Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions : Rainmaking, Witchcraft and Christianity in Tanzania [1 ed.] 9781443858762, 9781443854726

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Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions

Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions: Rainmaking, Witchcraft and Christianity in Tanzania

By

Terje Oestigaard

Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions: Rainmaking, Witchcraft and Christianity in Tanzania, by Terje Oestigaard This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by Terje Oestigaard All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5472-7, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5472-6

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ................................................................................... vii Chapter One ................................................................................................. 1 Introduction Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 31 Religion, Rain-Making and Rain-Fed Agriculture Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 85 Globalisation, Traditions and Change Chapter Four ............................................................................................ 123 Rainmaking: Returning to Tradition? Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 159 Witchcraft and Witch Killings Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 205 Religions at Work About the Author ..................................................................................... 247 Notes........................................................................................................ 249 Bibliography ............................................................................................ 279 Index ........................................................................................................ 301

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, I would like to thank all the friendly farmers and people I met in Usagara and other places, who shared their time and hospitality with me despite the difficulties they faced with failing rains and food shortages. Secondly, I would like thank my interpreter Simeon Mwampashi, who was an invaluable source not only as an interpreter, but equally important was his personal and social skills opening up many doors during the course of the fieldworks. I would also like to express my gratitude to Jumanne Abdallah, Sokoine University of Agriculture, Tanzania, and the nuns at Nyakahoja Hostel. This work has been conducted as part of the ‘Rural and Agrarian Change, Property and Resources’-cluster at the Nordic Africa Institute, Uppsala. I would first and foremost like to express my thanks and gratitude to Prof Kjell Havnevik, who has constantly inspired, discussed and commented on the project as it proceeded, and I will also thank the rest of the cluster when I started; Tea Virtanen and Eva Tobisson. Later, Linda Engström and Rajabu Hamisi also joined the cluster, all being a constant source for discussing Tanzania, and I will also thank Jenny Zetterqvist. I would like to extent my gratitude to the whole institute since it is a very stimulating and inspiring place to work. Lastly, Peter Colenbrander, who commented upon the language, has done an impressive and efficient work – thanks a lot. The idea of studying rainmaking started, however, before I joined the Nordic Africa Institute in 2010, and I will therefore thank Prof Terje Tvedt, Dr Tore Saetersdal and the Nile Basin Research Programme at the University of Bergen, Norway, for constructive discussions throughout the years with regards to water studies and in this case, rain in particular. I would also like to extend my thanks to Prof Randi Håland, Prof Ole Reidar Vetaas, who conducted statistical analyses, and Pernilla Bäckström who helped with library loans. Unless otherwise stated, I have taken the photos and I am of course solely responsible for the interpretations in this book. Terje Oestigaard Uppsala, January 2014

CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION

Tradition: the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way … a long-established custom or belief that has been passed on from one generation to another. —Oxford Dictionary1 Since knowledge is held largely in the minds of men, rather than being stored in a book or a computer, the older are inevitably at once the most experienced, and the most privileged communicators, as well as most likely to die, taking their knowledge with them to the world of the ancestors. The dead must therefore know more than the living; the forefathers are also the forebearers, the carriers of ‘tradition’. And it is in the cult of the ancestors that the dead reveal some of their superior, more comprehensive, knowledge. —Jack Goody2

This book aims to discuss why traditions disappear and how society is restructured when old traditions are replaced by other beliefs and knowledge systems. The empirical focus is the Sukuma group along the southern shores of Lake Victoria in Tanzania, but the discussion and conclusions may be relevant to similar processes in other areas, in particular in Africa. A central theme throughout is how religions work in practice as perceived by believers. For more than a century, the Sukuma have been integrated into the global world, but in varying degrees. Traditionally, the society was culturally and cosmologically structured around the chief and rainmaking. Everything depended on the rain. The chief was responsible for providing the life-giving rains believed to heal the land, a power that afforded him legitimacy as ruler. Both the chieftainship as an institution and rainmaking as a ritual practice have now disappeared, while at the same time Christianity is spreading and both witchcraft and witch killings flourish (with more than 500 alleged witches killed annually in Tanzania, predominantly among the Sukuma). Similarly, the role of the ancestors has diminished and tradition is no longer as important in culture and

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cosmology. In a religious context, why is rainmaking not working anymore and why are traditions disappearing? And might the declining role of ancestors enable both the spread of Christianity and increase in witchcraft?

