CONTACT WITH MY DEMON

I spent years absorbing knowledge, pouring over books, and adopting principles that promised success. I chased hospitality as a livelihood, believing it to be my saving grace. Yet every venture crumbled like sandcastles before the tide. Nothing I touched prospered. It felt as though my every effort only served to deepen my misfortunes.

At times, I pondered the root of my woes. Was it my hands? My choices? My stars? No, it became clear to me that the demon haunting me was larger than myself. My demon was my birthplace—Africa.

Africa, the land of my ancestors, the cradle of humankind, the continent of boundless beauty and potential, was also the anchor of my misery. Nothing ever seemed to work here. Opportunities were fleeting, systems corrupt, and hope a distant mirage. It was as though the continent itself was cursed, dragging its people into an abyss of struggle and discontent.

I was born into a reality where survival was a battle, dreams were luxuries, and progress was a steep, slippery hill. My grassroots, if they bore any blessing, were buried so deep they were out of reach. I envied those born into better soils, where opportunities blossomed effortlessly, where life unfolded with ease.

I lived in a small, crumbling house on the outskirts of a noisy, chaotic city. My mornings began with the grind of survival—scavenging for work, enduring insults, and stretching my meager earnings to feed my family. Every day was a reflection of the last, a cycle of exhaustion and futility: I am a man of forty, born under the blazing African sun, yet my life has been clouded by endless hardship. For as long as I can remember, nothing has come easy. Failure follows me like a shadow, and even in the areas I believed I had knowledge or skill, success has always been a stranger.

Hospitality, they said, would be a sure path for someone like me. So I learned the craft, pouring my energy into mastering it. Yet time and again, I was met with doors slammed shut, opportunities snatched away, and efforts reduced to ashes. It wasn’t just me—everywhere I looked, my people were struggling. The weight of their despair mirrored my own.

For years, I thought the demon was within me, some curse tied to my birth or abilities. But now, I see it clearly. My demon is not an invisible force within; it is a powerful entity outside me. It is not the people of Africa, not the society around me, but the systems and powers that keep my continent chained.

My demon is the corrupt structures—both within and beyond my homeland. It is the greed of leaders who betray their people for personal gain, selling out our future for a fleeting taste of wealth. But even they are only pieces of a larger, darker machine.

The true demon is the legacy of exploitation that still grips Africa by the throat. Centuries ago, colonial powers carved up my continent, draining its wealth and resources, leaving behind scars that never healed. But they did not leave entirely. They stayed in spirit—through rigged systems, exploitative trade deals, and economic structures designed to keep Africa dependent.

European and Western nations built their empires on the backs of African labor, land, and riches. And when they were done, they left behind puppet leaders and systems rigged to favor their interests. Africa was never allowed to grow on its own terms. Every step toward progress is met with barriers: crushing debt, resource exploitation, and the deliberate stifling of industries that could make us truly independent.

This is my demon—a demon crafted in boardrooms and embassies far away, yet it dictates my reality. It is a demon that ensures my country’s wealth is extracted while my people live in poverty. A demon that keeps our education systems weak, our healthcare crumbling, and our infrastructure failing.

And yet, this demon thrives because it has allies among us—those in power who perpetuate its control. They cling to their thrones, lining their pockets while their people starve. They serve the interests of foreign powers, ensuring the chains on our continent remain tight.

So here I am, Nsouya, a man whose life has been shaped by this demon. My struggle is not just personal—it is a struggle against a system designed to keep me, my family, and my people in perpetual hardship.

But I refuse to surrender. I am beginning to understand that while the demon is powerful, it is not invincible. Its strength lies in division—pitting people against each other, making us believe we are powerless. If we unite, if we awaken to the truth, if we rise to challenge these systems, we can cast this demon out.

Africa is not cursed. Its people are not doomed. We are held captive, yes, but captivity can be broken. I carry this hope, fragile as it may be, because even in the darkest nights, the dawn will come. My demon is mighty, but so is my resolve. This fight is not just for me—it is for the future of a free and thriving Africa.

My demon is not within me—it is an intricate web of control spun by those who claim power over the world. It is the foreign hands that dictate the fate of Africa, using our resources, our minds, and our futures as pieces in their games of profit and dominance.

They told us their way was better. They introduced their currency and made ours worthless in comparison. Now, we trade, buy, and sell in their money, their systems. Our nations work tirelessly to earn scraps of their wealth, only to watch it vanish under crushing debts and exploitative policies. The weight of their economies ensures we never rise, our own financial sovereignty sold off bit by bit.

They rewrote our stories, painted our beliefs as evil, and elevated theirs as divine. They called our gods demons and our rituals witchcraft, turning us against our own heritage. They handed us their unholy book wrapped in promises of salvation, erasing centuries of wisdom and connection to the land. Our ancestors' spirits, once guiding us, were replaced with guilt and fear.

Through this, they waged a quiet war on our minds. They brainwashed us, teaching us to hate what makes us African and to idolize what makes us Western. They infiltrated our education systems, turning them into tools of obedience rather than liberation. They made us believe their ways were superior, erasing the pride we once held in our own identities.

In their pursuit of power, they used us as experiments—medical subjects without consent, testing drugs, vaccines, and diseases on our bodies. They unleashed plagues upon us, diseases that we did not create but were forced to endure. They corrupted our cells, turning our suffering into data for their profits, our pain into their progress.

And through it all, they forced us to kneel. Our leaders became their pawns, enforcing their will, selling our birthrights for fleeting wealth. They turned our unity into division, our strength into weakness. They ensured we were always too busy surviving to ever truly fight back.

This is the demon I face, a force that has stolen our wealth, our culture, our health, and our future. But it is not invincible. Its greatest weapon is the illusion that we are powerless.

I see the truth now. The fight is not just against the systems but against the chains in our minds. We must reclaim our identity, our pride, and our unity. We must reject the currencies that enslave us, the ideologies that divide us, and the lies that weaken us.

We are not cursed—we are betrayed. We are not weak—we are misled. And as long as there is breath in me, I will fight this demon, not just for myself but for every African soul longing to break free. Our liberation begins the moment we recognize that the demon’s power is not eternal. It is borrowed, and we can take it back.

This is not just my story; it is our story. The dawn is coming, and we will rise. My name is Nsouya, and I am a man living in the shadow of a history that refuses to let go. At forty, my life has been defined by hardship, failure, and a battle against a force so pervasive that it feels insurmountable. But I have come to understand the true face of my demon.