The Day I Almost Died, I Learned to Live

An elderly woman was trying to force my clenched teeth apart with a stainless steel spoon.

Others poured basins of water over my body. Someone tried to force milk down my throat.

They were desperately trying to revive me.

I was 33 years old, unconscious after a terrible electric shock, and the people around me feared I was dying.

Just minutes earlier, I had been getting ready for work.

It was a Sunday morning in January 2014, in Lagos, Nigeria. I was working as a cashier at Shoprite and had spent the weekend at my uncle's home, a crowded residential compound known locally as a face-me-I-face-you.

That morning, I helped my uncle's heavily pregnant wife prepare breakfast. After eating bread and drinking tea, I suddenly felt unusually sleepy.

"Mfon, why don't you lie down and rest?" my uncle suggested.

But my shift began at noon. I was already running late.

I fetched a bucket of water and went to the backyard to bathe. My uncle had left to visit a friend.

After saying a short prayer over the water, I poured some over my body.

"JESUS!"

A powerful electric shock surged through me.

My bucket fell and broke. I stumbled against the wall, but I could not pull myself away.

My head seemed glued to it. When I tried moving my feet, the shocks continued.

The pain was unbearable.

I wanted to escape, but my body would not obey me.

My uncle's wife began screaming. Neighbours rushed towards the backyard. Men, women, and children gathered, but nobody seemed able to free me.

I was naked, trapped against the wall, and terrified.

"Lord, is this how my life is going to end?" I cried out in my heart.

Then I lost consciousness.

I remember feeling as though my spirit had left my body. I saw myself moving rapidly through a vast white, cloudy space.

Meanwhile, the neighbours were desperately trying to save my life. I would only learn later how frightened they had been and how hard they had struggled to revive me.

During that strange experience, I heard a voice whisper clearly:

"Plead the blood of Jesus Christ."

The words came again.

I believed angels were speaking to me.

In my spirit, I began repeating the prayer.

"I plead the blood of Jesus Christ."

Then I opened my eyes.

My uncle was standing before me.

Somehow, he had returned from his journey and was trying to pull me away from the wall.

"Mfon, what happened to you?" he asked, fear written across his face.

I tried to answer.

Suddenly, another electric shock struck me. This time, I collapsed onto the ground.

My uncle and a young neighbour named Ayo struggled to drag me away from the dangerous area.

When they finally released me, I got up and walked away, completely naked, in front of the crowd.

Some people shouted, "Otilo!"

In Yoruba, they were saying I was gone. They thought I had lost my mind.

Someone rushed forward with a bedsheet. Others brought clothes, including my uncle's new white T-shirt.

Still trembling, I asked for my Bible.

Then I walked barefoot towards our church.

On the way, I encountered a Sunday school teacher.

"Is the pastor still around?" I demanded, grabbing his necktie.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he replied.

I hurried inside and hid near the altar, shaking with fear.

Later, I discovered how badly I had been injured.

Part of my right buttock had been severely burned. Some skin had peeled away and stuck to the wall.

I received hospital treatment, but the wound was extremely painful. My underwear kept rubbing against the injured skin, sometimes causing it to peel again.

I tried returning to work, but the pain became so unbearable that I was sent home to recover.

It took about six months for the wound to heal.

People suspected that a bare electrical wire had fallen onto the roof near the bathing area, although the cause was never confirmed.

I still wonder why others had bathed there safely before me.

And why had my uncle suddenly returned home?

When I asked him what made him turn back, he could not explain it.

For me, that Sunday remains a testimony of God's faithfulness. I believe God heard my prayers and preserved my life.

I am also deeply grateful to my uncle, Ayo, and the women who struggled to save me.

But the experience changed something else about me.

Before the accident, I kept my best clothes, jewellery, and wristwatch carefully stored away, waiting for special occasions.

After nearly dying, I began asking myself a question.

What if I had died that Sunday?

Someone else might have opened my box, taken my beautiful clothes, and worn the jewellery I had been saving.

I would never have enjoyed them myself.

So I started wearing my best clothes. I took out my jewellery and wore my favourite wristwatch.

I stopped postponing the small pleasures of life.

More importantly, I became grateful for ordinary mornings, for the ability to walk and work, and for another day among the living.

More than twelve years later, I still carry the scar from that terrible Sunday.

Whenever I see it, I remember how fragile life can be, and how grateful I am to have survived.

And whenever I choose something beautiful to wear, I remember the lesson that day taught me.

Being alive is already a special occasion.

Told by: Mfon James
Written by: Sam Choo
Story Tags: Story Tags: Accident, Survival, Faith

Mfon James is a Nigerian Christian who shares her testimony of surviving a life-threatening electrical accident and learning to appreciate every day of life.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mfon.james.96