Prologue Why does change happen? Why should it? Perhaps it is much more normal that matters and processes change than that they remain the same. More specifically, why do and believe the same as your grandparents, today in a globalised world? This may seem to be a ludicrous question since the obvious answer is in the negative, but then the pressing question is why? My own grandparents grew up before the Second World War. The world is different now, not only because of the War, the Cold War, the War on Terrorism – or because of peace or pieces of the Berlin Wall. The examples of change are endless, and not without reason: my grandparents were born at the beginning of the 20th century, and society and the world have changed dramatically since then. I can confidently say that the Second World War was the ultimate tragic event and the most important frame of reference and experience for my grandparents, in fact for the whole of their generation in Europe and beyond. By contrast, the births of their children and grandchildren, including me, and the associated weddings, confirmations and other festivities and so on were at the opposite and positive end of the scale of experience. Apart from my own history and family traditions, this shared European history and the war is part of my own culture and has shaped my worldview, although I did not witness or experience it firsthand. It is also part of Tanzanian history, but in a very different way and is given numerous other meanings and probably lesser importance than in Europe. Tanzania has a colonial history and gained independence in 1961. In Tanzania, the colonial past is probably more important than a war, however devastating, on another continent, even one involving the very nations that colonised Tanzania, Germany and Britain. Nevertheless, even though the war shaped and redefined history, both from a Western or European perspective and also globally, today it belongs to history, but in a different way from, say, the European Thirty Year War (1618-48). The latter was one of the longest continuous wars in modern history, and also caused millions of deaths, including from disease, but it is a war few apart from those with a more than average interest in history even know about. Older people may refer to the Second World War as the most ground-breaking event in history, but few of that

Introduction

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generation live today. It is absolutely true that if the outcome had been different, the world today would be dramatically different. But that was not to be the historical trajectory and much has happened over the last 70 years. The world has continued to change. This circumstance draws attention to two issues: distance in time and space, since the scale on which we measure the importance of events is intrinsically linked to both. Time: The war was fundamental and shaped the lives of my grandparents, not to mention the Jews who survived and everybody else since. However, for me, as a member of the second generation, although the war is still important, it belongs to history. It is not my history as experienced personally. It is a tradition, yes, and there are lessons to be learned, but the sad truth is that for the generations following me it is just another war among many others, to be studied if and when somebody wants to read history. Even the Great War has become history, not necessarily forgotten, but marginalised and not given cultural relevance equivalent to today’s challenges (the War on Terrorism is today’s reference point, or, at least, was a couple of years ago) and no longer viewed as being as important as it used to be in the years and decades after its ending. Its cultural impact and incorporation into the social matrix diminishes and eventually fades into the past. What was once the most important event for better or worse gradually loses significance. Time takes its toll. A mundane example: nothing is more important than the person you marry on the wedding day, but circumstances and perceptions may change, in many cases substantially and dramatically before and during a divorce. Space: Distance matters, the closer, the more important. This is also closely linked to time. The Germans serve as an example. Today, Germany is the locomotive of the European economy, and may save the Euro and solve the current financial crisis. In a historic perspective, for the person reading this book 100 years hence, this crisis probably won’t matter and will long since have been resolved in one way or other. Now, however, it matters, and Germany is at the very centre of these developments. Moreover, other countries in Europe are dependent on Germany through the European Union and physical proximity. Germany has, of course, also had different roles in history. The Holocaust is perhaps the most obvious example of why place matters. Millions of Jews were executed. The physical closeness of the genocide gives this history special importance. It has global significance, but this may nevertheless be different from its significance to, say, the Jews who survived or who lost family members. In Tanzania, German colonisation is remembered for its brutality. Although the Holocaust was on a totally different scale, the

