One day, I was on Instagram. Kefilwe was exposing false pastors—church gossip, which I always found entertaining. She posted about a woman named Erica Musika, who was exposing Satanism, witchcraft, and celebrities.
I got hooked on her documentary. I was filled with fear and awe. The things she talked about… she never changed her story. The deeper I went, the more I thought: Oh my God, these things are real!
She had seen the archangel Michael. Her soul had been trapped in a glass jar in hell. Her grandmother had been a witch. She had too—but she repented. Her life was a supernatural story.
And I thought, So my brother can be healed!
Her voice and her husband’s voice reached me in a way no pastor ever had. I can’t explain it—it must have been God’s grace. After finishing the series, I went on a three-day fast. No social media. No movies. Just prayer. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid to speak to God. I prayed. I broke covenants—ancestral and personal. I declared the blood of Jesus over my family.
And I finished the fast! No fainting this time! I was so happy. I prayed, thanked God, and drew myself a bubble bath, listening to Pastor Stephanie Ike.
As the sermon ended and I stepped out of the tub, I started to feel faint.
Panic. Not again, God. Please, no.
I crawled to bed. I live alone in a small studio apartment. Lying there, I imagined calling 999. Paramedics walking in to find me naked. I started shouting, “God, please! No, no, no! I fasted! I prayed! Please!”
I called, “Holy Spirit!”
Nothing.
So I cried, “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”
My hands started vibrating. I felt the urge to use the bathroom. I dragged myself to the toilet, dizzy, hands still shaking. “Jesus! Please heal me! Help!” I cried.
I stumbled back to bed, still whispering, “Jesus… Jesus… Holy Spirit, help…”
Then I heard a voice—my voice, but not mine.
“You are healed now. Throw away all the food in your house. And have a cold shower.”
So I did. I obeyed. Showered first, then called my mom.
“I was delivered!” I told her.
She just said, “It is well.”
But I knew she didn’t understand. I barely did either. All I knew was—I had been delivered. Even if I ended up in the toilet afterward.
I went to the kitchen and started throwing away food. And guess what? Most of it was expired. Some of it looked fine, and I thought, Should I really waste this? What about the poor people?
Then the voice said again:
“I can take care of the poor.”
So I obeyed, even though I was broke. My hands had shaken at His power—I would have done anything.
The next morning, I was on my “delivered high.” I prayed, “God, send me a teacher. Someone to help me understand You more.”
That same day, I went to my part-time job. A man came in—my night shift partner. Unusual, since we were both agency staff. That rarely happened. Stranger still, he suggested we sit together in the front office. Normally, one works in the back.
We sat. He said, “I pray this night goes well.”
Excited, I said, “Are you a believer?”
“Yes.”
“Me too!” I replied, proudly. “I’ve just been reborn!”
He started talking to me about Jesus. But I had my audio Bible in and wasn’t really listening. He noticed.
He asked, “Didn’t you say you were a believer?”
“I am.”
He said, “I don’t usually talk this much, but I’m talking to you because you said you’re a believer.”
That caught my attention.
He told me about the power of God. How he had prayed for people—and they were healed. I thought, Thank You, God. Someone has done it. So it’s possible.
He told me how he escaped a satanic cult by praying scripture. One time, a cult member trying to harm him was flung into the air by the power of God. He used to be passive too—until spiritual war forced him to rise.
I was in awe. Someone in real life telling me what I’d only seen on YouTube.
He taught me about meditation. About the Holy Spirit. My hands started to burn as he spoke. A confidence was building in me: God is real.
I texted my dad and mom: “We need to pray. We are under spiritual war. We must renounce every covenant ever placed on us.”
That same year I almost got fired, my brother was in a car accident and declared paralyzed for life. My mother was battling cancer. This was the war we had to fight.
I thanked the man. I blessed his family.
Later that morning, as I slept, I heard the Holy Spirit speaking in tongues—half awake, half asleep. It felt like He was fighting something on my behalf.
I felt safe.
Testimony By :
Nama C