Do You Experience God’s Miracle In Your Life?

Genesis 2I grew up in a family that strongly believes in God. At the corner of my parents’ bed room, stands a small table covered with a white cloth. On this table, lies the Holy Bible, which belongs to my mother. She wakes up early in the morning to pray without ceasing. Sometimes I see her shedding tears in her prayers, when she feels her prayers had been answered or touched spiritually.

Life, to many is sex, enjoyment, doing drugs, rock and roll, then after, you say good bye to your friends, when it’s time to go and sleep peacefully or tormented in your grave. That’s not the meaning of life. Life has a significant meaning or purpose. Watching my mother, each morning, behind the small table, I developed certain interest in seeking the face of God and started following her footsteps.

I read my Bible daily, and tried my best to live to the principle the holy book teaches. Like everyone, I wasn’t perfect, I did many things which I shouldn’t do as a child, but not in my adult hood. As I begin to mature, I started experiencing the miracle of God’s hand in my life. There are times I joke about it saying: Death doesn’t like ugly people, the reason I’m still living.

I was once carried away by the sea, because I couldn’t swim. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale and brought to the shores of Nineveh, after people gave up to save me, they watched as a mighty wave brought me ashore. The impact was heavy and the state of shock I find myself in at that moment, prevented me to put on my clothes. I walked home naked. Till now I’m scared of the sea and can’t swim.

I was once crossing a busy street in Africa, after watching both sides of the road, I felt secured to cross, but from nowhere I was caught up in the middle of the road, when a taxi hits me. Like a superman, I find my body in the mid-air, landing on top of the vehicle’s bonnet. The impact severely damaged the bonnet, but I survived.

In Africa, I was travelling on a mini-bus with other passengers. It was a very sunny day. I think the pressure in the vehicle’s Tyre warmed up to certain degrees Celsius, thus; one of the front Tyre’s exploded. The vehicle somersaulted continuously and finally landed on its side. I jumped out from the front seat without a scratch, when many were rushed to the hospital with injuries.

In Lagos State, Nigeria, I was kidnapped by armed robbers in military uniform. It was a swift action which took me by surprise. I was holding a small hand bag which attracted them. They thought probably the bag has over a million dollars. In the rear of the car, I struggled with them and wouldn’t let the bag go, while the butt of the rifles they were holding rain on every part of my body, including my head.

After every attempt failed, they pushed me from the vehicle while in motion and I landed on the ground with a force, like a bag of salt. I stood up, brushed the dust off my body and walked home. But the scars of the beating I had, can still be traced on my body today, after three decades.

In Amsterdam, I was nearly killed by a woman while on my bicycle. I fell and rolled ahead, while her front Tyre were on my bicycle. According to her, the sun partially blinded her, so she didn’t see me. I had bruises all over my body. She carried my badly damaged bicycle to a repairers’ shop and paid for the cost. Anxious to know of my condition, she called me the next day. I told her I’m doing well. That was the last time she called.

In Antwerp, Belgium, after holidays in Africa, I came back penniless with bills to pay. There was a particular one I needed time to pay 110 Euros at my son’s secondary school. That was a second letter reminding me, thus; the third letter wouldn’t be good for me. The end of the month to get my salary was still far, thus; the situation was actually disturbing.

It was winter and very dark, on my way to work, I spotted something like a folded money on the bicycle lane. I stopped and walked back to see if it’s money or mind is just playing tricks on me. Behold, it was money. I took it and unfolded it. Guess how much? Two fifty Euro notes, one ten Euro note and one five Euro note, a total of 115 Euros.

After work, I quickly went home to pay the 110 Euros to the school and used the five Euros to buy some few thing I needed most. There is no need to doubt over these stories, because they came from Joel Savage, the writer who loves non-fiction articles and books. Have you ever experienced the miracle of God’s hand in your life?

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” Said Jesus at Matthew 7:7. Just as sports is good for the body, reading the Bible is good for the mind and your spiritual being.

