MY UNCLE USES HIS PREGNANT GIRLFRIENDS

MY UNCLE USES HIS PREGNANT GIRLFRIENDS TO FEED HIS SNAKE 

I am writing this with fear in my heart. If you are reading this, please don’t try to find me. Don’t ask me where I live or who my uncle is. I am writing this because I need to let it out. I have carried this pain for too long.

This is not just a story. This is something I lived through. Something that still gives me nightmares.

My uncle is a rich man. But his riches don’t come from God. They come from something else – something dark. Something that feeds on women, especially women with babies inside them.

He feeds it. He uses it. And it gives him anything he wants.

That thing… is a money snake.

When I was 13 years old, I went to live with my uncle in the Eastern Cape after my mother passed away. People always said my uncle was “blessed.” He had big cars, shiny clothes, even a satellite dish when most of us had no electricity.

He gave money to churches. He gave food to the poor. People loved him.

But I saw another side.

The side that nobody talked about. The side hidden behind closed doors and thick curtains.

Every week, a new woman came to the house. Always young. Always quiet. Always pregnant.

At first, I thought they were just people my uncle was helping. He would say, “She is one of the church sisters. She needs a place to stay.” But I never saw those women leave.

Some stayed for weeks. Some only stayed for one night.

Then I noticed something strange. Every time a woman came to the house, my uncle would make special food that smelled like herbs and blood. He would close all the windows. He would light black candles. And he would not allow me near the spare room.

I was just a child, but I was not stupid.

Something evil was happening in that room.

I will never forget that night. It was a stormy Friday. The wind was howling. The rain was loud. I was in my room, trying to sleep. But then I heard crying. A woman’s cry. A soft, painful cry, like she was trying not to scream.

I got up. I opened my door slowly. I followed the sound down the hallway.

The door to the spare room was open just a little bit.

I looked inside.

I saw the pregnant woman lying on the bed, sweating and shaking.

And then I saw it.

A massive black snake. Its skin was shiny, like oil. It had red eyes and a white stripe across its face. It was lying on top of the woman, not biting her, not hurting her — just resting there.

Feeding.

The snake was not eating her body. No. It was feeding off the life inside her. Off the baby.

I don’t know how I knew, but I felt it deep in my bones.

That snake was getting power from the baby growing inside the woman.

And my uncle was standing there. Watching. Smiling.

After that night, I started watching more closely. I never slept deeply again.

I saw my uncle do strange things, things I cannot explain.

He would fill a big metal tub with black water. He added ashes, oil, and something that smelled like burned hair. He would bathe in that water at midnight, then speak in a language I did not understand.

He kept a red clay pot under his bed. Every Friday, he would take it out, open it, and talk to it. I once peeped inside. There was a small dried skull, a bird feather, and snake skin inside. That pot smelled like something death.

Before the snake fed, my uncle would touch the pregnant woman’s belly with his right hand. He would whisper, “Uyavuma? Uyavuma?” ("Do you agree?") The women never said no. I think they were too afraid.

After the feeding nights, strange things would happen.

Money would come from nowhere. New shoes. New phone. New customers if he had a small business.

I once saw him pull a R200 note out of a bowl of milk. I asked him how. He said, “You must never ask how God blesses people.”

But I knew it was not God.

It was the snake.

Some women never left the house.

I think some of them died.

I once found a woman’s dress in the fire pit outside. It was half-burned. It had blood on it.

Another time, I saw my uncle and a sangoma digging a hole at midnight. They buried something in a sack. I was too scared to ask what it was.

But after every woman disappeared, my uncle would say, “She went home. She was only here for healing.”

Lies. All lies.

I stayed in that house for two years.

Then one day, the snake came into my room.

It didn’t bite me. It just stared at me. Its eyes were cold. Like it was telling me: “You are next.”

I packed my bag and ran away the next morning. I went to live with my aunt in Durban. I never told her the real reason why I left.

She thinks I was being a naughty boy.

But I was running for my life.

If you are reading this and you know someone who is suddenly rich, always surrounded by pregnant women, always doing strange rituals...

Ask questions.

Money snakes are real. They don’t bite. They don’t hiss. They feed slowly, quietly.

They take life from the unborn.

They give riches to wicked people.

And they leave pain behind.

If you think someone near you is using a money snake, you must protect yourself. Here are some simple things I was taught later by an old healer

My uncle still lives. He is still rich and people still praise him.

But I know the truth. And now you do too.

If you are one of the women who stayed in that house… I am sorry. I was young and afraid. I didn’t know how to help.

But now, I speak. I write. I warn.

Because silence is also a type of death.