Mamazie's News

THE WEALTH I BOUGHT WITH INNOCENT CHILDREN'S BL00D I don’t know how to start this without trembling. My hands shake as I type. For years I have hidden behind suits, sunglasses, and a smile that isn’t mine. I have been called successful, brilliant, a self-made man. People envy me. They whisper my name like I’m a god of luck. But the truth is darker than any of you can imagine. I am not self-made. I am soul-made — built on the souls of children. I did not choose poverty, but I chose something worse than poverty. I chose the rituals. Ten years ago, I was nothing. My wife had left me, my children were hungry, my debts stacked up like tombstones. I had no plan except survival. In my desperation, I met a man at a nightclub. He had the kind of wealth that burned your eyes to look at — gold chains, two phones, a car that purred like a predator. He leaned close to me and whispered, “There are ways. Old ways. If you are brave enough.” I thought he meant a business deal, a loan, a scam...

OBITUARY OF NATHI MTHETHWA Emmanuel Nkosinathi “Nathi” Mthethwa (1967 – 2025) **Paris, 30 September 2025** — South Africa mourns the passing of one of its most enduring and contested public figures, Nkosinathi “Nathi” Mthethwa, who died under tragic circumstances in Paris on 30 September 2025. Over a decades-long career in politics, diplomacy and public life, he was at once a stalwart of the ruling ANC and a frequent target of scandal and inquiry.  Early Life & Rise in the ANC Born on 23 January 1967 in Clermont in the former Natal Province , Mthethwa was raised in the Durban area and in KwaMbonambi .He began his political journey in the early 1990s, shortly after the unbanning of the ANC, serving as branch secretary in his home area ( Klaarwater, KZN ). He gained reputation for organisational strength, rising through the youth ranks and later into national leadership structures.  Education-wise, he completed a diploma in community development at the University of Natal...

A SOUTH AFRICAN POLITICIAN BEGGING FOR HELP TO FIND HIS POWER AND HEALTH THAT WENT MISSING  Confession o f a South African Politician: My Snake is Gone, My Power is Slipping I have never told anyone this truth. For years, people have speculated about how I rose so fast in politics, how scandals never seemed to stick to me, how tenders landed in my lap like blessings, and how enemies who dared to speak against me somehow disappeared from the political stage. They call it “luck.” Some call it “strategy.” Others whisper about “dark powers.” But no one knows the real story—except me. I am a South African politician who built my career on promises to serve the people, to uplift the poor, to fight corruption. Yet, behind my speeches and photo opportunities, a different reality has been unfolding. My life has not been guided by luck or strategy. It has been ruled by a snake. Not a metaphorical snake. A real one. The Night I Met the Snake It began ten years ago, in a lodge on the o...

 THE RITUALS THAT MADE ME RICH THROUGH BLOOD AND SECRET ROOMS The Rituals That Made Me Rich I don’t know why I’m writing this, maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s just that I can no longer carry this weight alone. People look at me today and they see success, power, and wealth. They see the cars, the houses, the businesses, and they think I am blessed. But no one ever asks me what I had to give up to get here. No one dares to. I wasn’t born rich. I grew up in a home where hunger was normal and poverty was our last name. I swore to myself that I would never die like my parents—tired, poor, and forgotten. So when the opportunity came, when I was introduced to a man who whispered of wealth through rituals, I didn’t even hesitate. The first step was small—or at least that’s what I told myself then. A chicken. A goat. Blood spilled under the moon while words I didn’t understand were spoken. I remember trembling, but I told myself, * if this is the price, I can pay it. * ...

I BOUGHT A JACKET AT DUNUSA NOW IT'S HAUNTING ME The Jacket I Can’t Return: My Haunting jacket from Dunusa I used to love shopping at Dunusa in Joburg. It felt like a treasure hunt — rows of second-hand clothes from all over the world, a smell of dust and history hanging over every rack. People laugh when you tell them clothes can carry spirits. I used to laugh too. Now, I don’t. That day is still clear in my mind. It was cold and cloudy, the kind of weather that makes you buy jackets you don’t even need. I bought five of them, each one different — one leather, one denim, one army green, one grey hoodie, one brown with torn sleeves. I walked home feeling like I’d won. I didn’t know I’d brought something else back. It started as a whisper. The first night, I woke up to the sound of someone pacing in my room. My heart raced, but when I switched on the light, there was no one. Only the jackets hanging on the chair, swaying slightly as if touched. Then I heard it — a voice, soft and lo...

I MARRIED INTO A VENDA FAMILY AND THEY TURNED MY DAUGHTER INTO A TIKOLOSHI  A Mother Who Regrets Getting Married with Her Child I carry a regret so heavy it has left me unable to breathe some nights. I thought marriage would bring stability, love, and family into my daughter’s life. I thought finding a man who had his own motherly roots, traditions, and ways would give us a home. But instead, I married into something I should never have touched. I was a single mom before all this. My daughter was my everything — my light, my reason for pushing through life no matter how hard it got. I raised her with what little I had, and even if we didn’t have much, at least we had peace. At least I knew she was safe when she laid her head on my chest at night. Then I met him. He was Venda, a man with charm, confidence, and a mother who carried herself like a queen. She welcomed me in at first, saying she was happy her son had chosen a “strong woman” like me. I didn’t know her strength was som...

