In 1966, a twenty-two year old English music teacher stepped off a boat in Hong Kong with almost no money and no plan. A clergyman back home had told her something strange. Look at a map, buy the cheapest ticket you can find, and pray about where to get off. She got off here.

Her name was Jackie Pullinger. The place she walked into was the Kowloon Walled City. Six acres. No police. No law. Tens of thousands of people stacked in the dark, one on top of another. Triad gangs ran it. Inside were more than forty opium and heroin dens, and one toilet for a hundred thousand people. Outsiders did not go in. She moved in.

She started a youth club in the noise and the filth, and she got to know the addicts. Men who had chased heroin for thirty years. Men who had sold everything they owned and were dying in doorways. She watched them try to quit the ordinary way, screaming through cold turkey, sweating and shaking for days.

Then something began happening that she could not explain. When an addict was willing to pray with her, and to pray in a strange language she called praying in the Spirit, again and again they came off heroin with no withdrawal. No sweats. No convulsions. No agony. They simply stopped, and slept, and woke up free.

It was not one man. It was hundreds, over years. Hardened Triad enforcers. Dealers. Street sleepers everyone else had written off. Some of the men she prayed for became her closest workers, and are still alive today doing the same thing for others.

The Walled City was pulled down in 1993. Jackie Pullinger never left Hong Kong. She is over eighty now, and still there. She has never claimed to be anything more than an ordinary woman who prayed.

Nobody has a medical explanation. The people it happened to are still here. You can go and ask them. Witnessed. New documented case every week. Subscribe.