Explorez tous les épisodes du podcast The First African Werewolf

A Louisiana preacher abandons his family and follows the promise of California, convinced cash flow equals salvation. Opportunity waits. So does something older, quieter, and far more patient.

She comes dressed as a beautiful woman, moving like silk, speaking like certainty. Evil never announces itself. It seduces.

As devotion collapses into obedience, money rewrites morality. In another corner of the city, a Black man stumbles upon a white woman injured and dying in the dark. The moment offers no innocence, only consequences.

The wolf claws from within.
 Instinct demands blood.
 Survival demands flight.

Set against the long shadow of the Black Dahlia era, this episode explores hunger, temptation, and the cost of being seen, where mercy can kill and running might be the only freedom left.

Will the beast save him, or will he run for his life?

Los Angeles, 1850 — a city dressed in velvet shadows, where every street whispers secrets and every corner hides a sin. Dahabu, our African werewolf, drives his black taxi through the midnight fog, carrying ghosts no passenger can see, hunted by a hunger he cannot silence. Across town, Slink builds her throne of silk and smoke, her laughter as sharp as the knife she keeps hidden.

What happens when the hunter doesn’t know another predator stalks the same streets? When shadows cross paths with velvet, who will rule the night — and who will be consumed by it? The city is watching. The city is waiting. And destiny has already set the stage.

The First African Werewolf slips deeper into Los Angeles nights.
Dahabu drives the city’s underbelly, his cab filling with confessions, ghosts, and the fragments of a past stolen by Slink’s spell. A starlet’s hollow smile, a priest haunted by the boy he betrayed—every ride sharpens the beast inside him.

Across town, Slink rules her nightclub like a queen on a velvet throne. Smoke, jazz, and sin curl around her as she laughs, watching Dahabu’s every move. She knows he’s more than a driver. He’s her echo. Her balance sheet settling itself.

Together, they haunt the city: one with fangs, the other with silk and poison. And neither is finished.

The train shrieked as it barreled west, steel wheels screaming against the rails, spitting black smoke into the California night. Passengers tried to sleep, but something in the last carriage refused to let the air settle. It wasn’t the groan of the brakes or the restless sway of the tracks. It was her.

She sat in the rear of the train like a queen in exile, emerald silk glinting in the lamplight, her smile curved just enough to unsettle anyone who dared look too long. No one could name the feeling she carried, but they all felt it—a slow, coiling tension, like the room itself was holding its breath. Even the men who wanted her didn’t dare move closer. Not yet.

Madam Slink wasn’t just traveling to California. She was arriving. And there’s a difference.

Her fingers traced the glass window as the landscape blurred by, but her eyes stayed sharp, hungry, taking in every detail like she could taste the future waiting for her. This was a woman who didn’t follow luck. She hunted it.

By the time the train screeched into Los Angeles, every man in that carriage had lost something to her—money, courage, or a piece of his soul.

And she hadn’t even stepped off the train yet.

In Los Angeles, Dahabu walks a dangerous line between survival and savagery. Lured in by a smooth-talking white businessman, he finds himself collecting debts—not just money, but pieces of his own soul. When a moment of recognition stops him cold, the werewolf inside finally stirs. A brutal reckoning follows, and with blood still fresh, Dahabu makes a plan: buy a taxi, blend in, and hunt predators by moonlight.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Amina has become someone else—Madam Slink. Her speakeasy drips with jazz, perfume, and whispered danger. She’s rich, ruthless, and feared… until a ghost from her past walks through the door. Her older brother, long dead and burned in a tribal hunt, returns with a message that shakes her foundation. When he speaks her birth name, Amina, everything unravels.

Two monsters. Two cities. One chapter closer to collision.

Los Angeles, 1850. Dahabu steps off a wagon and into a city humming with opportunity, secrets, and suspicion. But he's not alone. Slink—the dark, cunning serpent spirit that once whispered through Amina—has followed him west, and now he's telling the story.

In this episode, the tension simmers beneath California’s golden skies. Gospel hands clap and feet stomp in a soul-shaking Black church service where praise becomes power and rhythm becomes resistance. Joy roars, tears fall, and one spirit-sensitive elder sees deeper than most, straight into the beast Dahabu tries to outrun.

But the snake known as Slink sees everything. 
 He’s not just watching. Slink is  narrating.

In the cold grip of 1880s Chicago, Amina and Dahabu take shelter, but not peace. What begins as a brief refuge becomes a reckoning, as Amina’s snake hungers for power. The snake names itself, celebrating its future with the witch. The serpent whispers louder than ever. Memories clash with ambition. Love fractures under the weight of transformation. And when Dahabu finally makes his choice, he leaves behind more than just a woman; he leaves behind the only part of himself still tethered to the past.

But freedom always comes at a cost.

Next stop: Los Angeles, 1850—
 where Dahabu’s journey takes a dangerous new turn...
 and the hunter becomes something more than legend.

