The driver who should NEVER have stolen his boss’s cursed money  

The driver who stole from his extremely wealthy boss’s suitcase. Fiona’s African stories show people who are born rich, who own villas, luxury cars, bank accounts with several zeos, and then there are those who serve them: the drivers, the guards, the domestics.  Sometimes the temptation is too strong when you see this wealth every day.

When you sleep in a maid’s room while your boss sleeps in a king-size bed.  When you earn in a month what the boss spends on one dinner. Sometimes we tell ourselves it’s just once, he won’t even notice.  Moussa thought like that.  Driver for 5 years, loyal, discreet, never a problem.  But that day, he saw something he shouldn’t have seen.

  A suitcase full of banknotes, thousands, maybe millions.  And he thought just a bundle or two.  He has so many.  What he didn’t know was that this money didn’t actually belong to his boss.  This money was cursed, linked to an ancient pact, to a debt passed down from generation to generation.  And by stealing that money, Moussa had just linked his destiny with that of his children and their children forever.

Moussa was 34 years old and had been Mr. Bakari’s driver for 5 years.  Mr. Bakari was a very rich, very powerful businessman.  He owned import-export businesses, buildings, and land.  Nobody knew exactly how much it was worth, but it was enormous.  Moussa was driving his black Mercedes, air-conditioned, leather, a dream car, but it wasn’t his.  He was just driving her.

  His salary was decent. francs per month plus accommodation.  A small room behind Mr. Bakari’s large villa with a bed, a wardrobe, and a shower.  It was small but it was free.  Moussa was married.  His wife Aminata lived in their village with their three children.  He sent them 50,000 francs every month.

  The rest was used for his own expenses.  It was a simple life, not luxurious but stable.  Moussa was a good driver, punctual, careful, discreet.  He did n’t talk about his boss’s business, didn’t ask questions, he did his job.  Mr. Bakari liked him. Moussa, you are my best driver, loyal, honest, I can count on you.

  And Moussa was proud of this trust.  But sometimes he couldn’t help but feel jealous when Mr. Bakari bought a new car, when he invited his friends for lavish parties, when he threw away food while Moussa ate plain rice.  Moussa told himself, “One day, one day I will be rich too.” But deep down, he knew that day would never come.  He was a driver.

  He would remain a driver.  His children would be lucky if he became a driver too.  It was his destiny, to serve while others enjoyed themselves until that Tuesday.  The Tuesday that changed everything.  On that day, Mr. Bakari was supposed to take a plane, a business trip.  3 days.  Moussa, take me to the airport.

7am?  Yes, sir.  Moussa loaded the luggage into the trunk.  Two large, heavy suitcases, very heavy.  On his way to the airport, Mr. Bakari received a call.  He spoke in English.  Moussa didn’t understand everything, but he heard numbers.  A million in cash!  Yes!  Two million in cash! Moussa wondered if it was in the suitcases.  At the airport, he helped Mr.

Bakari unload the luggage.  But as he was about to close the trunk, he noticed something.  One of the suitcases had not been taken.  Sir, there is one suitcase left.  Mr. Bakari turned around and frowned.  Ah, I picked the wrong one.  Leave that one in the trunk, bring it home, put it in my office.  Whatever you do, don’t open it.

Yes, sir.  Mr. Bakari ran off .  He was late.  Moussa stayed there with the suitcase in the trunk. A suitcase that the boss had forgotten, which was supposed to remain closed.  A heavy suitcase, very heavy.  Moussa returned to the villa, parked the car, and took the suitcase. She weighed at least 20 kg.

  What was inside?  He took it up to Mr. Bakari’s office, placed it on the floor, and then looked at it for a long time. Whatever you do, don’t open it.  But why? What was so important, so secret?  Moussa knew he shouldn’t , that it was wrong, that it could cost him his job, but curiosity was too strong.  He checked that no one could see him, locked the office door, then opened the suitcase.

