And My Journey
My path was not straight, and my life was far from easy. Yet every step, every wound, and every moment of loss was quietly preparing me for a day I did not yet understand.
As a child, I hardly knew my parents. They separated early, and at eleven I ended up in an orphanage. School was difficult, and I never truly felt at home anywhere.
At fourteen, I moved from Suriname to the Netherlands to live with my father. A new country, a new environment — yet inside, I was still that quiet child, carrying questions that had no answers.
At twenty, I left home. Work did not last long. I lived on benefits and told myself I was free — but in truth, I was drifting without direction.
At twenty-two, I became homeless. I slept wherever I could — with family, friends, on couches, in temporary places, and sometimes even on the street. The nights were long. You learn how small the world can feel when you have no door to close behind you.
Still, something inside me did not give up. I took small jobs whenever I could. Slowly, step by step, my life began to take shape again.
At thirty-two, I finally had a place of my own.
Not long after, a young girl in need of safety came into my life. I had little, but I knew what it meant to feel alone — so I chose to take her in. I had never been a father, yet life made me one.
At forty, I bought my first house. For someone who once had nowhere to go, that felt like grace.
In April 2013, around one o'clock in the night, I answered a phone call — and I saw three men in white standing before me. From that moment, the visions began.
They were about people. About the world. About things beyond ordinary life.
In those visions, my heart often broke. I saw blood, death, and unnecessary violence in the world. I saw disasters, suffering, conflict, and great unrest among nations. I saw fear, loss, and sorrow across the earth. Some images were so heavy that at times I was afraid to sleep.
Some dreams repeated themselves. Others continued like stories that had not yet ended. There were nights I woke up in tears.
"This is the plan of God. You must do what you must do.
And you know what you must do.
You cannot walk away from this, nor hide from it.
Do what you must do — and trust, for this is the plan of God."
In 2015, I saw a video online of someone doing street healing. My first thought was, "Yeah, right." At that moment, I had pain in my neck. I thought, "I have nothing to lose."
I placed my hand on my neck and said, "In the name of God, pain, go away." I did not want to believe it — but the pain was gone.
From that moment on, I noticed that when I prayed for people and laid my hands on them, some experienced relief. I never believed it was my power. I was only a person. But something greater was working through me.
When I shared my visions, many laughed. Some turned away. That hurt — not because they doubted, but because I was learning how lonely a calling can feel.
In October 2025, I dreamed of a white dove dancing before me and bowing. In the dream, I took the dove home with me. It felt like peace. Like confirmation.
A week later, something shifted inside me. Everything that once felt like separate pieces formed one path.
That was the moment my mission began.
This is not a story of greatness.
It is the story of a life that fell, rose, and learned to listen.
Because light is not always born in palaces.
Sometimes it awakens in someone who has lost everything — except the soul.
And that is why I do not write much about myself —
because this book is not about me, but about the Light that carried me.