was no voice. There was no explanation. Just the quiet, heavy presence of God and these five envelopes placed into my hands. As I received them, there was a strong inner knowing—an unspoken conviction—that each envelope represented something God was releasing into my destiny: Breakthroughs. Assignments. Access. Provision. And divine approvals that ...

I have been a believer since December 12th, 1993. My sister, Maria, and my brother, Nicholas, met the Lord a few years before me. Later, my younger brother, Paul, encountered Christ in Kaduna at Living Faith Church. It was through Paul that we all discovered the profound depth of the Word of Faith preached by Bishop David Oyedepo and Pastor David Abioye. Hearing those messages felt like salvation all over again—our spirits came alive. Our faith was renewed. We devoured God’s Word with hunger, passion, and a sense of fresh purpose. So when the very first Shiloh was announced for December 1999 in Otta, Ogun State, we each determined in our hearts to attend. But here’s the twist: I was living in Lagos. Maria was in Benin City. Nicholas was a student at UNIZIK in Awka, Anambra State. Paul was living in Kaduna. None of us discussed travel plans. None of us knew whether the others were attending. And remember—this was 1999. There were no mobile phones in Nigeria. No texting, no calling, no W...

There was a season in my life when I had to make one of the hardest decisions as a young believer. I was living in Sabo town in South Ibie, staying with my older brother Dickson and his wife. At that time, I felt constantly maltreated. But even more importantly, I felt my spiritual life slipping. I didn’t want to backslide, not after everything God had begun in me. So, with determination and a hunger for God, I left Sabo and returned to Iyorah village to live with my parents. That single decision came with a heavy price. My school then was Our Lady of Fatima College (formerly Otaru Grammar School), and the distance from Iyorah to the school was over 20 kilometers. Every day, I woke up at 4:00 a.m., long before the sun considered rising. I would step onto that long, lonely road, sometimes in total darkness, and start walking. The mornings were quiet—too quiet for a boy my age alone on the road—but God walked with me. The real challenge came in the afternoons. After closing at 2:30 p.m.,...

Of all the joys in my sixteen-year-old world, reading was my greatest refuge. My mind was a library in constant demand, devouring words at a prodigious rate. I could journey through a 200-page novel in a single, blissful day. My shelves were a testament to my eclectic taste: the brilliant puzzles of Agatha Christie, the hard-boiled mysteries of Sherlock Holmes, the thrilling adventures of Nick Carter, and the gritty paperbacks from James Hadley Chase that I found in the Arrow Books and African Writers Series. I was a young man, hungry for stories, and every book was a new landscape to explore. It was in the midst of this literary hunger that she arrived. A new family moved into the neighborhood—a mother, a brother, and her. She was a beautiful young woman, my age, with a quiet demeanor that belied a certain knowingness. One afternoon, as I chatted with her brother amidst a group of friends, she noticed the worn Nick Carter novel in my hand. "You love reading?" she asked, her ...

I was just 14 years old when sickness hit me like a storm. It came suddenly and drained the life out of me. My skin turned so pale that I looked literally white, and even the doctors at Notre Dame Hospital—the best at the time—were confused. They ran every test they could, but nothing made sense. Something strange was happening to me: I was losing blood without bleeding. My strength disappeared. I couldn’t hold anything in my hands. And whenever the weather turned cold, my hands and legs became completely useless. I was slowly becoming crippled. My mother, like any desperate mother, began running everywhere for answers—hospitals, herbalists, native doctors. Many times I was dragged along. Different people gave different explanations, but they all agreed on one thing: “This boy is under spiritual attack.” But none of them had any real solution. In fact, as young as I was, I could see through many of those native doctors—fake men who preyed on people’s fear, taking advantage of a mother ...

