However, I myself could hardly believe that His Excellency the Minister was telling the truth here. I therefore concluded this post with the remark that “(…) Minister Mohwasa’s statement may be theoretically true, in the strict sense of the law, but that says nothing about the fact that ritual murder does indeed occur in Botswana.”
The murder case described below is not a clear-cut case of ritualistic murder, as the author also concludes in the last paragraph. But when a body is found ‘with parts missing’ (as the saying goes), in particular the victim’s private parts or a body part which is considered essential, rumors emerge that the cause of death is related to ‘muti’, a killing for ritualistic proposes or motives, especially given the fact that a songoma is involved.
Read the full story below. (FVDK)
Botswana: Blood, betrayal and the sangoma’s secret
Published: March 29, 2026 By: Bruce Ndlovu, Sunday News, Herald Online, Botswana
In the quiet, dust-swept lands of Gakuto, a tiny village north of Gaborone, a passer-by made a discovery that shattered Botswana’s perception of love and safety in matrimony.
In a place where cattle paths snake through scrub and silence often carries more weight than words, the unnamed passer-by stumbled upon the mutilated remains of a man whose body bore the hallmarks of a violent and deeply unsettling end.
Unknown at the time was that the dead man was a husband and father.
Whispers in Gakuto suggested that parts of the man’s body were missing. Reports later confirmed that the deceased had been buried without his tongue and private parts.
The victim was Timothy Segola, a recently retired lecturer from the University of Botswana, who had left his career with a handsome package said to be worth millions of pula.
His death unravelled into a chilling tale of love, greed, ritual and betrayal — one that drew in Zimbabwean traditional healer Stella Sibanda and gripped both Botswana and Zimbabwe.
A friend turned suspect
For years, Stella Sibanda had been a familiar figure to the Segola family — a trusted traditional doctor whose presence was woven into the rhythms of their lives. That made the allegations that followed all the more shocking.
Investigators alleged that Timothy’s wife, Malebogo Segola, conspired with Sibanda and her son, Maxwell, to spiritually subdue her husband and eventually murder him.
Sibanda was allegedly enlisted to “bewitch” Timothy, turning him into a compliant partner through a process known in Setswana as go mo hemisa.
The plan was to transform the retired academic into a “yes ma’am” husband. But somewhere between whispered incantations and shadowy intentions, the scheme spiralled into something far darker.
Timothy Segola ended up dead.
Stella Sibanda (right)
Love, money, betrayal
As investigators peeled back the layers of the case, a complex web of motives emerged.
There were claims of a clandestine affair between Malebogo and co-accused Alfred Gaseitsiwe. There were whispers of fortune, suggesting the widow stood to gain millions if Timothy died.
Sibanda herself made startling claims in court, alleging that Malebogo had long harboured intentions to kill her husband for P4,5 million.
What began as suspected ritual manipulation now appeared to be a murder conspiracy rooted in passion and profit. Timothy’s body, discovered in the open lands, bore signs of extreme violence.
Community accounts spoke of missing body parts, fuelling speculation of ritual elements. Reports from the popular Botswana podcast “Case by Case” claimed Sibanda performed a cleansing ritual on her co-accused after the murder, attempting to spiritually wash away blood that could not be unseen.
The fall and the flight
Arrested alongside her co-accused in July 2025, Sibanda’s troubles mounted quickly.
In court, she cut a subdued figure, speaking of children left behind. But the courts showed little sympathy. Her bids for freedom were rejected at every level — from the Magistrate’s Court to the High Court and even Botswana’s Court of Appeal.
State prosecutor Ms Seeletso Ookeditse remarked.
“One can imagine the amount of time the accused persons had to cover their tracks. We therefore need time to investigate, as there is likelihood of evidence being tampered with. It would not be in the best interest of justice for the accused persons to be released on bail.”
After repeated rejections, Sibanda took matters into her own hands. On 4 February she became the first woman in recent memory to escape from Gaborone Women’s Prison, a facility long considered secure.
The escape sent shockwaves through Botswana’s security establishment and triggered a nationwide manhunt. The last woman to escape prison had been another Zimbabwean back in 2004.
Her freedom was fleeting
In the early hours of a Thursday morning, in Gaborone’s Block 3, Sibanda was recaptured. Authorities praised citizen cooperation and promised tighter security measures.
The Botswana Prison Service said: “Prisoner Stella Sibanda, aged 50, who escaped from Gaborone Women’s Prison on February 4, has been recaptured at Gaborone Block 3. We extend our appreciation to members of the public and law enforcement agencies who worked tirelessly to ensure her recapture. Measures are being strengthened to prevent similar incidents in the future and the safety and security of the public remain our top priority.”
Now, Sibanda faces not only charges of murder — a capital offence under Section 203 of Botswana’s Penal Code, punishable by death by hanging — but also additional charges for her escape.
A story that refuses to rest
Before the saga, Sibanda had embraced modern platforms, advertising her services on social media.
With a cow’s tail (itshoba) and clay pots before her, she presented herself as the epitome of the modern traditional healer on TikTok. Among her followers were the Segola family, for whom the betrayal cuts deepest.
For Sibanda, the journey from healer to accused fugitive reads like a cautionary tale of how quickly the line between the spiritual and the sinister can blur.
For those watching, the case lingers — unresolved, unsettling and steeped in questions that refuse to rest. Was this a crime of passion? A plot driven by greed? Or something darker, rooted in beliefs that thrive in the shadows? Sibanda and her co-accused are set to return to court soon, as Botswana’s justice system prepares to untangle truth from rumour.
Warning: this post contains graphic details which may upset some readers.
The following article, about the trial of a ritual murderer in Tanzania, was published in a Kenyan online newspaper. The author articulates very well what this is all about: the clash between modernity and archaic, harmful superstition. Reading of the article is highly recommended.
With respect to the death sentence in Tanzania: whereas the capital punishment is in accordance with the law in Tanzania, de facto there exists a moratorium on the actual execution. Those sentenced usually remain in prison for the rest of their lives.
The importance of imposing the death penalty lies primarily in its symbolic value and the deterrent it may provide, although I have serious doubts about the latter. (webmaster FVDK)
Shadows of Superstition: Court Upholds Death Sentence in Ritual Murder
A Tanzanian court has upheld the death sentence for a Babati man who murdered his stepson on the promise of wealth, highlighting a grave social crisis.
Published: March 16, 2026 By: Streamlinefeed – Kenya
The heavy doors of the Court of Appeal in Tanzania swung shut, effectively sealing the fate of Emmanuel Safari, a man whose actions in a quiet Manyara village shattered the sanctity of familial protection. In a chilling judgment delivered by Justices Winfrida Korosso, Lilian Mashaka, and Paul Ngwembe, the judiciary affirmed a death sentence for the murder of an innocent child, a crime rooted not in sudden passion, but in the dark, persistent belief in occult practices intended to manifest wealth.
This judicial affirmation serves as a grim marker of the persistent collision between modern legal standards and archaic, harmful superstitions that continue to plague rural communities in East Africa. For a one-and-a-half-year-old child in Babati District, the betrayal was absolute entrusted to his stepfather, he instead became the focal point of a lethal, misguided ritual. As the court documents detail, the child’s life was extinguished in a manner that defies comprehension, leaving behind a community grappling with the dual scars of grief and the unsettling reality that such practices remain a motivation for violence in the modern age.
The Anatomy of a Heinous Betrayal
The tragedy unfolded on March 21, 2021, at Maganjwa Village in Babati District. Emmanuel Safari, who had entered into a household with a mother and her two children, occupied a position of trust—a role that the prosecution proved he abused with devastating brutality. While the defense attempted to navigate the complexities of circumstantial evidence, the Court of Appeal found the narrative of innocence unsustainable.
Court records depict a harrowing timeline of the events leading to the child’s death. Safari, having been instructed by a local practitioner of witchcraft that ritual sacrifice would bring him prosperity, turned his attention to his stepson. The physical evidence presented at the High Court of Tanzania at Manyara and subsequently reviewed by the appellate judges was damning. Upon being rushed to Dareda Mission Hospital, the child exhibited severe internal trauma, including the penetration of the rectal intestine, accompanied by extensive swelling and bruising in the pelvic region. Safari, despite having been the sole caregiver in the hours preceding the discovery of the injuries, claimed ignorance of the cause—a defense that collapsed under the weight of medical and circumstantial scrutiny.
The Evidence Behind the Verdict
The legal process relied on the strength of circumstantial proof, a common necessity in cases where the victim is unable to speak and witnesses are scarce. The prosecution, led by Senior State Attorney Saada Mohamed, successfully argued that the chain of events left no logical room for an alternative perpetrator.
Incident Date: March 21, 2021
Location: Maganjwa Village, Babati District, Manyara Region
Victim Age: One-and-a-half years old
Legal Outcome: Death sentence for murder and unnatural sexual offence upheld by the Court of Appeal
Primary Evidence: Medical examination from Dareda Mission Hospital confirming physical trauma consistent with violent assault
The appellate justices underscored the necessity of the verdict by noting that the deceased was under Safari’s exclusive care during the timeframe in which the fatal injuries were inflicted. The lack of explanation for the child’s condition, juxtaposed with the timeline of events, led the court to conclude that the appellant was solely responsible. This ruling reinforces a zero-tolerance approach toward such crimes, signaling that no claim of superstition can mitigate the legal consequences of child murder.
The Societal Scourge of Occult Violence
This case is far from an isolated anomaly in the region. Across Tanzania and neighboring nations, the intersection of economic desperation and belief in witchcraft creates a dangerous environment for the most vulnerable, particularly children and the elderly. Human rights organizations, including the Legal and Human Rights Centre, have long documented how the promise of wealth, or the fear of supernatural curses, can drive individuals to commit horrific acts of violence.
Sociologists observing the region point out that rapid socioeconomic shifts, which have seen wealth disparities widen, often correlate with a resurgence in occult-linked crime. When traditional avenues for economic stability feel inaccessible, vulnerable populations are sometimes exploited by opportunistic individuals claiming spiritual authority. These “witchdoctors” provide a convenient, albeit deadly, mechanism for individuals to project their frustrations and desires onto defenseless victims.
The Legal Landscape and the Death Penalty
The imposition of the death sentence in this case brings into focus the complex legal reality of capital punishment in Tanzania. While the death penalty remains on the statute books, the nation has maintained a long-standing de facto moratorium on actual executions, with those sentenced often remaining on death row for decades or having their sentences commuted to life imprisonment.
However, the judicial commitment to handing down such sentences—and the appellate court’s refusal to overturn them—acts as a significant punitive statement. It sends a chilling signal regarding the gravity with which the Tanzanian judiciary views the murder of children. As the country balances international human rights obligations against the local demand for justice in the face of brutal crimes, the ruling remains a stark reminder that legal systems are evolving to prioritize the protection of the innocent above all else.
As Emmanuel Safari faces the finality of his legal journey, the tragedy in Maganjwa Village leaves behind an uncomfortable question: what further efforts are required to sever the link between superstition and violence in rural communities? Until the promise of occult shortcuts is replaced by tangible socioeconomic opportunity, the shadow of such tragedies will continue to loom over the most vulnerable among us.
When I first read the article presented below and published by the Guardian, entitled ‘The children are not safe here’, about a Nigerian couple – Olusola and Chinwe Stevens – fighting infanticide in their own home country, I remembered an earlier article describing this courageous couple and their admirable work. In 2018, to be precise on May 9, 2018, I published a post entitled ‘Nigerian couple working to eliminate infanticide in Nigeria‘, on two Christian missionaries, Steven Olusola Ajayi and his wife Chinwe who in 2004 had opened a shelter for so-called ‘evil children’, the Vine Heritage Home.
Without any doubt, this is the same couple and the same home presented in the 2026 Guardian article below. The 2018 article on the missionary couple was originally published on a website called ‘This Is Africa’. It was an opinion-article. Unfortunately, the exact title is missing. lIn 2018 I had juist started the present site on ritual killings, superstition, witchcraft, infanticide and human rights, and – with hindsight – at that time there was still lack of a systematic presentation.
Unfortunately, the original 2018 article no longer exists on he internet. This is precisely the reason why I have opted for the actual approach to copy-paste articles selected for my postings (together with my comments), as I had this experience before. See the section Why publish this site?
Infanticide is a crime, caused by ignorance and superstition. Nigeria is certainly not the only African country where systematic infanticide exists, i.e. the systematic killing of small children, babies. I regularly read about infanticide in other countries where sometimes desperate mothers kill their newborns. But the shelter created by Olusola and Chinwe Stevens, VIne Heritage, is for other babies whose life is threatened: new born babies who are considered ‘evil’ children, who are believed to be bad omens. Babies with disabilities, albino babies, twins, are suspected to bring curses and bad luck. Hence… they are killed, buried alive, or ‘simply’ disappear.
I express my deep respect to the Stevens couple and am convinced that their work is not in vain and that it will ultimately contribute to the eradication of a terrible crime that has existed for too long. (webmaster FVDK).
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‘The children are not safe here’: the Nigerian couple fighting infanticide
Triplets Paul, Pauline and Paulina at the Vine Heritage Home Foundation, Gwagwalada, aged six months in July 2025. Photograph: Adesegun Adeokun/The Guardian
In a few isolated communities in central Nigeria, some babies are believed to be bad omens. Olusola and Chinwe Stevens run a thriving home for babies at risk. But what happens when the families want them back?
Esther Stevens’ life nearly ended as soon as it began. She was born in 2007, in a village on the outskirts of Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city. Her mother died giving birth to her, and in the eyes of some villagers, that meant the baby was cursed. According to tradition, there was only one way to deal with such a child. The villagers tied the newborn to her mother’s lifeless body and prepared to bury them together.
When word reached a Nigerian missionary living in the community, she rushed to the burial site and pleaded for the baby’s life. After the villagers and relatives refused, she appealed to the traditional priest who had been called on to perform the rite. “Finally, the priest agreed and said, let them give her the evil child and see what the child will become,” Esther said. “The child, that’s me.”
