The Witchdoctor's Bones

by Lisa de Nikolits

  He rubbed her back and he felt her anguish ease a fraction. He had the vague thought that she smelled wonderful, of washing detergent and clean soap, and she reminded him of his wife, back when she loved him and he had no reason to doubt her.

  “You are a beautiful, strong woman,” he said, “and I know this baby is very lucky. There is a belief that each baby chooses its mother carefully, so this baby chose you. He or she knows all about you, you have no secrets from it; it knows all your pains, your dreams, your weaknesses and your joys and it chose you, above all other women.”

  Treasure let out a deep, shuddering sigh and wiped her face on her T-shirt sleeve. Harrison dug into his pocket and brought out a large wad of toilet paper and Treasure laughed.

  “Ei, Harrison,” she said, “you are always so prepared.” She blew her nose vigorously.

  “Of course. Listen Treasure, try not to be afraid, let yourself be loved by this baby and let yourself love it. Enjoy the miracle of having a baby, having it grow inside you, it’s a wonderful thing. And now I give you my word, my promise that I will help you. I will send you money every month, no matter where I am, or what I’m doing. You’ll never have to afford this baby alone. I will help you.”

  Treasure froze, mid-nose blow. “Do you mean that?” she whispered, half of her face covered by crumpled white toilet paper. “Why would you do such a thing? I am a stranger to you.”

  “Because…” Harrison started and then he stopped.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “I was married,” he began, and the words did not come easily. “To what Americans would call my high-school sweetheart. We were married for twelve years. And then my wife got pregnant. The only trouble is, I could not have been the man to make it happen because I cannot make babies although I wanted to, more than anything. When I asked her how it happened, she told me that she and my best friend had fallen in love and that was how it happened. I didn’t want to get in their way, so I left them to their happiness and I went to the Middle East but I couldn’t stay there long and after that I went to America because I wanted a new beginning, I wanted to build my own life from the ground up, just like the buildings I am so good at making happen. I changed my name too, I wanted to take the name of a man who had been told he’d never succeed but then he succeeded more than most people ever do.”

  “Harrison is not your real name? What do I know of white men’s names anyway?”

  He laughed. “No, Harrison’s not my real name. It’s the name I chose for my new life, and I picked it because everybody told Harrison Ford that he’d never make it in the movies, and look, he did!”

  “Harrison Ford! Tell me then, what’s your real name?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe one day. But back to the baby. Now you see, why I mean what I say. In this way, I too can help a child, I can make a difference too. ”

  He rubbed her back again and looked up at the rich blue sky. “Treasure, can I say something?”

  “Anything.” She wiped away the last of her tears.

  “We’re in the middle of the road. Not that sthere’s a lot of traffic which is a very good thing but please can we continue this discussion on the side where it is safer?”

  Treasure laughed, a happy, joyous sound. She climbed to her feet and dusted the sand off her shorts.

  “Yes, Harrison, we can move off the road. We had better get back anyway, the others will be wondering what happened to their lunch.”

  “Who cares about their lunches?” Harrison stood and beamed at her, his teeth flashing white in his sunburnt face. “They are adults, and they can get their own lunch.”

  Treasure laughed even harder at this and he joined in. They walked back to the bus and the sounds of their mirth reached the others before they did.

  “Look who’s coming back,” Richard announced. “Good God. And they’re even laughing. Jono, is there such a thing as desert fever? Because when they left, she was in tears and now they’re the best of friends.”

  “The desert does strange things to people,” Jono agreed. “But for now let us be grateful that things are better again and that we will get our lunch.”

  “Richard,” Jono asked, “now that things are back to normal and Treasure and Harrison have resumed the sandwich-making, what do you want to know about muti, about which you are so insistent? And why, if you do not mind my asking, are you so curious about it?”

  “There’s nothing macabre or evil in my interest,” Richard said. “I’m just curious to know which African myths are true and which are urban legends. For example, I came across an article that said a human head could fetch more than a thousand British pounds and I thought surely that couldn’t be true?”

  Jono was thoughtful. “I can tell you exactly because I make it my business to know. But Richard, while you may wish to know, do the others? This is very disturbing. The discussions we have had about sangomas, witches and tokoloshes are nothing compared to this. Perhaps you and I should chat in private later.”

  “I don’t care,” Stepfan rocked on his campstool. “It would take a lot to shock me.”

  Kate had been watching Rydell’s reaction to Treasure and Harrison’s return and had not been paying much attention to the discussion, but she turned to Jono and said, “I’d rather know than not.”

  “Me too,” Ellie said, her gaze focused on Rydell, sure that he too would be interested.

  But Rydell, offering no explanation, got up and walked away, his head down, shuffling his jerky little steps.

  Ellie disgruntled, crossed her arms and scowled.

  “I’m sure I heard much worse at the mission,” Helen said, “and besides, we should know the truth.”