This vision came to me for the second time, but this time it was clearer and more troubling. This was 14th January, 2014 — 3:49 a.m. I found myself returning from a city to a place that looked exactly like Auchi Polytechnic. Before this, in the vision, a Vice Chancellor had come to visit my sister, Sister Maria, where she was doing business. People gathered around to congratulate her, and somehow that joy connected to my own journey. I loved the atmosphere, so I found myself walking toward a place that looked like Auchi Polytechnic campus. People were congratulating me and thanking me, as though I had brought something valuable from overseas. I was supposed to be in a car, but strangely, the path I was taking was only a footpath—narrow, almost hidden. Yet I kept walking. Soon, I realized I was sharing goods that I had brought from abroad. But when I looked closely, the goods were yam seedlings inside a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow itself was unusual—computerized—and it was being pushed...

On the 31st of October 2020, I was on my way to church. I boarded a bus at 3rd Junction, heading toward St. Saviour Road. It was a normal day—nothing unusual, nothing that suggested danger was ahead. But along St. Saviour Road, something unexpected happened. Without warning, the bus suddenly developed a mechanical problem. In the next split second, the tire pulled out completely while the vehicle was still in motion. The entire bus lurched violently, and panic erupted everywhere. People were shouting “Jesus!” from every corner of the bus. Fear filled the air. But strangely—I wasn’t afraid. Not even a little. The part of the vehicle that should have been most damaged, and where injury should have been unavoidable, was my side. Yet God—in His mercy—shielded me completely. The bus shook, passengers screamed, the tire rolled away, and danger swirled around us… But not a single scratch touched me. When the vehicle finally stopped and everyone staggered out in fear and shock, I stepped out c...

On the 11th of April, 1999, I joined some members of the Revival Fire Gospel Church in Idimu, Lagos, to begin a 21-day dry fast. The hunger for God was strong among us. That first night, we went to minister at the Redeemed Christian Church of God, Hosanna Parish, still burning with fresh zeal. But it was on the second day, the 12th of April, around 2:00 p.m., that heaven opened. I was in the church praying, deeply in the Spirit, when suddenly a vision appeared before me. I saw a prison bar engulfed in fire. The flames grew stronger until the entire prison door was consumed, melting away like wax. I understood immediately—bondages were being broken. As I continued praying, especially against anything standing in the way of my destiny, another vision came. A woman appeared before me, staring defiantly. I commanded fire, and instantly she shrank, burned, and vanished like ashes in the wind. Then the Lord granted me yet another vision—a door, burning intensely. It burned and burned until i...

It was the 24th of July, 1998, around 1:00 a.m. I was lying beside my brother, fast asleep, when suddenly I found myself in a dream— but it was more than a dream. I was walking through my village, chasing pigs and dogs and pulling down shrines, as though cleansing the land. Everything seemed normal until I was instantly transported back into my room… only this time, I wasn’t alone. A young woman appeared and tried to force herself on me. I resisted her, and immediately her mother entered, both of them trying with strange strength to overpower me. As they struggled, a huge dog appeared and joined them, its presence dark and intimidating. The fight became intense—unnatural. Realizing what was happening, a holy anger rose inside me. I began to speak in tongues. The very moment the tongues erupted from my mouth, everything changed. The young woman suddenly panicked, screaming and looking for a way to escape. Her mother transformed into a very old woman, frail and weak. The huge dog became ...

It was a Monday morning, around 4:00 a.m., when Brother Emmanuel and I left our village, Iyorah, for a nearby village called Ayogena. We had prayed through the night, and now we were heading out for what we called a Morning Cry — the kind of early-morning street preaching that carries raw power because the world is still asleep and the spirit realm is awake. The village was silent. The sky was dark. Only our voices broke the night. I started preaching at the mouth of the village and continued walking until we reached the far end, where a massive river called River Oghio slept under the darkness like a giant. After reaching the riverbank, I turned and began to walk back, still preaching, still pacing, still declaring the Word. That was when I felt it. A presence. Heavy. Dark. Hostile. Then I heard it — a metallic knocking sound behind me, as though iron was striking the ground. But the road was just red earth. No metal. No stones. No reason for that frightening, echoing sound. Brother E...