The missionary took Esther to a children’s home in Abuja run by a Christian couple, Olusola and Chinwe Stevens, who brought her up as their own. Today, Esther is 18, tall, with a broad smile. She laughs easily and has a quick sense of humour.
In Nigeria, children are widely regarded as gifts from God or the spirit world, but according to some traditional belief systems, certain children were once thought to bring misfortune. Children born with albinism, visible deformities or disabilities were said to bring curses, or to be omens sent from ancestors or deities. In parts of southern Nigeria, particularly among the Igbo, twins and triplets were feared. Although these beliefs have largely faded, in isolated pockets of the country, they persist. In some of these communities, says the human rights activist Leo Igwe, the death of the mother in childbirth is believed to be the fault of the child.
The couple who run the children’s home where Esther grew up have been confronting these practices since 1996. Sent by the Christian Missionary Foundation to Abuja, the Stevenses discovered that some children were still being killed: poisoned, abandoned to starve or buried alive. In 2004, they created the Vine Heritage Home Foundation, a refuge for vulnerable children. Twenty years later, they provide a home for more than 200 children.
When Nigeria moved its capital from Lagos to Abuja in 1976, the new site was presented by the government as a neutral location, symbolically distant from centres of ethnic and regional tensions. But less than 40 miles away from this gleaming modern capital, with its wide boulevards and high-rise buildings, are communities that become nearly impassable in the rainy season. Many of these communities depend largely on subsistence farming, and the few healthcare facilities are poorly equipped and understaffed. According to Olusola, 75% of the children living in Vine Heritage are there because their mothers died in childbirth. (Nigeria is “the most dangerous country in the world to give birth”, according to UN data from 2023, which shows that one in every 100 women dies during childbirth or shortly after, many from postpartum haemorrhage.)
After their shocking discovery, the Stevenses began going around the communities, begging the families to hand over to them any of the “cursed” children rather than kill them. Then they began to speak with other local missionaries, asking them to spread the word that they were willing to take in any child deemed evil.
One of their contacts, missionary Andrew Tonak, told me that Chinwe is one of the most open-hearted people he has met, a mother and leader whose counsel, generosity and instinct to give have touched countless lives. Tonak is 61, and has lived in Kaida village, about 40 miles west of Abuja, since 2000. He recalled visiting women who had just given birth to twins. On his next visit, he would often be told, “The children are no more. They died.” Over the years, he says he has rescued 20 children from the village and neighbouring communities.
By the time some of the children now at Vine Heritage were rescued, they were already weakened by poisoning or severe malnutrition. Most required urgent medical attention. But increasingly, communities are becoming aware of the Stevenses’ work and now bring newborns to them directly, before harm can come to them.
Olusola said: “On their own, they come asking, ‘Please, where is that house where they keep the children?’ And then they bring them.”
Today, Vine Heritage is home to more than 200 children, from newborn to young adults. The oldest, Godiya, is 21 and has been at Vine Heritage since she was a baby. The newest arrival before my visit, a baby born on 27 May 2025, has been fighting for her life in a hospital crib since the day she was brought to the home.
About four years ago, Vine Heritage moved from a cramped facility that was originally designed to accommodate 55 children, to a much larger compound in Gwagwalada, built with funding from the EU in partnership with global charity ActionAid. The home has 18 dedicated staff working in shifts to provide round-the-clock care for the babies and toddlers. In a spacious hall, everyone gathers for morning prayers, group meetings and TV time. (Like any home full of children, there’s a constant battle for control of the remote.)
As I followed Olusola on a tour of the neatly laid-out grounds, he moved in a sprightly fashion, his greying beard framing a warm smile. At the youngest children’s dormitory, a chorus rang out: “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” They are not allowed out unaccompanied, and their small faces were pressed against the windows.
Esther Stevens, 18, who has been living at the home since birth. Photograph: Adesegun Adeokun/The Guardian
The multiple-birth siblings all have names that sound alike: Victor and Victoria, Mabel and Bethel, Zion and Zipporah. Among the youngest residents are triplets named Paul, Pauline and Paulina. Their parents arrived at the home one morning about six months ago, cradling the newborns in their arms. “I asked, ‘Why did you bring them?’ They said, ‘We don’t want them to die,’” Olusola recalled. The parents have visited once since then. They love their children, but fear that if the babies remained in their village, they would be killed.
Esther is clearly a favourite among the younger children. They love to follow her around and clamber on to her back, and as she and I chatted, they hovered close by. Esther knew nothing of her true origins or how she had come to live in the house until she was 14. She had been among the first children to arrive, joining the household in 2007 when there were only nine or 10 others. Olusola and Chinwe have one biological child, Praise, now 24 and studying at university. In those early years, Esther assumed she was also their biological daughter. As more children joined over time, she believed she was simply growing up in an orphanage run by her own parents. All the children bear the surname Stevens. “I knew it was an orphanage home, but I thought I was their real child. I look like mummy,” she said, and she does share some resemblance to Chinwe, with the same complexion.
Esther’s illusion was shattered when members of her biological family unexpectedly arrived at the home. At the time, the missionary who had rescued her as a newborn was preparing to leave the community. Before departing, she contacted Esther’s biological family to ask if they wanted to see where she had taken their child, knowing that once she left, they might never have the chance. “My grandmother came from the village and said she wanted to see me,” Esther recalled. “She wanted to see if I was still alive. When she told my father I was alive, he came to see with his own eyes.”
To prepare her for the meeting, Olusola sat her down and told her the truth about her past. “I was more than shocked,” she said quietly. “I felt sad. I felt bad.” Wanting to know more, Esther asked for her file. She read it cover to cover. What hurt most was discovering that her family had never come for her in all the 14 years she had been there. “Finding out about my parents’ true identity … It was just … I shed tears because they didn’t even care.”
Kaida, a village in Gwagwalada, is the closest community to Abuja’s city centre where there is evidence that infanticide may still sometimes take place. There are no tarred roads to the village, and the route is rough and bumpy, but it is better connected than most. There is a patchy phone signal here.
In Kaida, I met Abubakar Auta, a father of 13 and a husband to two wives. His twins Eric and Erica were sent to Vine Heritage about seven years ago. Like almost every adult in Kaida, Abubakar and his wife, Amina, farm for a living. To supplement their income, Amina digs sand from the river to sell to builders. She arrived to meet me straight from her work, dripping wet, sand clinging to her bare feet. Of her husband’s 13 children, seven are hers. Abubakar said he sent the twins away to “save their mother from suffering”. He believed they would not be safe in Kaida. Speaking to me in Hausa through a interpreter, he explained, “If I had left my children here, people would keep their eyes on them, and that would make them a target.” (Eric later died at the children’s home after falling ill.)
Kaida village has solar power, which provides a few hours of electricity each day for its two clinics: one government-run, the other operated by missionaries trained in community health. The government facility stands silent and empty. Locals say its staff are rarely present. The missionary clinic, by contrast, is alive with activity.
While I was there, a community health worker tended to a woman whose young grandson had a toe injury, the wound still raw and red. The woman had told me earlier on, in her home, that she had previously given birth to three sets of twins. All of them died within months. “They just fell sick,” she said. “In a short time, they were dead.”
Olusola Stevens with some of the children at Vine Heritage Home in Gwagwalada, July 2025.Photograph: Adesegun Adeokun/The Guardian
Her eldest child in his early 20s, sitting nearby, looked up and interrupted. “It was an evil hand that killed them,” he said, his tone defiant. At his words, his mother fell silent and turned her face aside, making it clear she wanted no part in that line of conversation.
The village head described the killing of children as belonging to “a time when people did not know these children were human beings”. He repeatedly used the phrase “in those days” to explain that their “eyes are now open” and such killings no longer happen. (He confirmed that the practice continued until at least a little more than 10 years ago, and that his “those days” referred to the years before then. Lakai has served as village head for the past 26 years.)
Community members are reluctant to speak openly, whether out of fear of stigma, distrust of outsiders, or the sensitivity of exposing cultural taboos. What I was able to piece together from these guarded, euphemistic conversations suggests that decisions involved a mix of family elders and traditional religious leaders. Leo Igwe, the human rights activist, acknowledged the role of patriarchy in situations where women surrender their babies to die. In 2019, ActionAid ran a survey in 57 villages around Abuja in which 16% of male respondents openly expressed support for the practice.
The shroud of secrecy has made it hard to tackle these beliefs. When I contacted various government officials, each one said they had never heard of such practices. Infanticide is against the law, but enforcement is hampered by secrecy and denial. Arinze Orakwue worked for nearly 20 years for the state body responsible for rescuing vulnerable children. From the early 2000s, he visited many communities where infanticide is practised, meeting with traditional chiefs and local leaders in an effort to change entrenched beliefs. “Many of them are living in denial. They tell you that it used to happen in their community a long time ago but it doesn’t happen any more.”
As more children were brought to their home, the Stevenses realised the scale of the problem. In 2013, when they decided to speak publicly about infanticide, the Federal Capital Territory government summoned them, accusing them of spreading falsehoods and damaging Nigeria’s image, just to attract attention and donations. Yet this scepticism faded after officials were shown clear evidence. The government eventually commissioned the couple to run awareness campaigns in the affected communities. They have built new partnerships, most notably with ActionAid. “The greatest problem is denial,” said Andrew Mamedu, ActionAid’s Nigeria head. “The community will insist, ‘Oh, there’s nothing like that.’ But when you go there, you see the evidence. You see the altars to the dead twins. Sometimes, the parents can’t account for their children. They are pregnant and before you know it, they’ve given birth and the baby is gone.”
ActionAid’s approach to the problem was patient, practical and deliberately indirect. Staff set up committees in each community – made up of men and women, young people, traditional rulers and religious leaders – and framed their aim as community development. “We don’t start with infanticide because they would just drive us away,” Mamedu said. The teams began by focusing on livelihoods, education, hygiene and access to healthcare, and only then moved on to tackling infanticide, under the broader banner of maternal and child health. Committee members acted as local advocates. One of their most effective tools was radio, still the most widespread and trusted source of news in northern Nigeria.
Chinwe Stevens at home.Photograph: Adesegun Adeokun/The Guardian
The strategy produced some measurable gains. In two communities ActionAid’s advocacy helped secure government investment in health centres. In four communities, the killings gradually stopped. Parents who had handed over children returned to the home to ask for them back. New local “champions” began to emerge, ordinary people willing to speak up. Still, the effort had its limits. Resistance from influential elders persisted, and when funds ran short in 2022, much of the work was left unfinished.
The Stevenses continue to work closely with missionaries stationed across the area. But not all rescues come through Christian networks. In Godiya’s case, it was a Muslim cleric who stepped in. “The Islamic preacher went to the community to preach and make converts, just like I do,” Olusola recalled. “He saw a child strapped to the dead body of her mother. They were preparing the grave. He asked, ‘Please, this child, what happened?’ They told him she was an evil child, and that their culture was to bury such children with their mothers. He said, ‘Can you permit me? Let me call my pastor friend so he can come and pick up the child.’ So he called me, and we went to the community and took her.”
When the Stevenses first established the Vine Heritage Home, their vision was simple: to raise the rescued children as their own and, once they were older, return them to their communities so they could become agents of change in the very places that had once rejected them. In recent years, 36 children have been returned to their families. In each case, the families themselves came asking for the children. But reintegration is rarely smooth. For one thing, many of these rural communities speak local languages understood by few outsiders.
When Esther visited her family in Dako village for the first time in December 2021, she met her siblings: two older brothers, two older sisters, and a younger sister. She was the only child from her mother, who had been the last of her father’s three wives. Two of her siblings were already married with children. They were glad to see her, but communication was difficult. “I couldn’t talk with them because they speak Basa,” she said. Only her elder brother could speak English, because he was in school.
The contrast in education was stark. When Esther told them she was in her third year of junior secondary school, they thought she was lying; most of the people her age in the village were still in primary school.
At Vine Heritage, every child goes to school. Of the current residents, 182 are enrolled, from primary and secondary pupils to university students like Godiya, who is studying sociology at Nasarawa State University, just across the border from Abuja. Godiya dreams of a career that comes with a uniform – any one will do. Esther has just finished secondary school and hopes to begin university later this year to study law. For many like her, returning to their villages would probably end those dreams.
Sometimes, a compromise is possible. Fifteen-year-old Mabel and Bethel spend their school holidays in Kaida village with their family, then come back to the home once classes resume. Their family first came to reclaim them when they were 10 years old. “I was happy, but I was not happy,” Bethel said. “I was happy that I had seen the place where they gave birth to me, but I was not happy to leave here,” she added. “Whenever I go there, nobody disturbs me, but I always want to come back.”
Beyond communication difficulties, the adjustment to rural life can be harsh. Children accustomed to running water, electricity and regular meals must fetch water from streams, adapt to harder living conditions, and endure the curiosity or suspicion of villagers.
The Stevenses usually wait until they consider the children old enough to understand before telling them how they came to the home. When Godiya turned 17, in 2021, her people came looking for her. “At first I said I was not going to see them because for how many years they did not come,” she recalled.
Gloria, 11, playing with other children at Vine Heritage Home.Photograph: Adesegun Adeokun/The Guardian
“It took us two hours to convince her,” Olusola said. “I pleaded with her, telling her that their coming was a sign of progress.”
Since then, Godiya has stayed in touch with her family, but she only made her first trip back in January 2025. Without proper roads, the only way to reach Bari village was by motorbike. Hours after leaving Gwagwalada, she finally arrived exhausted, and the entire village gathered to stare. “Everybody was just looking at me,” she said. “I didn’t understand the language and the journey was stressful. They were speaking, but I didn’t understand them.”
The youngest of nine children, Godiya was welcomed with joy by her older sisters, who embraced her through tears. They urged her to come back for Christmas, but she was dismayed by the lack of electricity or phone network, and currently has no plans to return.
Esther’s experience in Dako was similar. “When I went to the village, everybody came to see me,” she said. Some of the stares unsettled her. “The community was scary. The way some villagers look at you, as if there’s some evil thought in their mind. I was so scared because I didn’t want anything to happen to me.”