I HAVE A GHOST AND A SNAKE THAT CAUSES HUGE ACCIDENTS ON A CERTAIN ROAD  I don’t even know if these words will make sense. My hands won’t stop shaking. My head won’t stop hearing them — the hiss, the whisper, the crash. God… I didn’t think it would go this far. I just wanted money. I just wanted to be seen. They told me, *feed the road, the road will feed you.* They didn’t tell me the road would become a mouth. They didn’t tell me the ghost would have a face. They didn’t tell me the snake would crawl into my dreams. I see them even now. Behind me. Beside me. Inside me. Every time I drive, I feel the air thicken. The ghost walks just outside the window. Sometimes it taps. Sometimes it presses its pale hands against the glass like it wants to climb inside. And the snake… the snake is worse. Long. Black. Scaled. I can’t tell where it begins or ends. It slithers along the tar behind my car, licking the road. I can hear it — hiss hiss hiss — like a prayer, like a curse. Minutes after I ...

MY COUSIN WORKED IN FUNERAL PARLOUR OWNED BY A NIGERIAN GUY AND SHE LOST HER MIND LIKE G MASHEGO  “My Cousin, the Funeral Parlour, and the Snake She Says Sleeps Beside Her” It's important to know that there's nothing more dangerous than experiencing certain things and speaking out about them. Most rituals made are secrete and speaking out about them can cost you your mental health. Everything that is happening in South Africa now with G Mashego is a result of speaking out of turn about things which were meant to be grave secrets. Those who don't know who G Mashego is let me share a video of how he lost his mind since he came back from Nigeria and I'll also attach a video of my once so beautiful cousin and her video now.  She looks like a totally different person from when she lost her mind after experiencing rituals she wasn't supposed to see or know about. Lets me share with you her story and hopefully someone I. Here will help her. I have a cousin who used to w...

THE MONEY THAT EATS ME ALIVE I don’t know if anyone will believe me, but I need to spit this out before it kills me inside. People think I worked hard for what I have. They call me “ self-made .” Some even use me as motivation. If only they knew the truth. Years ago, I was broke, tired, and angry at life. Nothing I touched worked out. My friends laughed at me, women avoided me, and debtors never stopped knocking. That’s when someone I trusted whispered to me about a shortcut — a money ritual. At first, I thought it was a joke. But when you’re desperate, jokes start to sound like answers. I followed him. We drove deep into the night, no streetlights, only bush paths. We reached a small compound, quiet but heavy with something I can’t explain. The air was thick, like it didn’t want me there. Inside, there was a room. A mat on the floor. A clay pot. Candles lined up like soldiers. They told me, “You can be rich, but you must give something.” I didn’t understand until I saw the knife,...

I K!LLED MY OWN FAMILY FOR WEALTH AND NOW I'M DROWNING IN MONEY  Confession: I Sacrificed My Family for Money This is not easy to write. People look at me and think I am lucky. They see the cars, the houses, the way money never runs out for me. But what they don’t see is the blood that brought me here. I got introduced to something I should have never touched. A man told me about a secret room where people go to make money rituals . He said there is a snake that gives wealth to anyone who feeds it. At first I laughed, but my life was falling apart. I was broke, desperate, and angry at seeing others win while I suffered. So I agreed. The night they took me to the room, I will never forget it. The door was hidden behind a normal house. Inside, the walls smelled of blood. There were stains on the floor, candles burning low, and a circle drawn with something dark . When the chanting began, the ground felt alive. Out of the shadows came a snake so huge it felt like the whole room be...

I SLEPT WITH 365 MEN IN 365 DAYS TO FEED MY SNAKE FOR WEALTH  This is the secret I have carried  the one that eats me alive every night when I close my eyes. I am confessing because I can’t keep it inside anymore. For a full year, I gave my body to strangers. Three hundred and sixty-five nights, three hundred and sixty-five men. Not for love, not for lust, not for pleasure. I did it to feed my snake — the snake I was told would bring me wealth, power, and respect. It started with greed. I was tired of struggling. Tired of begging for scraps while others lived in plenty. That’s when I met her — the old woman with the cloudy eyes. She told me about the ritual. She promised me I would never lack money again. She said, “There is a snake that eats from the bodies of men. If you feed it, it will feed you.” At first, I laughed. But when she described my desperation back to me, word for word, I knew she wasn’t lying. I was desperate enough to believe anything. And so, I agreed. Th...