  Inside, bundles of banknotes, thousands of ten- franc notes, stacked up, carefully arranged. Moussa felt his heart stop.  He had never seen so much money in his life.  Never.  He tried to count them, but there were too many.  Millions, maybe five, maybe ten, maybe more.  He received a bundle, the soupza, 10000 francs per bill, 100 bills in the bundle, 1 million right in his hand.  His hand was trembling.

  He thought of his family, of his children who went to public school, who wore uniforms with holes in them, who ate rice and beans every day.  With that money, he could change everything, enroll them in a good school, buy a house, start a business.  But it was his boss’s money.  He couldn’t .  He began to close the suitcase.  Then he stopped.

  Just a wad of cash, he won’t even notice.  He has so many.  Her hands moved of their own accord , took a bundle of cash, slipped it into her pocket, then another, then another.  In total, he took 3 million, three lias.  Of the dozens that were in the suitcase, Mr. Bakari wouldn’t even realize it. It was just a drop in the ocean.

Moussa closed the suitcase.  He quickly left the office.  His heart was pounding at the hour.  He went back to his room, hid the Elias under his mattress, and forced himself to breathe calmly.  Everything is fine.  He will know nothing.  No one will know .  That night, he didn’t sleep, he stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he had done.

  He had flown for the first time in his life.  He who had always been honest, loyal, but 3 million.  That was 6 years’ salary.  Six years in one second.  The next morning, he woke up with an idea.  He needed to do something with that money quickly.  Before changing his mind, before getting caught, he called his wife.

  Amiata, I have a surprise for you.  What ?  I just received a big, very big bonus.  He was lying. But this money had to be justified somehow.  How much ?  3 million. Silence.  Then a scream.  What ?  3 million, is that true?  Yes, I’ll send you a million for the children for the house. My God, Moussa, it’s a miracle.  Yes, a miracle.

  He hung up, felt a weight on his conscience but pushed the feeling away.  With the remaining 2 million , he decided to invest.  He knew a guy, Ibrahim, who was in business, a port-export of goods, who was always looking for partners.  Moussa met him and offered to invest millions.  Ibrahim accepted with joy.  In 6 months, you will double your money.

  You might even triple your income.  Moussa signed, gave the money. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful, rich, free.  He didn’t yet know that this money was cursed.  The first few days, everything was fine.  Moussa continued his work, drove, smiled, acted as if nothing had happened.  Mr. Bakari returned from his trip, said nothing about the suitcase, noticed nothing.

  Moussa breathed, he knew nothing, everything was fine. But a week later, something changed.  Moussa began having nightmares every night, the same ones .  He saw himself in a dark room with shadows around him whispering: “Thief! You stole! You pirated!”  He would wake up in a sweat, his heart pounding.

  At first, he thought it was just guilt.  Normally, it would pass, but the nightmares worsened, became more real, more violent. In his dreams, the shadows had faces, distorted, twisted faces, that cried out: “Give back the money! Give it back!”  Moussa stopped sleeping properly, became irritable, and tired.  Then other things began to happen.

  His wife called him: “Moussa, our son Ishmael is sick.”  “What? What’s wrong with him? ” “I don’t know.”  He has had a fever for three days.  The doctor doesn’t understand.  The medications don’t work .  Take him to the hospital.  We’re already there.  They say it’s nothing serious, but it’s not getting better.

  Moussa felt unwell but told himself it was a coincidence.  Two days later, his business partner Ibrahim called him.  Moussa, we have a problem.  What’s the problem?  The merchandise we ordered was seized at customs.  What ?  For what ?  Administrative problem.  They say the documents are fake, we’re going to lose everything.

  But but it’s our investment, all our money.  I know, I’m sorry.  I’ll try to fix it, but it’s going to take time and money.  Moussacrocha, panicked, 3 million, gone.  Just like that, he thought about the suitcase, about the money he had stolen.  A horrible thought crossed his mind.  And if it was a curse, he banished the idea.

   It was ridiculous.  The curses did not exist , but the nightmares continued.  His son remained ill. The investment was lost.  One month passed, then two.  Ishmael was not getting better , was losing weight, and was becoming weaker and weaker.  Ibrahim recovered nothing.  The merchandise was blocked, the money lost.