Sometimes, the danger is real. Four years ago, eight-year-old Monday was sent back to his village at his grandfather’s request. Monday’s mother had died giving birth to him. The family had recently converted to Christianity, and after Monday’s father remarried, the grandfather felt it was the right time to bring home the boy once deemed “evil”. But just two weeks later, Monday was returned to Vine Heritage. The elders in the village had been resentful, asking the grandfather how they should feel when others had killed their own children but he had brought his back alive. Fearing for the boy’s safety, the grandfather decided it was better for him to leave. “He called me and said, ‘I am returning your child to you,’” Olusola said.
When a family asks for their child back, the Stevenses try to find out if it is safe for them to return. But they cannot prevent every tragedy. About eight years ago, the Stevenses visited a mother who had recently given birth to an albino girl. She assured them that attitudes towards albinos in her community had changed in recent years, so they did not insist on bringing the new baby to the home. “I was asking questions: has anybody threatened you or the child? She said no,” Olusola recalled. Shortly afterwards, word reached him that the baby had died without explanation. He has never been able to discover what happened.
The years have taken their toll on Chinwe and Olusola. About two years ago, Chinwe’s health began to deteriorate, and Olusola urged her to move into a small flat nearby so she could focus on recovery. During school holidays, two of the oldest children, including Godiya, take turns staying with her, helping with everyday needs, while the others visit in small groups from time to time.
Chinwe has had a stroke, developed high blood pressure and undergoes regular dialysis. I visited her in the modest flat where she lives alone, after spending her entire married life surrounded by dozens of children. She spoke candidly about how she poured herself into caring for others while neglecting her own health. Apart from the small income the Stevens received as missionaries, they earned nothing, relying entirely on donations to care for the children. Now, Chinwe herself depends on donations to cover her medical expenses.
On the walls hang photographs of her in a graduation gown, taken when she earned her doctorate in agriculture from the prestigious University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Another, from two years ago on her 59th birthday, shows her nearly three times her current, frail size. Pointing to one, she said softly, “Look at me then, and look at me now.” She managed a wry laugh.
Olusola said the home had its future leaders among the older children, those willing to step up and already involved in administration and management. Some, he explained, had made it clear that even after graduating from university, they intended to remain committed to running the home. Whenever he was away for meetings, they kept things running. Unless visitors specifically asked to see him, the children received guests, handled day-to-day operations, managed money and accounts, and reported back to him. “The only thing they can’t do is sign cheques,” he said. “I have already told them that in the next 10 years, I will sit back and the home will be in their hands.”
Most donations to Vine Heritage come from individuals. On the day I visited, a donated cow stood in the compound. But with Nigeria’s soaring inflation, now at its highest in nearly three decades, many longtime supporters have cut back or stopped entirely. “Sometimes, when you phone people to remind them of their promise to pay school fees, they get irritated,” Olusola said. “Because of Nigeria’s economy, some of the people that used to support the home before are now finding it difficult.”
Mamedu, at ActionAid, believes the issue is more complex. The challenge, he says, lies in how the home is run. It is neither a formal organisation nor a business. There is no business plan, governance structure, or consistent paperwork like a typical NGO or charity would have. It is registered as a foster home. There are no clear systems for tracking how funds are spent or how accounts are managed.
“We supported the home to try to institutionalise the process,” Mamedu said. “We trained the staff on hygiene, childcare, some record keeping, even partner management. From the start, we told Olusola, let’s have a central way to account for every fund that comes in, so that when we say we don’t have money, it’s backed by proper records. But he tells us that this is not an orphanage; it’s a home.”
ActionAid still supports the home, providing monthly funds for food and covering urgent medical bills for the children. But the future is uncertain. The Stevens’ family-first approach has undoubtedly saved lives and nurtured emotional bonds among the children, Mamedu believes. But the original vision of reintegrating children into their communities appears to have faltered, which means the home keeps growing. Olusola admits that he once believed those communities would be more developed by the time the children grew up. He had expected more progress.
I asked Olusola if he would have done things differently. “When God asks you to do something you only obey,” he said. “It never occurred to me that we would ever have more than 20 children. After saving seven children, we had a pause of about one-and-a-half years, and we thought that would be all. We made our decision that whatever we gave to our biological child, we would give the rest.” But after the seven-year hiatus, Olusola recalled, “the floodgates opened, and more children started coming”.
Traditional healers Mandla Lekhuleni popularly known as Prof Lekhuleni, Rei Magoxa Mozambique and Sefadi Mohami are to be commended for their outspoken condemnation of ritualistic violence, muti murders and sexual abuse of women and children. Likewise, police sergeant Nomsa Katekani Macevele did a great job in bringing to justice an unscrupulous father who violated and raped his own daughter.
It is hearthening to realize that we should not tar all sangomas with the same brush. It is never correct to generalize!
Notwithstanding the foregoing, the article below also establishes beyond any doubt that South Africa and South Africans face a harsh reality: sexual violence, accusations of witchcraft, child mutilation, human sacrifice and muti murder are no exception in this southern African country whereas in some case sangomas play a perverse role in these heinous crimes. The present site contains numerous examples proving this observation to be correct. (NB Use the dropdown menu under ‘African countries’ to access all posts on South Africa). (webmaster FVDK)
Sangomas strongly condemn abuse as Limpopo father raped teenage daughter after rituals at a grave
Published: March 2, 2026 By: Jonisayi Maromo – IOL, South Africa
Traditional healers Mandla Lekhuleni popularly known as Prof Lekhuleni, Rei Magoxa Mozambique and fellow traditional healer Sefadi Mohami during a gathering in Ekangala, City of Tshwane, where they united in condemning muthi murders, ritual killings and the abuse of women and children, saying such acts have no place in African traditional healing. (Image: Jonisayi Maromo/ IOL)
The Malamulele Regional in Limpopo court has imposed a life-term imprisonment against a 44 year-old man who was accused of raping his 17-year-old biological daughter at Matiyani village.
Provincial police spokesperson, Colonel Malesela Ledwaba, said on 20 September 2023 at about 5 pm, the victim was at home with her parents when her father decided to take her to a graveyard to perform rituals at her grandfather’s grave.
The name of the rapist father is withheld to protect the identity of the abused child from secondary victimisation.
“On their arrival at the graveyard, the accused (father) performed the rituals and finished in the evening at about 21:00. Afterward, the duo retreated to their residence, and while walking in the bushes, the accused grabbed his daughter and suddenly raped her,” said Ledwaba.
“Following the horrendous act, the victim was threatened and instructed not to tell anyone about the incident.”
After a year of silence, the abused teenager ultimately revealed the ordeal to her uncle’s wife in February 2024.
The incident was reported to the local police and immediately transferred to the Giyani family violence, child protection and sexual offences (FCS) unit.
“Sergeant Nomsa Katekani Macevele was assigned to investigate the matter, and through her indefatigable efforts, the 44 year-old male accused was apprehended the next day on 20 February 2024,” said Ledwaba.
Macevele successfully opposed bail until the accused father was sentenced to life-term imprisonment by the Malamulele Regional Court on Tuesday. Police in Limpopo have welcomed the harsh sentence.
Provincial commissioner of police in Limpopo, Lieutenant General Thembi Hadebe (Image: SAPS)
In some instances, children are sexually abused as part of so-called rituals falsely believed to provide healing or prosperity for the perpetrator.
Traditional healers, commonly known as sangomas, are often implicated in these heinous acts. Some have been arrested by the South African Police Service, while others have been attacked by community members when such incidents come to light.
“Speaking the truth does not break any friendship or a spaza shop. Those people using body parts of children or albinos — that is a crime. There is no such thing. Since I started practising, I was never taught that if you want money or your business to grow, you must kill someone or use human blood. That is 100% criminal,” he said.
He rejected claims that human sacrifice or abuse of women and children forms part of African traditional healing.
Traditional healer Mandla Lekhuleni popularly known as Prof Lekhuleni, condemned muthi murders, ritual killings and the abuse of women and children, saying such acts have no place in African traditional healing. (Image: Jonisayi Maromo/ IOL)
“I hear people saying sangomas use human sacrifices to make people rich. That is not what I learnt or what my gobela taught me. I was taught to go to the mountains, to rivers, to dig and collect medicine from nature — herbs that help uplift a person who is down,” he said.
Traditional medicine and rituals are widely believed across South Africa and in Africa to help cure illnesses or improve people’s livelihoods. Lekhuleni, who has a large social media following, regularly shares content about traditional healing practices.
“In my indumba (traditional room where a sangoma practices), you will never find even a small human bone. Killing someone to make another person rich is not African traditional medicine. African traditional medicine uses herbs, sometimes combined with iziwasho ,” he said.
“That is pure criminality, and I am willing to assist the police. Wherever such so-called traditional healers are found, I will work with the police to ensure they are arrested and never practise again. They must never see the light of day.”
Lekhuleni said traditional healers across the Southern African Development Community were increasingly alarmed by the rise in so-called muthi murders and were working together to combat the practice.
Warning: the article presented below contains graphic details of torture and murder that some readers may find distressing.
The main thrust of the article presented below was already the focus of an 2014 article which I posted in 2019, Children accused of witchcraft: abuse cases on the rise in UK. More than ten year after the publication of the first-mentioned article there is reason to again draw attention to this terrifying phenomenon. It is difficult to imagine that in our immediate environment children are abused, tortured, and sometimes killed because of the belief in witchcraft of the adult perpetrators, sometimes close relatives.
It all began with the discovery of the mutilated torso of a young boy floating in the river Thames, in 2001. The police gave him the name ‘Adam’ and under this name the poor victim became known worldwide. I have covered in much detail the horrific and sickening discovery and the harrowing story behind it. See my posts entitled The unsolved case of the torso in the Thames, Part I (dated March 25, 2019), Part II (March 27, 2019) and Part III (March 28, 2019).
Unfortunately, the case of ‘Adam’ does not stand alone as the article below amply demonstrates.
We must all be vigilant in identifying signs of child abuse and other crimes promptly and bringing them to the immediate attention of the authorities and relevant agencies. Vulnerable individuals in our society, such as young children, deserve a normal, loving life, free from threats and pain. (webmaster FVDK)
The disturbing evidence that witchcraft is spreading across Britain unchecked… 30 years after discovery of horrific voodoo-style murder should have ended it for good
Published: February 26, 2026 By: Aidan Radnedge and Nick Pyke, The Daily Mail
A quarter of a century has passed since the death of eight-year-old Victoria Climbie and the shocking realisation that voodoo-style murder and abuse were taking hold in the capital of a modern, affluent democracy.
Victoria met a horrific end. Tortured, beaten with implements including coat hangers and a bike chain, deliberately scalded and forced to sleep in a bin liner in a freezing bathroom, she finally died of multiple organ failure at the age of eight. Her tiny body, weighing just 3st 10lb, was marked by 128 separate injuries.
Her ‘crime’? The girl was said by relatives to have been possessed by ‘kindoki’, or evil spirits, requiring exorcism by a pastor and justifying a campaign of sadistic violence.
The killing in 2000 and the public enquiry that followed should have been seismic: a warning to the public and politicians that, however improbable, belief in witchcraft was emerging as a fact of life in Britain.
Yet today, despite the horror of Victoria’s death and subsequent cases, there is disturbing evidence that ritual violence – involving beliefs and practices overwhelmingly imported from abroad – is continuing to spread unchecked.
The latest official figures show a huge increase in the number of children identified as potential victims of abuse ‘linked to faith or belief’, a category including claims of witchcraft and spirit possession.
Analysis released late last year by the Local Government Association, representing councils and their social services departments in England, found there had been 2,180 cases of possible faith-linked abuse in 2024, a disturbing 49 per cent increase in the seven years since 2017.
Moreover, the true scale of the problem could be significantly worse amid fears that ritual abuse is routinely under-reported because social workers and others wish to avoid being labelled racist.
Among the most notorious cases was eight-year-old Victoria Climbié, tortured to death in 2000 by relatives who believed she was possessed
With motives ranging from ignorance and fear to the demented belief that human sacrifice confers supernatural protection, and even wealth, the cases that do reach the public eye are harrowing, the majority with links to sub-Saharan Africa.
A recent documentary film, Kindoki Witch Boy, tells the story of Mardoche Yembi, who had been sent from the Democratic Republic of Congo to live with his aunt and uncle in North London.
At the age of 12, Mardoche was branded a witch by relatives, accused of bringing bad luck and subjected to two months of traumatic exorcisms. The film is now available on YouTube.
An even more disturbing case took place on Christmas Day in 2010, when 15-year-old Kristy Bamu was beaten and drowned by his sister and her boyfriend in the London borough of Newham after being accused of ‘kindoki’, like Victoria Climbie.
Kristy endured four days of torture with knives, sticks, metal bars, a hammer and pliers. He drowned after being forced into a bath for ritual cleansing. Kristy’s siblings were also beaten but survived because they ‘confessed’ to being witches.
Magalie Bamu, then 29, and her partner Eric Bikubi, 28 – both Congolese – were jailed for life in 2012.
In sentencing them, the judge said: ‘The belief in witchcraft, however genuine, cannot excuse an assault to another person, let alone the killing of another human being.’
There are accusations of ‘possession’ in other cultures, too, with cases of abuse reported in Christian, Hindu and Muslim families, where some still believe in the idea of evil spirits known as ‘djinns’.
Just days before Kristy’s Bamu’s murder, Shayma Ali strangled then disembowelled her four-year-old daughter with a kitchen knife during a frenzied attempt to exorcise the girl.
Ali, who had gouged out the eyes of her daughter’s dolls to prevent them ‘seeing evil’, was sent to a mental hospital.
In 2005, two women were jailed at the Old Bailey after being convicted of child cruelty for torturing and threatening to kill an orphaned child refugee from Angola whom they claimed was a witch.
The Old Bailey was told that the girl, known only as Child B, was starved, cut with a knife, beaten with a belt and a shoe and had chilli peppers rubbed in her eyes to drive ‘the devil out of her’.
At one point, the eight-year-old was bundled into a zip-up laundry bag and told she would be ‘thrown away’ into a river. She was rescued after being found in her bare feet, shivering, outside a council house in Hackney.
