By Oluwaseyi Ige
The Day I Died
I collapsed and passed out in my hostel one day. I believed I died that day.
Okay, maybe not die. Maybe I just fainted.
I remember the events clearly.
It happened at Nancyretta Hall, a 12-room hostel in Iworoko Ekiti, the nearest town to the university where I was studying Microbiology. I shared a room with Bro Bayo, my fellowship president. I was the Secretary General of the fellowship.
There I met two brothers, Tunde and Toyin. I had known Toyin back in secondary school. We were not close then, but meeting again in this hostel brought us closer. Many times, I crashed in their room.
Tunde was an ardent follower of Bishop Oyedepo. He prayed in tongues and studied the Bible daily. He was never shy about his Christian lifestyle, and I enjoyed our long discussions about scripture. Toyin, on the other hand, was the vibe. A smooth talker, suave, a good Scrabble player, brilliant and funny. I loved his aura. Their room naturally became my second room.
One of those days, I fell seriously ill. Too weak to do anything, I just lay in their room, waiting for the drugs I had taken to start working. But wellness was a distant dream. Instead, I drifted in and out of hazy consciousness, waking up drenched in sweat and feeling completely uncomfortable.
By evening, the hostel was quiet. I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the hostel. Dusk had set in. Then my stomach began to churn, painfully and persistently. From experience, I knew that when that happened, I needed to get to the loo quickly and ‘drop a few things’ , literally.
Summoning all the strength I had left, I got up and headed for the pit toilet outside, beside the bathroom. I made it as far as the door, opened it, and stepped out of the room. That was the last thing I remembered before everything went dark.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on the floor in the passage, alone in the darkness. I didn’t know how long I was on that floor, helpless. The cat was out of the bag. The ‘few things’ I had been trying to hold back were already in my briefs. I could feel the wetness. I pulled myself together and staggered to the toilet and bathroom. I don’t even remember how I got cleaned up and made it back to the room, but I remember the prayer I prayed when I returned.
I told God, “If you heal me, I will serve you with all my life.”
At that moment, I felt my spirit leaving my body. I realized how close I had come to death. I was afraid I might not live to see the next day. I told God I didn’t want to die, and I dedicated my life to Him. I needed healing, and I traded my most valuable asset – my life, for it.
At that point, I became dead. I felt my life was over, and that He was now in charge. Of course, I got healed. So maybe the deal went through.
But then again, that was not the first time I had said that prayer. I had pledged my life to God many times before and after that day. Whenever I ran out of words to say to Him, I would give my life again. Sometimes when I hear a touching sermon, I’ll give Him my life again.
I don’t exactly remember the date of the day I “died” on that floor in Nancyretta Hall, but I know that from that day, “I” ceased to exist.
I also know that my life isn’t mine. It has never been. The first time I consciously gave myself to God and became born again was when I was about nine years old (though I took it back several times in my teenage years). I grew up with the consciousness that every life belongs to God. The understanding is from the breath that made a clay form become a living being.
In truth, I had been offered long before I took my first breath. The one who carried the seed told me so. She had used Hannah’s formula.
Now, this is my reflection in my forty-fifth year. Looking back, I can see that everything that has happened has been by divine design, even though I didn’t fully understand it earlier. The journey only makes sense now when I view it through the lens of purpose. All the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and everything in between have been for a reason. This life is not ordinary. It is a “given” life.
Often, we try to find ourselves, to figure out what is really happening. Sometimes the mathematics does not add up, especially when reality fails to match our expectations and dreams.
Yet I encourage you to find strength and consolation in this, because it was the truth that lifted me: we may not look like the journey, and we may not even be able to explain how we got here, but if we see things through the lens of God’s grand plan, we will find the satisfaction that keeps us steady and focused on what truly matters.
And that is all that matter.
I am grateful, as always, to have come this far. And as for the journey ahead, I will be honest—I do not have all the answers, but I know the direction, and I am determined to stay on course.
I celebrate the days past, but I am even more excited about the days ahead.
Yes, the “I” has died, and I’ll rather he stays that way, so that I can live forever!
Ignite 