My name is Samuel and I was born in a remote village called Kpor in the southern part of Nigeria. My earliest and most frightening memory is of the day that my uncle brought me to the orphanage, told the matron I had no family and then, in turn, told my mother that I had died on the way. I remember shaking with fear, as I crouched down next to the wall on my tattered makeshift sleeping mat, in a place I was forced to call home. I was four years old at the time and did not know why my mother did not want me anymore. Maybe it was because I was different, crippled with polio and unable to walk. Panic gripped me as I wondered what would happen to me now.

Life at the orphanage turned out to be nothing more than a miserable existence at best. My future was dark and unsure. At times I felt like I was dieing a slow death. Instead of caring for me and nurturing the children entrusted to them, the orphanage strived only to make money. In order to elicit funds and contributions from donors, we were given only one meal a day so we would appear wretched and starved.

On visiting days you would find me hiding again between the wall and my old sleeping mat, watching extended families of the other children come with gifts, hugs and kisses.  I could not bear the sight; it was too painful, knowing that the last gift my uncle gave me was separation from my mother and that no one would ever come to visit me.  I would have done anything to feel loving arms around me but all I felt was shame, anger and rejection as these feelings grew to become a normal part of my life.

I suppose it was the trauma of being hungry all the time, feeling utterly alone and the pain of dealing with my illness that caused me to become a bed wetter.  For this crime I was beaten thirty times every morning with a leather whip made for animals. This went on for 8 years of my life and the matron made sure that everyone knew what I had done. I became known as “The Bed Wetter” and the shame that followed me was unbearable.  The disgrace was so great that I could not even lift my head when I spoke. I was afraid to sleep and afraid to wake up, knowing what awaited me in the morning. The beatings never helped me to stop wetting the bed, but the hatred I felt for everything around me seeped deeper and deeper with every lash.

There were times when visitors from churches came with their birthday smiles, endless pats on the head and stories of an amazing God who loved and cared for me.  I wanted to believe what they said, but it was too hard because I was always hungry, in pain and buried in my shame. A voice inside me wanted to scream out at them and ask, “Where is God and Why has He allowed me to be this way?” Sometimes the visitors brought bread, so I kept quiet and listened to their stories because I was so desperate to eat and fill my stomach.

When I was eight, I realized that no one was going to help me and if I was ever going to become somebody, I had to get an education. The challenge, however, was that the school was over two miles away and there was no transportation. At this time in my life the only way I was able to get around was by crawling. When I considered the problem, it seemed insurmountable but I determined then to crawl the two miles there and back. School might have been a pleasant experience except for one thing; the children taunted me, calling me “The Bed Wetter” and “Cripple.”  Everywhere I turned I could not get away from the embarrassment and the emotional pain in my life.

  Although my hands were calloused and my knees cracking and bloody; I crawled to school for three years.  My life however started to change the second year of school because of my new teacher Mrs. Fubara.  She was a wonderful woman and always treated me with love and compassion.  Everyday at lunch, she sat and tried to talk with me, often sharing a kind word.  I wanted to like her, but I could not help being skeptical.  Why did she want to be a friend to me? No one else wanted anything to do with “The Bed Wetter.”  Although I did not encourage her, Mrs. Fubara came faithfully every day at lunch to sit with me.  I did all I could do just to tolerate her because my anger and bitterness towards life would not allow me to do anymore.  

In my second year I studied hard and was a very good student, even though the crawling had physically drained me by the time I got back to the orphanage. At the end of the second year I was certain I had done well academically. The final examination would not be hard and I knew I would advance to the third grade.

However, on the day of the final exam I faced a great problem, it began to pour down sheets of thick blinding rain and I knew there was no way I could crawl to school. Sitting at the door looking out at the pouring water, my hope seemed to go with it, crashing on the concrete and splitting into tiny drops. I began to cry in my heart and became very scared: Was this year all for nothing?  All the work I did was useless if I did not get a chance to take the final exam. With everything I had suffered, this was one of the most heartbreaking, knowing that I would not be able to advance to the third grade.

Just as I was thinking all hope was lost I looked out at the torrential rains and saw a figure with an umbrella coming toward me.  I strained to see who it was and as the figure became clearer I could not believe my eyes.  It was Mrs. Fubara, she smiled at me and said softly, “Samuel, get on my back.  I will carry you to school." She had left her classroom of over thirty students and walked two miles to come just for me. At that moment, in the pouring rain, my bitterness and hatred began to erode away and my heart burst open with love for Mrs. Fubara.  I passed my test that day and shared my joy and gratitude with her. She became to me my mother, my sister, and the person that I loved most on earth.  She spoke with me about Jesus, but I was not sure I could accept Him yet even after she had shown me God’s great love.   Then one night as I lay in bed, I prayed, "Jesus, if You are really there, stop me from wetting the bed and I will worship You forever." From that night on, I never wet the bed again and I have felt God's hand in my life ever since.

The Lord opened a huge door for me at the age of eighteen when I was invited to compete with hundreds of disabled athletes in my country. In that competition, I came out the top athlete in all of Nigeria. Next, after several other competitions, I went to the World Stoke Mandeville Games in England and then in 1994 was named “Best Wheelchair Athlete of the Year.” Finally in the year 2000, I qualified for the Para-Olympics and was able to come to the United States for training. I realize now that God had been guiding me all along and if I had not pushed my body beyond endurance in those early years, I might not have been strong enough to win these titles.

My wife and I have now joined Global Outreach International to help make an impact upon other children’s lives who may not get the opportunities I was blessed to gain. I have committed my life to reach out to the many that have need around the world. We bring wheel chairs to those who have none, crutches to those who need them, water purifiers to those who would die without them. Thank you for your support so that we can do this ministry.