The term “witch doctor” often conjures images of malevolent figures, shrouded in mystery and engaged in dark practices. This perception is deeply ingrained in popular culture, yet it starkly contrasts with the reality of traditional healers in many societies. In Acholi, Northern Uganda, the narrative surrounding witch doctors, or ajwaka, is far more complex and nuanced. Often misunderstood and unfairly maligned, these individuals play multifaceted roles within their communities, roles that extend far beyond casting spells or dealing in curses.
Venturing to understand public authority in marginalized and conflict-affected regions, researcher Robin Oryem sought to interview local witch doctors in Acholi. His experience began with a telling encounter. Informing a motorbike taxi driver of his destination – a witch doctor’s residence – he was met with a barrage of questions tinged with suspicion and negativity: “What is your problem? Are you looking for riches? Has someone bewitched you?” The driver’s concluding remark, branding witch doctors as “bad,” encapsulates a prevalent, albeit limited, viewpoint.
This negative stereotype obscures the significant contributions witch doctors make to their communities. They are not merely figures of fear, but also mediators, counselors, and healers deeply embedded in the social fabric of Acholi society. Consider for instance, their involvement in crucial communal decisions, such as determining the fate of widows – whether they remain on their deceased husband’s land, return to their families, or seek protection from a relative. These are weighty matters with profound social implications, yet they represent just a fraction of the responsibilities undertaken by ajwaka.
To gain a deeper understanding, Oryem interviewed Akumu Christen, a female witch doctor in Northern Uganda. Akumu’s story provides a compelling insight into the unexpected path that led her to this role and the diverse ways she now serves her community.
‘It was in 2009 when I became a witch doctor, even though I never wanted to be one. In 2005 I was attacked by a ‘jok’ for the first time,’ Akumu recounts, explaining the spiritual calling that shaped her destiny.
Akumu Christen, an Acholi witch doctor in Uganda, showcases her tools of trade to researcher Robin Oryem, highlighting the tangible aspects of her spiritual and community healing practices.
Robin Oryem describes Akumu’s demonstration: ‘She was trying to show me what she uses in her daily work. Each one of those things has got different roles to play. The spear represents a god call Jok Kalawinya. Kalawinya is summoned when someone is possessed by evil spirits. The Bible represents a god called Mary, Mary is a white and she loves peace, so for anything concerning bringing peace, they summon her. The beer bottle represents a god call Jok Kirikitiny. Kirikitiny is a god from the Karomonjong ethnic groups – he is concerned with protection. The small syrup bottles contain a liquid substance which she takes before starting her work, it makes her see and hear from the gods.’
In Acholi belief, a jok is a spirit that can cause illness. Traditional healers like Akumu are skilled in identifying the specific jok responsible for affliction and performing the necessary rituals and sacrifices to appease it. Sometimes, if initial interventions fail, the person afflicted may undergo a transformative process to gain control over the jok, ultimately becoming an ajwaka themselves.
Akumu’s journey exemplifies this arduous path: ‘This jok wanted me to become a witch doctor. When I resisted, I became mad for three months, but in the fourth month I was taken from the forest and became a born-again Christian and the jok left me alone. But that liberty only lasted for two years and then I suffered the hardest attack yet from the jok. I became mad for the second time and lived in trees like a monkey for three months without eating food or drinking water and without coming down to the ground. Then my sister brought another witch doctor to initiate me into being a witch doctor, which was what the jok wanted all along, and that’s how I became a witch doctor.’
Despite initial apprehension about societal judgment, Akumu embraced her calling. ‘I was scared because of what people would say but I now have realised that this jok–known as jokajula- does not support wrong-doing like killing people. I don’t do rituals to kill people but to help them’.
Today, Akumu Christen serves her community in Paico in a variety of crucial roles, acting as a vital support system for individuals and families alike. These roles highlight the true nature of a witch doctor in Acholi society, far removed from the stereotypical image.
Mental Health Worker: Akumu provides crucial mental health support, particularly for victims of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) conflict. She helps returnees cope with trauma, preventing spirits from “attacking” them, alleviating nightmares, and facilitating their reintegration into the community. In this capacity, she acts as a traditional counselor, addressing psychological distress within a cultural framework of spiritual beliefs.
Peace Maker: Witch doctors like Akumu are instrumental in conflict resolution. She participates in clan reconciliation, for instance, in cases of homicide. Furthermore, she can be called upon to mediate with the spirit of a deceased person to determine the rightful recipient of “kwo money,” or blood money, ensuring justice and preventing further conflict.
Family Therapist: Addressing issues at the heart of family life, Akumu offers remedies for barrenness in both men and women. In Acholi culture, children are paramount, and the inability to conceive carries significant social and emotional weight. She also intervenes in broken marriages and relationships, offering guidance and rituals to restore harmony and stability within families.
Livelihoods Promotion: Recognizing the impact of economic hardship, Akumu assists individuals in overcoming misfortune and achieving financial stability. She performs rituals to “remove bad luck” and counter the negative intentions of those who might seek to keep others impoverished. This role highlights the witch doctor as a facilitator of socio-economic well-being within the community.
Disaster Prevention: In times of environmental uncertainty, community elders consult Akumu to perform rituals aimed at preventing natural disasters like droughts or floods. This responsibility underscores the witch doctor’s role in safeguarding the community’s collective welfare and ensuring environmental harmony.
Akumu Christen’s life and work demonstrate the multifaceted reality of a witch doctor. She is not only a spiritual figure but also a mental health advocate, a peacebuilder, a family counselor, and a community support figure. Alongside her demanding responsibilities, she is also a mother of two and a wife, further grounding her within the everyday realities of her community.
Considering these diverse and vital roles, it becomes clear that the stereotypical image of a witch doctor as a purely malevolent entity is a gross misrepresentation. In Acholi society, and likely in many other cultures, traditional healers like Akumu are integral members of their communities, providing essential services and upholding social cohesion. Perhaps it is time to reconsider our preconceived notions and ask ourselves again: do we still think witch doctors are simply “bad people”?
Robin Oryem is a researcher for LSE’s CPAID programme in northern Uganda.
