Mbale, Uganda, July 16 (AP) — At a recent funeral in Uganda, Wilson Watira experienced a telling encounter with a political rival. As he extended his hand for a traditional handshake, his opponent bypassed the gesture, choosing instead to fold a piece of paper and offer it to Watira.
“He picked up the program, folded it, and greeted me with it,” Watira recounted. “He’s afraid of me simply because I’m not afraid of him.” Watira, aspiring for a seat in Uganda’s Parliament, interprets this fear as indicative of the widespread anxiety surrounding witchcraft among politicians vying for power in this East African nation.
In public view, political contests in Uganda often transform into spectacles, with candidates renting vehicles for noisy processions and distributing cash and other inducements to sway voters. However, behind closed doors, the battle for power frequently ventures into the spiritual realm. Faith-driven events range from alleged ritual sacrifices to consultations with traditional healers, as noted by Watira and others speaking to The Associated Press.
Watira, a leader among Uganda’s Bamasaba people, suggested that the incumbent legislator, who avoided shaking hands, may have harbored fears that it could transfer an advantage to Watira or bring him misfortune. Such behavior, according to Watira, is not unexpected.
“When your mind reaches that point, everything becomes suspicious," he explained, highlighting his journey in overcoming the fear of witchcraft. “You start imagining things, and that’s the biggest challenge in our society.”
Spiritual conflict among politicians is part of broader faith-related tensions in Uganda, where Christianity is the prevalent religion. In a striking dichotomy, many churchgoers also frequent traditional shrines, seeking occult services they believe could secure their victories.
Such syncretism has puzzled church leaders who argue that Christianity is incompatible with remnants of traditional religions, still commonly practiced across sub-Saharan Africa.
In African politics, often marred by bitter disputes along ethnic and class lines, the fear of witchcraft can escalate tensions. In South Sudan, Vice President Riek Machar considers himself the individual predicted by a tribal seer to unify his nation—a belief contributing to his relentless pursuit of power.
Similarly, in Kenya, some anti-government demonstrators in Nairobi suspect that a perceived disorientation while nearing the presidential residence could indicate an evil spell favoring President William Ruto. Ruto also faces criticism for building a church within the statehouse grounds, seen by some as an ominous shrine.
In Zambia, two men face trial for allegedly using witchcraft and charms intended to harm President Hakainde Hichilema. Hichilema himself was once accused by predecessor Michael Sata of practicing witchcraft, claiming his own charms were stronger.
In Uganda’s capital, Kampala, and other cities, street displays promote services promising to magically capture thieves or reclaim lost lovers. Increasingly, they also pledge election victories for politicians preparing for the January 2026 elections.
“Across all Ugandan communities, reliance on witch doctors is rampant, especially among politicians,” remarked Steven Masiga, a researcher and cultural leader in Mbale.
“Politicians allocate a portion of their mobilized funds to pay for witch doctors, viewing them as a reliable resource,” he added. He recounted a previous incident where a local politician, under a witch doctor’s counsel, skinned a goat alive. The politician subsequently won the election.
President Yoweri Museveni, leading Uganda for four decades and eyeing reelection, has previously spoken in respect of African witch doctors. These healers, often referred to derogatorily, range from herbal medicine practitioners to those who claim to solve issues through magic. Some prefer being called traditional healers.
In a past speech, Museveni reminisced about performing a ritual by jumping over a slaughtered chicken during the bush war that brought him to power in 1986. Acknowledging the strength of traditional religion, he encouraged mainstream religious entities to engage amicably with traditional healers.
“We maintained a positive relationship with them,” Museveni said regarding traditional practitioners.
Many Ugandan politicians are thought to utilize witch doctors’ services, though rarely admit this for fear of public ridicule. Nonetheless, sightings of national leaders entering such shrines have drawn criticism from church authorities.
In 2016, parliamentary speaker Rebecca Kadaga was photographed visiting a shrine associated with her clan in Eastern Uganda. The Anglican archbishop censured this visit, but Kadaga, now no longer in the role, argued it was to inform her ancestors of her success.
“Who doesn’t have roots or origins?” she defended. “These are mine.”
In Mbale, traditional healer Rose Mukite, whose clientele includes distant political figures, regularly assists her clients. Her shrine, resembling an igloo, requires visitors to crouch to enter. Her practice involves shaking calabashes, casting cowrie shells, and inhaling pipe smoke while divining destinies.
Mukite began her practice in 1980, overcoming a possessing spirit to claim spiritual authority. Her services come at a minimal fee and attract numerous clients.
“I have many clients,” she emphasized, asserting her ability to prevent misfortune for politicians, such as avoiding jail time. She admitted, however, that her interventions aren’t infallible.
“I don’t succeed every time,” she stated. “Sometimes it’s like in a hospital when death is inevitable.”
Peace Khalayi, a Catholic campaigning for a parliamentary seat, battles against pressure from supporters advocating rituals to ensure her victory.
While engaging with diverse religious communities, she refuses any traditional practices involving sacrifices, drawing the line at visiting village elders.
She recalled moments when urged to meet with a witch doctor.
“I tell them, ‘We’ll arrange it,’ but I never appear,” she acknowledged.
Still, Khalayi remains wary, suspecting unprotected exposure could leave her vulnerable to opponents’ machinations.
“The fear is genuine,” she conceded. “The temptation to engage openly with adversaries is enticing but fraught with risk.”
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