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Chapter 3C: The Monsters Without Names

They always told us the monsters lived in caves or the sea, in books or distant myths. But the real monsters arrived on ships. The real invasions already happened — the first wave with the Arabs, cloaked in religion and trade, and the second with the West, cloaked in "civilization" and "discovery." But what they discovered was not new. It was already whole. What they brought was the destruction — of names, of lands, of memory.

Their sci-fi films, dystopias, and apocalyptic thrillers have always been confessions in disguise. All these stories of alien invasions, blood-drinking creatures, walking corpses — these were never fiction. They were reflections. Vampires who live off the blood of others? That is colonization. Zombies who consume without consciousness? That is capitalism. And the way these invaders moved through the world — not to explore, but to possess — confirms what we already know: they were not seeking peace, they were hunting for power.

They claim identity now through places they once called “exotic.” Egypt, for example — its Blackness erased, its gods demonized, its science stolen. Yet even today, their universities and think tanks revolve around African symbols and Kemetic teachings — reworded, whitened, stripped of spirit. They found no identity in their own lands, so they rebranded ours.

You hear it even in everyday language — “travelling the world,” “discovering lands,” “bringing light.” But what is light to those who live by the sun? What is discovery when you destroy everything you touch? These were not travellers. They were wanderers. Homeless, soulless, and restless. Always searching for something to conquer because they cannot sit with themselves.

That’s why they claim the oceans, the air, the stars. That’s why you can’t walk freely on a beach without permission, even though the ocean sings in our language. That’s why we have white South Africans talking about land “purchases,” as if title deeds can justify genocide. “We bought the land,” they say — but from who? Where are the receipts? Did your ancestors sign a contract in blood and ink with ours while we bled under whips and gunfire?

And every September, the performance returns. Black folks dressed in traditional wear, clapping, dancing — celebrating heritage. But what is heritage without land? Without names? Without language? Heritage has become a show, a carnival of costumes for the descendants of the dispossessed.

We’ve been forced to remember our roots through a mirror that isn’t ours. And when we search for our past, it’s buried beneath renamed provinces, bulldozed villages, and the lies of textbooks. Even now, when we claim our space, they call it "reverse racism" — a term designed to protect their guilt. But there is no such thing. Racism is systemic power. And the truth is, no matter how gentle or liberal they seem, they all still benefit from the crimes of the past.

Even diseases, created in hidden labs as tools of control, are turning back on their creators. Because the expiration date on their illusions has arrived. The era of control is over. And the fear in their eyes tells us they know it. They know the blood sacrifices they made, the dark magic they practiced in boardrooms, temples, and backrooms — all of it came with a cost.

A deal was made. A clock was set.

And time is up.

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