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closeness in space affects the ways events (in this case murders and genocide) are incorporated into the social matrix and become essential parts of tradition. In short, traditions are intrinsically woven into lived lives, because they form a frame of reference for own life experiences and for social interaction, ranging from family and local community to the global world. Thus, in Tanzania the memories of German colonisation may be more important than the genocide of the Jews, and vice versa. Place and closeness matter. Rwanda is another example. Whether one lives or is born in Africa or Europe, much water has flowed under the bridge since my grandparents were young. The world is different. This is somehow obvious and trite, but sometimes it is necessary to stop awhile to examine the seemingly banal and simplistic. Beyond these obvious observations, there are some profound and far-reaching questions. Yes, the world is changing, but why and how? These are among the most fundamental questions of any social analysis throughout time, and consequently I cannot pretend to have definitive answers. I hope, however, to add at least something to the understanding of change by focusing on traditions, more importantly and specifically, globalised traditions. The traditions of our grandparents – wherever they lived – persist in today’s global world, but not all of them. Many have disappeared, or are barely remembered, or are largely ignored and marginalised, at best documented in ethnographic books stored somewhere in libraries, which few read and even fewer refer to. Traditions do disappear, quite rapidly and in many cases unnoticed by others, since they have never been documented. Yet, there is also continuity: knowledge is transferred from generation to generation, institutionalised in schools and universities and incorporated into the very foundations and core of the social matrix that is society and culture. Indeed, this knowledge transfer lies at the heart of every person, society, culture, nation, civilisation and religion. Tradition is thus of utmost importance and a fundamental basis for humanity – ranging from what it is to be an individual to what it is to be part of the greatest civilisations or world religions (regardless of how one defines any of these). In short, being in the world means that the past is part of the present and the only source of knowledge and experience for facing the unknown future. Traditions are dependent upon time depths, and are also some of the structuring mechanisms at work in history. This was emphasised by Braudel, who wrote: History exists at different levels, I would even go so far as to say three levels but that would be only in a manner of speaking, and simplifying things too much. There are ten, a hundred levels to be examined, ten, a

Introduction

5

hundred time spans. On the surface, the history of events works itself out in the short term: it is a sort of microhistory. Halfway down, a history of conjunctures follows a broader, slower rhythm … And over and above the ‘recitatif’ of the conjuncture, structural history, or the history of the longue durée, inquires into whole centuries at a time.3

Despite all human creativity and cultural innovation, the present is also to a large extent, and perhaps overwhelmingly, the direct continuation of the past, although in different and modified forms, and experienced in various ways. On one hand, at all times and in all places there have been entrepreneurs and innovators, and some solutions simply are the best or better and continue to work today, for instance Archimedes’s water screw. On the other, the accumulated knowledge of hundreds of generations is so vast that it is a challenge for modern cultural creativity to come up with something truly new, in the sense that no-one has previously not thought of it. In practice, there is a strong cultural resistance regarding how change happens, not only because of the number of people in the society involved, but also because of their specific knowledge, which shapes important parts of their identities. Still, cultural creativity, innovation and change are universal and continuous. Sometimes, change occurs rapidly, but social change by incorporating new knowledge into the social matrix of reproduction can also be a very slow and resistant process. The reproduction of knowledge directly focuses attention on tradition. There are numerous definitions of tradition. At its simplest, tradition has been defined as the way our grandparents did things; the way things used to be in the past; the old ways; or the ways things should be. Traditions are about past life-ways, life-worlds and beings that still linger to today and are somehow believed to represent some undefined or implicit core values of culture and society. Traditions are just that: that which has, or is believed to have, always been, and which should continue for no other reason than that it is tradition and consequently fundamental to our being and identities. Traditions are the deep structures in society guaranteeing stability and permanence; they are the security net of experience and cultural value one does not have to challenge precisely because they have always been, and should be, there. Tradition is the grandparent of culture, undefined but providing security and serving as ultimate reference points of being – a well of stability and continuity in an otherwise changing world. Thus it has always been and will continue to be, although in different ways in changing worlds. Grandparents are not only a metaphor for tradition, they also communicate and transfer traditions. They are, in short, the elders, those with the most life experience and knowledge.