His head, arms and legs had been removed in what detectives believe was a ritual killing, potentially as a sacrifice or in a ‘muti’ ceremony, in which body parts are taken in the belief they produce potent magical remedies.
The boy, aged between four and seven and found wearing only a pair of orange shorts, had recently arrived from Nigeria.
Britain’s leading rituals expert, Dr Richard Hoskins, brought into advise on the case, concluded that Adam was a victim of human sacrifice.
Victoria Climbié had been sent to England by her parents who hoped she would gain a better education than in her native Ivory CoastVictoria’s parents set up the Victoria Climbié Foundation following her death, campaigning for improvements to child protection in the UK
His 2012 book on the subject, The Boy in the River was serialised in The Mail on Sunday and is now scheduled to be dramatised as a feature film.
Dr Hoskins concluded that the boy had been trafficked to London, speculating that he was butchered while drugged but conscious by a ‘babalawo’ witchdoctor using rituals from the Yoruba people Osagiede of south-west Nigeria.
In Yoruban religion, wrote Dr Hoskins, ‘deities forming a bridge between this world and higher realms require sacrifice.
‘Not necessarily human sacrifice, of course, and especially not nowadays, but the practice persists in some deviant offshoots.’
In 2002, a Nigerian woman called Joyce Osagiede told Glasgow social workers that she had married a member of a cult called The Black Coat Eyes Of The Devil Guru Maharaj.
When later interviewed by British police in Lagos, she said she had been a cult organiser and had bought a pair of orange-red shorts similar to those found on Adam. She added: ‘I know he was killed in Lewisham.’
Osagiede later claimed to an ITV journalist that she had brought Adam to London and that his real name was Ikpomwosa. No one has ever been charged with his murder.
Yet it is the fate of Victoria Climbié that today remains the most notorious case of witchcraft abuse and killing in this country.
Victoria had been sent to England by her parents to gain a better education than in her native Ivory Coast but found only misery and death.
Victoria Climbié was starved, tortured, beaten with bike chains and kept prisoner in a freezing bathroom by her great-aunt Marie Therese Kouao and her partner Carl Manning (pictured)Marie-Therese Kouao (left), Victoria Climbié’s great-aunt, was complicit in her murder
Her great-aunt Marie Therese Kouao and her partner Carl Manning were jailed for life in 2001, convicted of murder and child cruelty.
The case was followed by a major public enquiry under Lord Laming which, in turn led to an overhaul of child protection measures in the UK, including the landmark 2004 Children Act.
Even now, ritual violence receives all-too-little attention, says Lancaster University’s Professor Charlotte Baker, who is co-director of the International Network Against Accusations of Witchcraft and Ritual Attacks.
‘If you spoke to many people about this issue, they’d think it was something from about 1,400 years ago,’ she told The Daily Mail last week.
‘Many schoolteachers might feel they shouldn’t ‘go there’, if they suspect something is taking place because they’re not comfortable handling such issues.
‘This needs to be treated seriously, disclosures need to be treated seriously – and the right questions need to be asked.
‘The UK must improve and make sure that anyone who does speak up to make disclosures about this abuse being carried out are taken seriously and responded to professionally.’
Former Conservative MP Tim Loughton, children’s minister in David Cameron’s coalition government and later chairman of the Home Affairs Select Committee, had his own experience of trying to combat ritual abuse.
Victoria’s parents Berthe and Francis are pictured at her grave in Kensal Rise Crematorium in London, along with daughter Joelle, in 2003 on the third anniversary of Victoria’s deathA boy named Adam’s head, arms and legs were removed in what detectives believe was a ritual ‘muti’ killing – his torso was discovered in the River Thames near Tower Bridge in 2001
‘The particular problem [at the time] was among communities of migrants from places such as the Congo, which were very closed communities, mostly but not exclusively in London, with very evangelical Christian church settings,’ he recalls.
‘There were very strange practices, all connected with voodoo – abusing children in attempts to drive the devil out of them and all this sort of nonsense.’
During his time in office, he launched a task force on faith-based child abuse, but he fears that official attention has now slipped.
Rohma Ullah, director of the National FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) Centre – which also tackles what it refers to as witchcraft and spirit possession abuse – is among those who believe frontline staff are wary of raising the alarm.
‘Witchcraft and spirit possession are among the most poorly understood areas in child protection,’ she says. ‘That’s really concerning and alarming. We know the data is not good enough and that professionals don’t know how to act. They don’t know what to do.
‘Professionals are anxious about discussing someone’s faith or beliefs because it’s very personal.
‘They fear being accused of being racist, for example – and so questions don’t get asked and opportunities get missed.’
She says that teachers as well as social workers should be alert to signs of abuse – such as, for example, a child appearing tired through having to pray all night to be rid of a devil inside them, or losing weight because food is being withheld at home.
15-year-old Kristy Bamu was beaten and drowned on Christmas Day 2010 by his sister and her boyfriend in east London after being accused of being a witchFollowing the murder, Magalie Bamu (left) and Eric Bikubi (right) were jailed for life
‘I would say the situation is fragmented,’ she continues. ‘Social workers are skilled in safeguarding, teachers are skilled in educating, police officers are skilling in preventing and addressing crime – but they also need to be equipped with specialist knowledge on this particular issue.’
Ms Ullah suggests the current figures, disturbing as they are, ‘probably don’t reflect the true prevalence of something that’s very hidden.’
She believes allegations of witchcraft and spirit possession receive too little attention when abusers to court and suggests they should be flagged as aggravating features when the perpetrators are sentenced.
And witchcraft has now been included for the first time in new toughened-up Crown Prosecution Guidance, published today in a bid to tackle ‘honour’-based abuse, forced marriage and other abuses.
Newly included in guidance for prosecutors are practices such as dowry abuse, immigration-related exploitation, transnational marriage abandonment and spiritual or ritualistic abuse linked to beliefs in witchcraft, spirit possession or demonic influence.
While there is no standalone withcraft-related offence, the Home Office said: ‘Prosecutors must treat these cases as serious criminality within the wider context of harmful practices and “honour”-based abuse, assessing which offences may apply on a case-by-case basis.’
Baljit Ubhey, CPS director of policy, said: ‘Our updated guidance equips prosecutors to identify emerging patterns of abuse, understand the wider context in which it occurs, and take swift, effective action to safeguard victims and bring perpetrators to justice.’
It is not as if we haven’t been warned. It is more than a decade since the United Nations reported: ‘Hundreds of children have been abducted from their families in Africa and trafficked to the UK, especially London. Many are raped and sexually abused.’
Commenting in The Mail on Sunday at the time, Dr Hoskins went further, arguing that ‘London has become the hub, the epicentre for a global trafficking enterprise involving thousands of children for exploitation, sexual abuse and even, in some unspeakable cases, ritual voodoo killing…’
‘There is a vast reservoir of lost children gathering in our own capital anonymously shuffled from flat to shabby flat – a dark pool feeding child exploitation and misery across the planet.’
Today’s evidence suggests that, chillingly, this terrible picture might now be darker still.
Superstition is the common denominator of both ritual murder and belief in witchcraft. Both phenomena are likely to occur in all countries in Sub-Saharan Africa.
In the past, I have extensively discussed (accusations of) witchcraft here, citing cases in a large number of SSA countries: Angola, DRC, Ghana, Ivory Coast, Kenya, Liberia, Nigeria, Tanzania, South Africa, Zambia and Zimbabwe. The fact that not all SSA countries are mentioned on this site is more a result of underreporting than of the phenomenon not occurring in the SSA countries not mentioned.
The article below is a worthwhile report on the causes and consequences of accusations of witchcraft in Ghana: worth reading but painful to read about what people can do to each other. The most vulnerable in society are often the victims: vulnerable, elderly women and young children. I am reminded of the sad case of the 90-year-old woman who was lynched in Ghana in 2000, accused of witchcraft (also mentioned by the author in the article below). Unfortunately, there are many more cases, some of which, as mentioned, are reported on this site. Terrible.
The author of the article below, Claire Thomas, an award-winning Welsh photojournalist and fine-art photographer, is to be commended for her thorough research into witchcraft in Ghana and the resulting reporting. Yesterday, I highlighted Leo Igwe’s excellent work in this area. These abuses (read: crimes) can never be given enough attention, and never enough action to eradicate them forever. (webmaster FVDK)
The women banished as witches in West Africa
Claire Thomas reports on the women banished from their communities after being accused of being witches
Published: February 13, 2026 By: Claire Thomas – Geographical, U.K.
In a remote part of West Africa, centuries-old superstitions continue to condemn women accused of witchcraft to exile. A landmark bill offers hope — but can justice overcome belief?
Report and photographs by Claire Thomas
From ghouls and goblins to fairies and ogres, mythical creatures have long stirred the imaginations of children. Tales of wizards and witches – one often symbolising wisdom and power, the other evil and danger – remain especially enduring, kept alive through books, films and folklore. But in northern Ghana, witches aren’t confined to fairy tales. Belief in witchcraft remains widespread and deeply entrenched there, with devastating consequences, particularly for women.
This belief can be deadly. In July 2020, 90-year-old Akua Denteh was brutally lynched in a public market after being accused of witchcraft. Her killing, filmed and widely circulated, shocked the nation and galvanised calls for legal reform. Her death became a symbol of the deadly intersection of superstition and gender-based violence.
To be accused of witchcraft in Ghana is to face exile, persecution and even death. These accusations – often directed at older, vulnerable women – can be triggered by personal misfortunes: the death of a relative, failed crops, illness or jealousy over a woman’s independence. Even a child’s success at school can spark suspicions of a mother’s spell. For those deemed guilty, banishment to one of northern Ghana’s six so-called ‘witch camps’ is often the only means of survival.
I first visited the Gambaga ‘witch camp’, located in Ghana’s North East Region, in 2008, and returned in 2012. There, I witnessed first-hand the stark realities the women endure. While interviewing one elderly woman, I asked if she believed she was a witch. Before she could respond, my translator, who was related to the local chief, interjected: ‘Of course she’s a witch. Why else would she be here?’ The question was never translated. Her answer was lost – her voice dismissed before it could even be heard.
The settlement – a cluster of round mud huts with thatched roofs in Ghana’s semi-arid savannah – offers fragile protection: safety from attack, but no escape from the stigma of being branded a witch.
Matis Awola, a widow in her late 50s, sits outside her hut in Gambaga to which she was banished after a man claimed to have seen her in a dream
Accusations often lead to a traditional ‘trial’ – a ritual involving the slaughter of a chicken or guinea fowl, with the manner of its death interpreted as spiritual evidence. But in many cases, the accusation alone is enough to seal a woman’s fate. Regardless of the ritual’s outcome, she may be cast out by her community, her judgment delivered not by spirits, but by neighbours.
When I returned to northern Ghana in May 2025, I met Matis Awola, a widow who had been banished from her home just a month earlier. For her, a man’s dream became a living nightmare.
‘A man saw me in a dream and the next day I was accused of being a witch,’ she tells me. ‘I went to the bush and wanted to kill myself.’
In April 2025, her son brought her to Gambaga, where she now lives in a tiny, windowless hut among about 80 other accused women. She survives by working on a local farm in exchange for food, clinging to the hope that she might one day return to her family.
Life in the camps is marked by relentless hardship. The women live in poverty and bear the burden of societal rejection, often ostracised even by their own families. They sleep on dirt floors in makeshift huts, relying on sparse donations from NGOs, churches or well-wishers. Access to clean water, healthcare and food is unreliable. Children who accompany their mothers or grandmothers are often bullied in school or pulled into street work, stigmatised as ‘witches’ children’.
Bachalbanueya has spent more than 40 years in exile. Now in her 80s, she sits quietly outside her crumbling mud-brick hut. She was banished after her husband’s co-wife accused her of witchcraft following his death – grief weaponised into a lifetime of isolation.
‘She had no children of her own,’ explains Reverend Gladys Lariba Mahama, a Presbyterian minister who has supported the women of Gambaga camp since 1997. ‘Whenever a child of the co-wife fell sick, they [the family] attributed it to her. Later, she was accused of causing the death of one of them, and she was brought to Gambaga.’
Stories like hers are tragically common. ‘It is violence against women – a demonisation of women,’ says Professor John Azumah, executive director of the Sanneh Institute in Accra, which has long supported survivors and is part of a coalition pushing for legal reform.
Even in Western usage, the term ‘witch hunt’ reflects long-standing cultural beliefs that associate witches with evil, and overwhelmingly with women. While men can also be accused, accusations most often target women. Witchcraft itself isn’t always seen as evil, Azumah explains, but when it’s believed to reside in a woman, it becomes feared and condemned. Male witches, by contrast, are often thought to use their powers for good.
Most of the women banished to camps are among society’s most vulnerable. ‘These women are the poorest of the poor,’ says Azumah. ‘They have no child or relatives well-off enough to speak for them – that’s why they’re languishing there. Women with educated children – those children get their mothers out. But these women have no-one. They are truly the voiceless.’
The women gather at the Community Centre in Gambaga
Lamnatu Adam, executive director of Songtaba, a women’s rights organisation in northern Ghana, echoes this view. ‘When men are spiritually strong, it’s said they use their power to protect the community and family,’ she says. ‘But when women are thought to be spiritually strong, it’s said they use it to cause harm, illness and disaster.’
As a result, women – particularly older women – disproportionately bear the burden of accusation and exile. ‘About 90 per cent of the women who are accused are over 60 years old and without education,’ says Adam. ‘They are very poor. Most don’t have children, and about 80 per cent are widows.’
Azumah traces the pattern of accusations to a blend of spiritual belief and calculated social exclusion. ‘It’s the oldest conspiracy theory of humankind,’ he says. ‘And it is a form of misogyny.’ Even a woman’s success, such as a bountiful harvest, can provoke jealousy. ‘They accuse her just to get her out of the community, then they take over her land.’
Sometimes, the danger comes from within the family. ‘Young men may genuinely believe their mothers are sabotaging their lives,’ he adds. ‘They truly believe it.’ In the end, he says, it’s scapegoating, ‘a conspiracy theory that has been used – and still is’.
