What I asked a Witch Doctor

I was in a village today, talking with groups of men and women about a variety of things. To be accurate, I was ‘supervising’ the data collection, which really just means that I took a nap in the car and wandered between groups being important. It’s not my fault. I’m a Coordinator – it’s my job to supervise.

One of the people we identified as a ‘Key Informant’ - singled out for a one-on-one interview so as not to overpower group dynamics in the collaborative focus group discussions – was a traditional healer.

(At least that’s what we call him to his face. Behind his back we all know that he’s a Witch Doctor).

Today’s Witch Doctor was probably around my age. He wore a long robe that was likely white originally and is customary dress for men in the area, topped off by a faded red cowboy hat with exaggerated black cross stitching around the brim. This was worn on top of a second hat, which I could only glimpse at occasionally when he laid back on his elbows, knees in the air, feet on the ground, on a brightly colored mat under a tree in front of us. I can only assume that the bottom hat was too tattered to wear on its own but too cherished to discard. Or maybe he just thinks it looks cool.

In addition to his look, his mannerisms were also a bit odd, and he carried with him a long stick, taller than he was, that wasn’t very sturdy and would wobble when he placed weight on to it when he walked around. His interview was being conducted by two of my colleagues who both know the local language, so I didn't hang around much so that time would not be wasted on me in translation. But when they were finished, I sat with them for a while – simply because who wouldn't want to hang out with a Witch Doctor for a bit?

Now, I’m not a doctor (of any sort) but it didn’t take me long to realize that the sporadic burst of swirling whistling through his teeth that had been raising eyebrows and eliciting all-knowing explanations of “Witch Doctor”, were also accompanied by fits of twitching (tics) that to me look a lot like Touretts. In a lucky twist of fate, this thing that makes him different and unusual brought him a position of respect and wealth, whereas most people who are different in a village get labeled as ‘crazy’.

Anyways, you know that song Witch Doctor? The version that played in my head all day long was by the Chipmunks, but surely they weren’t the original artists. The only lyrics I could remember were the ‘Ooo eee,ooo ah ah ting tang, walla walla, bing bang, Ooo eee ooo ah ah ting tang, Walla walla bing bang’  bit and the ‘I told the witch doctor I was in love with you,  and then the witch doctor he told me what to do’, which was rather unfortunate because it was stuck on repeat in my brain. All. Day.

(Turns out that there really aren’t many other lyrics anyways. What did we do before google?)

I figured since I had an audience with him, I should seize the opportunity to see if he could sort out some of my issues. Couldn’t hurt right?

So it turns out that Witch Doctors specialize. My guy was particularly adept as a Rain Maker and in fertility issues.

First we sorted out that he was actually only ever used to bring rains and not to stop them, which is of no use to me because I was looking for assurance that it would be dry enough for my flight to land tomorrow and deposit me back in Juba.

As I got over that disappointment, we moved on to the issue of fertility. Though I'm not currently in the market, I was interested to hear more. The treatment seems simple enough – he sprinkles water on the woman who wants to conceive and then hits her three times on her forehead with his ‘man stick’.

“Man stick?” I enquired, half hoping that my mental picture was accurate simply for the comedic factor, and half hoping that I was misunderstanding, on behalf of all the unfortunate infertile village woman who would otherwise be getting smacked in the face with this dudes, you know, parts.  

“Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?” I ask my colleagues.

“Yes, a ‘man stick’”, my colleague replies, with a smirk that leads me to believe we’re talking about the same thing.

“Like, a m-a-n stick?” I confirm

“Yes”

“Hmm. That’s very interesting. So he hits them repeatedly with it and they’re ok with that?”

“Yes. They are glad for it. They pay good money. They’re desperate”.

“Obviously.”

The conversation went on like this for a few more minutes until I start to suspect that we aren’t actually talking about the same thing – they simply didn’t seem as shocked or amused by all of this as I was.

Hesitantly, I ask, “Can I see his ‘man stick’?” and half look away…

And they all point at the tall wobbly walking stick he arrived with that is now laying against the tree.

I breathe a sigh of relief and utter “oh thank God”, and tell my colleagues/translators that we’ll discuss this further later, a little more than slightly sorry that this story wouldn't have a completely different ending.

With that behind us, and the song still on a loop in my brain, I asked whether he ever helps out with love issues. He said that we was very careful about that sort of thing because he didn’t want to make someone do anything they don’t want to (“very wise and responsible” I say), but when I tell him that I am 30 and unmarried with zero children, he decides that it’s a serious enough situation and I need his help.

The procedure is as follows: I buy a small bull and bring it to him. He will wait for it to shit and then wait for the dung to dry out. Then he will burn the dung and mix the ash with water. Then he will throw it on me. Not long after, I’ll be happily married and when we have our first child, we’ll bring him another cow as thanks. If we have a son we have to bring a more expensive cow, and if we have problems conceiving, well, now we know we just need an audience with the 'man stick'. Problem solved.

Is that all it takes? Perhaps I’ve been going about this all wrong?

It’s not exactly conventional, but dating often feels like you’re standing there having bull shit flung at you by a guy who makes ridiculous wardrobe choices anyways, so is this really that different? It’s traditional.

Plus, everyone here seems to be married and have tons of babies. Maybe he's onto something? 

“So," I say,  "where can a girl get a baby bull around here?”

I wasn't allowed to touch his 'man stick'

(NB: In case any potential future employers read this, know that I was just kidding about napping. I only napped while we waited for the people to show up. Also, know that I have a strong educational background with a masters in international public health and diverse work experience in a variety of African settings with a desire to pursue a regional position) 

(NB2: Also, in my defense, I could see the logic in the guy using his penis)