THIS IS MY STORY

(A testimony about occult and liberation)

Flashback

The air was thick with the scent of herbs, the distant croaks of frogs blending into the evening chorus. Dusk was creeping in, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and orange. I sat on a small wooden stool, shivering as my mother poured cool water over my head. It wasn’t just water—it was a concoction of leaves, roots, and secret things known only to the elders. A daily ritual, one meant to keep me safe.

Around my waist and draped diagonally across my chest was my roll of charms—a collection of small leather pouches tied together with a sturdy thread. It was my protection, my shield, my everything.

Then, it happened.

The thread gave way, snapping with a faint twick, and the charms tumbled to the ground. I gasped. My mother gasped. The world, in that moment, seemed to stop.

I stared at the fallen charms, my heart pounding like a drum. Fear gripped me. Without them, I was exposed. Vulnerable. But then, something within me—something I couldn’t explain—told me to let it be.

I went to bed that night, restless and unsure. And when morning came, I rushed outside, my bare feet kicking up dust as I ran to the spot where the charms had fallen.

Nothing.

Not a single trace of them. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

For the first time in my young life, I felt both terrified and strangely free.

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The Journey of a Lost Soul

I was born into the occult. From day one, my tiny body was bathed in herbalist concoctions, my mouth forced open to drink bitter brews meant to “fortify” my spirit. But the real highlight of my childhood? The witchdoctor bling-bling. Oh, yes! A glorious arrangement of charms hugging my waist and slung diagonally across my chest like I was some kind of village warrior.

In lower primary, my classmates found it hilarious.

One day, as I bent over to pick something, my shirt lifted slightly, exposing the charms. A boy, my best friend at the time, pointed and sneered, “In this world, people still believe in charms?”

Ouch. That hit harder than my mother’s wooden spoon.

That moment stuck with me like a scar. It was the beginning of my rebellion against the very things that had defined my upbringing. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for my resolve, the thread holding my charms mysteriously lost its grip and fell to the ground.

I panicked. Would I survive without them? Would misfortunes swallow me whole?

Day by day, nothing happened. No sudden lightning strikes, no mysterious illnesses. Life moved on. But while I abandoned the charms, I was still tangled in the web of the occult. My parents made sure of that. Visiting witchdoctors became second nature, just another part of life.

There were countless strange encounters, but today, I will only tell you what is necessary.

After my secondary school years, I found myself wrecked in abject poverty, shackled in invisible yokes and bondages I couldn’t explain. Then one day, I met an evangelist in my village center.

He spoke of freedom. Of a man named Jesus.

When he called for those willing to receive Him, something stirred in me. A compulsion, stronger than anything I had ever felt. I stepped forward, and as he prayed for me, a strange peace settled in my heart.

But salvation wasn’t an instant magic wand.

I still struggled. Oh, I struggled!

From occult practices to sexual immorality—I tell you, I smoked and drank women! Yes, I did. I hopped from one woman to another like a restless bird searching for a nest, only to find emptiness every single time.

Many bad things happened to me during that period.

Academically, I thrived, but life kept cutting me deep. Losing my mother just when I was about to graduate—how do you even explain that kind of pain? And then, as if the devil wasn’t done with me, I lost my fiancée. Emotional turmoil after emotional turmoil. The kind of storms that could drive a man to madness.

After graduation, the struggle continued. Poverty latched onto me like a leech. My weight dropped; I became thin and emaciated. It felt like I was losing every battle.

But God had a plan.

I was directed to another pastor, a man who carried the fire of God. He prayed for me, and little by little, my health was restored. I found employment. But was I born again?

Not yet!

I still clung to my old ways, still drank and smoked women like an addict. I chased pleasures that left me emptier than before.

But then, the wisdom of the Lord came upon me. I got married. And with that decision, something shifted.

It wasn’t long before I received the Spirit of the Lord.

Everything changed.

From bondage to deliverance. From wandering in darkness to walking in light. The chains that had held me for years broke, one by one.

The words of Isaiah 1:18 rang true in my life:

“Come now, let us reason together,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”

And John 8:36 sealed it all:

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

This is my story.

A story of darkness, of rebellion, of loss.

But also a story of redemption.

A story of grace.

A story of a man who was lost but is now found.