Refuge or prison?
There are now around six unofficial ‘witch camps’ remaining in northern Ghana, situated near remote villages such as Gambaga, Kpatinga, Gnani and Kukuo. While these settlements may offer refuge from immediate danger, they also stand as stark reminders of social exclusion and the unresolved injustice the women continue to face.
As Professor Azumah puts it: ‘The camps are neither a refuge nor a prison, they are something in between.’
There are no fences or gates, yet most women don’t feel free to leave. Many believe that returning home would bring illness, misfortune or even death. Some were violently attacked before fleeing; others were quietly cast out by relatives seeking to rid the family of perceived spiritual danger.
‘There are no physical barriers keeping the women inside,’ says Professor Azumah. ‘But cultural and psychological ones are deeply entrenched. The women are made to believe that if they leave the camp, the spirits will kill them.’
Fusheina, a widow and mother of five, has lived in the Gnani camp in Ghana’s Northern Region for the past six years. She was accused of witchcraft by the chief of her village after the sudden death of her nephew. Expelled immediately, she now lives alone. ‘I’m not happy because my children are not with me,’ she says sorrowfully. ‘I just want to go home.’ But returning is not an option – she fears the villagers would harm her.
Life in the camp is extremely difficult, Fusheina adds. ‘There is no work. We don’t have a farm here, so we have no way of earning money.’ She hasn’t seen her children in more than two years.
While witchcraft accusations are common across Ghana, and many other countries, the practice of banishing women to isolated camps is less prevalent. ‘[Belief in] witchcraft is not just a Ghanaian thing,’ explains Professor Azumah. ‘It’s very strong in Nigeria, in East Africa, Tanzania, South Africa. What is unique about Ghana is the camps in the north.’
Despite being established to provide a place of refuge for vulnerable women, there are reports of exploitation and abuse within the camps. ‘I don’t call it a refuge,’ stresses Professor Azumah. ‘These are places of exploitation – the women there are exploited. Some of them are sexually abused, physically molested.’
Some women are forced to work without pay, fetching water or farming for community leaders and priests. There are credible reports of sexual abuse, and in at least one documented case, a priest fathered children with multiple women in a camp, according to Professor Azumah.
‘People are making money out of it,’ he adds. ‘It has become an industry – it is a huge business for people there. The women are used for free labour by the community leaders in the rainy season – they make them go and cultivate their farms. They do all the work manually and all they get is whatever food they can give them there to eat that day to do the work, that’s all. They are not paid anything.’
Even humanitarian aid doesn’t always reach its intended recipients. Community leaders – who often control the camps – have been accused of diverting food and money for personal use.
Chief of Gnani village, Mohammed Abdulai, in talks with Lamnatu Adam, of Songtaba, a women’s rights advocacy group
‘These are not safe havens,’ says Azumah. ‘They are places where society has abandoned its most vulnerable.’
In Gambaga, the Presbyterian Church has worked for decades to help restore dignity and agency, says Reverend Gladys Lariba Mahama. ‘In the past, when women were banished, no-one asked about them,’ she says. ‘But because of the church’s intervention, people now know them, and the whole world knows their story.’
‘This place [Gambaga camp] was established out of love and sympathy,’ she continues. Referring to the camp as a ‘home’, Reverend Gladys explains that it was founded decades ago when a local religious leader intervened to protect women accused of witchcraft. ‘Whenever they were accused, they would send them to the execution field to kill them. So this man – he was the imam of Gambaga – pleaded that they come here instead.’
Since the early 1960s, the Presbyterian Church of Ghana has supported the women by providing food, second-hand clothing and helping to repair their modest homes. ‘Around 1994, the church saw that they could do more,’ explains Reverend Gladys. ‘So they came up with a proposal – the main purpose was to reintegrate the women into their original communities, ensure their health needs are met, send their children to school and make life more comfortable for them here.’
The women of Gambaga camp clearly trust Reverend Gladys. As she moves through the settlement she greets the women by name, exchanging warm smiles and translating their stories with care.
‘We are here every morning,’ she tells me as an elderly woman approaches her with a gentle smile and a handshake. ‘We’re working hard now on the reintegration programme. Many women travel home to visit and return. Some of their family members even come here to see them.’
Still, stigma remains. For most of the women, their families refuse to visit.
Gambaga’s central location – at the heart of the village rather than tucked away – offers a greater degree of community integration. ‘They’re well integrated into Gambaga and the surrounding communities,’ says Reverend Gladys. ‘Sometimes, because of the humiliation and trauma they’ve endured, when you ask the women if they want to go home, some will say no.’
The cost of going home
Reintegration comes at a cost – both symbolic and financial. For the few women who eventually return, sometimes years or even decades after being accused, the process depends on a traditional ‘cleansing’ ritual intended to absolve them of alleged witchcraft. Performed by spiritual leaders, it typically involves the slaughter of a ram and a chicken, and can cost more than 1,000 Ghanaian cedis (around US$100).
But even with support, reintegration is far from straightforward. In many cases, no amount of spiritual absolution or mediation is enough to convince families or communities to accept a woman back. ‘Most of the communities say even the exorcism – we don’t believe in it, because once a witch, forever a witch,’ says Professor Azumah. ‘They [the communities] believe in the diagnosis, but not the cure. When the same priest declares a woman a witch, they believe him. But when he says, “I can perform a ritual to free her of the spirit,” they don’t believe that part.’
In Gambaga, the church often steps in. ‘When a woman wants to try to return home, we work on it,’ says Reverend Gladys. ‘But first she has to go through purification.’
For Ama Somani, a mother of eight, the church’s support changed everything. ‘I wanted death because it was too painful,’ she says, recalling her exile. She had been accused by her niece, who blamed her for a mysterious illness. A traditional ritual involving the slaughter of a guinea fowl found her guilty. With no one to defend her – her husband, a landlord in their community, remained absent – Ama spent four years in Gambaga, isolated and uncertain.
In April 2025, with help from the Presbyterian Church, she was finally reintegrated into her extended family in a nearby village. The church provided food rations and negotiated her return. Life remains difficult, she says, but she is overjoyed to be reunited with her children and loved ones.
Alongside the church, Professor Azumah and the Sanneh Institute, together with NGOs and human rights advocates, have worked tirelessly to reintegrate accused women across northern Ghana.
‘Sometimes the accuser has died, or the situation in the village has changed, and the woman can safely return,’ explains Azumah. ‘Sometimes the community or family regrets the accusation. They admit it came from jealousy or envy. They want the woman to come back. But first, she has to pay what I call the “discharge fee” – the cost of rituals to release her.’
These rituals, he adds, are what keep many women trapped. ‘Most can’t afford them. So even when they could return safely, they’re stuck because they can’t pay for the ceremony that would set them free.’ In some cases, as NGOs have stepped in to help, community leaders have raised prices, hoping donors will cover the costs. ‘They’ve inflated the fees astronomically,’ says Azumah. ‘And so, the cycle continues.’
Calling on Ghana’s president to sign the Anti-Witchcraft Bill during a Mother’s Day event at the Gnani camp
Despite these obstacles, organisations such as ActionAid Ghana and Songtaba have helped reintegrate hundreds of women. ‘Overall, we’ve reintegrated not less than 600 people into their communities over the past 15 years,’ says Esther Boateng, ActionAid Ghana’s regional manager for the Northern, Northeast and Savannah regions. ‘We identify their home communities, engage families and involve the entire community – the same community that accused them.’
In 2014, ActionAid worked with the Ministry of Gender to shut down the Bonyasi camp in the Central Gonja District after successfully reintegrating all of its residents. ‘We had to ensure their safety, so we combined community sensitisation, radio education and events like Mother’s Day celebrations to build acceptance,’ says Boateng. ‘We even built houses for some women returning home. It was a fully integrated programme, and today, Bonyasi camp no longer exists.’
Spirits, sickness and superstition
The persistence of witchcraft accusations in Ghana can’t be understood without acknowledging the deep-rooted belief in spirits, possession and supernatural causality – beliefs that shape how many Ghanaians interpret illness, misfortune and conflict.
During a visit to the stilt village of Nzulezu in Ghana’s Western Region in 2012, I witnessed just how deeply these convictions are held. One night, the wooden platform beneath me shuddered, waking me from sleep. Under a moonlit sky, I stepped outside the homestay hut and onto the creaking boardwalk. Across the water, silhouetted figures had gathered. Women wailed and chanted, a plume of smoke rising among them. A small child, wrapped in a blanket, was being passed gently from one person to another.
Curious and concerned, I asked what was happening. I was told the child had been possessed by an evil spirit.
Later, a man approached and asked if I could help. Unsure what to say, I suggested we take the child to the hospital to be tested for malaria. ‘No, no,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘We need to take out the evil spirit.’ The ritual continued through the night.
Wuriche Bajimoin prepares dawadawa, a traditional West African seasoning made from locust bean seeds, in Gambaga camp
The next morning, I saw a relative of the boy and asked how he was doing. With a broad smile of relief, the man said, ‘He’s much better.’ I asked what had been wrong with him. ‘Malaria!’ he answered.
This brief encounter has stayed with me for years. It revealed how central spiritual explanations are to daily life, and how illness and affliction are often viewed through a supernatural lens. In that context, it becomes easier to understand how, in moments of unexplained tragedy or fear, suspicion turns towards someone believed to possess malevolent power. Often, that someone is an older woman without protection.
Belief in witchcraft is very strong, Professor Azumah tells me. ‘Medical doctors believe it; police officers believe it. Even judges believe it.’
Hope, and a way forward
What has struck me most on each visit to the camps of northern Ghana is the remarkable resilience of the women who live there. Despite the extreme hardship and the isolation of exile – not just from society, but often from their own families – the women maintain a quiet strength. Even in the face of rejection and poverty, the joyful spirit so beautifully woven into Ghanaian culture endures. ‘Happiness is free,’ one woman told me with a smile.
Now, for the first time in years, there is a glimmer of hope. In March 2025, Ghana’s parliament reintroduced a landmark piece of legislation: the Anti-Witchcraft Bill. If passed, it would outlaw the naming or accusing of someone as a witch, criminalise the spiritual consultations that often lead to accusations, hold ritual practitioners legally accountable and empower police and social workers to intervene. Crucially, it also lays the groundwork for reintegration programmes to support survivors returning to society.
The bill had previously passed parliament in July 2023 as an amendment to the Criminal Offences Act, 1960, but Ghana’s former president refused to sign it into law. Reintroduced under a new administration, the bill is now scheduled for debate – what campaigners describe as a final, pivotal opportunity for change.
According to the bill, its primary objective is ‘to address the unfortunate beliefs and thinking in some communities that make Madam Akua Denteh’s case possible’. Her brutal murder in 2020 sparked national outrage and galvanised public support for reform.
The bill acknowledges that belief in witchcraft is not unique to Ghana. It cites England’s 1735 Witchcraft Act, which criminalised accusing someone of magical powers, and underscores the importance of public education and cultural transformation. ‘Now witchcraft isn’t illegal in the UK, but the level of enlightenment is such that witchcraft is generally viewed with amusement, if not ridicule.’
An exiled young woman in Gambaga camp
Civil society organisations, including ActionAid Ghana, Songtaba and the Sanneh Institute, have long advocated for these reforms, leading public awareness campaigns and pushing for legal protection of accused women. Amnesty International has also urged parliament to pass the bill without delay, warning that continued inaction leaves hundreds of women at risk of violence and abuse.
While many are hopeful that the current president will sign the bill if passed again, doubts persist. ‘It’s not a vote winner,’ says Professor Azumah.
Even after the widespread condemnation that followed Akua Denteh’s murder, resistance to reform remains entrenched. ‘We have our own conspiracy theories,’ Azumah says in response to the previous president’s refusal to sign the bill. ‘We believe there are powerful religious figures and some chiefs working behind the scenes to block it.’
Those fears haven’t disappeared. ‘That’s our concern with the current president, too,’ he continues. ‘If the bill is passed again and those chiefs and religious leaders start to pressure him behind closed doors, we might never even know. Politicians want votes. And they fear that pushing this through could hurt them in the next election.’
Among advocates, there is cautious optimism. Passing the bill is only the beginning. Real change will require coordinated implementation, sustained funding and a long-term commitment from both the government and civil society.
A child at the Gambaga camp. Children often accompany their mother or grandmothers into exile and are vulnerable to exploitation, with some reports of sexual abuse. They also face stigma and bullying at school, leading many to drop out
Even the bill itself acknowledges these challenges: ‘Legislation on such a subject may not immediately eliminate the problem, but it provides an awareness and a deterrent, which, if handled with the requisite public education and sensitisation, can eradicate the practice.’
‘I think the passage of the legislation will significantly reduce the accusations,’ says Professor Azumah. ‘And over time, it will die out.’
‘The accusation is the beginning of everything,’ he adds. ‘If we stop it at the source, we can begin to address the issue. We’re not going to relent. We will keep pushing until this bill becomes law.’
A nation at a crossroads
Ghana now stands at a crossroads. The debate over the Anti-Witchcraft Bill is not only about superstition, but also about women’s rights, state responsibility and the power of law to reshape cultural norms.
For survivors like Bachalbanueya, the bill may come too late to restore what was lost. But whether Ghana chooses to act now, or allows fear and silence to prevail, will determine not only the fate of women like her, but the moral direction of the nation itself.
I have no doubt that Nigerian human rights activist Leo Igwe is among the top five fighters against superstition, witchcraft, ritual killings, and impunity on the African continent, and he is most likely the most active and best known.
Dr. Leo Igwe is active in numerous human rights groups, among others he directs the organization ‘Advocacy for Alleged Witches‘ (AfAW), an advocacy group defending the rights and dignity of people who have been accused of witchcraft, and working and campaigning to end all forms of human rights abuses linked to witchcraft allegations in African countries.
I have mentioned and quoted Dr. Igwe numerous times on this site, for which I owe him a great debt of gratitude.