CELEBRITY GONE TO BUY A MONEY SNAKE AND POWER IN NIGERIA GONE HORRIBLY WRONG CALLS FOR HELP Celebrity gone to buy a money snake and power in Nigeria gone horribly wrong This is an anonymous confession pulled from a friend-of-a-friend who still can't stop thinking about it. Names are left out — the story is too raw, and the people involved asked to stay unnamed. Read it as a warning, or as a true-crime whisper. Either way, it still makes my skin crawl. He told her over a late-night call — the girlfriend who lives in South Africa — that he was excited. They had been promised a money snake and “power”: endless success , a bank balance that never thinned, doors opening like magic. The people who led him there painted it as a simple ritual, one that would change his life forever. He was almost laughing on the phone with her, giddy at the thought. What he saw when he arrived was nothing like the brochure. The place they took him to was deliberately eerie. Objects that looked like ...

 I'VE BEEN HELPING RICH MEN GET RID OF THE CURSE THEY GOT FROM SLEEPING WITH THE SAME WOMAN WHO TURNS INTO A HUGE LIZZARD AND STEAL THEIR GOOD FATES I am a sangoma. People come to me when the ordinary threads of life snap — when businesses fail, when marriages collapse, when luck evaporates like morning mist. Over the years a pattern has returned to my hut again and again: men, proud and prosperous, stumbling through my door hollow-eyed, carrying the same wound. Each of them tells the same story in different words, and all of them point to one woman. She is beautiful in a way that makes people forget to breathe. Not the kind of beauty that ages slowly; hers is sharp and immediate. Men talk about her voice first, the slow laugh that seems to promise everything. Then they talk about the night — the warm bed, the candles, the ease. They go the next morning with a private smile, thinking they have been lucky. They do not know they have been chosen. Afterwards, their fortunes unthrea...

I INVITED DARKNESS IN MY LIFE I don’t know when it all started. Maybe it was the day I went looking for quick answers instead of praying. Maybe it was the night I sat with an old woman who promised me luck but never told me the price. All I know is that I welcomed something into my life, and now it will never leave me. At first, everything felt good. My money flowed, my plans worked, and people respected me. I thought I was winning. But behind my blessings, something else was waiting. At night, I began to hear whispers—low, soft, almost like a lullaby. Sometimes it was my name being called, other times it was just laughter that only I could hear. Then came the shadows. They didn’t stay outside. They followed me into my room, sat on my bed, and watched me sleep. I would wake up and feel them breathing on my neck, heavy and cold, like the air in a grave. One night, I saw it clearly. A huge figure crouched in the corner of my room. It didn’t move, it didn’t blink, it only stared. I sh...

THE OLD LADY GAVE ME A SNAKE THAT KILLED MY OWN FAMILY The House, the Old Lady, and the Snake I want to tell the truth, even if it scares me to say it out loud. I am writing this as a confession — small words, honest heart. For a long time I felt the shame and the fear alone. Now I need to put it down so someone else may understand what happened to me. After my parents died I moved to my grandmother’s old house in Polokwane . The house was big and quiet, full of old furniture and smells that belonged to other lives. An old lady lived at the back — everyone called her a healer . She said she could help me, protect me, and bring money into my life. I was weak and I wanted to believe her. I wanted things to be easier. I did not imagine how much I would lose by trusting her. At first the rituals were small things: herbs , candles , strange songs at night. The old lady told me not everything — she said some things I did not need to know yet. I listened. I followed her instructions becaus...

 I'M ADDICTED TO GETTING ABORTIONS I’m Ashamed — I Can’t Stop Getting Abortions I am writing this because I need someone — anyone — to know the ugly, trembling truth I keep hiding. I am ashamed. I am embarrassed. I am so tired of lying. But I keep going back. The first time I told myself it was a one-time thing. I remember the fluorescent lights, the woman who asked, “Are you sure?” and the way my voice shook when I said yes. For a few days after, relief came like a wet cloth pressed to a fevered brow. Then the relief peeled away and what was left was a hollow ache that lives in my chest and in the small, private places of my body. After that it became a pattern. A mistake, then a choice I regretted, then the next time I couldn’t bear telling anyone, then the next clinic visit. It started to feel like a rhythm I couldn’t hear but had to follow — quick decisions, quietness, secrets. I would promise myself I would stop. I would swear I would be careful. And then something would h...

THE PRICE I PAID FOR USING MUTI TO STEAL PEOPLE'S MEN The Price I Paid for Using Muti to Steal People’s Men I want to open up about something shameful, something I used to be proud of but now regret with every breath. For many years, I used muti to steal people’s men. I didn’t care if they were married, if they had children, or if they were building a life with someone. All I wanted was to be taken care of financially. It started when I was struggling. I had nothing of my own, and life felt heavy. Then one of my friends told me about a woman, a sangoma , who could “ tie men with love ” using strong muti. At first, I laughed. But deep inside, I was curious. I thought to myself, why should I suffer when men with money are out there? So, I went. The sangoma welcomed me and asked what I wanted. I told her straight: “I want men with money to look after me.” She gave me strange mixtures—brown powders, oils with a sharp smell, and a soap that she said I must bathe with at midnight. Sh...