The story you are about to read is penned by a young man who self reflects on a poignant story of courage, resilience, and faith following a horrific act of crime that most of us can only imagine. Just three days prior, our family had a meaningful conversation with him followed by a devotional about walking with God. Before we said goodbye, we all shared personal requests and then spent time praying for one another. This young man requested prayers to discern God’s will for his life, seeking clarity without the distractions of the world. I told him often I pray for God to “do whatever it takes” in our lives to draw us closer to Him. Little did any of us know what we had just discussed that morning was about to unfold. This story marks the beginning of Paul’s journey.…

It was Tuesday, 3rd March 2026, in the deep silence of the night. The clock had just passed 1:00a.m. I was resting in my small room, enjoying the quiet of the night, unaware that my life was about to change forever.

Suddenly, I heard a strange noise. It was a loud, disturbing movement in the house. When I opened my eyes, fear filled my heart. Standing inside my room were several men. They were not ordinary visitors—they were armed with pangas and swords. Their faces were cold, and their intentions were clear.

Fear gripped my body. My heart began to race, and I tried to raise an alarm. As I shouted, one of the men who had been hiding behind the curtain quickly stepped toward me. Before I could react, he struck me hard in the face with a brick. The blow was powerful. I fell back onto the bed, bleeding heavily, and my voice became weak and silent.

The men continued their mission without mercy. They searched through the house, taking everything they could find. After collecting what they wanted, they returned to me. One of them placed a panga against my neck and demanded my phone, the password, and any money I had. I was struggling to breathe. Blood was flowing, and my strength was fading.

Within moments, I collapsed….

To them, it looked like I had taken my last breath. Thinking I was already dead, they left me lying there in the open house and disappeared into the darkness.

But God never forgets His people.

After some time, something incredible happened. I woke up again. Weak, bleeding, and shaking, I realized that I was still alive. With the little strength I had left, I began shouting for help.

I ran to the front door and rushed to my neighbors’ houses, knocking desperately and begging for help. But everyone who saw me was terrified. My body was covered in blood, and I was barely dressed. Some thought I was dangerous. Others were simply too afraid to come outside.

Even my landlady could not help me at that moment, and her son—who was my best friend—was stopped from coming to assist me. I cried out at their doors, speaking with pain and desperation, but still no one came.
Then, at one moment, I heard a woman say to her husband, “Please go and help the boy.”

The man finally opened the door and asked me, “Where can I take you?”

With my weak voice I replied, “Please… take me to the hospital.”

He said, “Go ahead. I will find you.”

Those words gave me a little hope. I believed it was God opening a small path for my survival. I began running through the dark streets, praying silently in my heart:

“God, please help me.”

Along the way I met a man who asked what had happened. I explained everything to him, but he only told me, “Go to the hospital,” and continued on his way.

Later I found a group of youths. When they saw me covered in blood, some of them shouted,
“Look! A thief has escaped!”

I pleaded with them,
“Please help me. I am not a thief. Thieves entered my house, robbed me, and left me injured.”

They listened but still did not help. They only told me again to run to the hospital.

I reached two different clinics that night, but they also sent me away. Finally, I reached a Health Centre III. I knocked hard on the gate. The gatekeeper came out thinking I was mad and wanted to arrest me. But when he saw the blood covering my body, he asked what had happened.

I explained everything again, hoping this time I would receive help. Sadly, he told me there was no doctor available and no treatment for my condition.

So I left again and continued running.

Meanwhile, one of my neighbors had followed me with a boda boda rider. They found me running along the road and placed me on the motorcycle. They took me to another clinic, but again we were rejected.

Finally, they rushed me to St. Francis Health Care Centre in Mbiko.

When we arrived, the doctors looked at me in shock. My body was covered in blood from head to toe. They seemed unsure where to even begin.

With the last strength in my body, I spoke to them. These were the last words I remember saying before collapsing again:
“You are the last two people I have seen in this world. If you help me, may my God bless you. If not, let me go and meet my Creator.”

Then everything went dark.

I lost consciousness.

Around 4:00 a.m., I woke up again. My body was weak and cold. Blood had soaked the bed. I had gauze in my mouth and cotton in my nose, and my body was shaking uncontrollably.

In the room, my neighbor—whom I call Uncle—was sitting beside me. When he saw that I had woken up, he quickly called the doctor. They covered me properly and continued doing everything they could to save my life.

After that, I slept again until around 6:00 a.m. My uncle went back home to inform others about what had happened. Before he left, I gave him my parents’ phone numbers.

Later, he returned with his wife. I will never forget what that woman did for me. She cared for me like her own son. She gently washed the blood from my body, cleaned my wounds, and gave me something to drink. She stayed with me in that room as we waited for the doctors and for my parents to arrive.

At around 8:00a.m, the doctors came again and began further treatment. They stitched the deep cuts on my face and head. Later, they took me for a CT scan.

The results showed the seriousness of my injuries. I had multiple fractures on my face: the nasal bone, both zygomatic bones, the left maxilla, the zygomatico-maxillary suture, the frontal bones, and the walls of the maxillary sinuses. There was also bleeding in the para-nasal air sinuses.

But even with all those injuries, my brain was still functioning.

This was the hand of God.

Today, as I tell this story, I thank God because He preserved my life in the silent hour of the night….

When people were afraid to help, when doors were closed, and when hope seemed lost, God still made a way.

My healing is continuing, and every day I feel stronger.

Truly, the hand of God was working in the silent hour.

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As with any author, there comes a pivotal moment when they begin to write about a significant period in their life. In this reflective process, they often recognize the various stepping stones that have led them to this point, allowing them to continue following God’s plan for their purpose. We eagerly anticipate learning more about Paul’s journey, both his past experiences before this moment as well as his future endeavors as God’s work in his life is far from complete.
Blessings,
Jennifer