The article below focuses on a recent case in Rivers state, Nigeria. In February, a man, accused of witchcraft, was killed. AfAW is concerned for his relatives and calls on the authorities to bring the perpetrator to justice. Between the lines, it can be read that the organization—learned from past experiences—has little faith in the Nigerian rule of law.
Dr. Leo Igwe, thanks again for this timely intervention! (webmaster FVDK).
Witchcraft and Killing in Rivers State: Nobody Can Hamper the Progress of Others Through Magical Means
Local sources informed AfAW that Isaiah had a wife and four children. His first child just finished secondary school. AfAW plans to visit the community and meet with family and community members to understand what happened and explore ways of supporting the family of the deceased during these difficult moments. Advocates will continue to pressure the police to bring the suspect to justice. Witchcraft accusations and jungle justice are against the law. The inability of the police to enforce the law drives these abuses.
Leo Igwe directs the Advocacy for Alleged Witches
The Advocacy for Alleged Witches is saddened by the brutal murder of Chidiebere Isaiah by a relative, Nwalozie Chiwendu, following an accusation of witchcraft in Ofeh, Rivers State, in Southern Nigeria. The tragic news reached AfAW on February 15, 2026. AfAW contacted The Punch and Vanguard correspondents in Port Harcourt for the phone number of the youth president of the Ofeh community in Omuma Local Government Area. Through an advocate in the state, AfAW contacted a legal counsel from the community who confirmed the incident and has volunteered to facilitate any intervention. This legal counsel said he knew the victim and the suspected murderer very well. As reported, Chiwendu accused and murdered Isaiah for being responsible for his lack of progress. The legal counsel stated that Chiwendu dropped out of primary school. He never went to secondary school. “How did he expect to make significant progress and become rich if he was not educated?” He queried.
Chiwendu reportedly fled after the incident. The local police claimed that he was at large. As in previous cases in Rivers state, this matter will fizzle out after a while. The police stated that the investigation was ongoing, but that was all that would be heard about the case. There are no indications that the police are taking the case seriously, that they are tracking the suspect, or that they will bring him to justice soon. Witch persecution persists in the region due to impunity and lack of accountability, due to a failure of the police and the justice system. Last year, the police in Rivers state refused to prosecute pastors arrested for abusing children during exorcism and ritual cleansing in the state. All efforts and pressures on police authorities to bring these violators to justice came to nothing.
Meanwhile, advocates have been reacting and expressing their outrage following the horrific murder of Isaiah. One advocate stated, “See what ignorance has done: a tragedy for that community and the family. One brother is dead, and another brother is certainly going to be hanged for murder. Terrible!. Meanwhile, the pastors who preached this rubbish mentality into his ignorant head are walking about free, indoctrinating other ignorant people”. Another noted: “This is evil. So you claim to do something good by killing your brother because he is a witch, and you are running? You are not supposed to run away; rather, you should stay so we can tell you what a hero you are. Witchcraft does not exist. Say no to witch-hunts”. Furthermore, one advocate described the incident as: ” Absolutely tragic. No one should ever be killed over superstition or accusations of witchcraft. Education, awareness, and justice are the only answers. End the witch hunts now”.
Local sources informed AfAW that Isaiah had a wife and four children. His first child just finished secondary school. AfAW plans to visit the community and meet with family and community members to understand what happened and explore ways of supporting the family of the deceased during these difficult moments. Advocates will continue to pressure the police to bring the suspect to justice. Witchcraft accusations and jungle justice are against the law. The inability of the police to enforce the law drives these abuses.
In addition, AfAW will organize public awareness programs to reorient the minds of people in Rivers State. AfAW will educate the public to understand that nobody can harm, frustrate, or undermine the progress of others through magical or occult means.
That such a belief is superstitious and based on fear and ignorance!
Opinion Nigeria is a practical online community where both local and international authors through their opinion pieces, address today’s topical issues. In Opinion Nigeria, we believe in the right to freedom of opinion and expression. We believe that people should be free to express their opinion without interference from anyone especially the government.
Give to Gain: Justice for Women Accused of Witchcraft in Africa
On March 6, 2026, the online Ghanaian newspaper ‘Modern Africa’ published an article written by Leo Igwe, ‘Give to Gain: Justice for Women Accused of Witchcraft in Africa’ presenting three cases of women who were victims of witch hunts in Nigeria: (1) 49-year-old Obiageri Ottih from Imo state, (2) 86-year-old Arit Inyang from Akamkpa, in Cross River state, and (3) Adijat Pereira from Lagos, Lagos state, Nigeria.
The three women were accused of witchcraft, but the police failed to intervene or to seriously investigate the matter. It is feared that Arit Inyang has been murdered. Advocacy for Alleged Witches is following the cases.
Kenya is not often in the news when it comes to witchcraft and superstition, but this does not mean that these phenomena are unknown there. The following report bears witness to this. (webmaster FVDK)
The Torch Ritual: Wetang’ula “Haunted” as DCI Probes Jirongo Death Mystery
Speaker Moses Wetang’ula records a statement with the DCI regarding the death of Cyrus Jirongo, as rumors of a traditional “torch ritual” to expose his killers grip Western Kenya.
Published: January 21, 2026 By: Stamline – Kenya
National Assembly Speaker Moses Wetang’ula has found himself at the center of a macabre political storm, recording a statement with the DCI as rumors of a traditional “torch ritual” swirl around the sudden death of veteran politician Cyrus Jirongo.
Jirongo, a former cabinet minister and one-time kingmaker, died in a grisly road accident on the Nairobi-Nakuru highway in December 2025. While police maintain it was a tragic crash, whispers of assassination have refused to die, fueled by leaders from the Western region who are demanding answers.
The “Lit Torch” Ultimatum
The saga took a supernatural turn when elders from Jirongo’s Tiriki community threatened to bury him with a “lit torch”—a traditional curse believed to hunt down killers. “If the torch goes out, the killer dies,” warned Saboti MP Caleb Amisi. Now, social media is abuzz with claims that the “torch is working,” casting a shadow over the Speaker.
The Last Meeting: Wetang’ula revealed he was one of the last people to see Jirongo alive. They met for an hour on Jamhuri Day evening, a meeting the Speaker described as “ordinary” but which detectives are now scrutinizing for clues.
The Probe: Wetang’ula is among 28 individuals questioned by the DCI. Detectives are reconstructing Jirongo’s final 24 hours to rule out foul play.
The Politicization: The Speaker has warned against politicizing the death, pleading with leaders to respect the family. “I don’t want to be cheered or jeered. This death touches me personally,” he told mourners.
A Region on Edge
The death has reopened old wounds in Western Kenya politics, with factions trading accusations. The DCI’s investigation is now a race against time to provide a scientific explanation before the narrative of “witchcraft and assassination” takes permanent root.
For Wetang’ula, the third most powerful man in the country, the ghost of his longtime friend—and the glowing embers of the Tiriki torch—pose a unique and unsettling challenge.
Unfortunately, murders for ritualistic purposes are not an exception in the West African country of Sierra Leone even though reported cases are relatively scarce. But, as in many other African countries, there might be a substantial gap between reported cases and the reality. Cases may go unreported for various reasons: protection of the perpetrator or the person who ordered the crime for ritualistic purposes, fear of reprisal, or simply because the victim of the crime was successfully hidden, e.g. in a dense forest area.
The article below is a living testimony that also in Sierra Leone the trade in human body parts makes innocent victims. The criminalization of what was once a traditional ceremony—albeit a deadly one—is not limited to Sierra Leone, unfortunately. The BBC investigation below exposes the grim reality of contemporary ritual killings for individual, personal gain: get-rich-quick schemes, increased social status, or for political purposes.
Warning: some readers may find the following articles disturbing because of their graphic contents. (webmaster FVDK)
Hunting down those who kill people to sell their body parts for ‘magic charms’
Papayo’s mother Sally Kalokoh has not come to terms with her son’s death and wants his killers found
Published: November 24, 2025 By: BBC – Tyson Conteh, Sierra Leone
With many families left traumatised by killings apparently linked to supposed magic rituals in Sierra Leone, BBC Africa Eye looks into those behind the trade in human body parts.
Warning: This article contains details some readers may find disturbing.
The mother of an 11-year-old boy murdered as part of a suspected black magic killing four years ago is devastated that no-one has yet been brought to justice for his death.
“Today I’m in pain. They killed my child and now there is just silence,” Sallay Kalokoh told BBC Africa Eye, explaining how her son Papayo was found with parts of his body removed, including his vital organs, eyes and one arm.
He had gone out to sell fish at the market and never came back.
His family searched for him for two weeks – and finally found his mutilated corpse at the bottom of a well.
“We always tell our children to be careful. If you are selling, don’t go to a corner or take gifts from strangers. It happens frequently in this country,” Ms Kalokoh said.
This murder in my hometown of Makeni, in central Sierra Leone, has haunted me as we often hear of reports of killings linked to black magic, also known as juju, that are never followed up or properly investigated by the authorities.
In Papayo’s case, the police did not even confirm that it was a “ritual killing” – when a person is murdered so that parts of their body can be used in so-called magic rituals by illicit juju practitioners.
They promise things like prosperity and power to clients who pay large sums in the false belief that human body parts can make such charms more potent.
But with the authorities severely under-resourced – there is only one pathologist in a country that has a population of 8.9 million – it is often impossible to gather the evidence needed to track down the culprits.
Belief in witchcraft is also so deeply ingrained in Sierra Leone, even among many police officers, that there is often a fear of pursuing cases further – and most go unsolved.
But I wanted to find out more about this underground trade in human body parts that leaves tragedy in its wake.
Our BBC Africa Eye team was able to find two people who claimed they were juju practitioners and offered to obtain body parts for ritual purposes.
Both said they were part of much larger networks – and one boasted that he had powerful clients across West Africa. The BBC was unable to verify these claims.
One member of our team went undercover, using the name Osman, to pose as a politician who wanted to achieve power through human sacrifice.
We first travelled to a remote area of Kambia district, in the north of the country near the Guinean border, to meet the juju man in his secret shrine – an area in dense bush where he consulted with his clients.
Calling himself Kanu, he wore a ceremonial red mask covering his whole face to conceal his identity and boasted of his political connections.
“I was working with some big, big politicians in Guinea, Senegal and Nigeria. We have our team. Sometimes during election time, at night, this place is full of people,” he claimed.
On a second visit, Kanu became more confident and showed Osman what he said was evidence of his trade – a human skull.
“You see this? This belongs to someone. I dried it for them. It is a woman’s skull. I am expecting the person to pick this up today or tomorrow.”
He also pointed to a pit behind his shrine: “This is where we hang human parts. We slaughter here, and the blood goes down there… Even big chiefs, when they want power, come here. I give them what they want.”
When Osman specified that he wanted limbs from a woman to be used in a ritual, Kanu got down to business: “The price of a woman is 70m leones [£2,500; $3,000].”
Sierra Leone is one of the world’s poorest countries and is recovering from the legacy of a brutal 11-year civil war
Anxious not to put anyone at risk, we did not meet Kanu again. He may have been a scammer, but we handed over our evidence to the local police to investigate further.
Such juju men sometimes refer to themselves as herbalists, the name given to healers who use traditional medicine often made from local plants to treat common illnesses.
World Health Organization data shows that Sierra Leone – which suffered a brutal civil war in the 1990s and was at the centre of the Ebola epidemic a decade ago – had around 1,000 registered doctors in 2022, compared to reported estimates of 45,000 traditional healers.
Most people in the West African nation rely on these healers, who also help with mental health issues and treat their patients in shrines where there is an element of mysticism and spiritualism culturally associated with their craft and the remedies they sell.
Sheku Tarawallie, president of Sierra Leone’s Council of Traditional Healers, is adamant that “diabolic” juju men like Kanu are giving healers a bad name.
“We are trying very hard to clear our image. The ordinary person doesn’t understand, so they class us [all] as bad herbalists. One rotting fish can destroy the batch of fish… We are healers, we are not killers,” he told BBC Africa Eye.
Mr Tarawallie is in fact trying to work with the government and another non-governmental organisation to open a traditional medicine clinic to treat patients.
It was those with a lust for power and money who were often behind the ritual killings, he believed.
“When somebody wants to become a leader… they remove parts from human beings. They use that one as a sacrifice. Burn people, use their ashes for power. Use their oil for power.”
The number of ritual killings in Sierra Leone, where most people identify as Muslim or Christian, is not known.
“In most African countries, ritual murders are not officially recorded as a separate or sub-category of homicide,” Emmanuel Sarpong Owusu, a lecturer at the UK’s Arden University, told the BBC.
“Some are misclassified or misreported as accidents, deaths resulting from attacks by wild animals, suicides, natural deaths… Most perpetrators – possibly 90% – are not apprehended.”
When we found another suspected supplier of body parts, he was located in a suburb of the capital, Freetown, called Waterloo, which is notorious for drug abuse and other crime.
“I’m not alone, I have up to 250 herbalists working under my banner,” the man calling himself Idara told Osman, who was again undercover and wearing a secret camera.
“There are no human parts that we don’t work with. Once we call for a specific body part, then they bring it. We share the work,” Idara said.
He went on to explain how some of his collaborators were good at capturing people – and on Osman’s second visit played a voice message from one of them who claimed they were prepared to start going out every night in search of a victim.
Osman told him not to proceed yet but when he later received a call from Idara claiming his team had identified a victim, we contacted Police Commissioner Ibrahim Sama.
He decided to organise a raid – but said his officers would not do so without the involvement of Mr Tarawallie, who often assists the police on such operations.
“When we got intelligence that there is a particular dangerous witchdoctor operating a shrine, we will work with the traditional healers,” said an officer on the raid, Assistant Superintendent Aliu Jallo.
He went on to express the superstitions some officers have about tackling rogue herbalists: “I will not go and provoke situations. I know that they have their own powers that are beyond my knowledge.”
After Idara was captured – discovered hiding in the roof clutching a knife – Mr Tarawallie began searching the property for evidence, saying there were human bones, human hair and piles of what looked like dirt from cemeteries.
