The shut down of Iphi Ntombi has angered our money ritual animals
I never thought I would ever write something like this. Not even in my worst days did I imagine myself typing out a confession like this for strangers to read. But things have gotten so bad, so scary, so strange, that keeping quiet feels dangerous now. I feel like if I don’t talk, if I don’t let this story breathe outside my head, I might lose my mind.
Everything started at Iphi Ntombi in Pretoria. Back then, I was just an angry girl trying to run away from a life that felt too small for me. I didn’t come from money. I didn’t come from peace. I didn’t come from a family where hugs and support were normal. I came from shouting, poverty, pressure, and disappointment. I wanted out. I wanted comfort. I wanted soft life by force. And when I heard girls were making real money at Iphi Ntombi, I didn’t even think twice. I packed my clothes, lied to everyone at home, and left.
At the beginning, it was just work. Dancing. Entertaining. Wearing makeup that melted by 1 AM. Smiling at men I didn’t like. Listening to problems I didn’t care about just so the tips could be bigger. It wasn’t glamorous like people online make it look. But it was money. And money changes how you feel about suffering.
But after a few months, the other girls started talking. You know how it is — secrets travel fast in places like that. Everyone had a story about someone who used something “extra” to attract clients. Not big things at first. Just candles, herbs, small charms. “For luck,” they would say. “For attention.” “For clients.”
At first I ignored all that. I thought it was superstition. But then I got tired of watching other girls make triple my money. I got tired of seeing rich clients walk past me like I wasn’t even there. I got tired of going home with just enough to buy food and look nice, but not enough to change my life. I wanted the money that comes fast. The one that makes you feel like you finally arrived.
So when the spiritual woman started visiting us before shifts, I didn’t run. I listened. She wasn’t a sangoma in the traditional sense — no beads, no skins, no dancing. She just came with cloths, bottles, powders, and small pieces of animals I didn’t want to look at too closely. You could never tell where she came from or where she was going. She always looked like someone who knew too much.
One night, after watching me struggle with slow business, she whispered something like, “You have the kind of anger that attracts things. Let me help you use it.” I didn’t know what that meant, but at the time, it felt like an opportunity. I was young. I was desperate. I wanted quick success. So I followed her instructions.
That’s how I ended up connected to the spiritual snake.
People laugh when they hear that. They think it’s a joke. They imagine some giant python sleeping under my bed. But what I had wasn’t a physical snake. It was a presence, a spirit, a force. Something that I believed was guiding me. Something that stayed invisible but felt very real. Something I was told would “lure energies,” “pull attention,” and “bring generous men.”
And honestly? It worked.
Those next months were the best months I ever had. Men who never noticed me before suddenly wanted only me. They came back again and again. They tipped big. They spoiled me. My wallet stayed full. My nails, my wigs, my clothes — everything was on point. I was sending money home like a superstar. People back home were calling me “lucky.” I pretended I was just hustling hard.
I should’ve known something that comes that fast comes with a price.
Things changed when they put cameras all over Iphi Ntombi. Management claimed it was for safety. Some girls said it was for spying. But the spiritual woman told us the cameras were disturbing the energies in the building, exposing things that should not be recorded, blocking the flow of certain rituals. She said the animals we used, spiritually and physically, would become restless. I didn’t take her seriously.
But she wasn’t lying.
The night the police raided Iphi Ntombi, everything went crazy. Doors slamming. Girls screaming. Officers shouting. Lights everywhere. People running half-dressed. Clients trying to hide behind curtains. It was chaos I will never forget. They shut the place down like it was nothing. Just like that, the life I built around that place vanished.
But the worst part wasn’t losing the job. The worst part didn’t even happen at Iphi Ntombi. The worst part started afterwards, when I went home with my makeup ruined, my wig crooked, and my heart beating too fast.
The first night I slept at home after the closure, I felt something wrong in the air. My room felt tight, like someone else was breathing inside it. Every shadow felt alive. I kept hearing something slide across the floor, like something dragging its body slowly. I told myself it was stress. But then, suddenly, I felt it — the presence of the snake. Not calm. Not protective. Not helpful. It was angry. Very, very angry.
I didn’t see it with my eyes — I saw it with my mind. That’s the only way I can explain it. Like a dark shape moving inside my thoughts. Like a cold wave in the room. Like something pacing around me, waiting.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it watching me. When I finally managed to drift off, I woke up to my entire bed shaking. Not like a dream. Not like imagination. Shaking like something was moving under it. My mirror fell off the wall and cracked. My phone switched on and off by itself. I heard whispering from the corner of the room even though no one was there.
The snake was angry because the rituals were interrupted.
Angry because the cameras exposed things.
Angry because I didn’t protect it during the raid.
Angry because I stopped feeding it.
Angry because I abandoned the work.
I wasn’t its owner anymore.
I was its target.
And I wasn’t alone. The other girls were also suffering. One girl woke up with scratches all over her body like something clawed her in her sleep. Another said she kept smelling rotten meat in her house even after cleaning everything. Another said she felt something breathing next to her every night. We were all dealing with our own nightmares. Everyone laughed at us when we were making money. No one was laughing now.
Sometimes, in the dark, I feel the snake sliding around my bed. Sometimes I feel it inside my skin, moving like a cold line under my flesh. Sometimes I hear it hiss in the corner of my room, telling me I owe it something I don’t know how to give anymore. Sometimes I dream of it wrapping around my neck, not tight enough to choke me but tight enough to warn me.
I didn’t write this to scare people. I didn’t write it to convince anyone that rituals are real or not real. I wrote this because I needed to get this weight off my chest. People think slay queens live soft, perfect lives. They don’t know the things some of us carry to survive. They don’t know the lengths some of us go to for money. They don’t know the dangers we invite when we are desperate.
I lost Iphi Ntombi.
I lost my peace.
And now I am living with something angry, something I once trusted.
Maybe one day it will leave me.
Maybe one day I’ll be free.
But until then, at least my story is out there.
At least I’m not suffering in silence anymore.
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