I LEFT MY WOMB IN VENDA,LIMPOPO.

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 how it started for me. A friend told me about a ritualist in Venda who could change my life forever. She said many wealthy people I admired had gone there in secret. She told me if I was brave enough to pay the price, I would never suffer again.

At first, I laughed. But poverty is a poison—it eats you until you are willing to drink anything for relief. I told myself, “What do I have to lose? I am already suffering.” So I agreed.

The journey to Venda felt like a funeral procession. I travelled at night, sitting in silence as the bus moved through dark roads. My heart beat so fast, and my mind kept asking if I was doing the right thing.

When I arrived, I was met by silence. The ritualist was waiting for me. He was an old man, tall, with eyes that looked like they had seen the beginning and the end of the world. He did not greet me with warmth. He simply said, “Are you ready to give everything?”

I thought he meant money. I thought he meant my blood. I said yes, without knowing the real price.

That night, they took me to a hut. The smell of herbs and blood was so strong it made me dizzy. I was told to undress. Naked and trembling, I lay on a mat while drums beat outside. Men and women chanted words I could not understand.

Then I felt a sharp pain in my belly. It was as if something had been cut out of me. I screamed, but no one stopped. The chanting grew louder. I cried until my voice broke.

When it was over, the ritualist whispered in my ear: “From tonight, your womb belongs to him. You will never carry children of men again. Your children will come from him, and they will never be normal. You will be rich, but you will never know peace.”

My womb was gone. My destiny was sealed.

That was the night I first met him. A giant snake, black as midnight, with eyes that glowed like fire. He slid across the hut floor, and my body froze in terror. His size was beyond anything I had ever seen. His tongue flickered in and out, tasting my fear.

From that night, he became my husband, my master, my god. I was told to build him a room in my house when I returned. A room no one else must ever enter. The rule was simple: I must go in naked. Always. No cloth, no jewelry, nothing. If I disobey, he will kill me.

I did as I was told. In my mansion today, there is one locked room that only I enter. The walls are always cold, the air heavy, the smell of him never leaves. That is where my husband lives.

At night, he comes to me. I cannot refuse him. His body coils around mine, squeezing the air out of my lungs until I surrender. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I go numb, sometimes I pretend to enjoy it. He does not care. He owns me.

He impregnates me in his own way. I have carried his children. Each pregnancy was worse than the last. The pain was unbearable, but I gave birth three times.

I am a mother of three. My children are innocent, but they are not like others. They all have special needs. Some people pity me, others whisper behind my back, asking what kind of curse I am carrying. They do not know that their father is not a man.

When I look at my children, I see the snake. I see the curse in their eyes, in their struggles, in the way they live. I love them with all my heart, but my love does not erase the guilt. They did not choose this life—I did.

For years, I kept my secret. But one day, everything fell apart. I had a maid who worked for me, a good woman who respected me and cared for my children. But curiosity killed her.

One night, she followed me. She saw me walk naked into the snake’s room. She opened the door, and what she saw will haunt her soul forever.

Her scream tore through the house. Before I could stop him, the snake struck. He wrapped himself around her, his coils crushing her bones. She fought, she cried, but it was useless. Her life ended in front of me.

That night, I buried her behind my house. I covered her body with soil, but I could not bury her spirit.

From that night, my life became hell. Every night, I hear her. Footsteps in the corridor. A woman crying in the kitchen. Sometimes she whispers my name when I try to sleep. I wake up sweating, hearing her scream again and again.

The haunting is worse than the snake. At least he gives me money. But she takes away my peace.

People think my mansion is beautiful. They admire the high walls, the shiny cars, the luxury. But to me, this house is a prison. I cannot invite friends. I cannot host family. I cannot marry a man. The snake controls everything.

I live alone, surrounded by wealth but drowning in loneliness. I sleep in fear, I wake in fear. I eat meals in silence, sometimes sharing food with a creature no one else must ever see.

Yes, I am rich. But what is the use of riches when you are haunted, when you are trapped, when you cannot live free? Sometimes I wish I had stayed poor. Poverty is painful, but it is not as heavy as this curse.

I lost my womb. I lost my freedom. I lost my peace. I lost my humanity.

This is my confession, and also my warning. To any woman desperate for wealth, listen to me: do not sell your soul in Venda, or anywhere else. The price is too high.

Because you might walk away with money, but you will never walk away whole.