This was enough for the police to arrest Idara and two other men, who were charged in June with practising sorcery as well as being in possession of traditional weapons used in ritual killings. They pleaded not guilty to the charges and have since been granted bail, pending further investigations.
The police raided this house in Waterloo and arrested the occupants, including Idara, who were later charged under anti-witchcraft laws
As we never heard back from the police in Kambia about Kanu, I tried to call him myself to challenge him about the allegations directly, but he was unreachable.
There are occasions when even high-profile cases appear to stall. Two years ago, a university lecturer went missing in Freetown and his body was later found buried in what police say was the shrine of a herbalist in Waterloo.
The case was referred in August 2023 by a magistrate to the High Court for trial, but two sources have told the BBC it has not been pursued so far and those detained by police have been released on bail.
My family is facing similar hurdles finding justice. In May, during our BBC investigation, my 28-year-old cousin Fatmata Conteh was murdered in Makeni.
A hairdresser and mother of two, her body was dumped the day after her birthday by the side of the road where a resident told the BBC two other bodies had been found in recent weeks.
Several of her front teeth were missing, leading the community to believe it was a ritual killing.
“She was a lady that never did harm. She was very peaceful and hard-working,” said one mourner as family, friends and colleagues gathered for a big funeral at her local mosque.
We may never know the true motive for Fatmata’s murder. The family paid for her body to be transported to Freetown for an autopsy – something the authorities could not afford to do – but the post-mortem was inconclusive and no arrests have yet been made.
As is the case for Papayo’s mother, the lack of closure and feeling of abandonment by the police fuels fear and terror in poor communities like Makeni.
Additional reporting by Chris Alcock and Luis Barrucho
‘Murder for black magic’: when body parts are sold for ‘magical amulets’
A series of murders suspected of being caused by black magic rituals has shaken Sierra Leone
“Murder for black magic”: The horrific stories in Africa where body parts are sold for ‘magical amulets’
Published: November 26, 2025 By: Vox News
Four years ago, 11-year-old Papayo was killed in a crime believed to have been part of a black magic ritual. His mother, Sallay Kalokoh, is devastated that no one has yet been brought to justice. Papayo was found butchered at the bottom of a well, with body parts removed, including vital organs, eyes and one arm. He had gone to sell fish at the market and never returned.
“We always advise children to be careful. If you sell something, don’t go to some remote corner and don’t accept gifts from strangers. This happens a lot in this country,” Kalokoh said.
Papayo’s murder in the central city of Makeni is just one of many suspected cases of black magic (juju) that are often not investigated or pursued by authorities. In his case, police never confirmed that it was a “ritual killing.”
The dark market for body parts
Juju practitioners promise prosperity and power to clients who pay large sums, believing that human body parts make their spells more powerful. However, with authorities having limited resources – just one pathologist for a population of 8.9 million – it is difficult to gather evidence to prosecute the perpetrators.
Belief in witchcraft is so ingrained in Sierra Leone, even among some police officers, that there is often a fear of pursuing cases, and most remain unsolved.
According to a BBC Africa Eye investigation, the team managed to contact two people who claimed to be juju practitioners and offered body parts for rituals. They said they were part of larger networks and one claimed to have powerful clients in West Africa, but the BBC was unable to verify these claims.
A team reporter went by the name Osman, posing as a politician seeking power through human sacrifice. In a remote area of ??Kambia district, he met a practitioner who wore a red ceremonial mask and threatened to work with top politicians in Guinea, Senegal, and Nigeria. He showed a human skull and a pit where body parts were placed.
When Osman asked for body parts from a woman for the ritual, the practitioner estimated the price at 70 million leones (around £2,500 / $3,000). For the safety of the team, the BBC did not meet the practitioner again, but handed over the evidence to the local police.
The role of traditional healers
Some practitioners are also called traditional healers and use plants to treat common ailments. Sierra Leone has about 1,000 registered doctors and about 45,000 traditional healers, who often also help with mental health issues.
Sheku Tarawallie, president of the Traditional Healers Council, points out that “evil” practitioners give all healers a bad name: “We are healers, not killers. One rotten fish can spoil all the wheat… We are trying to clean up our image.”
He believes that behind the ritual killings are those who covet power and money “when someone wants to become a leader… they remove parts from people. They use them as sacrifices, they burn people, they use the ashes and oil for power.”
Police operations and arrests
A suspected supplier was found in Waterloo, a Freetown neighborhood known for crime and drug use. He claimed to have 250 healers working under him and could provide any body part required.
The police, in collaboration with Tarawallie, organized a raid. Idara was caught hiding on the roof with a knife. Bones, human hair, and cemetery soil were found on the property. He and two others were charged with practicing witchcraft and possessing ritual weapons. They pleaded not guilty and were released on bail.
Other cases and lack of justice
Two years ago, a university lecturer disappeared in Freetown and was later found in a ritual square. Families like Papayo’s and those of her 28-year-old cousin Fatmata Conteh, who was killed in Makeni, face the same obstacles to justice. The autopsy was inconsistent and there were no arrests.
The market for body parts for witchcraft rituals in Sierra Leone remains secretive, dangerous and largely unsolved. A lack of resources, deep-rooted belief in witchcraft and challenges to proper investigation leave communities impoverished and terrified, as families seek justice for their loved ones.
Human Sacrifice in Sierra Leone Driven by Black Magic Practices
Published: November 26, 2025 By: Khaborwala International Desk
The superstition surrounding black magic remains deeply rooted in Sierra Leone, where numerous families have suffered killings linked to the illegal trade in human body parts. Shocking details have emerged in an investigation by BBC Africa Eye.
Four years ago, 11-year-old Papayo was murdered in the name of black magic. His mother, Sallai Kaloka, is still waiting for justice. She told the BBC, “I am in great pain. They killed my child, and now there is only silence.”
Sallai said Papayo never returned home after she left for the market to sell fish. When his body was found, vital organs, his eyes, and one hand had been removed. After being missing for two weeks, his mutilated body was discovered in an abandoned well.
She said, “We always warn our children—don’t go to deserted places, be cautious before accepting anything from strangers. Incidents like this happen frequently here.”
According to Sallai, such killings are common in their town, Makeni. Police often do not even classify them as ritual killings. Juju practitioners use human body parts for charms or rituals and lure clients by promising wealth or power. With only one pathologist for a population of 8.9 million, proper investigations are nearly impossible.
Belief in black magic is so strong in Sierra Leone that even police officers are often afraid to investigate these cases, leaving most crimes unresolved. BBC Africa Eye found two individuals who claimed to be juju practitioners and offered to supply human body parts.
One of them said they had clients across several West African countries. A BBC Africa Eye member, disguised as a politician named Osman, travelled to Kambia district near the Guinea border to meet a juju practitioner named Kanu, whose face was covered with a red cloth throughout the meeting.
Kanu said, “I have worked with major politicians in Guinea, Senegal, and Nigeria. People flock here during election periods.” He then showed a dried human skull, claiming, “This belonged to a woman. Someone will take it within a few days.” According to him, female body parts cost 70 million leones, or around 3,000 dollars.
For safety reasons, the BBC made no further contact with him. The collected information has been handed to the police.
Many juju practitioners in Sierra Leone identify themselves as herbalists. Yet, as of 2022, the country had only about 1,000 registered doctors, compared to nearly 45,000 traditional healers. Many people seek help from these healers for mental health and other issues.
Sheku Tarawali, president of the Sierra Leone Council of Traditional Healers, said black magic practitioners like Kanu are tarnishing the reputation of herbalists. He accused some individuals of committing these murders for power and money.
BBC Africa Eye also identified another suspected supplier of body parts in Waterloo. The man, using the alias “Idara”, claimed to have 250 witchdoctors and spirit practitioners working under him and said they could provide any body part if required.
During one meeting, he played a voice note from an associate saying they were ready to hunt for a “victim” that night. After receiving this information, Police Commissioner Ibrahim Sama launched a raid with Sheku Tarawali and a specialist team. Human bones, hair, and various body parts were recovered.
Earlier, the body of a university lecturer had been found in a temple in Waterloo. The case went to the High Court but never progressed, and the suspects were released on bail.
During the BBC investigation, 28-year-old Fatmata Conteh was murdered in Makeni. Her body was found by the roadside the day after her birthday, with several front teeth missing—leading locals to believe it was a ritual killing. Her family sent the body to Freetown for an autopsy at their own expense, but no findings emerged.
Like Papayo’s mother, many families continue to suffer without justice. Police inaction and a culture of fear have intensified widespread panic across the region.
Nigerian human rights activist and lawyer Dr. Leo Igwo needs no introduction on these pages.
Dr. Leo Igwe and I have more in common than a birthday (26 July); we both abhor human rights violations, mob justice, superstition, ritual murders, impunity and other forms of injustice.
I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate Dr. Leo Igwe on his relentless fight against superstition, witch hunting and ritual murders, and encourage him to continue to do so. (webmaster FVDK)
How can Nigeria’s legal system be strengthened to effectively prosecute witchcraft-related abuses?
Dr. Leo Igwe is a Nigerian human rights advocate, scholar, and founder of the Advocacy for Alleged Witches (AfAW). With decades of activism, Igwe has dedicated his career to defending those falsely accused of witchcraft, combating superstition, and advancing secular human rights. He has partnered with international and national organizations to confront harmful practices rooted in fear and cultural beliefs, particularly targeting women, children, and people with disabilities. A vocal critic of religious extremism and media sensationalism, Igwe promotes critical thinking, education, and legal reform. His work stands at the intersection of grassroots advocacy, public enlightenment, and global humanism.
In this interview with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Igwe intensified campaigns across Nigeria in 2025 to defend victims of witchcraft accusations. Through unprecedented collaborations with organizations such as the International Federation of Women Lawyers, the National Human Rights Commission, and disability rights groups, AfAW has expanded its outreach to over 15 states. Initiatives include memorial events, legal interventions, media engagement, and direct support for victims. Despite cultural and religious resistance, Igwe emphasizes that witchcraft is a myth, urging communities to shift from fear-driven persecution to rights-based advocacy. His work highlights growing momentum, though challenges remain entrenched.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are here with the prolific activist, Dr. Leo Igwe of Nigeria, founder of the Advocacy for Alleged Witches (AfAW). Our primary focus is advocacy for people accused of witchcraft. A lot has happened this year, and we can dive into some specific events because I have notes. In your view, what have been the most significant achievements so far?
Dr. Leo Igwe: One of the most significant developments this year is that we have organized more meetings and awareness programs than in any previous year since 2020. Even as I speak with you, I am in Port Harcourt, in Rivers State, where we are organizing an awareness event—an event to remember victims of witch hunts and ritual attacks. It is the first of its kind in the country and in the history of our campaign: victims are being remembered rather than demonized.
These victims are not being pre-judged as guilty or condemned. There has also been considerable interest from groups wanting to partner with us. We have seen unprecedented requests and welcoming gestures from different organizations and civil society groups. For instance, the International Federation of Women Lawyers (FIDA)—several state chapters—has reached out to co-organize events. Historically, their focus has been on women and children, and accusations of witchcraft were not central; that is changing as AfAW’s work gains traction.
We have also engaged with the National Human Rights Commission of Nigeria (NHRC). Nigeria has 36 states and the Federal Capital Territory (Abuja), and some NHRC state offices are reaching out to co-organize events like the one we are holding on Saturday. They are ready to collaborate to highlight these abuses.
The Down Syndrome Foundation Nigeria has also contacted us to partner. They work on disability issues. Unfortunately, people with disabilities are often stigmatized or labelled as “possessed,” which leads to ostracism and harmful so-called “spiritual” interventions.
A recent example that drew national attention was a reported case in Calabar in February 2025, where a pastor allegedly killed his daughter, a child with Down syndrome, claiming she could transform into a snake. Cases like this show how superstition and stigma can turn deadly, and we are working with disability advocates to confront these beliefs and protect vulnerable families.
In terms of people who are accused, demonized, or stigmatized—whether because of disability or because of problems within the community—this has been a significant focus this year. We have now organized or collaborated in organizing events in over 15 states across Nigeria. By next week, we are planning an event in Niger State, in the north of the country. That will be the first event we have organized there, and we hope to use the opportunity to strengthen our partnerships with local groups and build a more robust mechanism for defending the accused.
That said, these collaborations do not come without challenges. For instance, in Niger State, we are partnering with women’s rights and children’s rights groups. They told us they would prefer not to have accused persons present, because their presence might trigger confrontation with accusers or with those who suspect them of being witches. This has been difficult, but we see it as a step toward educating people that everyone should stand as an advocate for the accused.
Many people still hold on to those beliefs and fears, even while showing some sympathy for the accused. However, sympathy is not enough. The accused are innocent. The law is on their side. So we want to find ways to reduce fear and anxiety and encourage communities to join us in openly and categorically supporting those accused of witchcraft.
Our meetings are not always characterized by unanimous support for advocacy on behalf of alleged witches. Sometimes, participants insist that witchcraft oppression is real. For example, at a recent meeting in Owerri, a pastor argued that witchcraft affliction must be addressed.
This is the contradiction we face. People say they oppose torture, killing, and persecution, but at the same time, they continue to insist witches exist. For us at AfAW, this is contradictory. If anyone claims people really are witches, then the burden is on them to prove it—to vindicate or exonerate those accused, rather than subject them to persecution.
Religion and culture also reinforce these challenges. Christianity, Islam, and Nollywood movies all perpetuate the belief that witchcraft and demonic possession are real. These institutions and cultural products continue to fuel the mindset that sustains witchcraft accusations.
In the churches and in the mosques, these harmful ideas are still being promoted. We are working to weaken the grip of these narratives on people’s minds and to chip away at what I call “witchcraft evangelism.” It does enormous damage and undermines our work. We also want people to recognize that Nollywood films and African movies are fiction, not fact.
The filmmakers reflect the myths and beliefs of society, but they are still telling stories, not recording reality. We want to help reorient society so that these movies are understood as cultural fiction. These are some of our successes, but also some of our challenges. Still, we see steady progress as more people begin to realize that something does not add up when it comes to witchcraft accusations. More groups are welcoming us and reaching out to cooperate, so that together we can address and dispel this phenomenon.
