By Emeka Amaefula
MFM GENERAL OVERSEER EXPOSES “SHADOW FORCES ” BEHIND NIGERIA’S TROUBLES, ISSUES DEADLY WARNING
On an ordinary Sunday morning in Lagos, the traffic outside the Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries headquarters stretched farther than usual. The sun had barely risen, but the faithful were already pouring into the vast sanctuary—teachers in their Sunday best, traders clutching handbags like shields, young men with their eyes set on hope, and elderly women with headscarves tied with the determination of warriors.
They said they came for worship on Sunday 23rd of November 2025 but what many left with was something else entirely—a shockwave.
Inside, the atmosphere simmered with music, drums and swirling prayer chants. Yet beneath the energy was an undertone: something heavy, something unsaid, something about to be unleashed. Even the choir seemed to sense the tension, singing with the kind of intensity only found in moments before revelation.
When Dr. Daniel Kolawole Olukoya finally approached the pulpit, the crowded hall fell into a silence so complete it felt as though the building was holding its breath.
Then he spoke—and the quiet shattered.
“Nigeria is bleeding by design,” he said. “Not by accident.”
It wasn’t the kind of sermon that tried to soothe. It wasn’t crafted to congratulate. It wasn’t even the familiar rhythm of spiritual encouragement that Nigerian congregations know well.
This was an indictment.
Delivered with the precision of a scientist and the fire of a prophet, Dr. Olukoya painted a grim portrait of a nation besieged not just by poverty or political excess, but by deliberate sabotage—a network he described as “shadow forces” working beneath the surface of Nigerian life. “There are people who prosper when Nigeria suffers,” he declared.
“People who wake up to plan confusion. People who celebrate chaos. They hide in offices, in high places, in secret gatherings. But heaven is now exposing them.”
The crowd reacted instinctively. Some gasped. Others murmured. A woman clasped her hands to her chest as though she had finally heard someone articulate a truth she had long suspected.
For years, Nigerians have whispered about “hidden hands,” “cabal networks,” “invisible stakeholders” who benefit from national crisis. But rarely has a major religious figure spoken with such clarity, certainty, and consequence.
Dr. Olukoya went further. “Unless they repent,” he warned,
“they will not live out their days. Every unrepentant saboteur of this nation will fall under divine judgment.”
His words rippled across the hall like a seismic wave.
The Anatomy of Nigeria’s Crisis Economy
For decades, experts have spoken of a disturbing Nigerian reality: crisis can be profitable.
Insecurity creates contracts.
Instability opens financial taps.
Chaos blinds accountability.
The more the ordinary Nigerian suffers, the more certain powerful networks thrive.
Olukoya’s sermon tapped into this buried frustration—what many Nigerians feel but cannot prove, what they sense but cannot name.
His message didn’t simply condemn corruption or incompetence. It accused systemic architects of sabotaging the nation.
He described financiers of chaos. Operators of violence. Silent beneficiaries of terror. “Crisis merchants,” he called them.
Not politicians by name.
Not institutions by mention.
But an ecosystem—a machine : “There are people whose wealth depends on Nigeria’s pain,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gravity that pulled the room inward.
“And their season is ending.”
A Sermon That Became a National Moment
Long after the service ended, the conversation did not.
Outside the church, the sun had risen fully, lighting up clusters of worshippers discussing the sermon with a mix of relief and alarm. Some said Olukoya had simply voiced what Nigerians had been thinking. Others described the message as a prophecy that might reshape national discourse.
On social media, clips of the sermon circulated rapidly. Hashtags emerged. Debates erupted. Analysts weighed in. Members of the political class watched silently.
Dr. Olukoya had done something few religious leaders dared:
He thrust a spotlight onto the invisible architecture of Nigeria’s turmoil.
“For Nigeria to rise, the wicked must fall.”
As the sermon drew to its climax, Olukoya’s voice rose like a storm. “Every unseen hand pushing this nation backward—every agent of darkness, every saboteur, every crisis entrepreneur—will be exposed. And unless they turn from their evil, they will die before their time.”
It wasn’t a threat.
It wasn’t a political jab.
It was a spiritual proclamation—delivered with an authority that made even skeptics sit up.
And then came the final blow: “Nigeria will rise. But the wicked will not rise with her.”
A Nation at a Crossroads
Nigeria stands today in the kind of tension that produces either collapse or rebirth.
Economic hardship.
Spiritual exhaustion.
Political uncertainty.
Security failures.
In such moments, societies look to voices that cut through noise and point toward truth—even uncomfortable truth.
Dr. Olukoya’s sermon was that moment. A jolt. A mirror. A warning.
Whether taken as prophecy, social diagnosis, or national confrontation, one thing is certain:
It has drawn open the curtains on a conversation Nigeria can no longer avoid.
Inside the church that morning, as worshippers slowly dispersed, one could sense a shift—not necessarily in the nation, but in the collective consciousness of a people desperate for change.
And in the echo of Olukoya’s words was a truth that lingered:
“The crisis merchants have danced long enough. Now the dance ends.”
————–Emeka Amaefula —-+234(0)8111813069—