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But then the question arises, why does this traditional knowledge matter today? One may even stress the latter point: in a world that has radically changed, of what relevance is knowledge based on experiences up to a century old? The world is different, so why should traditions matter? Logically and, consequently, in practice, the lives of our grandparents are not necessarily the most relevant to our being in and engaging with the world. How could it be otherwise? One would have to step back two generations, and even more if one follows the logic that those grandparents would have followed the traditions of their grandparents and so on successively. Everyone and everything would have been in a state of static continuity from time immemorial and involving unknown and undefined ancestors. Time, people and the world do not work that way. Using grandparents as a metaphor may nevertheless yield some insights into cultural change and the continuity of tradition. Whether one talks about culture or tradition, one is basically talking about humans, their interactions and knowledge transfers. Tautologically, there is no one older than the elders. At the age of 40, I am in the middle, there are both grandparents and teenagers. But irrespective of age, no person does and believes everything that his or her grandparents did. Even so, all of us continue certain of what our grandparents and their grandparents did. From our early days, we get accustomed to the cycles of tradition, those events and rituals we repeat because they have always been so and should be so. Traditions are some of the most stabilising and structuring practices in our lives, helping us to organise our life-worlds and being in the world. The past matters and it is impossible to live in the world without tradition simply because everybody’s lives are the sum of the past and lived experiences. From childhood onward, these streams of influence include parents, grandparents, the extended family and the community to nation states and the whole planet in a globalised world. At all levels, one is influenced by and influences people, but in very different degrees and with very different consequences. But if tradition is so fundamental in our lives, why does it change and even disappear? This is the main question I attempt to address in this book. I do so by focusing on the disappearance of the tradition of rainmaking in Tanzania (Fig. 1.1). What are the mechanisms and social processes at work when knowledge of a crucial ritual is no longer transferred from one generation to another and continued? Clifford Geertz calls the important aspects of the cultural matrix ‘thick description’: what matters culturally and constitutes the social web of significance.4 But what happens when ‘thick descriptions’ become ‘thin descriptions’ by becoming irrelevant and even

Introduction

7

being forgotten? As Goody says, ‘what matters culturally is what is transmitted. Silent knowledge is lost knowledge.’5 If the cultural core and culture as tradition are not transmitted to the next generation, why and how does this not happen?

Fig. 1.1. Tanzania. Map: Nile Basin Research Programme. University of Bergen, Norway.

In any social analysis, the question of what constitutes change or continuity is central. However, most social analyses addressing this

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subject have largely focused on the new. This is somehow natural, since innovations create new situations and consequently change. However, in this book I attempt to address the other aspect of change, omitted in most other studies, namely what is lost and why? In order for new factors to be incorporated into the social matrix and to bring about change, certain elements of the past as tradition have to be discarded or ignored. Change involves accepting the new at the expense of the old. Therefore, in order for change to happen, what is culturally dismissed as relevant knowledge and why? This will be addressed by studying the disappearance of the beliefs and practices associated with rainmaking. This, in turn, has had far-reaching consequences for other aspects of culture and cosmology. In short, we come to the issue of why and how religions work in a context of globalised traditions.

