Mamazie's News

 THE SNAKE INSIDE MY HUSBAND  I don’t even know how to start this because my life has turned into a horror movie I never signed up for. I married a man I thought I knew, a man who showed me love, care and all the dreams a young woman could wish for. He wasn’t rich when I met him, but out of nowhere things changed. He bought a car, opened businesses, even started dressing like those big men with money. People praised him, but me, I was the one living in that house, I was the one who saw the truth. At first I thought maybe he had gotten lucky, maybe God had finally answered his prayers. He always told people he was a hard worker, but deep down I knew money doesn’t multiply that fast. He stopped sleeping in our bed some nights, and when I asked, he told me not to worry. But my heart was never at peace. Then strange things started happening to me. I would wake up with scratches on my body. My inner thighs would ache as if something heavy had pressed itself there. My breasts felt s...

THE CLASSROOM IS MY ALTAR  Confession of a Teacher Witch: The Classroom Was My Altar I am a teacher by day, but a witch by night. The classroom that everyone sees as a place of learning is my altar. My learners are not only students — they are the tools of my witchcraft. I use their innocence, their energy, their trust. Every time I hand out sweets, books, or pens, there are hidden rituals tied to them. Without knowing, they carry my spells into their homes and feed me their family’s luck. When a child answers me loudly in class, it is not just confidence — it is because I have tied their voice to my spirits. When they obey me blindly, it is because their dreams already belong to me. Parents think their children are hardworking and disciplined, but I know the truth. They are under my command. Their laughter, their tears, even their blood when they get small injuries at school — all of it strengthens me. Other teachers wonder why I am untouchable. Why I never get sick, why no scanda...

SELLING WOMEN POO TO BECOME RICH I Gave Up Everything for Wealth… Even My Humanity — Here’s My Story I’m a 22-year-old from Newcastle, now living in Durban, and I need to come clean about the dark path I chose—and quit. In 2019, I was introduced to a ritual called “Ukuthwala ngesidlo.” I refused to use blood, so my mentor told me the sacrifice would involve something else… something shocking: feeding a baboon with women’s poop . Women had to volunteer, offering R1 on a plate, and I’d pay them handsomely afterward. Some even made a career out of it. Around the same time, I met an old man who promised me wealth and wisdom for life if I helped him herd his cattle for a few months. He lived alone in a massive house on a mountain next to a huge river. Elders said he was a banned witch in our village, but he convinced me the villagers were jealous and lied about him. I believed him—probably because of the Muti he used to control me . I started sleepwalking to his house, and that’s wher...

 I LOVED A MAN WHO WAS ALREADY DEAD  I want to tell my story because it is the kind of thing you never forget. I loved a man who was not alive. A man who was a musician, charming, dangerous, and later I discovered that he was a spirit. I met him at a small music café. He was sitting alone, guitar on his lap, eyes fixed on the floor. People around him laughed and talked, but he didn’t seem to notice. When he played, the room went silent. Every note cut through me like fire. I had never felt anything like it. I walked up to him and told him how much I liked his music. He looked at me. Those dark eyes stared right through me, and I felt something strange—like he already knew me. He smiled, and I smiled back. That was the start of everything. We started talking. He told me about his music and dreams. He said I inspired him. He called me his muse. I believed him. I loved him. I trusted him. At first, it was normal. We went to movies, walked in the park, and stayed up late talking. ...

The Famous Pastor Sl3pt With Me for Money and Left Me Haunted I never thought one day I would write something like this. I used to believe that what happens in the dark should stay in the dark, but the truth is the dark does not stay silent. It follows you, it whispers, it takes over your body, and no matter how much you try to act normal, you carry it everywhere. I carry it now. This is my confession. I was just an ordinary young girl when I first met him. A pastor. But not just any pastor. He was famous. His name was on TV, on radio, in newspapers. People lined up just to touch his hand. Mothers carried their children to him, begging for prayers. Women knelt at his feet crying, believing he could change their lives. He was not just a man of God — he was worshipped like a god himself. I never looked at him as holy. I looked at him as an opportunity. He was rich, powerful, and he made people shake when he entered a room. I wanted that life. I wanted quick money, nice clothes, a li...

THE DARK SECRET BEHIND MY SUCCESSFUL HAIR SALON I have carried this secret for years, and it is time I finally pour my heart out. People always admire me and say, “She is such a strong woman, she built her salon business from nothing.” They don’t know the truth. I didn’t build it with hard work. I built it with hair, blood, and a snake. It started many years ago when I was desperate. My salon was not moving. Clients came once in a while, and I was drowning in debt. I used to pray for just one customer a day, but even that was a struggle. One night, an older woman came to me, someone I didn’t know but she seemed to know me very well. She told me she could “fix” my life. I thought she meant loans or business advice. But she spoke of something else. She told me: “Every head that comes to your salon is money. But money does not just come. You need to feed something to collect it.” I didn’t understand at first until she explained that the hair of women carries power. She introduced me ...

