The Night Death Missed Me — Darkness Departing ’97

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.

We were inviting Evangelist Mike Adogamhe for the crusade, and as we prayed, it felt as though every demonic stronghold in the land trembled. Night after night, we prayed until it seemed the heavens cracked open. We printed our posters—simple sheets that carried the weight of a divine declaration: “Darkness Departing ’97.”

I believe it was December 11th, 1997, I, and my dear brother and friend, Brother Sunday carried some of the posters to Apana, a nearby village, to deliver to a brother in Christ, who would help us distribute them. When we arrived, he wasn’t around, so we decided to wait. A sister who knew us—Sister Kate—came by and joined our conversation.

We stood in front of this brother’s house, talking about the great generals of faith—Smith Wigglesworth, John Knox, Kathryn Kuhlman—those mighty vessels who dared to shake the world.

And then, it happened.

Without warning, Sister Kate slumped.

I thought she had simply tripped. But when I reached down to lift her, my blood ran cold—her body was stiff, her hand icy, and white foam began to spill from her mouth.

I looked up at Brother Sunday. His face was drained of color, fear written all over it. He grabbed her other hand, and we both froze.

In that instant, something inside me snapped—I opened my mouth and began to pray in tongues. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t calm. It was war. My eyes shut tight, I prayed like a man wrestling death itself. I could hear Sunday beside me doing the same—our voices rose and merged into something fierce and unrelenting.

A small crowd began to gather, whispering, gasping.

And I thought to myself: “If she doesn’t wake up, we might not leave this village alive.”

But I refused to stop.

I prayed until my lungs burned, until my soul screamed for mercy. I told myself, “Either heaven shows up, or we die here.”

We kept praying our voices grew louder in anger. I couldn't tell how long we prayed but I determined not to stop. 

Then—suddenly—I felt her hand twitch.

Warmth returned.

A faint gasp escaped her lips, then a dry cough.

The murmurs in the crowd turned into shouts.

I opened my eyes—and there she was—Sister Kate, wide-eyed, confused, alive.

We helped her up, sat her on a nearby bench, and as she caught her breath, Brother Sunday asked, “Sister Kate, what happened?”

She blinked, still dazed. “I... I don’t know,” she whispered.

Just then, the brother, the very man we had come to see, pushed through the crowd—finally back. Without a word, we handed him the posters and quietly slipped away.

The walk back to Iyorah—an hour and a half under the quiet night sky—felt unreal. We didn’t talk much. We just kept asking ourselves, “What did God just do?”

It wasn’t until later that I heard the full story.

The witches in my hometown had placed a death sentence on me for organizing Darkness Departing ’97. They had even sent a two-year-old child to my mother, holding a one naira coin—a symbolic “payment” for my life.

But when death came looking for me that day in Apana, it missed its mark.

God shielded me. He shielded Sunday.

And even though death struck Sister Kate, mercy snatched her back.

That crusade went on as planned, with unbelievable testimonies of God's power.

And truly—darkness departed.

To this day, I still whisper, “Thank You, Lord.”

Because that was the night death came for me...

and found the Blood standing in the way.