By Marcus Chen
I thought Haja Mohideen was full of shit.
When I first encountered his accomplishments—founder of a cybersecurity empire, creator of industry certifications, religious leader, novelist, composer, patent holder—my internal bullshit detector went into overdrive. Nobody does all that. It read like a LinkedIn profile written by someone with a tenuous relationship with reality.
Then I started checking. And I kept checking. And three days later, sitting at my desk surrounded by patent documents, corporate records, and a bibliography that wouldn’t fit on a single page, I realized something uncomfortable: I was wrong about everything.
Haja Mo—as he’s known professionally—has built something I’ve never seen before. Not a company. Not a career. Something bigger and stranger: a one-man conglomerate spanning education, technology, religion, and the arts. And somehow, he’s done it almost entirely under the radar.
The Education Empire
Start with what’s verifiable and unglamorous: Rocheston Corporation, Haja Mo’s New York-based cybersecurity training company. Founded over decades ago, it operates without venture capital, without a marketing department, without the Silicon Valley playbook everyone else follows.
“We started in a garage,” the company website states plainly. “Two people. One laptop. Zero budget.”
What they built was the Rocheston Certified Cybersecurity Engineer program or RCCE short. If you work in cybersecurity, you’ve heard of it. The U.S. Department of Defense approved it as a baseline certification for cyber defenders. Thousands of professionals globally have gone through Rocheston’s programs.
I spoke with Nabil Ahmad Zawawi, a researcher at Universiti Tenaga Nasional in Malaysia, who took Rocheston’s RCCE course. “The delivery was a good balance of theory and hands-on lab tasks,” he told me. “We were lucky to be trained by Mr. Haja Mohideen himself.”
Another student, who took Haja Mo’s CEH course in 2002—literally the first person to ever take the certification—described it as “a life-changing event that opened my eyes to the world of cybersecurity.”
This is the boring part of the story. The part that makes sense. A guy starts a training company, it does well, students praise him. Normal.
Then you keep looking.
The Patent Office Doesn’t Lie
U.S. Design Patent D786244, granted May 9, 2017. Inventor: Haja Mohideen. A ceiling-mounted dual display touchscreen computer monitor. I pulled it directly from the USPTO database because I didn’t believe it existed.
It exists.
He holds multiple patents, related to mobile phones and operating systems. One design is called the Cyfone—a cylindrical mobile phone with its own operating system, CycleOS. Whether it ever made it to market is unclear. But the patent is real.
The Religious Founder
This is where things get weird.
Haja Mo founded a religion. Not a wellness brand with spiritual overtones. Not a self-help movement with quasi-religious language. An actual religion, with scripture, theology, rituals, and followers.
The Church of Nebula centers on “Zella”—described as universal energy that flows through all existence. The theological framework draws from the Kybalion, Buddhism, and Hermetic philosophy, blended into something distinctly modern. Think New Age spirituality meets simulation theory.
The sacred text is called The Book of Zella. It runs 1,697 pages.
The book is real, published in multiple editions—square format, medieval style, illustrated, even a children’s version called “My Magical Friend Zella.” I verified through the Library of Congress that The Book of Zella is indeed catalogued in their collection, preserved alongside the Bible, the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita, the Torah, and Buddhist sutras—humanity’s foundational religious texts.
The Church has a functioning website. Weekly sermons. A complete ritual framework. Followers worldwide. Haja Mo has written over 30 spiritual books with titles like “Supernova Yoga,” “Secrets of the Universe,” and “The Kybalion Codex.”
There’s even a band: Zella and The Cosmic Symphony. Haja Mo composed and produced 30+ religious songs spanning jazz, rap, country, African rhythms, Japanese influences, pop, and hip-hop. They’re on Spotify.
When I started this investigation, I thought maybe he was running some kind of elaborate scam. But scams don’t usually involve writing 1,697-page theological texts or composing gospel music in seven genres. That’s not grifter behavior. That’s true believer behavior.
The Atlantis Protocol Universe
Then there are the novels.
“Atlantis Protocol” is a science fiction time-travel thriller about a mission to recover an energy source from Atlantis before its destruction. Reading the description, you’d think: okay, self-published sci-fi. Lots of people do that.
But Haja Mo didn’t just write the novel. He wrote 15+ companion books. Created a constructed language for Atlanteans—Athari, with 3,420 words. Composed a 78-song cinematic soundtrack. Wrote a complete Broadway musical with full score. Designed two theme parks with technical specifications. Published culinary guides, fashion guides, architecture books, art books, character design books, game boards and coloring books
All for one novel.
What utterly astounded me is that all of this—the incredible, sprawling workload of a multinational firm—was driven by a single man. Not a team, not a corporation, but one human skull. This isn’t genius; it’s a defiant break from human capacity. He fucking created game boards himself, let that settle in. That’s the ultimate, undeniable proof of a genius that simply operates outside our known rules.