The Nightclub Owner and Pinky Pinky I never thought I would write this. I never thought I would reach a point where I confess the truth behind my success. But what I am going through at home is heavier than my wealth, heavier than my nightclub, heavier than my pride. And if I don’t let it out, I feel like it will crush me. People look at me and they see a successful nightclub owner. They see the flashy cars I drive, the designer clothes I wear, the expensive bottles I pop, the girls around me, and they say, “This man is winning.” But I wish they knew what I know. I wish they knew the price behind all of this. I did not build my nightclub with just money, sweat, and hard work. I built it with Pinky Pinky. Yes, a snake. Not the one people laugh about in school toilets, not just a joke to scare young girls. A real snake, living and breathing, sitting right inside my nightclub toilet. That’s my business partner, my source of wealth, my curse. It started with desperation. Years ago, ...

I LEFT MY WOMB IN VENDA,LIMPOPO. I Went to Venda for Money Rituals and Sacrificed My Womb I never thought I would one day sit down and write this. For years I have been carrying a heavy secret, hiding behind luxury, smiling in front of people while drowning inside. Many call me blessed. They see the mansion, the expensive cars, the designer clothes, and the soft life that follows me everywhere I go. But no one knows what I sacrificed to live like this. My story is not one of hard work. My wealth was not built honestly. It was bought with blood, with pain, and with the biggest sacrifice a woman can ever make—my womb. Poverty Drove Me to Venda I was born in poverty. I know the smell of hunger. I know the shame of wearing torn clothes and pretending not to care. I know how it feels to be humiliated by debt collectors, to beg for small change just to eat, to watch others live soft while you suffer., When you are poor for too long, desperation begins to whisper dangerous ideas. That is h...

I Cry S3men Instead of Tears I never imagined that chasing wealth would curse me in a way so cruel that even the snake I trusted with my life would turn against me. People look at me and see a woman who has it all — the cars, the mansion, the jewels, the luxury. They see my men falling over themselves to touch me, to be near me. But what they don’t know, what no one knows, is the secret that built this empire, the darkness that fills my nights, and the price I pay every single day. I was a prost!tute. But not in the way people imagine. I didn’t fall asleep with men for pl3asure or even love. I did it for power. Every man that came to my b3d thought he was with me, the real me. But the truth is, it was never me. My snake — the spirit I s@crificed to for wealth and success — was the one lying in my place. It fed on them, drank their seed, and left their bodies empty while my bank account filled. Each man I “sl3pt” with became a s@crifice. Their lives, their pride, their essence, all ...

The Painful Goodbye to Kgaogelo Marota   South Africa is still bleeding again. Another young woman is gone too soon, another family is left shattered, another community is left asking * why * . Her name was Kgaogelo Marota . She was just 20, still finding her way in life, still dreaming, still building a future. But on the night of * *21 August 2025 * *, those dreams were stolen in the most brutal way imaginable. Kgaogelo was stabbed multiple times by her ex-boyfriend—a man she had once trusted with her heart. Their love had ended months earlier, but his obsession never did. He stalked her, slept outside her house, and even after she sought legal protection, he continued to haunt her life. He threatened to burn down her mother’s house, as though she’d never be allowed peace. Then, he made those threats real. That cold night in August, he attacked her outside a tavern in Maubane village , ending her life on the street. In a twisted aftermath, he confessed his crime online, writ...

I SAW HOW MY CELEBRITY BOSS KEEPS HIS FAME AND IT'S SICKENING I am just a maid. I clean, I cook, I polish every corner of that mansion until it gleams. I fold the laundry, scrub the floors, wash the windows, and make sure every surface shines. I make every pillow straight, every plate spotless, every drawer neat. I do all this quietly, carefully, because I must. I must be invisible. I must not make a mistake. But the hardest part of this job is not the cleaning. The hardest part is seeing what goes on inside the house. My boss has everything. He has a beautiful, famous wife who smiles for the cameras, walks the red carpet, poses for magazines, and lives a life that everyone envies. He has children who laugh and play in sunlit gardens. A mansion that sparkles in the sunlight, cars lined in the driveway, lights that shine brighter than the city. People dream of having his life. They think he has it all because of talent, charm, luck, or love. But none of it is true. Nothing is real. ...

