Notes on The Shadow World – Mandisi Nkomo

Foreword:

Prof. Xonti of The University of Edinburgh, Parapsychology

Prof. Khota’s Notes on The Shadow World have been a passion project of mine for some years now. Having grown up in the communities he references, as well as having a passion for alternate dimensions as it were, I found this short description to be most compelling. Naturally, an alternate dimension that appears to coalesce with certain aspects of South African society intrigued me further, as such a reflection provides strong evidence for its existence. I also find Prof. Khota’s admission that the poor are seldom taken seriously in their needs, and with an often uniquely weak South African government, it is very likely these issues would be outright ignored in favour of other futile tenderpreneur projects, but I digress. Please, enjoy these collected notes of Prof. Khota’s horrific experiences upon passing into The Shadow World.

Notes on The Shadow World

Prof Nilesh Khota, previously of University of Cape Town

For some time now I have been attempting to broach certain subjects of degeneracy with the appropriate authorities, in hopes that my concerns around a certain parallel universe may be attended to. It is imperative that those with the power and resources to do so attend to this emergency.

Largely, these attempts have failed, with the authorities making light of everything I tell them. Thus, I feel it imperative to note in my ledger, certain horrors I witnessed, upon entering a portal that leads to The Shadow World.

I’ve found these horrors are not to be told lightly, or brought up in good company, as the reaction to them is often negative. I’ve found myself repeatedly described as overly cynical, or possibly influenced by some sort of mental illness or personality disorder.  I have accrued multiple visits to various mental institutions, as I am an individual of science and evidence. No specialist has been able to conclusively diagnose me with any such mental illness or personality disorder.

Thus, I can only conclude my experiences in The Shadow World to be real. The constant undermining of my mental state from various parties, including close friends and family, seems largely to be an attempt at projection, to avoid the disturbing hypotheses I am presenting.

It is one thing to be undermined by a police officer, or an administrator of the City of Cape Town. It is something else entirely to have those closest to you hurl insults. Some have even disowned me, or taken to ruinous gossip and rumour mongering.  Others have offered vapid positive advice, along the lines of vegan diets, and more exercise. I am unsure as to how a vegan diet, or attending CrossFit would alter the horrors I have witnessed though. 

 I must further note that upon entering The Shadow World I was always an observer. This being another reason most who accept my initial premise of The Shadow World’s existence still dislike the subject. They believe it futile, and thus juvenile on my part, to rave consistently of such a horrible place. If one is simply an observer when one enters, how can one interact with the realm to produce a positive impact? Of what type of matter is The Shadow World comprised? What if the matter of our realm, and that of The Shadow Realm are independent and can’t interact? These metaphysical conundrums have not discouraged me however. If I can enter, and observe, that is an interaction of sorts, and could develop into actual physical interventions. At least, I hypothesize.

Despite having been described by peers as having a bad attitude, there is an underlying optimism in me that those suffering in The Shadow World can be helped. In fact, I feel that it is our duty as good people to intervene in some manner when suffering is found. I would go as far as saying, in fact, that those who ignore The Shadow World are more inhumane and of a negative disposition than myself. They assume there is nothing to be done, without having made meaningful attempts.

Furthermore, I must remind you dear reader, that the complexity of the issue is precisely the reason I have, to my recollection, accrued over ninety-three attempts at correspondence with various governmental organisations, at the local, national, and international level. This includes institutes such as The United Nations who claim to promote international peace and human rights. Apart from the South African government, I have also contacted various embassies of First World countries, including but not limited to: The United States of America, Russia, Germany, The United Kingdom, and Canada.

Attempts to broach this issue as a humanitarian crisis have failed. I have received little to no response, and mostly accusations of insanity. Some have even slighted me by stating the issues I am proposing are of a supernatural nature, and such issues are not of humanitarian concern. What kind of short-sighted intellectuals are these, who assume there is no scientific explanation for The Shadow World?

Furthermore, I have become the laughingstock of the Political Science department at The University of Cape Town. My simple assertion is this: beyond the First World\Third World paradigm, there exists a Fourth World, or Shadow World if you will, with a politics that defies our current frames of analysis. They have placed me on sabbatical, banned me from teaching, and strongly suggested I do not pursue studies of The Shadow World any further.

Due to these various constraints, I will note some of what I’ve seen here, for some peace of mind, and perhaps to publish on a blog, or online academic platform anonymously.

Afterall, information should not be suppressed no matter how absurd it appears to be.

Some Notes on The Portal Location

Firstly, I would like to mention the location of the portal and the difficulty in entering it. Despite legislation and the clear demarcation of appropriate pedestrian crossings, my kinsmen have a preference towards crossing roads at their own discretion. These rogue crossings often occur on main roads rife with traffic, as well as busy highways. In Cape Town where I live, this phenomenon is particularly common on the N2 highway, which travels from the inner city, and all the way up the South African coast, past Durban, and into Ermelo.