  And Moussa himself began to feel something, a pain in his chest, constant, dull.  He went to see a doctor who found nothing.  It’s stress. Rest.  But Mouss knew it was n’t stress.  One evening, in despair, he went to see a marabout in a working-class neighborhood, an old man known for seeing hidden things. “I have problems,” said Moussa, ” nightmares. My family is sick.

 My money is disappearing.”  The marabout looked at him for a long time, threw some cowries onto a mat, studied their position, then he raised his eyes.  “Seriously! You took something that didn’t belong to you ?”  Moussa felt his blood run cold. As you know, the choris don’t lie .  You stole money, a lot of money.

  I took it from my boss, but he didn’t even notice.  He has so many.  The marabout shook his head.  This money doesn’t belong to your boss, it belongs to an entity.  An entity that lends money for a price.  What kind of entity?  A demon of wealth.  Your boss made a pact with him a long time ago.  This pact brings him wealth.

  But in return, he must offer you regular sacrifices.  Moussa and Carquilla’s eyes. Sacrifices?  Yes.  And the money you stole was the money of the pact, the money used for the sacrifice.  By taking it, you broke the pact and now the demon is demanding the price from you. What price?  Your life and that of your family, generation after generation.

Moussa felt his legs tremble. What do you mean by generation after generation?  The marabout threw down the choris again and studied them. The demon demands a price for the stolen money.  This price will be paid by you, by your children, by their children until the debt is repaid.  But I can give the money back, I can put it back in the suitcase.

  It’s too late.  You’ve already spent it, used it up.  The link has been created.  The demon is following you now.  He’s just waiting for the right moment to take what’s owed to him. What is he going to take?  Everything: your health, your family’s health, your happiness, your peace.  One by one, your loved ones will fall.

  Illness, accident, madness, death.  And it will continue even after your death.  Moussa wept.  There must be a way, a solution.  The marabout thought.  There might be a way, but it’s dangerous.  I’m ready for anything.  You must confront the demon, negotiate directly with him, offer him something in exchange for your release, offer him what?  Something that has value for you, something you love more than anything.

  Moussa thought of his wife and children.  No, never.  So, you have no choice.  You will suffer the curse. You, your lineage.  Moussa returned home distraught.  That night, the nightmare was different.  He found himself in a very large, very dark room with black walls.  In the center, a figure sits on a gigantic throne with horns, red eyes, an overwhelming presence.  Moussa, you stole from me.

  The voice resonated deep and terrifyingly.  I didn’t know .  I’m going to give the money back. The money has already been spent.  You can’t return it .  So, you’ll see me differently.  How ?  Through suffering and that of your family for this generation.  This generation is insane.  The demon laughed.  A laugh that chilled everyone to the bone foamed all the way to the waters.

  You took what was mine.  Now you belong to me .  You, your children, their children, all cursed until the debt is paid.  What debt?  How much do I owe you?  3 million that you took plus interest.  10 times the amount, 30 million.  And it’s increasing every day.  30 million.  I could never pay for that. I know.

  That’s why your descendants also have bridges.  Each generation will suffer until someone finds a way to repay me or until the bloodline dies out.  Moussa fell to his knees. Please, my children haven’t done anything.   Don’t punish them.  He carries your blood, he carries your debt.  That’s the law.  There must be another solution.

  I beg you.  The demon leaned forward.  Her red eyes were fixed on Moussa.  There is one solution, and one only.  Which ?  Sacrifice the one you love most, offer him to me and I will free your lineage.  Moussa felt his heart break.  Sacrifice whom?  Your eldest son Ishmael, the one who is already sick.

  Give it to me and I will forgive your debt.  Never, ever would I do that. So, watch your family die one by one.  Slowly, Moussa woke up screaming.  The following weeks were a waking nightmare.  Ishmael was not getting better, he was even getting worse.  The doctors didn’t understand, they spoke of rare diseases, unexplained cases. Aminata called every day in tears.  It is getting weaker and weaker.