Jacobsen: Now, about specifics, in Owerri, Imo State, on September 2–3, we observed the International Day Against Witch Hunts. That was an event reaffirming material and psychosocial support. What was the big takeaway from that event this year?
Igwe: A lot. In Owerri, for the first time, we marched through the streets of the city, sharing flyers and speaking with people about the problem. We also visited the palace of the traditional ruler, Eze Clinton, who received us warmly and pledged his support to our campaign. That was an important milestone.
Another highlight was a presentation by our legal counsel, Mr. Okorie, on witchcraft accusations and the law. In Nigeria, accusing someone of witchcraft is a criminal offence. It is a form of criminal defamation, but most Nigerians are unaware of this—or if they are, they do not take it seriously, because their beliefs often outweigh what is written in the law. Mr. Okorie made it clear that even calling someone a witch can lead to prosecution. If this is done in a church or public gathering, the entire act is criminal.
He gave the example of a crusade organized in Imo State shortly after our event. The theme was “That Witch Must Die.” We reported it to the police, who summoned the pastor, but unfortunately did not prosecute him. Mr. Okorie explained to our participants that such gatherings are legally actionable, and anyone who participates in them could also be held liable. His legal perspective shocked many people, as they were unaware that the law was so clear on this matter.
We also had some victims from different communities share their experiences, which reinforced the urgency of our campaign.
We also heard from victims who recounted their stories and experiences. One woman in particular, Mrs. Regina, told us that after some people in her family died, she was forced to undergo a ritual. They bathed the corpse, washed the body, and gave her the water to drink as an “exoneration” ritual. She is one of the people we are supporting now, trying to provide her with all the necessary help to get back on her feet.
Another experience I had was visiting a street named after a victim of ritual killing, Ikechukwu Okoroho, who was murdered about 30 years ago. A street was named in his memory. I went to that street and to the scene where he was killed, according to reports. These are some of the key takeaways from the Owerri, Imo State event.
Jacobsen: There was also a case intervention in Ebonyi State on August 20, involving the banishment of Joseph Agwu from Unwuhu community. The case called on the state to prosecute the attackers, compensate the victim, and end the practice of banishment. Could you elaborate on that specific case?
Igwe: Yes, Joseph’s case is one of several in Ebonyi. He was accused of witchcraft and banished from his community. His property was destroyed, and he was forced to leave. We reached out to him, and he recounted his ordeal. We are appealing to the state authorities to step in and protect people like him.
Another successful intervention we made was in the case of Mr. Kingsley, who had also been accused. He was paraded through the streets, humiliated, and substances were poured over his body. When we got the information, we immediately contacted the police.
Thanks to that intervention, Kingsley is now back in his community. I met him recently, and he told me how happy and relieved he was. People now look at him with respect rather than the scorn he used to face. This was a real success story.
Of course, not all cases succeed. Sometimes incidents happen in rural communities where it is difficult for us to intervene. Accessing those areas can be dangerous—there are threats of beatings, mob attacks, or even killings. People in those communities often suspect that anyone investigating is there to help the police prosecute them. So yes, we have had some successes, but the challenges remain significant.
Jacobsen: There were also several roundtables. For example, in Ekiti State from August 19 to 21, there was a stakeholder roundtable aligned with the World Day Against Witch Hunts. There were also NHRC partnerships in Kano, Okoro, Ondo, and Yola, Adamawa. Across the year, there were several such meetings—on January 21, March 6, July 21, and August 19–21. What is the role of these roundtables, and what were the key takeaways from each?
Igwe: For the one we held in Yola early in the year, the big takeaway was that too often, when these cases are reported, nothing is done. They appear in the news and then disappear. Victims receive no help or support.
Since 2020, AfAW has been a game-changer. We step in on the side of the accused to support and empower them. In Yola, our message was clear: there is now an organization that stands for the accused. We introduced ourselves, explained what we do, and intervened in a specific case where a parent and his partner tortured a girl to death. The mother had been accused of witchcraft, and the children were said to have “inherited” it from her. The girl was tortured and died. We have been working hard to support the mother and her three surviving children, and to push for justice.
That was our first meeting in Yola, and like with many of these events, participants told us nobody else was doing what we are doing. We know why—few people have the conviction and understanding that we at AfAW bring. However, we made it clear there is now a place where the accused can seek support, and an organization keeping watch on these cases. That was our takeaway from Yola.
In Ondo, we also held an event and combined it with a radio program. A woman named Olaemi Ijogun attended after hearing us on the radio. She told us how she had been accused as a child and beaten. Her case was heartbreaking. She said that both she and her sister had been accused of being initiated into a coven when they were very young.
In Olaemi’s case, the accusations came from a relative who claimed to have seen her and her sister in a dream. The parents were told the girls were going to covens at night. As a result, they were not allowed to sleep. They were forced to kneel and raise their hands through the night because the parents believed that if they slept, they would travel spiritually to the coven. The girls were denied sleep for several nights.
The stigma followed Olaemi to school, where it negatively impacted her social life. She still breaks down when recounting the trauma, which she did at our event. She called on people to stop making accusations because they leave an indelible mark on the minds and psyches of children. Since then, she has been working with us to advocate against witchcraft accusations.
For instance, she joined us in Ekiti State during the World Day Against Witch Hunts event. There, we encountered a case where a 10-year-old girl accused her grandmother of initiating her into a coven and of spiritually murdering people. This accusation was made on the radio after a station invited the family to speak. As a result, the grandmother’s business collapsed, and she was ostracized; the community avoided her. We intervened to reassure her that she had no hand in such things.
The background is that the family’s youngest child, about two years old, had been sick since birth. The grandmother was blamed for the illness. When I interviewed the mother of the 10-year-old, she even told me that the grandmother had “taken away the intelligence” of the children, causing them to do poorly in school, and was also responsible for the family’s financial struggles. In other words, they blamed the grandmother for virtually every problem.
To address this, we provided the family with money to conduct a medical test on the child, so we can determine the real medical problem and treat it appropriately. This shows that we are not only holding events, but also taking practical steps to intervene. We extend solidarity by combining advocacy with direct support. We are helping the grandmother, the victim of the accusation, while also ensuring that the sick child receives medical treatment. These are some of the key outcomes from the Ekiti State event.
Jacobsen: How did the World Day Against Witch Hunts itself go?
Igwe: It was observed on August 10. That year it fell on a Sunday. In Nigeria, the best thing you can do on a Sunday is either go to church or stay at home. Suppose you organize anything else on that day. In that case, it is not likely to attract much participation—except for the few atheists and humanists in the country.
On August 10, the World Day Against Witch Hunts, I attended a church where the pastor regularly preaches against witch hunting. In our work, we identify religious leaders who speak out against these practices. It is not easy, of course, but we make every effort to find such churches. I was told about this one, contacted the pastor, and he confirmed that he preaches against witch hunting. So I went there to listen to his sermon. We also recorded it so that we could use it later to show other churches that this kind of preaching is possible and necessary.
It was a small church, with maybe 50 participants—tiny compared to the massive congregations you see in Nigeria, where tens or even hundreds of thousands gather. That probably explains why this church holds what you might call a minority position in the religious landscape. Still, that was where I spent the day.
Before and after August 10, we have continued organizing events in various states to remember victims of witch hunts and ritual attacks. It has gone well. People are coming out and saying, “At last, there is a space where we can feel vindicated, where we can share our stories in front of an audience that supports us, rather than seeing us as guilty.” That has been the spirit of these gatherings. In fact, we could not accommodate all the events in August, which is why some of them were pushed into September. For us at AfAW, the World Day Against Witch Hunts has not really ended. Our event this Saturday will conclude this year’s cycle of activities tied to that observance.
Jacobsen: Let us turn to the media side of things—ongoing public education, advocacy, op-eds, and briefings. Which news and opinion publications have been most effective in disseminating information about this campaign, the organization, and the harm caused by these superstitions?
Igwe: We have had coverage of our activities in several online and mainstream media outlets. Some journalists have even drawn our attention to cases in which we later intervened. Among Nigerian media organizations, I must mention Sahara Reporters, ThisDay, and The Eagle Online, which have been supportive.
We have also had coverage in other outlets, such as the Nigerian Tribune, Punch, and The Sun. Some of these online and print organizations have tried to highlight the work we are doing.
However, let me be clear—before now, media agencies have overwhelmingly been part of the problem. Their reporting on witchcraft accusations often reinforces the very narratives we are trying to dismantle. This is something I consistently point out to them during media interactions.
Many journalists still report accusations in sensational ways. They tell me the more spectacular, the better—for clicks and traffic. They call it “clickbait.” So, you see headlines like “Witch Crash-Lands” or “Bird-Woman Found in Village.” It is absolute nonsense, but it generates attention. Moreover, in their pursuit of attention, they misinform the public, mislead communities, and do real harm.
These reports are unprofessional and unethical. Journalism should be about reporting facts, and it should be balanced. Instead, in their quest for traffic, media houses end up endangering lives. For example, there was a radio program where a child accused her grandmother of initiating her into witchcraft. We intervened, and when we left, the station manager admitted to me, “Leo, it was this radio program that caused the problem.” He realized it had put an innocent woman in danger and destroyed her socially.
So yes, the media have been part of the problem. However, with the kind of engagement we are doing at the Advocacy for Alleged Witches (AfAW), some outlets are beginning to rethink. Some are realigning and realizing just how unprofessional and unethical their reporting has been. They are slowly starting to highlight our perspective. However, we still have a long way to go. Nigerian media organizations still thrive on sensationalism.
The media still thrives on sensational headlines—stories designed to attract attention and appeal to primitive superstitions that people find exciting. Slowly and steadily, some outlets are beginning to support what we are doing. However, there is still a tremendous amount of work ahead.
Another challenge is this: while media agencies are quick to publish sensational, false, and misleading reports about witchcraft—often for free—when we want to put forward our perspective, they demand large sums of money. Both online and broadcast outlets do this.
For example, if we want to appear on television, they charge between $500 and $1,000 just for the appearance. Additionally, you may need to travel, pay for flights, and cover accommodation costs. This makes enlightenment and advocacy extremely expensive, even though it is precisely what the country needs to counter these harmful narratives.
Jacobsen: Do you have any final points on that last topic?
Igwe: Yes, while a few media organizations are beginning to report witchcraft accusations more responsibly—rather than treating witchcraft itself as a fact or as a “certified” part of African culture—the progress is limited. Some outlets are starting to understand AfAW’s position and provide more balance. However, we are still far from the cultural shift we need. That kind of change will not happen through one report or even one event. It requires intensive public education and sustained enlightenment.
Unfortunately, in this area, many media stations have not been supportive. They are quick to publish sensational stories, like “an elderly woman turned into a bird” or “a witch crash-landed on her way to a meeting,” as was recently reported in Delta State. These kinds of stories get free publicity.
However, when AfAW attempts to purchase airtime to educate the public, we encounter significant costs. Media outlets charge us considerable amounts of money, making enlightenment campaigns very expensive. The imbalance is stark: free space for superstition, but costly barriers for rational education.
Meanwhile, churches and religious organizations that actively promote witchcraft narratives are given abundant airtime. They advertise events with themes like “That Witch Must Die” or “Exposing the Mysteries of Witchcraft.” These programs receive free promotion, which reinforces harmful beliefs.
By contrast, when we present our position—saying plainly that witchcraft is a myth—we are given little space, asked to pay heavily, and sometimes even put under pressure during media interviews. The pressure is on us to “prove” that something imaginary does not exist, instead of challenging those who claim it does.
The media landscape is still heavily skewed toward reinforcing witchcraft beliefs. We have not yet reached the paradigm shift where media establishments themselves start questioning and dismantling these narratives. That remains the challenge before us.
The cultural shift we need will only come when the media itself transforms. Until then, they will not welcome our programs in the way they should. Even when we pay for airtime, they often schedule us in the middle of the day, when people are busy at work. They refuse to give us prime slots in the evening or late at night—times when churches preach about witchcraft to audiences at home around the dinner table.
Without media on our side, we cannot fully succeed in making witch-hunting history in this region. That is why this work is so critical.
Jacobsen: There was a memorial action on August 29, connected to victims of ritual killings. You visited a hotel site linked to one of those incidents, to connect memory with today’s anti–witch hunt work. Could you explain what happened at that hotel, and how many victims are we talking about?
Igwe: I visited because of the incident that happened there in September 1996, almost 29 years ago. What happened then is still happening today. For example, earlier this year, in February 2025, in Lagos, a young man murdered his girlfriend, used an axe to break her head, and drained her blood into a calabash, supposedly for rituals. That case mirrors what happened at the Otokoto Hotel in 1996.
At Otokoto, the victim was an 11-year-old boy who sold peanuts on the streets. A hotel gardener lured him inside, gave him a drugged drink, and when the boy became unconscious, he cut off his head. The man was apprehended while attempting to deliver the head to someone who had ordered it for ritual purposes.
The news caused a massive uproar. There were riots in the city, and people began burning the houses of those suspected of being involved.
The people labelled as “ritualists,” in other words, those involved in ritual syndicates or racketeering, were the focus of that uproar. My visit to the Otokoto Hotel aimed to remind the people of Imo State that this practice has been ongoing for far too long and must come to an end.
The government seized the hotel property, and today it is used by the police. Not far from the police station, there is a street named after the young boy who was murdered. Those responsible were eventually arrested, and some received life imprisonment while others were sentenced to death.
I visited that property to show that the same problem we saw nearly three decades ago is still with us today—only in new forms. Now, people kill their girlfriends, relatives, or acquaintances for what they call organ harvesting. They believe specific organs can be used in rituals to produce wealth, success, or power.
The narratives of religion, miracles, magic, and supernatural intervention fuel these beliefs. All of them reinforce the idea that ritual killings can deliver prosperity. What we are confronting is a Herculean task—a complex, many-headed monster of superstition and fear. Only the flame of reason, compassion, critical thinking, and skeptical inquiry can provide hope for society and for the victims.
Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Leo.