  “Should we?” Jono asked. “Sometimes I am not sure that all truths need to be known. In answer to your question, Richard, that is not an urban legend but a true fact; a human head can sell for more than a thousand pounds. The price depends on whether the victim was alive when their head was cut off. If they were alive and screaming, then their head will be worth more because their screams would have woken up the spirits. The louder and longer the screams, the more the supernatural pays attention and the stronger the muti.”

  He took a long drink of Coke, leaned back in his chair and continued. “The majority of traditional healers will have no part in this kind of thing but if you find an unscrupulous sangoma, he may decide that traditional ingredients such as herbs, roots, and animal parts are not powerful enough to achieve the desired results and he will insist that he needs body parts to make the magic happen. He does not commit the murder himself; he tells the client what is needed and the client hires a hit man.

  “Generally speaking, the word muti means medicine in the way you would normally understand it, but when it is called ‘strong muti’, it refers to magic which uses body parts and people usually want this kind of magic for protection or good luck. Does it work? People believe it does. But the most terrible thing in all of this is how many little children are killed for their body parts.”

  Helen leaned forward. “Yes, I knew that an incomprehensible number of children vanish. But I had no idea they were taken for muti. Do you know how many children are taken?”

  “Yebo. More than 1,500 children disappear without a trace every year.”

  The group was quiet, shocked. From the kitchen area of the bus, they could hear Treasure and Harrison joking and the sound of their carefree calls seemed a million miles away.

  Jono continued. “There is a big trade in Africa in human body parts and each body part is used to create a particular potion. For example, a brain gives knowledge, while breasts and genitals bring virility; a nose or eyelids can poison an enemy, a tongue can smooth a path to a girl’s heart, fat from breasts and the abdomen bring good fortune and wealth, and a penis brings good luck in horse racing.”

  “Is that all?” Stepfan asked, “I’d have thought my substantial m
ember would be worth far more than a good win at the track.”

  Jono ignored him. “You might ask where the police are in all of this, particularly since the suspects are usually fairly easy to identify. The police fear they will be cursed if they investigate and so they say that the victims have been eaten by fish or crabs after drowning in the river, but what kind of fish only eats the private parts on a human body?

  “Police also say it is quite easy to identify a muti murder as being such because body parts are removed in a straightforward surgical way with no trace of gratuitous violence or evidence of passion as there would be in a sadistic or serial killer murder.”

  Jono shifted on his stool and wiped his forehead. “A former member of the South Africa’s occult-related crimes unit estimates that close to 900 of the missing children are killed for muti. There was a horrific case that came to light of an elderly couple who killed five children. The police found the little bodies in a rusty old car in the backyard of the couple’s house. Can you believe that? Grandparents killing children and throwing their bodies away like rubbish. Three- and five-year-old children, just little babies.” He took a deep breath.

  Helen got up and walked off without a word, her jaw set, her fists clenched.

  Jono watched her go and was silent for a moment. “Family members are often killed for muti but never enemies because the energy is not good. The victim is seen as a sacrifice to the gods. People wanting the muti are grateful to the victim because they see the killing as being for the good of themselves or society. They see it like an animal sacrifice but much more powerful. Some people even justify it by saying well, Jesus was sacrificed for the good of man, so how is this wrong?”

  This caused an immediate uproar. “That’s disgusting! How can they even compare?” Lena shouted. “Jesus died to save mankind, not to be a good-luck charm for some evil bank robbers.”

  Others voiced similar agreements.

  Jono held up his hand. “Aikona wena, I am just the messenger, please, do not shoot me. I told you this is very upsetting. Do you want me to carry on?”

  “We have listened to this much, we must hear the rest,” Sofie said, pale.

  “You must stop for lunch anyway,” Treasure announced as she joined the group. She put a hand on Jono’s shoulder. “There are meat and vegetarian hot dogs on the table. Why do you want to know these terrible things, ei? I’m not going to sit with you for lunch if this is what you’re talking about. I’m going to sit on the other side of the bus and enjoy the sunshine.”

  “I’ll join you,” Lena said. “Sorry Jono, but I can’t listen anymore.”

  “I’m going to join Lena and Treasure,” Gisela said. “It’s not that I don’t care, I do. Too much.” She got up, followed by Eva.

  “We’ve had enough too,” Jasmine and Ellie picked up their chairs. “Thanks Jono, but that’s all we can take.”

  “I don’t blame any of you,” Jono said.

  When the remaining group returned and were sitting with their lunch plates balanced on their knees, he continued. “The murders are not limited to children. Even old men have had their hearts cut out and one girl was found with half of her face cut off which was done while she was alive. At least one muti murder is reported a month, and many others go unreported.

  “Do you all remember our first night together when I was talking about witchcraft? We digressed into an amusing talk of tokoloshes but in case you think any of this is a light-hearted matter, it is not.

  “Right now, in Angola, adults are turning against children as young as five years old and accusing them of witchcraft. Children have been hanged, stoned to death, raped, burned and downed in rivers after they were accused of sorcery.”

