The Whole World Needs To Experience This Book - "The Witch Doctor and the Man The City under the Sea"!

Chapter Two:

City Under the Sea Chapter One Spiritual Roots I am the Lord thy God... Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image... (Exodus 20:2-4)

I am Bishop Samuel Vagalas of the Lord’s Vineyard International Ministries, a wonderful Christian church, located in Accra, Ghana, West Africa. Jesus Christ is my personal Savior. I am blessed to be the jrst person that Jesus called out of witchcraft practiced in my family to become a child of God. Jesus commissioned me to “go and tell My people what I have done for you.” My testimony concerns the Lord’s mercy, grace and deliverance. It is also a confirmation that there is no sin that His blood cannot wash away to make a person’s spirit as white as snow. My story is one of hope for the billions of people that wish to be delivered by Jesus who are ensnared and made captive by idol‐ atry and from family witchcraft ties. My country’s religion is based on a mixture of the worship of idols and ancestors. My family worshiped idols such as gods of sun, moon, earth, trees, monkeys, snakes, etc. These were the only gods that we knew.

My Father’s Son

I was born on Thursday 1st January 1960, the first son of Aloriga Samuel. My father named me Vagalas Samuel. I want to talk about myself, how I met Jesus Christ and became born again. My testimony is about being delivered from fourth-generational witch doctor family spirits to become a child of God. I was born to a typical idolatrous home in Ghana, West Africa.
My family originally came to Ghana from Upper Volta. They named the village Vea after their god in Bolgantaga. I was raised as a bushman and still have the deeply carved jet-black markings on my face from Frafra Tribal ritualism. This mark across my cheeks conjrmed my rites of passage
sage to manhood. The scars were also Satan’s marks of my spiritual in‐ heritance as the eldest son.
I am not a stranger to demons because I was born to become the fourth generational witch doctor in my family. As the eldest son; I was chosen to inherit my father’s witch doctor throne position and supernatural powers. Thank God that Jesus saved me before this demonic mantle was passed to me. Nevertheless, my father was training me to step into his witch doctor’s leadership. My father had a good mind, but he had inher‐ ited a passionate and headstrong character from his mother. She had brought her children up to be strong believers in witchcraft. She also took a great interest in relatives and friends, remembering the children’s birthdays and anniversaries and deaths. She’d walk a long way to visit people, even visiting them in hospitals. It seemed my father spent his life busy with his witchcraft and serving his people. I must say, that I share my grandmother’s hardheaded stubbornness.
A Chosen Vessel
When Jesus rescued me out of the clutches of Satan, I had been a wizard for 12 years. Even so, God had other plans for my life. He chose me. He supernaturally saved, delivered, trained and called me. He wants to use my background to reveal to His church the mysteries of the majestic au‐ thority over Satan’s schemes and the power of deliverance. The Bible shows that each one of us must jnd Jesus Christ as personal Savior. I was actually translated from the kingdom of darkness and placed into the Kingdom of God. God made me a new spiritual being. Before receiving Jesus, my spirit was dead to God. I was governed through my soul (mind) and my flesh before being born again. After being saved, I became spiritually alive to become a son of God to be led by His Holy Spirit.

Satan’s controls all pagan religions powers are defeated by the awesome power of Jesus! It doesn’t matter if it’s the worship of Pan, Krishna, Diana
or Thor; Jesus power is greater. The faces behind the mask of these gods belong to Satan. Even if a person is an atheist, or whether it’s the idol of power, money, knowledge, or some other ideal, still Satan is being wor‐ shiped. The true God says, “I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image (idol), or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God,” (Exod. 20:2–5)
It’s that simple. There are two religious systems in the world. Satan con‐ trols one. The other owes its allegiance only to Jesus Christ. Put simply, if a person is not a believer in Jesus as Almighty God, incarnate Jesus that came in the qesh to save him from his sins, he belongs to Satan. To sum up, the Bible shows that when Satan tempted Adam and Eve, they sinned (or fell) from a spiritual walk with God; since that time, every person on earth is born under the curse of darkness. Jesus Christ re‐ deems mankind and restores them to the Father. Therefore, my Savior, Jesus, returned me to the same original spiritual condition that Adam and Eve enjoyed before their fall into sin. So, I don’t wear wizards’ robes anymore. I have been washed in the blood of Jesus. Today, I stand in a glistening white robe awaiting His return. This is my testimony that I have written for His glory.