Approaching the topic In Tanzania, agriculture employs about 70 per cent of the labour force, it contributes about 45 per cent of GDP and is a major source of livelihood for about 80 per cent of the country’s population. In sub-Saharan Africa, agriculture is, as elsewhere, dependent on the life-giving waters, and in this region more than 95 per cent of farmed land is rainfed. Although the water-world, with its absence and presence of water, is a consequence of hydrological and climatic parameters, in traditional African societies the occurrence of the annual flood or rains has been a fundamental part of culture and religion. It is these life-giving waters that bring the successful harvest, and give life and prosperity to people. Depending on the ecological context, various rituals are conducted with regard to rain, rivers and lakes, according to how these different waters are included in domestic agrarian pursuits. In Tanzania, rainmaking has been an intrinsic part of culture and religion. As a ritual, it is believed to control the life-giving waters at the time of the year when they are most needed for cultivation. Traditionally, political power did not derive from direct control over economic resources, but rather, indirectly through ritual power: ‘Politics was ultimately played out in the sphere of ritual; i.e., in the capacity to provide fertility, peace, and health.’6 Thus, one may consider rainmaking as an ecological technique, at least as perceived by the practitioners, who respond to ecological crisis and political situations by performing rainmaking rituals.7 In Shambaa in Tanzania, for instance, the concept of ‘healing the land’ and ‘harming the land’ linked rain and fertility to stability and political power.8 ‘[Southern] Africans followed implicit and

Introduction

9

explicit ecological policies, no less real for their apparent rootedness in “religion”.’9 This in turn draws attention to how religions work and the fundamental role of rain for rain-fed agriculturalists. The importance of rain and agriculture has not diminished with globalisation in the modern world. Rather the contrary is true: population increase places more stress on water and land resources. Why then has the most important ritual believed to secure the life-giving waters disappeared? In order to understand changing agricultural practices and how and why things work (or do not work) in practice, this project started on the assumption that some of the answers could be found in culture, tradition and religion. At the outset, the aim was to study the relationship between traditional rainmaking and agricultural practices in the face of modernity, globalisation and climate change in Tanzania. Initially, I proposed two overall questions. On one hand, how do changes to or resilience in traditional culture and religion with regard to rainmaking affect actual agricultural practices? On the other, how do new agricultural activities and crops, higher stress and pressure on land and water resources, population growth, food shortages, erratic rainfall and climate change influence actual ritual practices and religious beliefs, with cultural consequences for society? These two questions looked good on paper. In Usagara village, just south of Lake Victoria and close to the town of Mwanza, where I started my fieldwork among the Sukuma, rainmaking rituals had disappeared long ago. The initial questions were wrong, but still somehow relevant I thought, because the village could be an interesting case study of the impact of globalisation processes on indigenous cultural practices, beliefs and rituals, or, in other words, tradition. It took some time before I again realised I had made wrong assumptions: I had created a false dichotomy between tradition and globalisation, between the local and the modern (regardless of what these terms mean, which will be discussed later), and between a vaguely defined Us (meaning Westerners and global, in practice me) and them, the Others (in practice, the local or the poor farmers’ traditions). They were as globalised as I was, but in very different contexts and on very different terms. Yet, the dichotomy does exist and has relevance, but in other ways. In discussions with elders who still believed in traditional values and religious and ritual practice, they complained that tradition was disappearing. Nobody cared to follow it. The young generation wanted a Western lifestyle and to be modern. Misery and suffering within the community and the failing rain was because of the failure to propitiate the

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ancestors and conduct rainmaking rituals. If society were to be healed and the well-being of people recovered, villagers would have to resume traditional beliefs and rituals. However, they added, since most people had converted to new religions, in practice Christianity (with its different denominations), but also partly to Islam, this was highly unlikely. Tradition would be lost forever and misery would continue and increase. And, according to them, since the young generation despised traditional values and wanted to be modern, society would deteriorate with dire consequences, as was already evident in the increase in witchcraft and witch killings. And this was all because tradition was disrespected and lost. The disappearance of tradition has, as Caplan notes, also weakened the social glue: ‘young men do not want to spend their income supporting their natal households – they want consumer goods such as radios, watches, bicycles and smart clothes, and to spend their evenings watching videos.’10 Changes in tradition change the social matrix with, according to the elders, devastating consequences for society and social life. Since no condition is permanent, the question of what tradition is inevitably arises. Is tradition a static residue of the past or has it always been a continuously renegotiated process of interpretation in the present? In other words, we are back to the classic question in anthropology, that regarding continuity and change. Is it change through continuity or continuity through change? These questions bring other questions in their train. Is change due to local innovation, or external impulse or migration – or a combination of these? In this case, however, it is change in the face of globalisation, which represents something new or at least different. Communities in Tanzania, as elsewhere, have never been isolated islands without communication and interaction with the wider world. Their traditions have always been globalised in some degree, and not solely locally bound in time and space. However, today’s processes of global interaction and change occur with greater intensity and with unprecedentedly deep and pervasive consequences for all levels of society. This will be a central theme throughout the book, also illustrating that undertaking fieldwork today challenges any notions of tradition as an unsullied source of authentic knowledge from the past and unrelated to the current global world.

