When you are born into a world completely different from the rest of society, you don't have the choice to change it. You grow up believing this is the absolute truth, and it is everyone else who is different, simply because this is how your parents raised you. As I write this story for you, I am happy with what I have and proud of the world I live in, because I see and experience things very few people ever will. If you are looking for true folktale horror that goes far deeper than internet spooky pasta or fictional slenderman stories, you are in the right place. This is a real spiritual encounter.
My name is Mohamed, or you can call me Mamado, as my roots trace back to Senegal. Our story begins when my ancestors came to Morocco escaping slavery. When they arrived in this blessed land, they found their peace. My father was born here, and I was born after him. I feel more Moroccan than Senegalese because I grew up here, played here, and my friends are here. But I always visit Senegal because it is my origin, and I love it too. It’s as if my father is Morocco and my mother is Senegal.
Why am I telling you this? So you can understand the deep roots of this story. When my ancestors escaped slavery, they used to sing to release their pain. In their music, they narrated their suffering, and over time, this music evolved into something spiritual—it became a trance to communicate with the unseen. Now, I will briefly tell you about our rituals, and then I will tell you my story.
We have a sacred ritual called "Lila" (The Night). It is a night-long exorcism and healing ceremony where we sacrifice an offering to one of the ancient Kings or Queens of the Jinn—invisible entities born of smokeless fire that share this world with us. The offering depends on our intention and what kind of entity has possessed or afflicted the sick person. Every King of the Jinn has his own rituals, and every Jinn cures a specific type of illness. We start chanting, calling upon entities like Baba Mimoun or Lalla Aicha. A "Qayd" (a Shaman or Master) leads this spiritual musical group. We play heavily until dawn, and by divine power, the sick person is cured. This is a very brief summary, as this mystical world is deep enough to fill entire books.
Now, I will tell you my story. It will also be brief because my journey is very long, so I will divide it into parts. I was born in Essaouira, a magical Moroccan city that holds such intense spiritual energy you must visit it to truly understand how mystics feel there. My father was a Qayd, and my mother was a Qayda. The Qayd is the ultimate master of the Gnawa ritual; he knows the ancient chants and holds the heavy rhythm perfectly. If the Qayd isn't a true professional, something terrible could happen to the sick person or anyone present during the night. That is why becoming a Qayd requires passing through grueling stages. Not just anyone can become a master; the "Jawad" (the unseen spirits) must choose and accept you.
I became a Qayd at a shockingly young age—at just 12 years old. You might ask, how? My father told me that on the day I was born, I had a birthmark on my left hand shaped exactly like a "Guembri" (our sacred three-stringed lute). Because my father was a master, he knew instantly that I possessed "Baraka"—a divine spiritual blessing and power. They named me Mohamed.
As I grew older, my father started teaching me. Whenever he showed me a ritual or a rhythm, I memorized it immediately. He wasn't surprised; he knew I was chosen. He kept teaching me until I turned 12. Then he said, "My son, you are now a Qayd. I have nothing left to teach you. I am sending you to Senegal, to the Grand Master Qayd Mamado." This man was the greatest of all masters at the time. This ancient knowledge is never written in books; it is passed strictly by spoken word and memory so no intruder can steal it and misuse its dark power. And before you are accepted by a Grand Master, you must face terrifying trials.
My very first trial happened before he even tested me. And I passed it. It might sound impossible to you, but this is the truth. When the Grand Master saw me arrive, he was left in absolute, trembling awe. Why? Because throughout my entire journey, I was being followed. Walking just to my left was my "Qareen"—the spiritual shadow-double attached to every human since birth, which few can ever see. And walking right beside my Qareen was a Jinn, a towering soldier of the unseen.
Why were they with me? Because I traveled from Morocco to Senegal on foot. Not in a car, not in an airplane—because these are the strict rules of our rituals. To make this journey, you must cross the Sahara desert. The desert is filled with wild predators, but more dangerously, it is crawling with malevolent spirits and entities that prey on humans. That Jinn soldier was assigned to me to show me the way and protect me from the deadly unseen horrors of the sands.
Twenty days of walking in the middle of the unforgiving desert, enduring extreme heat, venomous snakes, and things a normal human mind cannot comprehend. Yet, throughout that entire journey, I never felt tired. I never felt thirsty. Whenever I needed water, I would walk just a little further and miraculously find an oasis. I would drink, rest, and continue my path.
This is part 1 of my story. I will share part 2 soon.
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