I awoke to the noise of a sweeping on my roof, not the usual WWF Dove Smackdown, that I’m used to waking up to. Oh my. The Witchdoctor, I thought. The family’s Auntie, who stays in Joburg/Soweto, was visiting with a few friends, one of which happened to be a witch …doctor. I took my time, mentally preparing myself for the day. I made coffee, had some cereal, and headed over to meet the company.
Around 9am, I greeted the 5 new guests: Auntie, a 15-yr old girl, a man, a Ma, and a witchdoctor. (It was like a Zulu Brady Bunch.) Auntie hugged me and jumped for joy that I was real – yup, definitely related to Mama! The 15-year old and Witchy said nothing …awesome. On my way into the house, I noticed many small holes in the yard and an old Benz. Witchdoctor travels in style and may enjoy gardening, I thought.
Although I felt somewhat unwelcomed by Dr. Crazy, I entered the room. I took a seat on a mat and noted that 3 huge jugs of red wine and a flask of gin were next to the witchdoctor. All of which were half finished. Maybe Witchdoctor has a bit of a drinking problem. Then again, maybe this is where the magic comes from. A bucket was brought into the room and my sister, Namile, scooted closer to the witchdoctor. Namile sipped water; the witchdoctor sipped gin. Witchdoctor oiled up her hands and motioned for Namile to lean over the bucket. All of the sudden, the witchdoctor’s hands were down Namile’s throat! Namile was crying and kicking. Sandile was telling Namile to suck it up (in Zulu. This message from sister to sister translates very easily across languages.) Mama moved in to help hold Namile over the bucket, she kept looking at me and laughing. My reaction, a bit different from the others’, was to kick this witchdoctor’s ass for hurting my sister. Namile suddenly coughed out a solid 3-inch long bone. Witchdoctor then did some crazy mouth-to-mouth sucking job to Namile and out fell a coin. Witchdoctor then sucked out some of Namile’s snot and rinsed with wine. Namile was released and ran to Mama’s bed. Standile pointed at me and laughed at my shocked expression. She told me that Witchdoctor had to remove the evil animal that had crawled into Namile’s mouth during her sleep. I don’t know how I missed the same obvious conclusion for choking and sucking out someone’s insides. I pondered how long it took this lady to master the bone/coin magic trick. Pretty impressive, Witchdoctor.
After Namile calmed down, it was Mama’s turn. I positioned myself on the opposite side of the room, just in case more anger flared up in me. My mama had changed her shirt to an old nightgown and handed Witchdoctor a razor blade. Great. Now it’s time to spread AIDs. Mama turned around and backed into the seated healer. From my angle, I could only see Mama’s face while she was in pain. Witchdoctor cut her lower back and sucked out blood and spit it into the bucket. From time to time, she’d overshoot the bucket and almost nailed me once. Luckily, I have catlike reflexes, I thought and almost laughed out loud. Witchdoctor repeated the blood sucking on her collar bone to rid Mama of evil spirits. Another coin hit the bucket during Mouth-to-Mouth Part II. Dang. It’s such a good trick!
The witchdoctor talked to the ma, and Ma told Mama about the evil spirits that were taken care of. By this time, a crowd had gathered and I was sitting near Standile and a cousin. I asked Standile to translate what the witchdoctor was saying to Ma. Her response was, “I can’t Khethiwe. She’s not speaking isiZulu.” Holy crap! The lady is speaking African tongues or something! What an act she’s got here! I feel like I should pay money just to see this stuff.If she lays a hand on me, I thought, I’ll beat her up. When the healer was finished with Mama, she healed a few others and collected money per healing. I stepped away to recollect myself. From time to time, Witchdoctor would gaze over at me.
I returned to my room and called Chad and Meg, fellow PCVs. Chad was jealous that I got to witness blood sucking (guy reaction) and Meg calmed me down (girl reaction). I considered calling Peace Corps to warn them that a witchdoctor was staying with my family. I decided that was a bit over the top.
Throughout the day, people moved in and out of the house to get healed and I grew to accept that there was no threat to my life. Witchdoctor wanted money and there was absolutely no way I’d pay her a rand. When playing cards in the afternoon with my sisters, I debated if I should show Witchdoctor a magic trick… I decided against it. Having a traditional healer in the background made everything a touch more humorous.
Standile and I walked some relatives back home in the afternoon. On the way back, I unloaded a million questions. It turns out Witchdoctor applied some medicine to my roof in the morning, perhaps this will help with the leaking when it rains. Everyone, according to my sister, has money in their chest. If a healer does not remove this for you, you will not make much money in life because money senses that you already have some. I was tempted to ask if she thought I had Rand or USD in my chest. She explained the holes. The witchdoctor had dug up little pieces of evil that were buried in the yard (many of which were surrounding my house…). She told me that if I wanted, I could go see the dirt, but not to touch it because it could kill me on contact. Also, an important fact was revealed: the witchdoctor is from Zimbabwe. She doesn’t speak Zulu. This is why she didn’t respond when I greeted her in Zulu and why my sister couldn’t understand what she was telling Ma about Mama.
I ended up hanging out with Sandile, the man that was staying with us. He had sketched a beautiful drawing of my hut out of boredom. We talked about life and work and God and language until the sun set. I decided to slip back into the house and check out the latest with Witchdoctor, who Sandile stayed away from.
My sisters came to the door, soaked in water. Puddles were on the floor and everyone appeared to have just taken a shower in their clothes. I sat down on the couch and noticed them talking about Khethiwe. They were going to talk with the Ancestors and wanted me to stay behind. Hleli (my youngest sister), Sandile, and I chilled in the house while the others went to the Ancestral hut. Sandile made me a perfume; this is what he does for a living. Hleli and I worked on a crossword puzzle. The family returned about half an hour later from the Ancestral hut.
Witchdoctor went through her bag of potions and objects and took out a beaded ox tail. She did a silly chatting thing to each family member and then did her final round of healing. She cut small slits on each family members’ hand, just below the thumb, multiple times with a razor. She cut Auntie and Mama around the ribs and back and coated all of the wounds with oil and ash. The act is to protect them from witches putting curses on them in the future.
The witchdoctor removed her traditional wraps and sat on the floor with no bra and grin. She looked just like any other gogo. We all hung out for about an hour and I grew to like the healer. I explained who I was and that I volunteer here. She finally seemed to understand why the white person was there.
Culture and religion are funny things. We can get so defensive about protecting ourselves or we can just accept that we come from different places.
The next day, my family was much happier. I caught Namile smiling as she looked at her wounds on her hand. She really believed that she was healed. That’s cool with me. I’m happy for my family because they have less to worry about.
Fear controls so much of what we do or do not do, regardless of culture. The fears of Zululand stand out to me because they are different from my own. For example, lightning terrifies these people. It’s their belief that lightning is sent from witches to kill people. It makes me wonder what useless fears my culture has taught me. My eyes were opened after observing the traditional healer at work. I learned that the traditional beliefs do not have to threaten me. My understandings of the world are a bit different, and that’s fine.
I guess this Peace Corps thing is quite an experience, after all. It’ll be interesting when I try to explain my time here to Americans when I return. These days are becoming more and more unexplainable.
