My Personal Testimony: Episode 1

For many years, I was a single young professional raising my son on my own. Life was steady and predictable, until everything changed in 2016. That year, I met someone I would be involved with for the next eight years. We were never married, although he often hinted at needing a green card for legal status. I met most of his family in the U.S., and they seemed like good, decent people. But whenever I brought up his mother, he would change the subject. I only recall saying a quick hello to her over the phone when our first daughter was born.

A few months before she was born, I purchased a house on my own. Then, at the start of the pandemic in 2019, he moved in. By this point, we had been together for three years, but I still couldn’t trust him. I’d find myself saying things like, “Why are you here? We’re not even in a real relationship. What do you want from me?” I kicked him out more than once, but somehow he always came back. There was never an apology or a proper conversation. It just always returned to the same cycle.

Although he usually worked steadily, things slowed during the pandemic. One day he got a call at an odd hour and casually told me it was someone from Africa—someone he was consulting about voodoo. Suddenly, things began to make sense.  He was using witchcraft for money. He made good money for someone without legal status. Even his friends with legal status were calling him and asking him for work, which seemed strange to me. Never-the-less, the revelation caused a serious argument. Months, maybe even years, passed in a strange limbo. In my heart, I knew he was wasting my time, and yet I still couldn’t shake him.

At one point, I decided to renovate the basement. While planning, the Holy Spirit clearly told me: He buried something down there. He said he was going to level the floor before installing tiles, and bought cement. But the section that needed leveling was untouched. I truly believe he buried something spiritual there. His response when I said I'm going to dig it up was that I would need to know what I'm looking for.  Despite my suspicions, we laid ceramic tile over the entire floor.

Then, things began to unravel.

One of my best friends was getting married in Jamaica, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I booked a stay at the Riu Resort in Ocho Rios with my two daughters, ages 2 and 4. Their paternal grandmother was set to babysit them for just 24 hours while I attended the wedding. But when we were leaving to return home, both girls had ears so infected they looked like they were about to fall off.

Their paternal grandmother had also started confiding in me, saying things like “My sister obeah me.” It was a major red flag. Based on what happened to my children, I began to wonder if it was she who practiced obeah instead. Back in New York, the girls saw a doctor, and thankfully the medication worked within a few days.

When I got home, I was greeted with a beautiful engagement ring—no proposal, just the ring. I wore it for a week, then returned it, saying, “I don’t want to assume anything. You haven’t asked me anything.” A year later, he finally proposed—days after my birthday. It was a beautiful ring, but I rarely wore it. God was speaking to me the whole time:
“Set up cameras. Get your children out of there.”

The prompting would come and go, but I knew I had to act. At one point I considered relocating to Rochester, NY—closer to my family in Toronto and with a lower cost of living. Eventually, I shifted focus to Florida, starting an Airbnb business. I leased an apartment and my brother helped me get a second one which I listed on Airbnb. That’s when I finally moved to Florida with my two daughters. My son stayed behind in New York with the man who still lived in my house.

Out of nowhere, he called me one day to say his mother got a visa and he was sending her to stay with me. I was hesitant, but thought maybe my kids would enjoy having a grandmother around. She arrived in New York just before Christmas and flew down to Florida in time for Christmas day. At first, Christmas felt normal. The very next day, the madness began.

She started mopping my floors—floors that were already clean. I showed her where the cleaning supplies were, but noticed the water in the bucket was blue. I asked what it was; she wouldn’t answer. I had already poured Mr. Clean in it, but something felt off. Her son flew back to New York, leaving her behind with me. Every day, she spoke of obeah. Night and day. She only watched Nigerian movies with dark spiritual themes and still claimed to be a Christian.

We took a road trip to New York after only one week just in time for the new year.  I spoke with my son's grandmother and I learned that the blue liquid she was using was part of a common witchcraft ritual. Around this time, I had to urgently return to Florida to deal with a crisis at the Airbnb—bookings had mysteriously stopped. Around the same time, my online sales through Poshmark also flatlined. Everything I had built was suddenly crumbling.

I flew back and forth in a single day, and when I got to New York, I quietly took my daughters and left. My son didn’t want to leave. I went to the police due to threats I had received, but they couldn’t help. They don't understand spiritual warfare. But God does.  There were other things that confirmed the witchcraft when I  returned to Florida. There was a water bottle with some strange yellow liquid left behind the toilet. There was also a scarf with some strange bushes wrapped up and left in bedroom closet. And of course the things happening in my life.

I turned to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I cried out for deliverance. I didn’t have to evict anyone. I simply prayed, “God, get these people out of my house.” And he left—by the beginning of February 2023.

It wasn’t over yet. I stopped talking to him by phone, but he kept texting. I eventually gave in and let him visit for my youngest daughter’s birthday in March. Around that same time, my father fell ill and passed shortly after. I flew to New York for his funeral, and again in May before the burial in Jamaica.

After that trip in May 2023, it was finally over.

I didn’t go broke.
I didn’t lose my house.
I didn’t lose my mind.
I didn’t lose my children.
I lost time, peace, and energy—but I gained freedom through Christ.

Through all the betrayal, witchcraft, and heartbreak, I turned from sin, I repented, and I was delivered. I have no friends or family in Florida, but this is where God brought us, and we will stay until He moves us again.

There’s more to share—especially what was done to my daughters, which I’ll reveal in a future episode.

To every woman reading this:
Be careful. The devil is not playing. He truly comes to steal, kill, and destroy. But Jesus comes that we may have life—and life more abundantly.