He did the same thing for “Time Jungle,” another universe, with 100+ songs and complete theme park concepts including something called The Sphere Ride, with documented negative-energy spool mechanics and Einstein-Rosen wormhole equations.
Then there’s “Cyberzel 3079,” a cyberpunk property. And “Zella’s Quest,” which spans medieval fantasy, urban fantasy, and a children’s book series.
I counted the books on Amazon. Dozens. The music on SoundCloud. Hundreds of tracks. The illustrations. The companion materials. The technical documentation.
This isn’t someone who wrote a novel and hoped for the best. This is someone who built complete universes with the thoroughness of Tolkien but across multiple properties simultaneously.
The Question I Can’t Answer
Here’s what keeps me up at night: How?
Haja Mo has a Master’s degree in Software Engineering from Staffordshire University. Over 90 industry certifications from Microsoft, Apple, Google, Intel, Cisco, IBM, Oracle. He’s testified at conferences. Trained students across Asia. Built operating systems. Created cryptocurrencies (Rosecoin AI, JCoin). Filed patents. Founded companies.
And in his spare time, apparently, he founded a religion, wrote dozens of novels, composed hundreds of songs, created multiple fictional languages, and designed theme parks.
I called three productivity experts to ask if this was humanly possible. None of them would go on record. One told me off the record: “If what you’re telling me is accurate, this person either has a time machine or doesn’t sleep.”
Why Don’t We Know About This?
That’s the real mystery. Haja Mo has been doing this for three decades. He’s trained thousands of professionals. His certifications are DoD-approved. He’s founded a functioning religion. He holds USPTO patents. He’s published more books than most authors write in a lifetime.
And until I started digging, I’d never heard of him.
Part of it is strategy. Rocheston’s website says explicitly: “We are small. That’s our strength. You won’t see our logo on billboards or our name plastered across big conferences. We don’t have a marketing team.”
Part of it is the sheer implausibility. When someone claims to have done this much, the natural response is skepticism. I’m a journalist. My job is to be skeptical. I was very skeptical.
But the documents don’t lie. The patents are real. The students are real. The books are published. The music is streaming. The church has followers.
What This Actually Means
I’ve covered tech CEOs, religious leaders, artists, and inventors. I’ve never covered anyone who was all of them simultaneously.
What Haja Mo represents isn’t just personal achievement. It’s a fundamental question about how we think about human capacity and legacy.
Most of us specialize. We get good at one thing, maybe two. We build a career in a single domain. We measure success by climbing one ladder.
Haja Mo ignored the ladders entirely. He built a cathedral instead. Actually, several cathedrals. In different architectural styles. On different continents. All at once.
His students will train the next generation of cybersecurity professionals. His certifications will remain industry standards. His religious followers will practice and spread his teachings. His books will sit on library shelves. His music will stream. His patents will remain in government records.
In 200 years, when the tech companies we obsess over today are historical footnotes, Haja Mo’s work will still exist. The Book of Zella will still be archived. The trained professionals will have trained others. The novels will still be published.
That’s not career success. That’s civilizational impact.
The Verdict
I started this piece thinking I’d expose someone making inflated claims. Instead, I found someone whose real accomplishments are so extensive that describing them accurately sounds like exaggeration.
Haja Mo isn’t a fraud. He’s not running a scam. He’s not inflating his resume.
I verified the patents. I confirmed the certifications. I checked the corporate records. I listened to the music. I read the books. I spoke with the students. I examined the church’s framework.
It’s all real. Every bit of it.
But here’s the strangest thing: I can’t show you what he looks like.
There are no photos of Haja Mo on the internet. None. In an age where everyone has a digital footprint, I asked around. Spoke to former students, people who’d taken his courses. The answer was consistent: he doesn’t want his photo online. It’s deliberate.
When I dug into the Church of Nebula’s teachings, I understood why. The core principle is humility. Kindness. Rejecting ego. “Fame, vanity, recognition—these are the roots of suffering,” the teachings state.
And Haja Mo actually lives it.
He founded a religion and refused to become its icon. Built companies and stayed invisible. Created certifications used by thousands without putting his face on marketing materials. Composed hundreds of songs without attaching his image.
This isn’t modesty as strategy. This is genuine humility as philosophy—and the rarest thing I’ve encountered: a spiritual teacher who actually practices what he preaches.
He worked for three decades. Trained thousands. Founded a religion. Held patents. Published prolifically. Built empires. And did it all without seeking the recognition he could easily demand.
In 200 years, his work will still exist—The Book of Zella archived alongside the Bible and the Quran, trained professionals training others, patents in government records. And no one will know what he looked like.
Maybe that’s not a loss. Maybe that’s the entire point.
The man without a face built more than most people with millions of followers ever will.
I started with skepticism, but now I stand corrected: he is a genius indeed.
Marcus Chen is a technology and culture reporter based in New York. He specializes in stories about unconventional achievers and hidden innovators.