Mere minutes out of the Cape Town inner city, right after the suburb of Langa, there is a popular spot for individuals to run across the highway at their discretion. If, for example, you are heading towards the Cape Town International Airport, with Bonteheuwel to your left, and Welcome to your right, it is likely you will witness this phenomenon.

That is where I witnessed the first disappearance. I witnessed ten more before taking further action. It appears, these highway crossers had accidently discovered the portal. It is difficult to notice people vanishing into thin air when you are trying not to hit them or other vehicles. In fact, this peculiarity is rather convenient in hiding The Shadow World’s existence.

In order to be completely sure that I was indeed witnessing people disappearing in the middle of the highway, I drove into Bonteheuwel, parked my car, and ventured over the bridge that connects Bonteheuwel and Welcome. Again, the irony is not lost that appropriate methods to cross the highway exist, but as mentioned earlier, South Africans tend to have their own ways of doing things.

I stood on the bridge for hours watching people run across the highway. Not all would disappear. I made a note of the starting coordinates of those who did. I also noted that the disappearances would occur exactly as the highway crosser vaulted over the concrete road barrier that separates incoming and outgoing traffic. 

I always returned to my official government address after each trip, promptly after an hour. I have often wracked my mind over what these various individuals have seen and why they have not spoken up. Surely, like myself, after an hour or so, they were returned promptly to their home addresses, I wondered. It is here where I take a moment for an anecdote regarding the politics of the Western Cape, and South Africa as a whole.

Any academic worth their salt can tell of the great inequality this beautiful country is mired by. Along with this inequality comes a nasty racial element. The country is also mired by poor service delivery. It is my speculation that the majority of these highway crossers came from lower income areas, and like myself, are persons of colour. Even in my position of relative privilege, as a previously renowned academic, concerns are not often taken seriously by the authorities.

In the private sphere too, I have been undermined by white peers in various places, many of them with the combined intelligence of a panda and dodo, yet an ego the polar opposite size. Again, I mention how the reactions to my bringing up The Shadow World have been. Let us not reduce things to class and race alone, but I have a sneaky suspicion the others who have disappeared would have an even harder task of convincing authorities of The Shadow World’s existence. Some of them can’t even get basic running water from the state, so what chance would they have of convincing said government of a parallel universe?

Thus, I will leave these clear instructions and coordinates for those with the necessary scientific grit to pursue. For the brave, and those interested in the furthering of scientific study, I offer this method.

1.         One must stand on one end of the highway at the given GPS coordinates

(33°57’30.0″S 18°33’07.3″E).

2.         One must run at full sprint across the highway, making sure to not be hit by incoming traffic.

3.         On reaching the barrier that divides incoming and outgoing traffic, one must leap over.

4.         Upon coming down, one will enter The Shadow World.

The Shadow World

The Place of Unequalness

Where to begin, dear reader? Upon entering this place, I was indeed aghast. All things were abominably out of form. Human limbs overgrown and dragged around. Eyeballs taking up the entire skull, to the point where the brain has not enough space or form to function. Mentally inhibited and dripping with pus. Some growths offered praise and renown to the victim, and others nothing but suffering. Enlarged legs to perform athletic feats, providing praise, or emaciated legs, forcing one to crawl, or perhaps worse, withered bodies with which one could only lie in the same place, looking upward, until death.

Making matters worse, those with physical prowess took to regular abuse of those less fortunate. They went as far as to organize sporting events around said abuse. The architecture of this place had no sense, appearing surreal. One long housing form, no outside to speak of. Like a walking within an infinite cave, one would need to adjust their body to navigate, crawling here, walking there, jumping across random pits, or jumping up into crawl spaces. Gravity was rather questionable here, making the navigation of such a place possible in its randomness.

The mentioned sporting events would take place in large openings resembling enormous caverns, some of which I could not take the measure. Often enough I would poke a finger through a tiny opening, only to be sluiced through to one of these enormous caverns.

The grand sporting events that took place within these enormous caverns consisted of ritual abuse. Verbal mocking competitions for example, very akin to battle raps or roasting competitions. The physically superior would mock the less endowed to their greatest ability. The greatest insult wins.

These competitions could also take a most violent turn. Say perhaps, the individuals with overdeveloped legs would partake in stomping competitions. They would gather those most hobbled, those with just torsos as bodies, but still completely conscious, their eyes, noses and ears attached to their chests, still capable of feeling. They would gather these individuals and partake in rib breaking.

The methods of winning would vary. At times it would be those who could render their victim a bloody pile of meat first. Other times those who could draw bile, piss or faeces first. Other times, those who could elicit the biggest reaction from the invalid. Perhaps a scream, perhaps a limb twitch.

These competitions would go on and on, and often on being returned to my residence I would retch immediately, The Shadow World not even providing me the physical ability to react to the horrors. It would all out on my return to my own physical plane. Often, I’d be sickly for weeks after a visit to this place.

The Place of Anarchy

What can I say? Dear reader, what can I say of The Place of Anarchy?

Lawlessness. I was most thankful to be but an observer in this place. Killings were rampant. My field of expertise is not statistics, but, based on my observations, I would put the life expectancy of a human in this place to be 20 years of age. A plane of only veldt.