  “But what damage could a five-year-old child cause?” Sofie asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “It is how people explain the endless misery of their lives. After nearly thirty years of brutal civil war, after rebel assaults, government counterattacks, violence, disease, mass starvation, scattered families, people have lost all sense of hope in justice and society, and in what has been labeled a post-traumatic stress reaction, adults have turned the blame to witchcraft because they have run out of reasonable explanations.”

  “When we can no longer explain the horrors that we inflict on each other,” Sofie said, “we turn to the supernatural and the religious?” She stared down at her plate, her food untouched.

  “Yebo, that is it, Sofie,” Jono agreed. “Even AIDS has been explained as a curse that children put on their parents and and the grandparents punish them for it. If the children are lucky, they escape with their lives but have to live on the street. I have heard it said that even the most hardened of human-rights workers cannot believe what they are seeing; even babies are accused of being witches.

  “And then there are those who claim to be able to ‘cure’ these children by making them jump and dance in the hot sun for hours in order to ‘cleanse them’ of their magical powers. They are beaten until the magic is broken down, chili powder is put into their eyes, boiling oil dripped into their ears. These things are done by religious communities and if children survive, they have to pay off their ‘debt’ for being healed by working for the people who ‘cured’ them. They are not safe anywhere.

  “And that, my friends,” Jono concluded, “is the reality of witchcraft. There is nothing charming or funny about it. It is terrible and evil and only getting worse as people’s misery increases. Now,” he said, into the silence, “I have told you all I know, please, do not ask me to talk about it again. It is one thing to read about it in a London newspaper or on the Internet,” he looked reproachfully to Richard, “and quite another to live where it happens.”

  Richard looked somber and ran his hands through his hair, nodding apologetically.

  Sofie scrambled to her feet and knocked her food over. “We should do something! We should do something now.”

  “Like what exactly?” Stepfan asked. “Go on, you tell us.”

  “Angola is not far from here. We should drive there and rescue the children and tell the adults that what they are doing is wrong, that it is a crime against God and nature. How can we be on holiday, relaxing in the sunshine and eating ice cream when there are children suffering like this? How? You tell me?”

  “Eish, man has a great and terrible capacity to enjoy the frivolities of life while others have to endure the tortures of it, you know that, Sofie,” Jono said. “And this very capacity also ensures our survival. I understand your desire to help but we cannot just go and save people although there is nothing I would rather do. What do you think? That we can drive across the border, load our bus with children and then what? Take them where? To America? To Canada? Where? It does not work like that, that is kidnapping, and illegal. I understand how you feel but there is nothing we can do. When you get home, you could start a foundation but I tell you now, the money you collect will be stolen; not one cent will reach the children. Or maybe,” he said and his voice rose to a shout, “go and work there yourself and achieve what? You have nothing to offer, no power, no money. Maybe try to adopt one child; you think maybe you can make a difference that way? You would not be able to afford it, it would bankrupt you and the paperwork alone would take a hundred years. Aikona, you think you are the only one who cares?”

  He stopped and looked down at the ground. “Sofie, I am very sorry. I am sorry I shouted at you. I too find this very upsetting. I am going to wash my hands and take a small walk to rid myself of this talk and then we will get back on the bus and continue with the holiday, can we be in agreement?”

  Sofie ran up to him and threw her arms around him. “I am the one who is sorry. Please, forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

  “Everybody,” he called, “we will get back on the bus in fifteen minutes. Please pack up lunch.”

  “Good lor
d,” Richard said after Jono walked away, “listen people, heartfelt apologies, mea culpa. Seems I opened up a big old can of worms, I had no idea. You know how it is, darkest Africa and all that, I was curious what was true. I’m sorry I subjected you to hearing it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Enrique said. He had been silent throughout, listening quietly. “You didn’t know. Anyway, it helped me. I really want to be a doctor now. Maybe I can do something helpful with my life, something that will make a difference.”

  “I need a stiff drink,” Mia said, “I feel quite pale.”

  “Me too,” Charisse agreed.

  “Sofie, are you okay?” Brianna went over to her. “Come here, let me give you a hug.”

  “I feel sick about it,” Kate said. “But I’m glad I know and one day I will do something to help, I just don’t know what, yet.” She looked over at the bus. “Who’s on dish duty today?” she asked. “I’m going to see if I can help.”

  “We are good, we are good,” Harrison said, when Kate arrived. “We’ve got a very fine system, Treasure and I. We don’t need your help here but if you’d be so kind as to sweep the floor of the bus that would be excellent. The broom’s over there.”

  “Harrison,” Kate said, “we’re in a desert, yes, spell the word with me now, and in a desert there’s a lot of dust and sand. But if it makes you happy, I’ll sweep the floor.”

  “It will make me very happy.” Harrison said, “and when people climb up the ladder, I will sweep their feet with a small brush to lessen the dirt that infiltrates.”

  Amused, Kate walked off, thinking there were preferable levels of madness and that compared to muti murders, Harrison’s obsessions were mild and harmless. She had just started to sweep inside the bus when a large shape crawled out from under one of the seats, startling her and she let out a cry.