The Midnight Encounter That Changed My Life

The University of Benin has a way of swallowing you whole, but for me, the real transformation didn’t happen in a lecture hall. It happened under the stars, on the cracked concrete of a basketball court tucked behind the legendary Hall 4.

​If you’ve ever been in Hall 4, you know the "curtain walls." One room is sliced into four cramped corners by thin fabric, with at least two souls packed into every space. There was no privacy, no silence, and certainly no room for the spiritual hunger burning in my chest. I needed to pray, but I didn't want to wake my roommates. So, every night, while the rest of the campus drifted into sleep, I would slip out into the darkness.

​For over 90 days, that basketball court became my cathedral. I stood there in the cold night air, the silence of the campus wrapping around me like a blanket, my heart open to the heavens. At the time, I was happily settled in NIFES. I was part of the HOP unit—Hospital, Orphanage, and Prisons—and I loved it. I was close to the leaders, the fellowship was massive and prestigious, and I felt like I had finally found my place.

​But on my second night of prayer, as I lifted my hands in worship, a whisper pierced through the stillness. It wasn’t a loud boom, but it carried a weight that made my heart skip. "Go join the Winners Fellowship," the voice said.

​I froze. I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just my imagination. Why would God say that? I had seen the Winners Fellowship on campus back then; they were a tiny group of maybe 17 people. To leave the vibrant, roaring engine of NIFES for a group that small felt like moving backward. It felt like leaving a palace to live in a tent.

​For the next forty nights, a battle raged within me. Every single time I stepped onto that basketball court and raised my hands, the instruction was there, waiting for me. "Go join yourself to Winners Fellowship." I argued. I pleaded. I reminded God that I was already a leader in NIFES, that I was doing "big things" for Him there. But the voice didn't argue back; it just repeated the command with the same quiet authority.

​By Day 40, the weight of disobedience became heavier than the fear of looking foolish. I couldn't bear the internal tug-of-war anymore. With a heart full of uncertainty, I walked away from the comfort of the crowd and went to find those 17 people.

​That moment was the definitive turning point of my life. I realized then that God wasn't looking for where I could be comfortable or popular; He was looking for where He could place the specific grace I needed for my future. A specialized strength was released over me for tasks I never could have handled if I had stayed where it was "safe."

​Looking back, those 17 people weren't a step down—they were the launchpad for my destiny. God proved that He is fiercely committed to His word, even when that word doesn't make sense to our logic. To this day, I can’t thank Him enough for that basketball court and the courage to follow a whisper into the unknown.