As it were, navigating this realm was simple enough. Walking through a long corridor of long grass and carnage. It would seem the corridor was narrowed simply so you could feel the carnage in all its glory. In fact, I feel I did experience much of the violence I encountered. Indeed, I felt as if I were in the State of Nature itself. The strongest man wins. The biggest barbarian. If I could say man? Indeed, they were genderless as mannequins. Mannequin persons forever engaged in barbarism.

Waist deep in violence, I would push on, my mind experiencing forms of pain inconceivable. I would only want to be out, but to exit that realm one had to keep walking through the pain. Endless beatings. Bare handed; for there was no matter to form weapons with. Just enormous brutes at each other’s throats, fighting over what, I could not understand.

They appeared to me at least to not require sustenance as you or I would, and thus I could find no logic to their actions. They appeared almost singular, if not identical. No strange differences to divide themselves, yet divided they were almost always.

Brutes would form bands to assault other brutes, and so forth, but to no end. Only to pummel the “enemy” to death, then turn on one another, and begin the pummelling anew. More peculiar still, despite the constant death, there appeared always a fresh supply of brutes to continue the orgy of violence.

Returning from this realm, I would be wracked with nightmares of blood. The endless swamp of limbs. I would envision these brutes coming for me in my home, beating me endlessly, feeling the pain of each kick and punch, unable to sleep for months at a time.

Admittedly, at this stage my health began to deteriorate. I suppose this contributed to the loss of my work. I would arrive dishevelled, half asleep, and have fits of pain I could not tell were real or not. Students no doubt found my random collapses peculiar. The pain would be so intense at times, that despite my efforts I could not hold back the wails of agony.

If anything, how my intellectual curiosity had me returning for more, I do not know. Perhaps it is why everyone thought me mad, but I was obsessed, compelled to understand, or find a solution to the plight of these humanoids I was encountering.

The Parliament of Clowns

This place, dear reader, was particularly obnoxious. It was far less ethereal than the other two, consisting of a grand citadel. Though enormous it followed the basic architect of a royal court of old. Elevated by platforms to the right were the five grotesque Jesters. Rulers of the plane.  Rather than puffy hats and bells, their hats were reptilian in nature with tentacles, writhing about upon their heads. Their Jester clubs were of bone, adorned with the heads of screaming women, their eyes unsettlingly wide.

Their faces were reptilian too, and they would contort according to the strange mechanics of the various games they engaged in. Elongated beaks jutted from their faces, long as a hadedas, curved, and much like the hadeda, they would cackle endlessly at their games. The laughter was piercing, resonating in your brain, your ears would burn and bleed, yet there was nothing you could do to make it stop. Their bodies were reptilian scales of multicoloured patterns that flickered bright colours in the light, at times blinding to the eyes, forcing you to look away.

Before us was an orchestra and dancers. The dancers would not dance as much as fidget and shudder uncomfortably. They did not seem to follow the music, not that there was music to follow per se, just a single note droned by all; the brass, the strings, the woodwinds, one long unison note, never stopped. The choir, in a low chant would say, “we are above the petty laws of man.”

One must spectate, chained together with thousands of other people while The Jesters torture the selected ten humans over and over again. Well, at least these beings resembled humans more than those of the other planes. We seemed drawn from various races and cultures, wearing multi-cultured clothing. Suits here, kaftans there, head wraps, top hats.

The Jesters played peculiar games. One Jester would chop off the head of a human, then give another human the medical knowledge to fix the fatal injury and ease the suffering of the headless, the headless stayed alive through means I don’t know. However, another Jester would interject, providing tools too crude to perform the necessary operations adequately. We all had to watch in misery, while the ill-fated medical practitioner made botched after botched attempt at reattaching the head. The headless’ body would wriggle about, while the head would scream with each delicate movement of surgery.  

Further still, The Jesters would sow together, three or four humans, sow together the other six, then pit them against each other in meaningless combat and squabble. They would squabble amongst themselves too. Falsely. They would perform mock sympathy for a victim, mock antipathy for another, gain their trust of one, then pit them against each other, switching roles, switching faces in some grotesque sport.

Their faces would twist in mimic of whom they support, then they would switch faces, until the miserable victim could no longer tell, who supports whom, or who is on whose side, but we depressed spectators would see it all, and must watch their trust and bodies being broken over and over.

End

These are the three realms I encountered in The Shadow World. I endeavour to continue my efforts, in order to figure out if there are further realms, and to see if I can locate those who have also travelled to The Shadow World. This is the end of my account and I can only hope it reaches the right hands so we might end the suffering of those trapped within.

Addendum

Prof. Xonti of The University of Edinburgh, Parapsychology

I am moving to investigate Prof. Khota’s claims attached herewith in. On arrival back in South African I unfortunately learned that poor Dr. Khota had succumbed to a car accident. As it were, the portal he claims he had discovered eventually proved lethal in a manner. He is hospitalized, and in a coma. His recovery is uncertain.

Now I must steel myself to make similar dangerous attempts at highway crossing in order to further my research.