When rebels tore through her hometown during Sierra Leone’s civil war, Eileen Numa discovered a faith that would shape the rest of her life. Today, as an ordinand at St Hild, she reflects on the moments of protection, healing, and calling as she shares a glimpse of her journey.
*Content note: this story contains descriptions of physical violence.
‘I often struggle to know where to begin when sharing my story. My life has been shaped by so many experiences; moments of God’s protection, guidance, and quiet miracles that even a book with many chapters would not be enough to hold them all. What I share here is only a glimpse, just a small part of the journey God has carried me through.
Shelter in the Basement
My story begins in Sierra Leone during the civil war, when I was still a teenager. By 1999, the conflict had reached our town (Kissy), and every day required courage and trust in God. Most nights, my family and I slept in the church (St. Patrick’s Church, Kissy) basement because the rebels were known for taking young girls and boys hostage. The basement felt like the safest place we had.
Before going down, we would gather for silent prayer. We sat together in stillness; no words, no hymns or songs, just tears quietly falling as we placed our fears and hopes before God. After these quiet, tear‑filled moments, we would make our way to the church basement for safety, avoiding the main roads so we would not be seen.
A Still Small Voice
One evening, after one of those silent prayer sessions, I felt a deep conviction in my spirit that we should not go to the basement. I cannot explain it except to say that it was God speaking to my heart. My parents were upset and afraid, convinced that staying home would put us at greater risk. But in the delay and confusion, we remained where we were.
That decision saved our lives. The rebels attacked the church that very night, burning part of it and taking lives. I have never doubted that God was the one who prompted me to stay home. That moment strengthened my trust in His voice and His protection in a way that has shaped my faith ever since.
Long or Short Sleeve
Another defining moment came when rebels entered our street. We were all brought outside and lined up; men, women, and children waiting to be examined. The choice was terrifying: be taken hostage or have your hands cut off. I remember standing in that queue, trembling, praying silently in my heart for God’s mercy.
When it was my turn, one of the rebels looked at me and asked, “Long sleeve or short sleeve?” which was their cruel way of asking whether I wanted my arm or my hand cut off. As he questioned me, he burned my hand with hot plastic. In that moment, I prayed again with everything inside me. I told God that if He saved me from being taken or harmed, I would serve Him for the rest of my life. Almost immediately, a warplane flew overhead. The rebels panicked and fled. Just like that, we were spared. That moment not only saved my life, it also awakened my calling.
Running for Our Lives
Even after the war, some memories stayed with me. One of them was my fear of hills and high places. Sierra Leone is a mountainous country, and during the conflict, we often had to run up one hill and down the other side just to escape danger. We journeyed across those steep, bushy hills for days, moving from one ridge to another, praying we would not be seen.
As we journeyed up one of those sloping, bushy hills, we came across other individuals who were also fleeing for their lives. It was there that I encountered a moment that stayed with me for decades. A pregnant woman, exhausted and struggling, lost her footing and rolled helplessly down the hill. None of us could stop to help her, we were all terrified of being seen or captured. That moment settled deep inside me, and from then on, hills became something I avoided, not because of the height itself, but because of the memory carried within them.
Guided, Protected and Healed
It was only recently, during our time at Cliff College [for our ordinands’ residential week at Easter], that I realised something had changed. We had to climb hills regularly, and to my surprise, I found myself walking up without fear, without shaking, without flashbacks. After almost thirty years, God had gently healed a part of me I thought would always remain tender. For that, I give Him all the glory.
Today, I write this testimony as someone who has been guided, protected, healed, and called by God. I am here because of His mercy. I am who I am because of His grace. And I serve Him because He has been faithful to me body, mind, and spirit. And this is only a glimpse of my story. The rest of it belongs to God, who continues to write it with love, purpose, and faithfulness.’
