You guys believe in Sixir/black magic??
- Thread starter Medeea
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yes, but i think for sixir to work you have to allow it in to you, a pious person shouldnt have to fear from sixir
Keep it a boqol
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Are you a muslim? It’s necessary to believe in Black magic
Of course.
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Wabari
Wabari Guleed Liban
My father doesn’t really talk about things like this, but over the years, he’s told me a few stories that stuck with me. One of them was about how, back in the day, Somali Bantu men used to use sixir on Somali women to get them to marry them.
According to him, once the sixir was done, the women would follow the men around like a shadow. No questions asked, no talking, just following.
At first, I didn’t really know what to make of it. I figured it was just one of those sheeko xariir stories parents tell, but then in 2014, I saw something that made me think twice.
That year, I was in Awbarre, in the Somali region (DDS), and there was this Somali Bantu family who lived nearby. They were known for being generous, always giving food to people, and every night, they’d gather inside this room and hold some sort of celebration. There’d be loud drumming, singing, and chanting. It happened every single night.
Now, the person I’m talking about was a Somali Bantu man, one of the strangest people I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t even remember his real name, I think it was something like Sheego, but I’m not really sure. He was their drummer.
Every night, at the exact same time, this man would show up. He wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t look at anyone. He’d just sit down silently in his usual spot and start drumming. He never spoke. Not a single word. Not once.
People would give him instructions, tell him what to do, and he’d just silently do it. No “okay,” no nod, no eye contact. Just pure obedience, like he was programmed or something. It was honestly creepy.
I was friends with a kid from that family, so I was around them a lot. I used to ask him about the drummer, like, “Who is he? Why doesn’t he talk?” But every time, the kid would just brush it off, change the subject, or give me some vague excuse. No one wanted to talk about the guy.
I even asked a few locals, and they acted the same way. They barely looked at him. It was like he was invisible to them.
And the way he looked? Always the same clothes, dirty, torn. He looked like he hadn’t showered in his life. Every time I saw him walking, his eyes were locked on the ground, right where the shadow of his head would be. Never looked up. Never looked at anyone. Just down.
I eventually asked my father about it. He looked at me dead serious and said, “He’s probably under sixir.” I believed him.
Because this man, he wasn’t crazy. Crazy people don’t show up on time every night just to do one thing and leave. He didn’t stay with the family. He just showed up, ate, drummed, left, and disappeared into the darkness.
I tried speaking to him once. Just a simple “Asalaamu Alaikum.” Nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge I was there. Didn’t glance at me. Didn’t flinch. He just kept staring at the ground, turned around, and walked away slowly like I wasn’t even there.
To this day, I don’t know who he really was. I don’t know where he went, or if he’s even still alive. But I know for a fact something was wrong with him, deeply wrong.
According to him, once the sixir was done, the women would follow the men around like a shadow. No questions asked, no talking, just following.
At first, I didn’t really know what to make of it. I figured it was just one of those sheeko xariir stories parents tell, but then in 2014, I saw something that made me think twice.
That year, I was in Awbarre, in the Somali region (DDS), and there was this Somali Bantu family who lived nearby. They were known for being generous, always giving food to people, and every night, they’d gather inside this room and hold some sort of celebration. There’d be loud drumming, singing, and chanting. It happened every single night.
Now, the person I’m talking about was a Somali Bantu man, one of the strangest people I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t even remember his real name, I think it was something like Sheego, but I’m not really sure. He was their drummer.
Every night, at the exact same time, this man would show up. He wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t look at anyone. He’d just sit down silently in his usual spot and start drumming. He never spoke. Not a single word. Not once.
People would give him instructions, tell him what to do, and he’d just silently do it. No “okay,” no nod, no eye contact. Just pure obedience, like he was programmed or something. It was honestly creepy.
I was friends with a kid from that family, so I was around them a lot. I used to ask him about the drummer, like, “Who is he? Why doesn’t he talk?” But every time, the kid would just brush it off, change the subject, or give me some vague excuse. No one wanted to talk about the guy.
I even asked a few locals, and they acted the same way. They barely looked at him. It was like he was invisible to them.
And the way he looked? Always the same clothes, dirty, torn. He looked like he hadn’t showered in his life. Every time I saw him walking, his eyes were locked on the ground, right where the shadow of his head would be. Never looked up. Never looked at anyone. Just down.
I eventually asked my father about it. He looked at me dead serious and said, “He’s probably under sixir.” I believed him.
Because this man, he wasn’t crazy. Crazy people don’t show up on time every night just to do one thing and leave. He didn’t stay with the family. He just showed up, ate, drummed, left, and disappeared into the darkness.
I tried speaking to him once. Just a simple “Asalaamu Alaikum.” Nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge I was there. Didn’t glance at me. Didn’t flinch. He just kept staring at the ground, turned around, and walked away slowly like I wasn’t even there.
To this day, I don’t know who he really was. I don’t know where he went, or if he’s even still alive. But I know for a fact something was wrong with him, deeply wrong.
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