Road Of Agony: A Novel By Joel Savage

In the last week of January 1976, my father died mysteriously, leaving behind his wife and eight children. I was just nineteen but matured enough to realise that I had a big responsibility lying on my shoulders, as the eldest son of my parents.

Shortly after completing my secondary school, the desire to continue my education wasn’t there any longer. Instead, I chose to travel and work, hoping that could help the welfare of my family. I travelled extensively, experiencing bullies, corruption, beatings and lockup.

Road of Agony

In West Africa, I covered Republic of Togo, Republic of Benin, Nigeria, Republic of Guinea, Ivory Coast, and Sierra Leone. Some of these countries I visited had its own sad story and bitter experience. After kidnap, beatings and incarceration, I made it to Barcelona, Spain, to meet another hostile life challenges.

My story is just not a story about me, but also about the bad attitude, vicious character, mercilessness, and wickedness of other people I encountered on the road of agony. I count myself to be one of the luckiest person living in this world today, fortunate enough to unfold this true story.

Excerpt

Obanko told Monk that he wanted to take Babatunde to the Pakistan restaurant for some food because he didn’t have much money on him. Babatunde excused Monk and he left the bar with Obanko to the restaurant. They were eating when the police burst into the restaurant with machine guns. It was the most frightening scene Babatunde had ever seen in his life.

Everyone was asked to put their hands on their heads and they conducted a very thorough search on everybody in the restaurant. Nothing suspicious was found on anyone. However, there was one African who didn’t want to cooperate with the police. He refused to do whatever he was told to do. Due to that, he was manhandled by one of the police officers.

From his speech and behaviour, it was obvious that the police had tormented him for a very long time and that he thought he has had enough of it. That, probably, was the reason he acted that way.He was dragged from the restaurant and pinned against a wall. His mouth was forcefully opened when he refused the order to do so.

With anger, he stretched his neck close to the face of the policeman and opened his mouth with screaming and the policeman gave him a dirty slap across the face. But at the end, nothing suspicious was found in his mouth, so he was set free.

As soon as the police left the scene, Babatunde bombarded Obanko with a series of questions. He asked him about the reason for that operation. Obanko told him that when the police suspect something or acting on a tip off, they always acted like that. The police came to the restaurant because many drug pushers use that place for business transactions.

The police told someone to jump thrice with open legs. The reason they did that was that if drug was hidden in his anus, it would fall on the ground.

“How did the police know that some drug pushers put stuffs in their anus?” asked Babatunde.

“Do you know how many times they have done that to me? I can’t tell you because it’s too numerous to count. Even though they get nothing from me any time they subjected me to this kind of punishment, yet they have caught many pushers in that way. This is Barcelona. Welcome to Barcelona,” said Obanko. He paused for a while and began again.

“Some of the friends we eat and drink with are informants to the police. In Spain, we called such people ‘Chibato.’ Just imagine, how can the police know that something is hidden at that part of the body? It is because of the ‘Chibatoes’.”

“The police are not stupid. They are specially trained for that,” said Babatunde.

“What I mean is before they knew that stuffs could be hidden there, one of the ‘Chibatoes’ informed the police about that. Anyway, let’s go to the Piazza to have a drink,” said Obanko.

“Wait a minute, do you still feel like drinking again despite wobbling on the way to the restaurant?” asked Babatunde.

“For your sake, I’m not taking ‘vino’ (wine) today. We shall take just beer, which has less percentage of alcohol.” At the Piazza, he ordered for two bottles of beer. While waiting for the waitress, he began telling Babatunde his experience in Barcelona.

“I came here four years ago; now, this is what I looked like. I never thought I would ever sell drugs for a living. I don’t want to lie to you. This is Barcelona. Welcome to Barcelona.”

