My Wealth Came With Cockroaches and No Toes
I want to tell this story because I can’t keep it in any longer. People see me driving around in a nice car, wearing good clothes, smiling like my life is perfect — but no one knows what I went through to get here.
It started when I was desperate. I had tried everything — jobs, small businesses, side hustles — but nothing worked. I was drowning in debt, ashamed, and tired of seeing others move forward while I stayed behind. That’s when a friend told me about a sangoma who could “open my path to wealth.”
I didn’t think twice. I traveled to meet him in a faraway village. When I arrived, the place was quiet, but it smelled strange — like something rotten mixed with herbs. The sangoma didn’t even greet me properly. He just looked at me and said, “You want wealth? You must be ready to carry what comes with it.”
I said yes without understanding what that really meant.
He gave me a small bag full of cockroaches and told me to keep them in a dark place in my room. He said I must feed them with milk and honey for seven days. On the seventh night, I had to put the bag under my bed and sleep.
That night, I heard movement — tiny crawling sounds under my blanket. At first, I thought I was dreaming. Then I felt a sharp sting on my foot, then another, then another. When I switched on the light, the bag was torn open. The cockroaches were everywhere — and they were biting my toes. I screamed and tried to shake them off, but my feet felt numb.
By morning, the pain was unbearable. My toes had turned black. Within days, they were gone. The doctor said it was an infection, but I knew what it was — the cockroaches had taken their payment.
After that, money started coming in. People began offering me business deals out of nowhere. Everything I touched turned into profit. I got the wealth I wanted… but I can’t wear open shoes anymore. I can’t walk properly. Every time I look at my feet, I’m reminded of what I traded.
Sometimes at night, I still hear the crawling sounds. I still dream of the sangoma’s voice saying, “You must carry what comes with it.”
If I could turn back time, I’d rather be poor with all my toes than rich with this kind of secret.
It’s been three years since that night. Three long, silent years of pretending that everything is fine. People see my success — the cars, the house, the businesses — but they don’t see how much I suffer when the lights go off.
The first few months after I lost my toes, I told myself it was worth it. I told myself it was just a small price for a better life. But the truth is, no amount of money can silence what I live with now.
Every night, I hear them — the cockroaches. They crawl inside my dreams, and sometimes, I wake up feeling something moving under the blanket. Even when I switch on the light and see nothing, I can still hear the faint sound of them scattering. I’ve changed houses three times, thinking maybe it was all in my mind, but wherever I go, the sounds follow me.
My family thinks I’m losing my mind. My girlfriend left me when she saw my feet for the first time. She said she couldn’t sleep in the same bed after what she saw. My friends joke that I never remove my shoes, but they don’t know that I can’t. The sight of my feet is enough to make anyone sick.
The sangoma told me that once I accepted the wealth, I must never look back or question the source — but I did. I went back to his village after my nightmares became too much. The place was gone. Burnt down. They said he died mysteriously, eaten by his own charms.
Since then, I live like a man being chased by shadows. I donate money to churches, to orphanages, to schools — hoping maybe it will cleanse me. But no matter how much I give, the guilt doesn’t leave.
Sometimes, I catch myself staring at my reflection and wondering if I’m still human or if part of me was taken with those toes. I can’t feel my feet, and maybe that’s symbolic — maybe I’ll never stand firm again, no matter how rich I become.
I write this not to scare anyone, but to warn you: when you beg for wealth from dark places, it doesn’t come alone. It crawls, it bites, it takes pieces of you — and it never stops feeding.
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