Globalised traditions in practice It was just a normal day during my second field trip among the Sukuma during the autumn 2011 (Fig. 1.2).11 On the way to Usagara village, my interpreter and I sat in the local minibus, as usual overcrowded and with

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music being played too loudly. There had, however, been a small but notable change since my previous visits during the rainy season just half a year ago. The songs were probably much the same (although I had not paid particular attention), but now instead of cassettes or CDs, many minibuses boasted small video-screens playing DVDs of the hottest Tanzanian pop and music bands. The music and the video performances of the bands, singers and dancers could have been from anywhere: young, shapely women in small bikinis with or without tight jeans dancing on a beach in the sunset with good drinks, and accompanied by hip, cool male youngsters wearing large sunglasses. In other words, modern and Western. Or perhaps not: indigenous, local and global at the same time. Truly Tanzanian and truly modern. In fact, it was as global as any music video from Hollywood or Bollywood or anywhere else. Although the global is often understood as something indefinably ‘Western’, mainly because globalisation started in the West and has rippled throughout the globe at different scales and intensities, it is perhaps more correct to say that the global is just that – global, something transcending national boundaries. Still, cultural influences flow both ways: African music has spread across the world. This is not a new phenomenon, and I can hear the sounds of Gospel choirs or Bob Marley, among others, somewhere at the back of my mind. And centuries-old traditions and cultural memories of the past live on as important parts of the cultural make-up of ‘Westerners’ and others. No man or society is an island and local traditions are influenced by, or partly the outcome of, external impulses. In other words, every tradition is in varying measure part of the global world. When we got to Usagara, my interpreter called a good and cheerful farmer we had met and interviewed several times before. He answered on his mobile phone that he was around, and as agreed the day before, he took us to meet his friend in the sub-village. The latter was my age and was busy cultivating, since the rains had come. He had not much time to talk, but wanted to meet me later and also to gather a group of elders who knew more about the topics I wanted to ask about. There was a knowledge gap between the elders and the younger men, or at least that was the perception (the difference between ‘elders’ and ‘younger’ will be elaborated later). Implicit in this is also a perception that the elders are the true bearers of tradition, a line of reasoning consistent with the definition quoted above. The younger generation does not have the same insight into the rituals and the history, or may not even have the same interest in knowing about this past. For this reason it is common for scholars undertaking ethnographic studies to seek the elders when

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inquiring about the traditions – those beliefs, social practices or cosmologies – of a group, a people or a culture.

Fig. 1.2. Map of Usagara in relation to Mwanza.12

The loss of tradition and the elders One characteristic of the Sukuma is that they are said to abide by tradition more than other groups.13 The Oxford Dictionary defines tradition as ‘the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way’ or ‘a long-established custom or belief that has been passed on from one generation to another.’14 The word originates from the Old French tradicion or from Latin traditio(n-), the latter being derived from tradere, to ‘deliver, betray’, or from trans‘across’ and dare ‘give’.15 According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, oral tradition is:

Introduction

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… the first and still most widespread mode of human communication. Far more than ‘just talking,’ oral tradition refers to a dynamic and highly diverse oral-aural medium for evolving, storing, and transmitting knowledge, art, and ideas. It is typically contrasted with literacy, with which it can and does interact in myriad ways, and also with literature, which it dwarfs in size, diversity, and social function.16

