In African politics, the rampant belief in witchcraft fortifies some and vexes others


By RODNEY MUHUMUZA

MBALE, Uganda (AP) — Wilson Watira offered his hand when he met his political rival at a funeral, gesturing for a proper handshake. The man didn’t want contact, instead folding a piece of paper that he aimed at Watira.

“Across all Ugandan communities there is a crazy reliance on the witch doctors, crazy reliance by politicians,” said Steven Masiga, a researcher and cultural leader in the city of Mbale. “Witch doctors now are reaping money from politicians. Now, as politicians mobilize money, there is a percentage for the witch doctor because the real hope is in the witch doctor.”

Many candidates feel that “voters can oscillate around but the witch doctors never let you down,” he said.

Masiga cited a politician in his area who years ago, urged on by a witch doctor, skinned a goat alive without slaughtering the animal. The witch doctor’s client won the election.

Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni, in power for four decades and a candidate for reelection, has previously expressed his respect for African witch doctors, an often pejorative term referring to medicine men and women who prescribe herbs for ailments and others who claim to erase problems by magic. Some of these practitioners prefer to be described as traditional healers.

In a speech last year, Museveni recalled jumping over a slaughtered chicken three times in the ritual he performed as the leader of the bush war that propelled him to power in 1986. Museveni said of traditional religion that “it is very strong” and urged mainstream religious leaders not to antagonize its practitioners.

“We had a very good relationship with them,” he said of traditional healers.

Many Ugandan politicians are believed to retain the services of witch doctors, but they rarely admit it in public to avoid ridicule. Some national leaders have been seen entering witch doctors’ shrines over the years, drawing criticism from church leaders who condemn such behavior.

In 2016, parliamentary speaker Rebecca Kadaga was photographed entering a shrine associated with her clan in eastern Uganda. The Anglican archbishop issued a rebuke; Kadaga, who has since left the speakership, said she sought to inform her ancestors of her political success.

“Who doesn’t have an origin? Who doesn’t have where they came from? Those are my roots,” she told reporters.

A traditional healer with many clients

In Mbale, where ritualized circumcision of boys underscores widespread belief in age-old customs, traditional healer Rose Mukite said she receives political clients from far outside her region.

In her shrine, an igloo-like structure whose small entrance forces clients to kneel or squat to get in, she demonstratefd her practice by shaking calabashes and tossing cowrie shells on the floor. A tobacco pipe is another tool of her trade; she blows smoke while divining the future.

Mukite’s career began in 1980 after being possessed by a spirit that she said she had to overcome to gain the spiritual authority she now claims. She offers her services for a small fee.

“I have many, many (clients),” she said.

She said she helps some politicians by administering a tree bark to chew, potentially saving them from calamities such as imprisonment. If her practices were unhelpful, she said, she wouldn’t still be at work after so many years.

Sometimes it’s too late, she said — politicians come to her when already doomed to fail.

“I can’t say that I succeed with everything,” she said. “Just like in the hospital when death comes.”

Peace Khalayi, a Catholic running to represent the women of her district in Parliament, has fended off suggestions by supporters who want her to perform rituals they think can help her win.

She campaigns among Muslims and Seventh-Day Adventists and would consider paying homage to a village elder. But a classic act in the practice of traditional religion, such as a requirement to sacrifice livestock, is unacceptable to her.

She recalled instances where people urged her to consult a witch doctor.

“You tell them, ‘We shall go.’ You pretend that, yes, you have accepted. But you do not actually show up.”

Still, Khalayi said she sometimes worries how her opponents could hurt her if she isn’t sufficiently protected.

“Definitely the fear is there. That’s no lie,” she said. “When you have an opponent, you may probably want to be open with them, but it is just in us that you cannot openly engage with your opponent.”

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

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