The House of Eternal Possibilities Church of God once stood as a beacon of faith in the heart of the city.

Every Sunday, crowds thronged its gates, singing praises and waiting to receive miracles from its celebrated founder, Pastor Benjamin Adera — better known as Daddy Possibilities.

To his followers, he was not just a man of God; he was the voice of heaven itself.

For many families, meeting him was a privilege, an encounter with divine power.

Mothers brought their children for blessings, young men sought his prayers for jobs, and women — often desperate for healing or hope — clung to his words as though they were scripture itself.

Behind the polished sermons, though, a darker story was unfolding — one that would expose how blind faith can be twisted into a weapon.

Deborah (not her real name) was only fourteen when her mother first took her to the church.

Her mother believed that the pastor’s prayers could unlock her daughter’s destiny.

To her, Pastor Adera was infallible — a man whose words carried the weight of divine authority.

When he asked to “pray privately” for Deborah’s success, she saw it as a blessing, not a warning.

What happened next would shatter the illusion of holiness that surrounded Daddy Possibilities.

It would also reveal the painful truth faced by countless young girls whose faith — and trust — have been manipulated by those hiding behind the cross.

According to testimonies gathered later, the pastor’s private “prayers” were a routine pattern.

He targeted young women and girls, often those whose parents were among his most loyal followers.

He convinced them that obedience to him was obedience to God, and that his “special blessings” would bring prosperity and favor.

In time, whispers began circulating in the congregation.

Some women spoke quietly about uncomfortable encounters, while others refused to believe anything negative about their “Daddy.”

Whenever allegations surfaced, he dismissed them as the work of “demons” trying to destroy his ministry.

He even preached entire sermons about “the enemies of progress” and “the jealous spirits attacking the anointed.”

But silence cannot last forever.

One by one, victims began to speak out — first anonymously, then publicly.

Their stories shared chilling similarities: private prayer sessions, manipulation, shame, and silence imposed through fear of spiritual condemnation.

Deborah’s story became the turning point.

When she confided in a friend from school, the truth began to ripple outward.

The friend’s family contacted a local journalist, who started an independent investigation.

What they found was a network of silence, built on fear and blind reverence.

Authorities were reluctant to act at first.

In many communities, pastors hold immense social and political power.

People feared that challenging him meant challenging God Himself.

But eventually, after multiple testimonies emerged and evidence was compiled, law enforcement began a formal investigation.

The fallout was seismic.

Congregants divided sharply — some defending their pastor, others horrified by the allegations.

Television reporters camped outside the church gates as national headlines demanded answers.

Mrs.

Rachel, Deborah’s mother, was among those crushed by guilt.

“I thought I was taking my daughter to God,” she said tearfully.

“I didn’t know I was leading her into harm.

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The story of Daddy Possibilities is not isolated.

Across Africa, Asia, and the Americas, faith-based abuse has surfaced again and again — charismatic preachers using the language of salvation to exploit their followers.

From Nigeria to South Africa, from the United States to Latin America, similar scandals have shaken religious institutions.

The common thread is always power — the unquestioned authority given to those who claim to speak for God.

Experts say that these cases reveal a systemic problem.

“Charisma and religious fervor can create a dangerous cocktail,” explains Dr.

Nandi Molefe, a sociologist specializing in religion and power.

“When communities equate spiritual leadership with absolute moral purity, they create an environment where abuse can thrive unchecked.”

Today, the House of Eternal Possibilities stands nearly empty.

The once-lavish compound is quiet, its painted slogans of hope fading on the walls.

A few loyalists still gather outside the locked gates, praying for their pastor’s release.

But for survivors like Deborah, the work of healing is only beginning.

She now attends counseling sessions organized by a local NGO that supports survivors of religious and sexual abuse.

Her story has inspired other young women to speak up, breaking generations of silence.

“It took me a long time to understand that God was never in that room,” she says softly.

“Now I know faith should heal, not harm.”

As the criminal case against Pastor Benjamin Adera proceeds, many are calling for reform.

Advocates are pushing for stricter oversight of churches and the registration of self-proclaimed prophets.

They argue that spiritual authority must come with accountability — and that no preacher should ever be above the law.

For millions of believers, the scandal has sparked painful questions about trust, discernment, and the meaning of faith itself.

But for Deborah and others like her, the lesson is clear: God does not require fear, secrecy, or submission to a man.

Faith belongs to the heart — and no one, no matter how powerful, has the right to claim ownership of it.