Machina’s Royal Snakes: Living without fear among reptilian kin, by Zara Machina
In the dry heat of northern Yobe, there lies Machina, an emirate where tradition answers to myth, and myth walks — quite literally — in the form of snakes. Here, serpents are not pests, nor symbols of terror. They are royalty.
The story begins with a royal birth.
Generations ago, a queen in Machina gave birth to twins: one human, the other a snake. The human stayed within palace walls; the snake, overwhelmed by the bustle of human life, slithered into the rocky outcrop behind the palace to live. Over time, that snake’s descendants have become more than legends — they are treated as kin by the community. The belief holds that they share lineage with the human royal bloodline.
A Taboo Against Harm
In Machina, harming a snake is not only frowned upon — it’s forbidden. The community-wide rule, rooted in respect, governance, and myth, means that most snakes roam freely, especially around the palace grounds. If a snake enters a home, the reaction is not fear. It is deference.
One of the emir’s courtiers once described how, during his turbaning ceremony, snakes moved near guests and appeared at the palace entrance — mingling peaceably among humans. Attempts to photograph them failed somehow: when cameras were raised, the snakes vanished. For Machina residents, that feels less like coincidence, more like respect for sacred space.
Daily Life With Serpent.
Imagine walking through your home and seeing a snake curl under a chair. Many people in Machina say this happens — regularly. Not only does the presence not panic them, often it is seen as a blessing.
Take childbirth: When babies are born, or during naming ceremonies, it is believed that snakes may emerge in the palace to “celebrate.” The same happens during festivals or when something joyful is expected. For families, it’s a symbol: snakes, in this context, represent harmony, continuity, even a spiritual link to ancestors.
The Emir himself affirms this tradition: As the 77th Mai Machinama, he says descendants of the legendary snake twin attend palace ceremonies, sometimes seen around homes, often welcomed rather than driven away. One story tells of a prince who finds a snake in his bed, gently pushes it aside, and sleeps. Such is comfort, familiarity, respect.
Belief, Safety, and Tradition
Despite what many outside might assume, snakebites are rare. Machina is remote, and the people value cohabitation. The presence of traditional knowledge plays a big role here — potions, local charms, herbal remedies, and the shared understanding that snakes are not aggressors unless threatened.
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But tradition also demands respect:
Harming a snake is believed to bring misfortune. Stories are told of those who did, and who paid a price — illness, trouble, sometimes worse. These aren’t tales of random fear; they are oral history serving as moral code.
Why It Matters
Machina teaches something the wider world could use right now: how cultural narratives and respect for nature can shape peaceful existence. In many places, snakes are eradicated, feared, or treated with animosity. But in Machina, the narrative is different: the serpent is sibling, guest, spiritual presence, bearer of tradition.
Amid global conversations about biodiversity, human-animal conflict, and cultural conservation, Machina stands out. Rural, remote, maybe off many maps — but rich in a tradition that challenges fear. It raises questions: Can myth and belief protect nature better than laws? Can reverence influence safety more than conflict?
In the Rocks Behind the Palace
The rocks behind the palace are sacred: They are believed to be the home of the original snake twin. They are places of caution, wonder, respect. Residents treat these spaces with care — not entering them lightly, leaving offerings sometimes (through prayers or symbolic gestures), and allowing the snakes their space. It’s a living connection to history.
A Reflection of Identity.
For the people of Machina, snakes are part of identity. Not all; only certain species considered non-harmful. Snakes are not worshipped, but revered.
The people don’t kill them; they live with them, care for them, and accept them in their homes. For some, when fear arises, they remember the twin-snake legend. For others, it’s simply what growing up in Machina means.
In Machina, there are no serpent-hunters: There are no midnight panics or mass killings of snakes. There are only stories, belief, respect, and coexistence — a rule made of myth and lived culture. And perhaps in such a world, people live not with fear but with wonder.
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