Unexplainable Happenings (SWC)

This post is for the Supernatural Writing Contest by @jerrybanfield
I have many experiences which I think are not ordinary, not that anything is, but these three and half stand out in my mind. Read on...

I was no more than fourteen years.
I and my two brothers, both older, were returning from church, and it was about 8 pm.
We decided to trek some distance so as to save, and share some money.
On our way, we had heard that some group of youths were fighting, more like a gang war. We were advised to go back to where we came from, but we couldn’t do that as we were coming from church, and though we knew it was our Father’s house, we were not expected to sleep there, as our father was waiting for us at home.
If there was an alternate route, we would have taken it, but we didn’t know of any, so we kept moving, with the exuberance of youths; a little afraid, but also a little excited that we were out when people were running.
The road was a major road under construction, and was still spotting a caterpillar machinery in the middle of the road.
As we approached the machinery, we knew that if we got past it, we would be free.
We were close to it, trying to find our way past it, when they came.
‘Awon niyen!’ That’s them! We heard them shout.
We are Igbos and the fight was between the Yoruba indigenes and the Igbo traders, so you can imagine the fear in our hearts.
We couldn’t run for two reasons; we were yet to figure out how to navigate past the machine, and they were older, bigger and faster, we wouldn’t go far before they caught us.
As the first two arrived, shouting at us to stop, a third approached, scraping his cutlass on the newly tarred road. The scraping gave off sparks and the sounds sent chills down my spine.
I was only fourteen, but I knew what a cutlass could do.
They began harassing my brothers, I guess because they were older, and were the ‘men’. I was left alone, unattended to, and afraid for my brothers. Our Yoruba speaking ability was below average, so we couldn’t communicate to them that we were not traders, even though it should be obvious, and the fear we felt didn’t help matters. We stammered as we tried to explain.
What happened next is something strange to me.
I felt a strange calmness come over me, and I went to one of them, and pled in my broken Yoruba language, that he allow us go, as we were coming from church.
‘Ki ni?’ What? He asked.
I repeated myself.
He looked at me for a while, and spoke to his mates to allow my brothers go. My brothers were so relieved that they hurried away, while I said thank you to the man and followed them, less hurriedly.
Two things I can’t explain; the calmness that came over me, and the way and reason the man listened to me.
For those who know, it could have taken a worse turn.
No one was around, everyone avoided that path, I could have been raped, and my brothers killed, and they would have tagged us victims of war.
I just remembered, while writing this, it was on Sabbath evening, I believe God protected His own.

I was sixteen.
My father and I were kinda close. I say kinda because people say I was his best loved, but I knew he never hesitated in disciplining me. I digress.
My father died on 9th December 2003, but the accident which killed him happened on 5th December, and he was unconscious for the four days before he died.
On the day of the accident, which was a Friday, I was going about my normal business, when I began feeling an unexplainable pain on my right hand. Till this day, I don’t understand it.
It was like it came from my muscles, and would not let go.
I complained to my mother who attributed it to the exercise regimen I started newly, but I told her I knew what pains from exercising felt like, and I only felt it on my right hand. By this time, we had no idea about the accident.
While I was complaining of the pain, my mother said she saw an apparition, like my father, walk in the door and went to the bedroom. She concluded that he was thinking of home.
My father was, at that time, recently transferred to another state. We lived in the South-West, and he was transferred South-South. So we missed each other.
The pain in my right hand continued until I went to bed.
Come morning, Saturday, I wondered what happened the day before but, having no explanations, I shrugged it off and went to church.
On Sunday, we got news of the accident, and by Monday morning, my mother travelled to the hospital, getting there just five minutes after he died.
It was later that I was told that the pain I felt was supposed to be a sign that something was wrong with a loved one, and if I were older I would have understood it. My mother said the apparition was also a sign.

After his burial, still grieving, I had this recurring dream.
We would be in church, and many people would have gone home, I’d ask my dad to wait behind for me, as I had a meeting. He’d agree. (This happened a lot when he was alive. He’d wait for me and my siblings while we attended the youth meetings, then he’d take us home)
I’d go to the meeting, and when I come back out, he’d be nowhere to be found, and the whole church will be filled up, making it harder for me to search for my father.
Each morning I woke up disappointed, and my mourning starting afresh, until I prayed, yes I prayed. I didn’t want to keep having the heartbreaking dream.
And from the day I prayed, the dream ceased.

This happened weeks ago.
My sister was being delivered of her baby girl, and I was at the hospital with her, the father of the child was also there.
The birth was taking longer than normal, and at a point, the doctor prescribed some pharmaceuticals to aid the birth.
At this point of my life, I was in a huge debt (I still am), and I kept wondering how to pay it off, and so when the list of things to be bought came, I was close to tears. I had no money on me, and the little money the father of the child had was just enough for some of the items.
It was around midnight, I was in debt, and didn’t want to borrow again, but even those whom I wanted to borrow from were asleep, and I was sad.
At that point I spoke to God, I cried of how He made this happen when He knew I couldn’t afford it. I told Him it was not how it was supposed to be, as He had said nothing more than our abilities would come our way, and in that silent night, I heard the single sentence:
“All you may need, He will provide.”
A friend of mine had earlier sent me a hymn to reassure me, when I told him the birth was taking longer than expected. He sent the hymn (God will take care of you), and the above line is one of the lines in the song.
Hearing those words, I calmed down, and the voice continued, “Maybe you do not need those items, and that's why you can’t afford them.”
I went quiet.
The father of the child made some calls, ran around and bought the items, every one of them.
Hours later, after my sister was safely delivered of her beautiful daughter, my beautiful niece, the father of the child told me, “They didn’t even use those things I bought!”
I felt goose bumps on my skin.

All these stories convince me of a God who is interested in me, and answers my prayers.
It also shows the power of love (between my father and me).

Images' Credits: YouTube and Chris Gibbs.net