  He no longer eats, and hardly speaks anymore. Moussa sent all the money he could, but it was no use.  Then other things happened.  His daughter Fatouata also fell ill.  Fever, just like his brother.  His youngest son, Amadou, had an accident.  While playing, he fell from a tree, broke his arm and then his leg, as if something was drawing him towards accidents.

  Ainata herself began to lose her mind.  She saw shadows, heard voices.  Give the money back, give the money back.  Moussa knew that all of this came from the devil, from the curse.  He tried everything, consulted marabouts, pastors, imams. Everyone was saying the same thing. It is a powerful, very ancient curse.

  You can’t break it alone.  One desperate evening, Moussa decided to confront his boss.  He knocked on the door of Mr. Bakari’s office. Come in!  Moussa entered nervously.  Sir, I need to talk to you about something. Yes.  A few months ago when you went on a trip, you left a suitcase in the trunk.  Mr. Bakari looked up.

  His gaze changed, became cold.  Continue.  I opened the suitcase and took out some money.  A long silence.  How much ?  3 million?  Mr. Bakari stood up slowly and approached Moussa.  You stole 3 million francs from my suitcase.  Yes sir, I’m sorry, but my family has been cursed. My children are sick.

  My wife is losing her mind.  Please tell me how to stop this.  Mr. Bakari stared at him and then burst out laughing.  A laugh without joy.  Are you cursed?  Of course you’re cursed.  This money was not mine. That was the money from the pact.  The pact? Yes, my family made a pact three generations ago with a wealth demon.

  He gives us everything: money, power, success.  In exchange, he is offered regular sacrifices.  This money was used to buy these sacrifices. Moussa felt nausea rising.  What kind of sacrifice?  It’s none of your business, but by stealing that money, you broke the cycle.  The demon can no longer receive his sacrifices.  So, he turns to you and your family.

  How do I stop it? You can’t.  The only way is to give him what he wants, a sacrifice. Someone you love.  My son ? Mr. Bakariocha, the head. Probably.  The demon loves child sacrifices, especially firstborns.  I will never do it. Then your entire lineage will die slowly, painfully.  Your children, their children during this generation.

Moussa wept.  There must be another solution.  There aren’t any.  I tried to break the pact myself once, but it’s impossible.  Once you’re bound, you’re bound forever.  So you too are cursed.  Yes, my wealth comes from the devil, but I pay the price every year.  I have to offer him something, otherwise he’ll take what he wants.

  What are you offering him?  Mr. Bakari did not reply, he turned away.  Get out of my office and don’t come back.  You are fired.  Moussa went back to his room, emptied his belongings, and left the villa.  He had nothing left, no job, no money, no hope, just a curse that would destroy his family for this generation.

  Moussa returned to the village and was reunited with his family. Ishmael was in agony, lying in a bed, his body skeletal, his eyes empty.  Fatumata coughed incessantly, spitting up blood.  Amadou now had both legs broken.  Following another unexplained accident, Aminata was on the verge of madness.

  She was talking to herself , seeing things that didn’t exist .  Moussa sat down at his son’s bedside and wept.  Forgive me Ishmael, it’s all my fault.  The boy looked at him weakly.  Dad, what’s happening to us?  I don’t know, my son, but I’ll fix it, I promise you.  But Moussa knew he was lying.  There was only one way to fix this, and he couldn’t.

That night, the demon appeared to him again in a dream.  Moussa, your son is almost dead.  Give it to me now and I will spare the others.  I can’t.   Would you prefer that he suffers some more, that he dies slowly?  Give it to me.  His death will be quick and painless, and your other children will live.  Moussa wept.

  It’s an impossible choice.  That’s the only choice you have.  Moussa woke up in a sweat. He sat all night thinking.  If he did nothing, Ishmael would die anyway, and so would the others and their children.  But if he sacrificed him, the others would live without the curse.  It was a child against an entire lineage, a horrible, inhuman choice.

