My encounter with a Tikoloshi.

A thread.
#Threadist

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shaking as I am writing this. In fact, my hands are trembling so bad that I’m not even sure I’ll manage to finish telling this story to you

Okay... maybe I should first tell you a little bit about myself and where I’m from, just so you have a little bit of context as to why such a creature would pay a visit to me.

No, I don’t come from a family of witches. Nor am I a witch myself. Help me drown myself in the pool of denial for witchcraft being even a real thing.
Please!
Ngisize!

I’m just a 24 year old physiotherapist who is not as fit as physiotherapists are supposed to be, but who cares?! I love my job!
Shouldn’t that be good enough?

It’s bad enough that I’m from a family of lawyers,doctors & pastors who make more money than a pub that only closes for 14 hours a week.

Being born into my family is an involuntary agreement to contest in the “Who’s better than the other” hunger games.But I want none of it!

Everyone in my family is an overachiever and I’d be lying if I said I gave one fuck about showing up with the least fancy car at family gatherings. I don’t own even a single pair of heels, big deal?!
I am just trying to live my life the best way I know how... and now this?!

Last year, I found out from my grandmother that we come from a long line of abathandazi/ prophets. This was after I was plagued by dreams of Zion people beating drums, running around circles and praying out loud in a round church building. The dreams were quiet persistent.

She then revealed to me that initially, we were a family of traditional healers, but all of that changed when the Witchcraft Suppression Act 3 of 1957 was introduced during apartheid. This law restricted traditional practices, inflicting fear to black people.

This is when a lot of traditional healers decided to join Zion churches and ZCC churches because these churches weren’t strangers to the belief of ancestors and spiritual guides.

After that, sangomas at that time used a combination of prayer and herbs to heal people. This protected them from being labeled witches, and being fed to boer hounds. She said that people would be incarcerated for more than 10 years, purely on accusations and pretend witchcraft.

Even after apartheid had long sailed the seas, back to where its masters came from, traditional practices for black people in South Africa were never the same.

In my family, the use of amadlozi for divinations and healings had come to a stop.

Those who still possessed the gift would rather use it in a Christian manner because even the ancestors before them had done so. The generational knowledge of special herbs had diminished and got replaced by prayer, holy ash and holy water.

It became the new way of doing things, and it was better this way because prophets were more accepted in the society, compared to mainstream sangomas, who were ridiculed and called dirty, smelly, animalistic, and possessed by the one who contends against Christ the Messiah.

After telling my grandmother about the dreams, she reckoned that I was probably dreaming of Zion-drum- beating people because that is the church that my gifted ancestors went to when they were still above solid ground.

“But why are they showing themselves to me?! I’m not an elder in this family! In fact, I don’t even know anything about them in general! I don’t want them! I don’t want their gift... if that’s what this is all about!” I exclaimed to my gogo.

I drove back to Johannesburg, since my leave had ended, and while on my way I could’ve sworn there was someone else in the car with me, even though I was certain I was the only one in it. Well, physically at least.

I kept on looking at my rear-view mirror, expecting to set eyes on the presence that I felt behind my seat. I took 3 shots of denial mixed with a 2 minute silent prayer to render myself untouchable to the present-yet-absent shadow behind me.

I got to my flat around 19:00. I was completely drained from my trip,so I quickly took a shower, iron my scrubs for the next day, & was in bed by 21:00.

I tossed and turned for over an hour, until I decided to drug myself with 2 Allergex tablets and a full spoon of cough syrup.

I dozed off in a matter of seconds and immediately saw myself being slowly split into two.
Haibo!!
One part of me was still sleeping, and the other part of me, the conscious one, was floating mid air in the room.

Of course I was on tenterhooks!
I hit 109Kg on the weighting scale, so I’m well aware that there’s no way that I can float like a feather in in the air.

I try to air-swim back into my oblivious-sleeping body, but gravity acts against me.

I couldn’t get back to my body.
I went into shock, thinking that I was dead or awaiting the notorious angel of death.

Overwrought with fear, I tried screaming, hoping that the sleeping part of me would hear me and wake up but, my voice had been disabled.

I then started hearing chuckles and muttering coming from outside my apartment. The voices get closer and closer, and the suspense of what was about to happened kept me silent.
My eyes were now glued to the door.

The chuckles stopped, and silence reigned throughout the building. I tried diving back into my sleeping body, but then was frozen by the sight of 4 dwarf persons walking through my closed timber door.