It was Thursday, August 27th, 1998, around 12 midnight, when I returned home from church. The night was unusually heavy, and as I stepped into the compound, I froze. A group of masquerades — masked, cloaked, chanting in dark, strange tones — filled our compound. They claimed they had come to visit my uncle. Their presence was unsettling; their movements, ritualistic; their noises, deeply spiritual and disturbing. By the time I tried to sleep, it was already a little after 1 a.m., yet they were still there — chanting, humming, and making sounds that carried the weight of ancient traditions mixed with something darker. Sleep refused to come. Peace was nowhere near. My spirit grew angry — not at the people, but at the forces behind their noises. So I got up. I stood in the middle of my room and began to pray. The more they chanted, the stronger the fire in my spirit rose. The atmosphere felt like a clash of kingdoms. Finally, with boldness I cannot explain, I declared: “Leave this compoun...

It was a few minutes to 5 a.m., on Monday, October 6th, 1997. I had been awake through the night, studying for my JAMB exam. The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. I closed my books for a moment, sat on a chair, and bowed my head to meditate. Then it happened. Without warning, I slipped into a trance — sudden, deep, and supernatural. In an instant, I found myself standing in a vast, endless field. The place was at first familiar to me, like the vast field of my primary school back home in South Ibie, Auchi. The air felt alive. The atmosphere carried a weight I cannot describe. As I stood there as if expecting something to happen, then I became conscious of a glow. A brightness. A presence. I lifted up my eyes — still inside the trance — and what I saw shook me to my core. I Saw Christ in His Glory There, in the sky, was Christ, coming in a glory so overwhelming that human language fails to capture it. The light… the majesty… the power… the purity… nothing on earth compares to it. I ...

It was the last days of the year 2000 — a season marked with hunger for God, brokenness, and a desperate yearning for revival. I had journeyed to Afeokpella with a few burning brothers — Brother Gabriel Sado (now Apostle Love S. Gabriel), Brother Prefer, and others who came down from the North. We had just finished 21 days of dry fasting in Lagos — no food, no water — crying out for the fire of God. When we got to Afokpella on December 26th, we continued another three days locked in a room, speaking in tongues relentlessly, preparing our spirits for an invasion.

It was the following year, 1999. I had returned home to my hometown, and word quickly spread that we were holding an all-night meeting at the Redeemed Christian Church nearby. By evening, the small church was packed — men, women, and youth filled every corner, some standing by the windows, others lingering outside, eager to feel something from heaven. I could sense a deep thirst in the air; everyone seemed to have come with an unspoken hunger.

It was exactly one year after Darkness Departing ’97 — the crusade that shook our village and sent darkness fleeing. We were back home again for another revival. This time, it was the 19th of December, 1998. Brother Sunday and I had invited a dear friend, Brother James, to minister with us. The air that night was thick with hunger — not physical hunger, but a spiritual craving for more of God. We had seen His power before, but deep down, I knew there was something more.

It was December 18th, 1997. Our crusade — Darkness Departing ’97 — had just begun shaking the foundations of our little village, Iyorah, in Etsako West, Edo State. The Anglican Church grounds were overflowing with people, hearts hungry and eyes wide with awe. It was as though heaven itself had come down to visit. From the very first night, the power of God was thick — tangible. Over seventy percent of the crowd couldn’t stand on their feet. People fell, cried, and laughed under the power of the Holy Ghost. Sinners repented openly. Even witch doctors and those known to serve strange gods came forward for salvation.

It was 1997.  The year I truly died to the world and came alive to God. We called it Darkness Departing ’97 — a crusade born in the burning hearts of young men who believed that light could swallow the darkness in our hometown, Iyorah, in Etsako West LGA of Edo State. That season, I was consumed by God — much like Kathryn Kuhlman often said, “I died.” I meant it too. I embarked on my first 21-day dry fast, and in those days of hunger and prayer, I saw the hand of God move in terrifying beauty. My dreams were full of visions, my prayers roared like thunder, and a strange boldness—like that of the apostles—took hold of me.

It was the 25th of March, 1995 — a date forever etched in my memory. The day I was elected President of the Scripture Union (SU) at Our Lady of Fatima College, Auchi. To others, it might have been just another school fellowship election. But to me, it was divine. It wasn’t by popularity or persuasion — it was by separation. That day, heaven chose me for something I never imagined I was ready for.