Chapter Three

Fourth Generation Witch Doctor

“Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, [worship them] nor serve
them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; And showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments,” (Exod. 20:5–6)

Family life in Ghana

Ghana is a beautiful place in which to grow up. My memory is jlled with Africa’s rich natural beauty. The country is almost completely surround‐ ed by oceans and has many splendid lakes and rivers. The land is made up mainly of tropical rain forests, savannas, deserts, mountains, and wa‐ terfalls. The equator goes through Africa. Ghana and countries close to the equator have a tropical or hot climate.

My struggle started the day I was born into an idolatrous family in Africa. My village was small. Before I tell you about my unusual conver‐ sion to Christianity, I want to give a brief sketch of my own family and upbringing. My father was sincere about his witchcraft religion. He sat on a very powerful supernatural throne. The entire village would come to him for advice. Even some Christians would come to seek his guidance.

Meanwhile my mother, Mary, assisted him in his witchcraft. However, she was happy to be a mother. She was content being with me to watch me grow. She took her wifely duties very seriously. Every day she pre‐ pared our meals in a small clay pot. I watched her closely each time she squatted to jre the tiny burner. She had just the right touch to kindle the qame for the fuel. A fond memory that I have was the special treat when she brought us jnger bananas from the local plantations. There were few luxuries in our lives, but this is one of my outstanding memories from earlier childhood. My mother su_ered her lot without one com‐ plaining word. Her little thin body told the tale of the lack of nourishing foods. She enjoyed sons, but still, she was wife first, and mother second.

She went about her duties with dull eyes, but they would sparkle each time she saw my brothers and me. Nevertheless, an empty life is a fear‐ ful thing. Everything was so futile and nothing worth believing in, and gradually my heart grew more dark and confused. The people of an African village depend on each other as an extended family. In fact, it is not usual for everyone in a village to be related in one way or another. Traditionally the men are responsible for farming the land that sur‐ rounds the village. The women help with the farm work and they also cook and take care of the children.

Villages very seldom have modern machines or tools for cooking or farming. Plowing is done with a wooden plow pulled by oxen. Food is prepared with the same kind of hand tool that has been used in Africa for hundreds of years. One traditional cooking tool found in nearly every West African home is the mortar and pestle. A pestle is a club-shaped utensil used to pound food in the mortar. The most important “tool” used in traditional Africa is fire. Some West Africans still cook over a fire, just as our ancestors did.

Even the children have their role in the life of the village. At an early age, they learn to help the adults. They do whatever they can until they are old enough to take on adult responsibilities. My first household duty was collecting the fuel for our food. Barefooted, I had to travel about three miles each way. Collecting tiny twigs and thorny bushes, I squeezed them into small bundles. It was a humdrum job, but like every young boy, my mind managed to make it a major adventure each time that I had to make the trip to the forest.

Centuries of famine, starvation and drought have taken their toll upon my people. It was a common thing to witness tragedies. For instance, I remember a young boy my own age that had a broken leg. His leg was being held together with two ounces of plaster of Paris and, without a
doctor available, was clumsily and crookedly set. For every poor African family, getting water was another major job. This was also one of my chores. Our water source was located about one mile from our hut. Everyone in the village came to the river for water. It was the only water supply for my entire community. Young and old, they came for this life’s source of water. My jug was as large as those borne by older boys many years my senior. I could manage it just as easily as they could carry theirs. This job gave me a good chance to get to know the many people in the village. I saw the women with weary dullness in their eyes. No hope came from those eyes. They had no future. In fact, they had the very same look my mother and father had in their eyes; glossy, blank and dead.

The heat caused our body odors to mingle in the air. The people do not bathe every day. The ever present armies of qies moved with a whirling motion, determined to land on our faces. No one was exempt from this unpleasant sensation, but not one person ever raised a hand to bat the qies away. I hated the gnats worse than the flies. They had a way of mak‐ ing themselves stick to the sweat on my skin. Their piercing stings caused itching bumps. Filling the water jug to the brim, I lifted the heavy container over my shoulder and rested it on my back and moved down the dusty roads like a beast of a burden. It was always hot. The wind was always still.
My hair was matted by the sweat of the day. It felt good to feel the cool water slush and spill a few drops down my hot back. Sometimes, I would jog especially hard to make it splash more. Always, before my father would inspect my jug and ask why it was not jlled to the brim, I’d run to empty it into a larger bowl. This careless sloshing of hard-to-get water always caused me to make more trips to the river. However, it provided a small pleasure for me each time the water splashed on my hot back. Each
time I had to take my journey to the village water source, I was joined by a swarming mass of humanity. I liked to see the large vultures qy in cir‐ cles in the sky, while apple-green birds with long tapered beaks hopped about the hungry and thirsty people.

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