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.
Odd how? I just love HSM as much as a straight man can love another man
My mom literally saw someone riding a crocodile like it was a mini bike around town.
She told me she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
Does anyone know why ethnic Somalis never seem to dabble in that kind of stuff?
Especially northerners since yall border Yemen which is known for those types of activities?
Not all mentally ill individuals are incapable of being independent. But he was definitely a strange person.
I’ve got a crazier story for you
Back in 2014, my mom and I were in Sudan visiting a sick aunt. We were renting from this Sudanese guy who told us to go see an imam who supposedly had “kaarama ” and that his dua were always answered. I was 15 at the time, and from the start, I had a bad feeling. I told my mom not to go but she insisted.
We went that Wednesday. The place was a small house on the outskirts of Omdurman. The living room was the waiting area. It was packed, so we waited outside for two hours. Eventually, a man called us in and led us to the imam’s room.
The room was dim but it was 2 pm so there was still enough natural light. The moment I saw the imam I got chills. Nothing was physically wrong with him, but his face gave off this strong evil vibe.
He sat in the middle of the room on a maajles (similar to this one below)directly facing the door.
We sat on the floor in front of a small table. Before I could speak he said both of our first, middle and last names and mentioned our sick aunt.
I asked how he knew that. He just said “I know many things. I know you have a chemistry exam coming up and you’re stressed about it.”
Immediately, I felt a wave of negative energy rush over me. Quietly, I started reciting Ayat al-Kursi to myself. He instantly got angry and yelled for the man who brought us in to remove us. I asked what we even did wrong. Before leaving, the doorman told my mom was on her period and should return when she wasn’t. Then he looked at me and said, “You shouldn’t come back, only your mom.”
My mom wasn’t even on her period. She started blamed me for upsetting the “imam.” I told her this guy is a fraud and that she shouldn’t go back
But she went back anyway but this time with my aunt’s female friend. The “imam” asked for money and gave her a tightly rolled into a ball paper. He told her to put it under my aunt’s pillow and to never open it under any circumstances or “bad things would happen.”
Of course, I waited until my mom went to the bathroom, then opened it while reciting Ayat al-Kursi. It looked liked like this
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It had Quran verses mixed with random names and symbols literally inside the verses, like it was mocking the Quran. In the center was a large circle with very weird names being asked for help. “In a name of sasahoobo, please help this lady.”
Even the names will freak u out.
That’s when I was 100% sure it was sixar( I did some research online to confirm).
I recited Ayat al-Kursi over water, placed the paper in it, dug a hole outside, and buried it.
Later that night, my mom asked where the paper went. I told her it was sihr and I destroyed it. This time, I told her if she ever went back, I’d tell my dad. She’s scared of him lol so she never brought it up again.
Abu Hesi
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good on you for protecting your mom man
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