He took a lighter from his breast pocket and lit a cigarette. Babatunde saw a long scar at the lower part of his chin and he asked him how he got it. “It’s a long story but if you want to know, I will tell you. “A junkie bought some ‘sand’ from me. I hope you know what I mean by ‘sand’? It’s cocaine. To avoid calling that name openly in the public, we call it ‘sand’.

Everyone knows about this. The junkie had no money on him. He knew that if he told me the truth, I was not going to give the ‘sand’ to him. “He put his hand in his pocket pretending to pay me; then, he slashed me with a sharp pen knife and escaped. As I lay bleeding, a tenant saw me through his window and called the police to the scene. An ambulance came for me to the hospital. I received a dozen of stitches and I was discharged the same day.”

“What did you tell the police when they questioned you?” asked Babatunde.

“I didn’t tell them the truth. I told them that I was robbed and beaten. I’m not sure if they believe me or not. However, that is a common thing in Barcelona. Everyday, minute, and second, thieves snatch away tourist bags and cameras. Sometimes when they want to save their belongings, they pay the price for it. Some are badly hurt,” said Obanko.

The Author

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Joel Savage is a second child of eight children. He was born in Cape Coast, in the central region of Ghana, on January 19, 1957. Following the footsteps of his father, a veteran journalist, Joel starts writing at a very tender age. Growing up in an environment he sees hard living and the struggling of people, in their normal daily lives, gingers his flair to choose writing on events of reality.

Joel studied at both Ebenezer Secondary School and Accra High School in Accra, Ghana, and later studied at the Ghana Institute of Journalism. Freelancing, he wrote for the Daily Graphic, Ghanaian Times and The Weekly Spectator in Accra, Ghana.

Joel calls his sorrowful, brutal, inhuman and lucid account of surviving a kidnap by armed robbers, as  the ‘Road Of Agony.’ The author lives in Belgium with his wife and three children.

http://www.amazon.com/Road-Agony-Joel-Savage/dp/1621370747

Surviving The Road Of Agony In Africa And In Europe

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A passport is a form of identification used to travel. A traveler without a passport can’t cross a border in any civilized world, but in many parts of Africa, it is possible, because many officers depend on travelers without passports for their extra income.

Some of the immigration officers at various borders in Africa are very cruel. They refuse to understand a passenger or traveler saying “I have no money,” when they demand it, despite having a passport in your possession.

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Ramblas, Barcelona.

After severely beaten by one of the immigration officers for crossing a closed border, I lost all my money to him in addition. The journey from Ghana to Nigeria was a rough one, since a failed coup in one of the neighboring countries has led to the closure of the borders.

I managed to reach Lagos the capital city of Nigeria, now changed to Abuja. After struggling in the city for six months, I had an invitation from friends in Barcelona, Spain, to come and join them. They claimed they were doing well. The mistake I did was, I didn’t ask them what they do for living?

A week before flying to Barcelona, I was kidnapped by armed robbers and pushed into the rear seat of a private car. I had my ticket and passport in a little bag I was holding. The bag that I was holding was the attraction. They probably thought I had thousands of dollars inside.

With the butt of the rifles they were holding hitting every part of my body, I made it ‘do or die’ battle. I pressed the bag firmly between my knees. They couldn’t pull it out. From the rear seat I jumped to join the driver and occupied the empty seat. I opened the door of the vehicle while in motion and the driver pushed me from the seat  and I fell.

I saved my passport and ticket but I was badly beaten and hurt. The scars I sustained from the injuries can still be traced on my body after three decades. I successfully flew to Barcelona to meet my friends. Guess what they were doing for living? They were in drug trade. My heart nearly came out from my chest, when they tried to recruit me.

I can’t believe after escaping the tragedies and sheer wickedness in Africa, I am now in Europe, a white man’s country facing the temptation to sell drugs for living. I couldn’t do it. Under my nose many of my friends went to jail. How did I survive in unfriendly Barcelona? Find out from ‘Road of Agony.’

Road of Agony

http://www.amazon.com/Road-Agony-Joel-Savage/dp/1621370747