I will begin my testimony where my life ended and where it also began. At the age of 20, I was a criminal and a drug addict. Within the Kenyan slums of Nairobi, myself and other small time ‘gangsters’ would resort to mugging and beating people, committing crime to fund our drug habits. We were far from God.
I smoked large quantities of marihuana each day, and I drank and I took khat, a local plant based amphetamine. I was constantly out of my mind. There is a saying in the slums; the ghetto is a college where you learn all the knowledge. The ‘knowledge’, however, is how best to use everyone around you to survive. It is a tough existence where the fear of death is constantly with you.
Death came knocking at my own door early one morning at 6am.
With two others, I approached a young couple; our intention being to rob them – violently. My colleagues assaulted the man, whilst I took the woman’s hand bag and removed what little money she had. The reality in the ghetto is that it is the poor robbing the poor. I even left her about 100 shillings (1.25 dollars), so they could still catch the bus. Not out of any kindness, though, I hoped they would come back this way again so we could rob them once more!
My friends were struggling with the boyfriend; he wouldn’t give up his mobile phone. The guys nearly bit right through his finger to pry the phone out. Yet still, he held on. I intervened and in the process the boyfriend grabbed me in a wrestling hold. My two ‘friends’ ran off. I was now a lone mugger with the young couple. When onlookers saw this (it was 6am; the sun was rising) they came over, including local security guards. They beat me viciously. I was hit from behind by an iron bar and hit in the front of the head with a machete. Blood poured from me as I fell to the ground, yet the crowd continued to beat me. I thought I was going to die.
As I lay there thinking this was the end, through blood soaked eyes, I saw one man lift up a huge rock over his head; the crowd had decided to put me out of my misery, to kill me humanly like a dying dog. I saw him approach with the rock, and at the last second, I remember asking God for help. As I did so, I raised my legs at the knees; it took all of the little strength I had remaining. The huge boulder landed on my shins – instead of on my chest.
My legs snapped like brittle sticks. The bones were protruding from the lower limbs. The rock would have crushed my chest if it had hit me. I was alive – just. I begged the people to ring my mother. I said I wanted to say good bye to her before I died. They actually rang her. At first she hung up; it was 6am and strangers (men) were ringing her. I begged them to ring again. This time she listened. My mother physically ran the 4 km to where I was without stopping. At the same time my grandmother was informed, she told her church, they prayed, and the Pastor brought his car. My mother, my grandmother and a Pastor came to my rescue – all at the same time.
I was taken immediately to hospital. I had lost a lot of blood. During my stay in hospital, I gave my life to Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to die and end up in hell. I knew God had given me a second chance. Within months, I was in the Uzima outreach drug and rehab program for addicts a Christian drug rehab centre. I was delivered from drugs and alcohol and my life of crime stopped.
Within two years, God started to use me to reach out to other addicts. I am a staff member within the centre now. I can walk, though I will never be a champion footballer as I once dreamed to be. However, thanks to Jesus Christ, I am new creation and no longer a drug addicted criminal. Thanks to Jesus, I am saved and heaven awaits me.
Thanks to Jesus I am alive and not dead.