In another context, Barth writes that ‘to understand reproduction and historic change we need to understand the functional system which is undergoing reproduction and change – in this case, is the process one of collective retrieval from socially accessible sources, or one of recreation from elements lodged in one or a few individual minds?’17 Importantly, ‘whether or not the “knowledge” is held by one or more individuals, what matters more is who reproduces it in the ceremonial situation.’18 This is notably relevant to rainmaking, to which we will return later. Thus, tradition concerns knowledge and knowledge transfers within and between generations, from parents to children and from grandparents to grandchildren, thereby unifying time and generations. The traditions are mostly orally transmitted by elders and are somehow seen as more ‘authentic’ than the traditions of the younger people. More precisely, the cultural knowledge of the latter group is by definition not ‘proper tradition’, since they are the receivers of knowledge from their parents and grandparents. The question is, will they transfer it to their children? Moreover, the younger cohort’s knowledge has been influenced by modernity: it has become globalised tradition or at least partly influenced by other impulses. But as will be argued, there is no pure or authentic tradition. The traditions disclosed by elders were also and still are subject to external and internal influences and changes. Today we call it globalisation, but since the late 19th century, Tanzania has experienced Christian missionaries, German and British colonisation, independence, socialist ideology and a liberal market economy. All of these and much more have influenced the traditions that refer to the past and how things used to be. Traditions are always changing. They have always been globalised, but in varying degrees. Still, it is worth listening carefully to the elders for a number of reasons. The experiences of lived lives cannot be underestimated, and, depending upon social context, they are to differing extents the foundations of society. Although in Western societies elders become increasingly marginalised, it is also true that a 20-year old does not become a bank director, professor, prime minister or president. Age is not the sole criterion, but age combined with experience institutionalised through practice confer legitimacy. This is what Feierman refers to as

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‘peasant intellectuals’ in his seminal book of the same title. Intellectuals are defined ‘by their place in the unfolding social process: they engage in socially recognized organizational, directive, educative, or expressive activities … Intellectuals are not defined by the quality and content of their discourse … they are defined by their place within the ensemble of social relations.’19 In African contexts, this must be emphasised. The elders were respected and their advice followed. As a social institution, this was the council of the elders. This institution, however, is now gradually declining. It is losing legitimacy and becoming more and more marginalised within its community, as the elders are elsewhere. Importantly, however, elders have knowledge of what was significant in the recent past. The key ritual was rainmaking. Among the Sukuma and others in Tanzania, the king or chief was responsible for securing the lifegiving rains for his people, and that was the rationale for him being the legitimate ruler. The chieftain had powers to enhance the fertility of fields, secure the health and wealth of humans and well-being of animals, and to control or counter disasters, including epidemics, plagues and attacks by wild beasts. The rainmaker controlled and manipulated nature through rituals such that the forefathers and the ancestors provided the rain through the chieftain or king as a facilitating medium. The chiefs could themselves be rainmakers or include healers with this capacity in their court. Where a chief was unable to procure rain either himself or through his attendants for three years, the result being enduring drought, he would be replaced by another ruler. The rainmaker was thus responsible for the wealth and health of his people by controlling and providing the life-giving waters, in fact, by providing for life in its widest definition. This tradition has now been lost among the Sukuma in Usagara village. Even though the traditions of which the elders speak have been influenced by a number of global factors over time, they are nonetheless about identity. In Barth’s words, through ritual ‘a situation is created where the vision and commitment of a handful of senior men must be sufficiently strong to make it necessary for them to impose this ephemeral group identity on a vastly larger, ritually passive population which has no experience that calls for its conceptualization.’20 These comments are certainly relevant to rainmaking rituals. Identity is a fundamental aspect of being human. According to Jenkins, ‘identification can be defined minimally as the ways in which individuals and collectives are distinguished in their social relations [from] other individuals and collectives. Identity is a matter of knowing who’s who (without which we can’t know what’s what).’21 It is not only the younger generation that listens to radio, watches TV and is updated about what is

