I Worked at a Club Where the Owner Used Muti to Control People
I’ve kept quiet about this for too long, but I can’t hold it anymore. I used to work at one of the busiest clubs in town — the kind of place that was always full, where people came out saying it had “the best vibe.” But what most of them didn’t know was that the vibe wasn’t natural. It was created.
I was a waitress there for almost a year. In the beginning, I didn’t notice anything strange. The music was good, the crowd was always wild, and the money was flowing. But after some time, I started noticing things that didn’t make sense. People would come in saying they only wanted “one drink,” and hours later, they’d be dancing like their souls were on fire — spending every last cent they had. Some even cried at the counter when their cards declined, saying, “I don’t know why I spent so much.”
Another thing is how wild everyone gets. Even when a gospel song is played they will wind their waists in a sexy way as if they were doing the deed. The truth of the matter is that,they are actually unknowingly doing the deed with a spiritual alcohol husband or wife.
At first, I thought it was just the alcohol. But one night, I saw something that changed everything.
Before we opened, the club owner — let’s call him Boss M — came in early with a small brown bottle and a clay bowl. He locked himself inside the bar area and told everyone not to come near. I remember hearing him whispering, almost like chanting, then pouring something into the mop bucket that we used to clean the floor. Later, he sprinkled the same mixture around the DJ booth and near the entrance.
This is why a lot of people dance they way that they do near the DJ. There are spiritual partners planted in clubs turning everyone on and that's just why there are so many one night stands in clubs. Anyway...
That night, the club was different. The moment people stepped inside, they lost control. They danced until morning, buying drinks they didn’t even touch. Even the ones who came looking tired suddenly looked alive — like the music had taken over their minds. The DJ played the same tracks on repeat, but no one noticed. They just kept moving, laughing, shouting, and swiping their cards.
I started feeling scared. One day I asked the bouncer about it, and he told me to keep my mouth shut. “You think people come here because of music?” he said. “It’s the boss’s Muti. It keeps them under a spell until they leave.”
And that was true. The moment people walked out, they looked confused — quiet, sober even. Some asked if the lights inside were too bright or if they were drugged. But the next weekend, they came back again, same time, same energy, same spell.
The scariest part was when I realized even we, the workers, were affected. There were nights I worked 12 hours straight without feeling tired. I would dance between tables without knowing why. I laughed at jokes that weren’t funny. It was like I wasn’t myself anymore.
When I finally quit, I couldn’t sleep for weeks. I kept dreaming of that brown bottle and hearing the same chant in my head. I learned from a friend that the owner got the Muti from a sangoma who specializes in “crowd control.” Apparently, it’s meant to keep people inside your business, spending and smiling, without realizing their minds are no longer theirs.
I still pass by that club sometimes. It’s always full. The music never stops. People say it’s the “happiest place in town.” But I know the truth — the happiness there isn’t real. It’s borrowed from the people dancing inside, one song and one sip at a time.
Sometimes I wonder if the spell ever really left me.
Social Plugin