One is male, I can tell by the long white beard and the deepened voice as he instructed the others; “Quickly! lets finish the job we come for.” His speech is unintelligible and his IsiZulu dialect is rather strong.

They are all wearing ruggedly matching black and red *Thobe* looking gowns.
One runs to my bed, where the other part of me is sleeping, and the others start spitting yellow sputum all over my room.

The male one next to my bed climbs up my bed and sits on top of my head. My physical body goes numb, but I am still fast asleep. I watch as it stands up and to sit on my back. Then, on my feet.

My body was now as heavy as Lead, and it was as if the sleeping Thembeka, was also aware that she was having a person sitting on top of her.
That is when i abruptly opened my eyes and discovered that I was no longer split into two.

I sat up and frightfully examined the room for any traces of the 4 strange little people that had invaded my room.
There was no one in the room, but my body was still numb and heavy like it was in the dream I had just woken up from.

When I had gathered that it was safe enough to climb out of bed and go look if the kitchen was also as safe as my bedroom was, I decided to first pray before stepping out of my room. The pictures of the 4 little people spitting all over my room were still flashing before my eyes.

I kneel down and say the Lord’s Prayer, but before I could get to the “...but deliver us from all evil.” Part, I hear noises coming from the Kitchen. I quickly open my eyes, and stay still, waiting to hear if the noises would come any closer. They don’t.

My heart is racing.

My knees are shaking.

My back is aching and heavy,

My ears start ringing.

I think of screaming out for help but my mind keeps me silent.

“What if it’s just buglers. If I scream, they’ll panic and do harm to me. Let me just keep quiet and let them take whatever they want and leave.” I think to myself. I always lock my bedroom door, so I’m not too worried they’ll come in. I’m scared.

I pick up a chair from my room and place it by the door, then I start gathering all the books in my room and place them on the chair against the door. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m a second away from having a heart attack.
I can still hear murmuring from Kitchen.

I grab my phone and check the time. It’s 23:45. There’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight!
I hear footsteps just outside my door.
Oh God! Help me!

I’m hyperventilating. I really want to scream for help!

I press my back hard against the door,Incase they push their way in. I stay like this for over 30 minutes.

The footsteps were gone. The noise coming from the kitchen was also gone. I slept with my eyes wide open and when the sun had risen, I finally had courage to open the door.

I slowly made my way to the kitchen with a mop in my hand as my weapon.

Haibo....nothing was taken mos.

I check the kitchen door, it’s still locked. I can’t help but feel a little bit crazy about all of this.

“But I really heard noises this side.” I assured myself.

I drag myself to the shower, take my daily caffeine and head out. While on my way to work, I still felt like I wasn’t alone in the car. I played Jouyous Celebration on full blast and hoped whatever presence that was with me would be annoyed and depart from me.

It didn’t.

While at work, I got a WhatsApp message from a cousin of mine reading;
[Hey Cuz, need a favor. I need to use your account to put away some money. Level 3, Lockdown is about to hit and I’m scared I’ll spend it all on alcohol. You know how I am. Please cuz.]

[Hi Cuz, uhm.. I’m not too sure about keeping your money for you. What if I also embezzle it?] I reply back.
A call comes in minutes after sending that message. It’s her.

“Zoleka, Hi...” I answer cheerfully, hoping I don’t sound too fake.

She pleads her case with me until I agree to keep her money for her. She sounds a little bit drunk already.

Immediately after our call, R27 000 comes into my account.

Yehheni! Imali engaka!

I confirm that I did receive the money and she’s thankful. She carries on to say that I can also use some of the money if I like.
“You don’t have to even worry about paying it back. Better yet, why don’t you open an account with another bank and let me keep that card?” She says.

Like you, I was shocked to hear this.
“Haw, why don’t you open your own account in your name Zonke?” I asked her.
She then told about being involved in something shady and that banks won’t allow her to open an account without having to account on how she has so much cash on her

To say that I was appalled by everything that she was saying would be an understatement!
I told her that I was going to send her money back because I didn’t want to be part of whatever scam she was part of.
Like WHAT THE FUCK ZONKE?!!

“It’s too late now Thembeka. You’re now part of it!” She says to me before hanging up.

Hhay, ngyalingwa inkos’ impela

I call my mom and tell her about Zonke’s shenanigans, mom also says I must return the money, and i sent it back.

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