I Watched My Sister Fall Into a Russian Trap Because of Influencers I never thought this could happen to someone I love. My sister, Zanele, was full of dreams—bright, ambitious, just 20 years old. She wanted to see the world, make a life for herself. And then she saw it: a post on Instagram from Cyan Boujee , Siyamthanda Anita , and Seemah . They promised young women like her a golden opportunity in Russia . Free flights , housing, language classes , career opportunities . It sounded too good to be true—but she believed it. I remember the night she left. She hugged me tight, tears in her eyes, whispering how this could change everything for her. I tried to warn her. I told her to be careful, to research, to think twice. But she trusted these influencers. When she got to Russia, it was nothing like what they promised. No classrooms, no cultural programs , no career workshops . She was taken to factories in Tatarstan , assembling drones . Long hours. Harsh conditions. No freedom. The...

THE INDIAN SHOP OWNER AND HIS SNAKE They call him the friendly Indian shop owner, but behind his shelves of sweets and spices lies a secret too dark to imagine. For seven years, seven children vanished without a trace—and the whispers say his snake demanded every single one of them. The community suspects, but no one dares confront him, because whoever stands against his power never lives to tell the tale. On Fridays their shops closes briefly,is it really for prayer? Does any of you stop to wonder? It's darker than you'll ever imagine,I've seen it all. Their Friday brief closure is to be able to control your minds and money.  I have carried this secret like a stone in my chest for too long. If I don’t speak now, it will crush me. Everyone in our township whispers about the Indian shop owner, but what they don’t know is that I saw enough to believe every word of those whispers. And the truth is darker than gossip can ever capture. It started when I was still a child. My m...

HOW A SIMPLE JOB INTERVIEW IN JOHANNESBURG TURNED INTO A RITUAL I thought it was just another interview. A normal opportunity. A chance to get my foot in the door at a company that could finally give me stability, a paycheck I didn’t have to stress over, and the dignity of knowing I could provide for myself. I had no idea how wrong I was. The office looked ordinary at first. Clean, professional, quiet. I walked in, dressed in my best, my CV clutched tightly in my hands. The receptionist smiled politely and asked me to wait. Nothing seemed out of place. Then the manager appeared — calm, confident, with a presence that filled the room. He asked me standard questions at first: my experience, my education, my skills. I answered honestly. But then his tone shifted. The questions became strange, personal, invasive. “Do you believe in power beyond what people see?” he asked. “Would you follow instructions without question if it meant success?” “Are you willing to… give a part of yourself for ...

WHY THERE IS AN INCREASE OF WOMEN BEING KILLED IN SOUTH AFRICA: The Price of a Man’s Wealth and Power the Hard Way I have carried this secret in silence for too long. Now I speak, because every day women are dying, and people keep asking, *“Why? Why is Gender-Based Violence so high in South Africa?”They blame alcohol, anger, poverty, broken relationships. They don’t want to see the truth. The truth is uglier, darker, and older than all of that. The truth is that women are being killed for rituals. Women are the coin in a hidden economy of power. I didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. It was a man I met while bartending in Pretoria. He looked like every woman’s dream—handsome, dripping in designer clothes, walking with bodyguards, driving cars that cost more than houses. He spoke like a king, promising wealth, influence, and love. He told me, Every woman who stands in my path is a price I must pay. I thought it was arrogance. I laughed. But he wasn’t joking. He began showi...

MY TRIP TO DUBAI THAT TURNED INTO A RITUAL I used to think being a slay queen was just about looking pretty, traveling, and living the soft life. When I got invited to Dubai by a rich man I met online, I thought I had finally arrived. He promised me luxury hotels, shopping sprees, designer bags, and money that would make my old life disappear. The first night was paradise. I ate food I couldn’t even pronounce, took selfies with the Burj Khalifa in the background, and sipped champagne while gold bracelets clinked on my wrist. I posted pictures pretending it was my hard work that got me there, but deep down, I knew I was just a guest in another man’s world. But on the second night, he showed me the truth. He took me to a hidden floor of his penthouse. Behind a glass wall, I saw a snake so massive it looked like it could swallow a cow. Its skin was black and shiny like oil, and its eyes burned red. When it hissed, my ears rang. I wanted to run, but the man grabbed my wrist and said: ...

I MARRIED MY BLESSER'S SNAKE  I thought I had finally escaped the struggle. Life had never been easy. Every day was a fight — for money, for respect, for a future that seemed just out of reach. So when I met him at the club, I believed in the promise of a life I had only dreamed about. He was charming, confident, and spoke with a calm authority that made the world outside feel small. He promised a life of wealth, freedom, and safety. It wasn’t about gifts at first. He asked questions that went deeper than most men dared: if I had children, if I had ever been pregnant, if anyone depended on me. When I said no, he smiled like he had been waiting for that answer all along, and told me I could move in immediately. I didn’t hesitate. I wanted that lifestyle too much to pause. The first weeks were a dream. I had never seen money flow so easily. Fancy dinners, weekend trips, nights where the city felt like it belonged to me. I thought I had finally “won.” But the first odd signs appeared ...