  At sunrise, Moussa made his decision.  He woke Aminata up and explained everything to her.  theft, the pact, the curse, the sacrifice.  She screamed and hit him .  Do you want to kill our son?  He’s going to die anyway.  At least this way others will live.  No, never.  We will find another solution.  There is no other solution.

  They argued for hours.  Finally, exhausted, Aminata collapsed.  Do what you want, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.  Moussa went to see the village marabout and asked him how to make a sacrifice.  The marabout initially refused: “I do not participate in human sacrifices, please. It is the only way to save my family.

”  Finally, the marabout agreed.  “But know that your soul will be doomed forever. I know this the ritual was supposed to take place the following night, a moonless night.”  Moussa spent the day with Ismaël, talking to him, telling him stories, crying silently.  When evening came, he carried his son to the forest.  The marabout was waiting for them with a fire, herbs, and ritual objects.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”  asked the marabout.  Moussa looked at his son sleeping peacefully in his arms, innocent, and he realized : “He couldn’t.”  “No, I can’t .”  He turned on his heel and returned to the village with his son.  Amiata arrived quickly, understood, and cried with relief. Thank you, thank you for not doing it.

That night, Moussa waited for the demon. In his dream, he appeared furious.  You refused the sacrifice.  Yes.  So, you chose suffering for yourself and aligned yourself with it. I know, but I will not sacrifice my son.  Never.  The demon stared at him.  Then something strange happened.  He smiled.  Interesting.

  What ?  Did you take the test?  The test?  I wanted to see if you would choose love or survival. Most, choosing survival, sacrifice their children to save themselves.  But you chose love. Moussa didn’t understand.  So, I’m not cursed anymore either.  You still are.  But there is a difference now.  Which ?  You have shown that you are willing to suffer to protect what you love.  It has value.

  So, I’m going to make you an offer just once.  What offer?  You will bear the entire curse.  You alone, your children will be spared.  But you will suffer.  illness, poverty, pain until your death.  Who will be coming soon?   Do you accept?  Moussa didn’t hesitate for a second.  I agree.  The next day, Ishmael woke up.

  He was cured the fever was gone.  He was hungry, he was smiling. Fatouata was also doing better, she wasn’t coughing anymore.  Amadou was recovering from his fractures.  Faster than normal. Aminata regained her lucidity.  He could no longer see any shadows.  But Moussa, he fell ill, with an excruciating pain throughout his body, as if his waters were being torn away.

  He could no longer work, walk, or lie down.  The doctors didn’t understand. Unknown, incurable disease.  Moussa knew, it was the curse, focused solely on himself .  Six months later, he died at the age of 35, surrounded by his family.  His last words were: “Take care of each other, never, ever steal.”  Ishmael grew up and became a good, hardworking, honest man.

  He had children who screamed children.  None of them were cursed, none of them mysteriously fell because Moussa had borne the entire curse.  He alone had saved his lineage at the cost of his life. Today, in this village, they still tell the story of Moussa, the driver who stole from his boss’s suitcase, who was cursed but who chose to suffer alone to save his children.

  The elders say, ” Stolen money never brings good fortune. It brings a curse not only to the thief, but to their entire family. Some objects, some possessions, do not belong to us. They belong to forces we do not understand, to pacts we cannot see. When you see wealth, when you are tempted to take what is not yours , remember Moses.

Remember that some prices are too high, that some debts are paid over generations, and that sometimes honesty is not just a virtue, it is a protection against forces beyond our comprehension. Illicit wealth always destroys, perhaps not immediately, perhaps not visibly, but it destroys. If you work for someone rich, do not be jealous.

 Do not be tempted. You do not know where this wealth comes from. What pact was made? What price was paid? Be content with what you earn honestly. Build slowly, cleanly, because cursed money will not save you.”  It will only bring suffering. To you, to your children, to your entire lineage. Moussa learned this lesson the hard way.

Don’t make the same mistake. Thank you for following this story. If it made you think, subscribe and like. See you soon for a new story.