I had always believed betrayal was something that happened to other people. Stories you read, rumours you hear, lessons you discuss but never imagine living through.
That illusion shattered the day I discovered my wife had been sleeping with my neighbour—the man I greeted every morning, the man who borrowed my tools and shared jokes over the fence.
In one cruel stroke, my home became a place of shame, silence, and unbearable pain.
The confrontation was brief and ugly. There were no convincing explanations, no tears strong enough to undo what had already been done.
What hurt most was not just the affair, but the casual way it had existed under my nose. The woman I had trusted with my life had broken something in me that I did not know could break.
Days blurred into nights. I stopped eating. I stopped answering calls. Every corner of the house reminded me of lies whispered and promises violated.
My mind became a prison, replaying images I never wanted to see. Slowly, a dangerous thought took root: escape. Not from the marriage, not from the neighbourhood—but from life itself.
One evening, with nothing left to anchor me, I packed a small bag and boarded a night bus to Mombasa.
The city by the ocean felt symbolic. Final. I told myself the sound of the waves would be the last thing I heard.
As the bus pulled out of the station, I felt strangely calm, as though the decision had already drained all remaining emotion from me.
The journey was long and quiet. Most passengers slept. I stared out of the window as darkness swallowed the road, my thoughts louder than the engine.
At some point after midnight, restlessness pushed me to scroll aimlessly on my phone.
That is when I stumbled upon a website that would change everything. It belonged to a traditional healer known as Dr Bokko.
I do not know why I clicked. Maybe desperation sharpens intuition. Maybe it was fate. The words on the site spoke about healing broken spirits, restoring hope, and guiding people out of darkness.
Without thinking too much, I sent a WhatsApp message. It was short, clumsy, and heavy with pain. I did not expect a reply. I certainly did not expect one immediately.
But my phone vibrated within minutes.
Dr Bokko responded calmly, respectfully, as though he had been waiting for my message. He did not ask for money. He did not judge. Instead, he asked me to breathe, to stay present, and to tell him where I was.
When I explained I was on a night bus, heading to Mombasa with no intention of returning, his tone changed—firm but compassionate.
“Your life has not ended,” he told me. “What has ended is a chapter. Pain is speaking, but it is not the truth.”
Those words pierced through the fog in my mind. For the first time in days, someone was not reacting to the scandal or the drama—but to me. Dr Bokko stayed with me through messages and voice notes as the bus sped through the darkness.
He guided me through grounding exercises, reminded me of who I was before the betrayal, and helped me name the pain instead of drowning in it.
Access Powerful African Spells That can Change Your Life Forever.
By the time the call to prayer echoed faintly in the early morning air, something inside me had shifted. I was still hurt. Still broken. But I was alive in a way I had not been hours earlier.
When the bus finally reached Mombasa, I did not get off. I asked the conductor about the return trip and sat back down, exhausted but clearer.
I messaged Dr Bokko again. He told me healing would take time, but survival was the first victory—and I had already won it.
In the days that followed, he continued to guide me. Not with empty promises, but with discipline, reflection, and emotional rebuilding.
He helped me understand that betrayal says more about the betrayer than the betrayed. That choosing life was not weakness, but defiance against despair.
To Call: Click Here
To WhatsApp: Click Here
To Email: Click Here
Today, I am still healing. My marriage did not survive, but I did. I returned home not as the same man, but as one who understands the value of his own life.
When I think back to that night bus, I realise how close I came to silence—and how one unexpected message pulled me back.
Dr Bokko did not just respond to a WhatsApp text. He answered a cry from the edge. And because of that, I am here to tell this story.