The Illuminati – How hard can it be to make a pact with the devil?

I was riveted when I saw the poster offering membership to the most secret society in the world posted to a bridge at Westgate Shopping Mall – they were recruiting!

Not only were they pasting posters, they were advertising in the Record‘s sister newspaper The Citizen. I am talking about the Illuminati. The staple of conspiracy theorists across the planet. The organisation blamed for everything from 9/11 to Pokémon Go – oh yes and for that time Tom Cruise jumped on Oprah’s couch (both of them allegedly are members along with every US President ever, Jay Z, Beyonce, Kanye West and a bevy of other celebrities and billionaire families like the Rockefellers and Rothchilds. Fingers have also been pointed at our very own Boity Thulo and Casper Nyovest). Celebrities who cover one of their eyes in photographs or make a triangle sign allegedly belong to this elitist occult club.

For those who do not know, the Illuminati is the most secret of secret societies. A small elite, from politicians to celebrities, that allegedly controls the world from behind the scenes, with the aim of a one-world totalitarian government that worships the Hooved One. And I am not talking cows here.

Surely with all these ads it could not be that difficult to join this ‘secret’ society. One advertisement read “Illuminati in SA – Make a pact with the devil in exchange for money, fame, power or protection. No human blood needed. 100 per cent safe and guaranteed”. Ok, so subtlety was not one of their strong points and while browsing their websites I realised neither were grammar or spelling. “They control the banking sector in the world just if they can give their wealth to the poor ones, no one can surfer (sic) any more and they are using their wealth to fund the secret society Illuminati that’s why it’s among the biggest and powerful secret society,” was one such gem. Ok, dude, so no one can ‘surfer’ anymore.

A lot of questions arose. Could I make a pact with the devil over the phone? Is there an administration fee involved when I sell my soul? Does the devil do debit orders? Credit cards or cash? Anyway, I was about to find out.

It seems the Illuminati is not very business-savvy or maybe they regretted advertising. I called at least 10 numbers. Five of the numbers I phoned went to voicemail. One lady said she would SMS me the link to a website. Another agent of the Illuminati said he was busy, probably occulty thinghy majigs, and would call back but never did. Finally I reached Musa. (That is the other thing. They all have exotic names such as Dr Medi, Mr Mirra and priest Shireen. Not a Piet or Koos in sight.)

The conversation went something like this.

“So you want to become a member of the Illuminati,” asked the man in a heavy West African accent.

“Yes, Yes,” I answered excitedly. Then he threw me a curve ball. Why did I want to join, he wanted to know? Damn. I never thought about that. Before blurting out that I wanted the Springboks to beat the All Blacks next weekend, I came to my senses and unconvincingly told him for “financial gain and extending my business network”. Since I was about to sell my soul I might just as well lie.

He quickly assured me there is no money involved but when I come to their temple in Sandton, nogal, to join, there are certain ‘requirements’. He asked my age and I obliged. 43. That settled it for Musa. In order to join I needed to bring 43 chicken eggs. “43 chicken legs,” I shouted in disbelief. He repeated himself. “Oh,” I said sheepishly. Thus far I was not doing very well at this selling-your-soul-to-the-devil stuff. And we were going to slaughter an animal of my choice, said Musa. How charming. “Oh yes,” he said matter-of-factly, “you need to bring a R1 000 for your security cross”. What happened to “no money”, I thought to myself. And what in heaven’s name was a security cross? Was this some kind of spiritual panic button? Or maybe a credit card linked directly to the devil’s banking account. It turned out it was something less mysterious. It was just that. A cross, that he said could be bought for about R60 in his neck of the woods.

I guess that was the deal breaker. Although I asked his address and promised to make an appointment with him in the near future, I lost my appetite for all this hoodoo voodoo cloak-and-dagger stuff.

Well. No secret handshakes for me and whether the Bokke win or lose this coming Saturday, at least my soul is still intact.

Do you perhaps have more information pertaining to this story? Email us at randfonteinherald@caxton.co.za (remember to include your contact details) or phone us on 011 693 3671.

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