  At Willowbrook Plantation, Thomas Whitaker strikes a dark deal: Caleb, a young boy once saved by Amina and Dahabu, must now hunt them down and kill them in exchange for his master’s favor and a bag of stolen coin. But the serpent hears everything. As the fugitives flee deeper into shadowed woods, slave catchers draw near, and a returning ally offers hope—until the serpent’s influence twists the night. In the mist, loyalty shatters, magic strikes, and a single betrayal changes everything. By dawn, one of them lies dead… and the snake is still hungry. 

DISCLAIMER:  This episode contains fictional depictions of slavery, racial injustice, and supernatural elements woven into a historical fantasy setting. While the tone may include moments of dark humor or surreal dialogue, especially through the voice of the serpent, this work does not seek to make light of the very real pain and trauma experienced during that time in history.

“Slaved” is a work of speculative fiction meant to reclaim power through myth, magic, and imagination. It centers around Black characters navigating and resisting systems of oppression. Listener discretion is advised.

Welcome to the deep South, where cotton grows fast, whispers grow faster, and one plantation runs just a little too smooth. Amina, a cunning witch with a serpent soul—and Dahabu, a man torn between beast and brotherhood, have taken control of Willowbrook. The enslaved are working faster. The money's rolling in. And Thomas Whitaker? He’s smiling to the bank… but not everyone’s clapping. His wife, Abigail, has had enough. Enough of the glances; enough of the profits that feel more like spells. She spreads the word, ignites suspicion, and stirs up a full-blown Southern PAC—Plantation Accountability Coalition, with pitchforks, rumors, and side-eyes sharp enough to cut sugarcane.

Told with a twist of dark humor, spine-prickling magic, and a sly, snarky serpent who might have something to say about all this, this episode dances on the edge of fear and fantasy.

It's dramatic. It's bold. And oh yes, it’s supernatural.
 Because on Willowbrook, control is an illusion...
 And snakes never sleep.

The snake speaks in the shadows in this chilling chapter of African Werewolf.  The voice is not Amina's, but the serpent who lives within her. Freed from the bounds of flesh, the black mamba prowls the decks of the Sable Marauder under the cover of night. Unseen, it creeps into sailors' dreams, sowing fear, betrayal, and doubt. No one escapes—not even Dahabu, the so-called captain, whose haunted past becomes the serpent’s most twisted canvas.

As dawn rises, the witch returns, but the crew wakes up different, marked, shaken, and unaware of the true puppet master aboard their ship.

Will Dahabu survive what slithers inside his mind? Or has the serpent already won?

 Before her family and village feared her, Amina was just a girl who lovedand woshipped her brother.
 When the village elders declared him ready to prove his manhood, they escorted him into the wild.  Only his body returned—torn by a lion, his life ended before it truly began. Grief turned to blame. Blame turned to punishment. And Amina, accused of cursing fate, was cast into a cave.
 They thought the darkness would break her.  Instead, it fed her.
 Alongside a serpent, she learned silence, survival—and power.  Now Amina walks among men again, not as a girl of sorrow, but as a woman reborn in venom and vengeance.
 This is the truth they tried to bury. 

The African jungle breathes. And, watches.
 As Dahabu and his companions trek deeper into the cursed island, the trees close in, and the air turns heavy with unseen menace. Grotesque sculptures—once men, now moss-covered warnings—line their path, faces frozen in fear. Lights flicker like spirits among the branches. At the trail’s end: an ancient temple, part ruin, part heartbeat of something dark.
 Inside lies the Moon’s Shard, pulsing with power and peril. But it won’t be taken easily. Riddles twist like vines. Traps strike at mind and soul.
 Then—
 From the temple’s shadows, she emerges.
 Amina. The witch.
 Graceful, unreadable, dangerous. Her green eyes shimmer with power not her own. The jungle stills. The snake within whispers. And the island… hungers.

Beneath an African sky, Dahabu lives as a man of strength, love, and deep connection to his land, his wife Nia, and their children. But when white marauders rip him from everything he holds dear, Dahabu’s world shatters. Imprisoned in the belly of a slave ship, haunted by chains and the screams of the dying, he clings to one thing: the fire inside him.
 Under a full moon, that fire erupts.
 In a fierce battle against the ship’s cursed captain, who reveals his monstrous, lupine form. Dahabu must rely on the instincts of a hunter and the rage of a father torn from his family. With broken chains in hand, he faces death not as a victim, but as a warrior whose spirit refuses to be caged.
 The legend begin, not with a bite, but with blood, fury, and the will to fight back.

 Before the legend has a name, there is blood.

 The drums of the New Yam Festival celebrate with rhythm and joy, when suddenly, the sky splits open with fire. Pale-skinned invaders descend like a curse, their weapons tearing through families and homes. An old woman runs—not empty-handed—clutching a child whose tiny fingers grip her like a lifeline. Through smoke and screams, through a forest that swallows sound, she does what generations have always done: survive.
 The village burns. But something ancient stirs in the ashes.
 A legend is coming.