I Lost My Womb to a Famous Pastor

I Lost My Womb to a Famous Pastor

I don’t even know where to start, but I have to tell this story before it eats me alive. I once thought I was chosen by God. That’s what the pastor made me believe — that I had a “special calling.” He was a famous man of God, respected across the country, prayed for politicians, healed the sick, and filled stadiums with his crusades. Everyone wanted to be close to him. I was one of those people — young, hopeful, and desperate for a better life.

He noticed me one Sunday after service. He said God had revealed something about my future and that I needed private prayers to “activate” my blessing. He told me to come to his office during the week. I felt honoured — chosen. But I had no idea what I was walking into.

The first few sessions felt normal. He prayed, he gave me oil to drink, and his wife was always there watching silently. She said she was “assisting” with the cleansing process. But things started to feel strange. The room was always dark, with candles and incense burning. One night, he said we were doing a spiritual surgery — to remove the “spirit of barrenness” from my womb.

He gave me something to drink that made me dizzy and weak. My eyes were heavy, my body numb. That’s when I saw it — or maybe I was dreaming, I still don’t know. An animal appeared in front of me. I can’t describe it clearly, but it wasn’t human. It had the face of a man and the body of a snake. It moved slowly toward me, hissing softly. Before I could scream, it slid inside me — through my body — and everything went blank.

When I woke up, I was on the floor covered with a white cloth. The pastor’s wife was holding my hand, telling me I had been “cleansed.” The pastor smiled and said I was now a vessel of spiritual power. I felt confused, empty, and too weak to move.

A few months later, my body started changing. My periods stopped. I felt constant pain in my stomach. When I finally went to the hospital, the doctor told me something that shattered me completely — my womb was gone. He said it looked like it had been removed or destroyed somehow. I was only 24.

I went back to the pastor and demanded answers. He told me calmly that I had been chosen for a “spiritual exchange.” His wife nodded and gave me R10,000, saying I must keep quiet and that my sacrifice would bring blessings.

Later, I found out I wasn’t the only one. There were other girls — young, vulnerable, and desperate — all used for the same dark rituals. Some disappeared, others lost their minds. Yet every Sunday, the pastor still preaches, and people still worship him like a god.

I lost my womb, my faith, and my peace. I can never be a mother, and some nights I still feel that snake-like creature crawling inside me in my dreams.

Please, to every young woman reading this — not every “man of God” is truly from God. Some use the name of the Lord to feed demons. I wish I had known that before it was too late.

Behind those holy robes and powerful prayers, I met the devil himself — hiding behind a Bible.

After I shared my story with a close friend, she told me to let it go — that no one would believe me. She was right. The pastor was too powerful, too loved. But I couldn’t sleep at night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that creature — half human, half snake — slithering toward me again. I could still feel its presence inside me.

So I decided to speak out.

I started by posting a short message online, saying, “Not every man of God is from God.” Within an hour, people from the pastor’s church were in my inbox asking who I was talking about. Some even threatened me. I ignored them, but the next day, I saw a post on the church page. It said, “The devil is using bitter women to destroy the ministry.” My heart broke because I knew it was about me.

I went to the police to report what happened. They told me to bring proof. How do you prove something that happens in the spirit? How do you explain that your womb is gone because of a so-called “prayer”? The doctor’s report didn’t help much — it only said my uterus was “damaged beyond repair.”

Days later, I started noticing strange things. A black car parked outside my flat for three nights. My phone kept ringing from private numbers. One night, someone knocked at my door, and when I opened, there was a dead snake on my mat — cut in half. That was when I knew they were warning me.

The pastor’s wife called me soon after. Her voice was calm, too calm. She said, “You’re still blessed. Don’t destroy what God gave you.” Then she added softly, “If you continue talking, what you lost will not be the only thing gone.”

I realized they would rather see me dead than exposed. I stopped posting online and deleted everything, but the fear never left me. Even now, when I hear his voice on TV or see his posters around town, my body shakes. People still worship him. They call him Papa. They call his wife Mama. They call what he does miracles.

But I know the truth — I lived it.

I lost my womb, my peace, and almost my life to a man everyone calls “a servant of God.” But I’m done keeping quiet. Maybe I’ll never have a child, maybe I’ll never find justice, but my voice will remain.

Because silence protects monsters — and I refuse to protect him anymore.

Months after I went quiet, I received a message from an unknown number. The person said, “You’re not alone.” At first, I thought it was another threat, but when I replied, the woman introduced herself as a former church member. She said the same thing happened to her — the same rituals, the same dizziness, the same blank memory. She had also received R10,000 and was told to keep quiet.

That message opened a door. Within weeks, I found four more women with stories just like mine. We met in secret, scared but determined. One of the women had recordings from her “cleansing sessions.” Another had photos of the strange marks left on her body. We knew it was time to fight back.

We reached out to a journalist known for exposing corruption in churches. At first, he didn’t believe us — until he saw the evidence. He agreed to help, but warned that it would be dangerous. He said powerful people were protecting the pastor.

The investigation took months. We gave interviews in secret locations, our faces hidden, our voices changed. The journalist recorded everything. The day the documentary aired, the internet exploded. People couldn’t believe it. Some defended the pastor, calling it “fake news,” but others started to speak out too. More women came forward — not just from my town, but from other provinces.

The church denied everything, of course. They said we were possessed, that we needed deliverance. But the story spread like wildfire.

The pastor’s TV programs were suspended. His sponsors pulled out. The same people who used to call him Man of God started calling him monster.

I still live in fear, but now I have peace. My truth is out there. I may never get my womb back, but I got my voice back — and that means more than money, more than apologies.

To the girls still trapped in silence, I say this: don’t let fear protect evil. Even if your voice shakes, speak. Because sometimes, the only way to defeat darkness is to shine your story right through it.