Introduction

15

happening in the world. The same is true of the elders, but there are important differences. Younger people may want to become ‘modern’ and ‘Western’ and fancy new hip-hop music, Coca-Cola and Europeaninspired clothes. As a consequence, they generally neglect older rituals and tradition and see rainmaking as archaic, since failing rain is understood as related to climate change and not to the failure to propitiate ancestors. This underscores an important aspect of identity: according to Jenkins again, ‘identity can only be understood as process, as “being” or “becoming”. One’s identity – one’s identities, indeed, for who we are is always singular and plural – is never a final or settled matter.’22 Identities are always changing and so are traditions. With regard to the globalisation of tradition, those very factors that some community members would like to embrace as part of their identity (‘Western lifestyle’) are a threat to the identity and lifestyle of others or to the ‘original’ tradition. The younger generation may want to distance itself from the tradition the elders speak of and identify with, but the elders may see the issue as diametrically different. According to the elders, modern lifestyles, behaviour and values, including neglect of ancestors, destroy tradition and bring misfortune upon society. The elders and some informants complained that, since the young generation will be modern and will have nothing to do with the ancestors, in the future they will be unable to address their forefathers when they face misfortune and evil and will not know what caused the problems. Moreover, they will not be able to benefit from the powers the ancestors also possess to enhance good fortune. Unable to approach the ancestors for solutions and knowledge, they will face more suffering, difficulty and lack of development. In the end, however, it was generally claimed that the tradition of propitiating the ancestors would disappear and be gone forever. Thus, if tradition is ‘the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation,’ when the younger generation actively works against the transmission of the knowledge and beliefs of the elders, there will be a loss of tradition. This is how many elders perceive the situation. Theoretically, though, traditions continue although elements may disappear. Traditions are always changing, being reinvented and being moulded into the social matrix of culture. Thus, there is both change and strong elements of continuity. Moreover, it should be noted that complaints about the youth are not new. In classical Greece, for instance, Plato quotes Socrates thus: ‘The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They

16

Chapter One

contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers.’ In this sense, there is nothing new under the sun. Still, the young in time become elders and transfer traditions, and complain about the youth not caring about tradition, and yet they continue and transmit traditions.

Culture and tradition How is one to approach and define culture? Culture and tradition are often used interchangeably. Tradition, although not consistently used, generally refers to a vaguely defined past, since it entails the transmission of knowledge from generation to generation. However, if particular practices no longer exist, rainmaking in this case, strictly speaking they are no longer part of tradition as defined as transmission from generation to generation. Yet culture and tradition are deeply complex concepts and phenomena. Memories of lost traditions and practices are often among the most powerful structural components in any revival of identity through ethnic, national or religious mobilisation. This is not the case with the Sukuma, and among the elders there is sincere sadness at the loss of tradition. It just disappears. Even so, it is part of culture. Roy Williams once said that ‘culture’ is one of two or three of the most difficult words to define, because it is a concept fundamental to numerous non-compatible disciplines. Consequently, the concept has a history of diverse and mutually contradictory ideas,23 and it has numerous definitions. In 1871, the British anthropologist Edward Tylor defined culture in this way: ‘Culture or Civilization, taken in its widest ethnographic sense, is that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society.’24 A century later, the core had not changed much, although the definition had become broader. The 1982 Mexico Declaration defines culture as: … the whole complex of distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional features that characterize a society or social group. It includes not only the arts and letters, but also modes of life, the fundamental rights of the human being, value systems, traditions and beliefs; that it is culture that gives man the ability to reflect upon himself. It is culture that makes us specifically human, rational beings, endowed with a critical judgment and a sense of moral commitment. It is through culture that we discern values and make choices. It is through culture that man expresses himself, becomes aware of himself, recognizes his incompleteness, questions his

Introduction

17

own achievements, seeks untiringly for new meanings and creates works through which he transcends his limitations.25

This is both a good and a bad definition. It is good because it is broad and seeks to include all aspects of humanity and of being a human. Herein, however, lies the problem. The definition captures everything and hence nothing. It is too wide to have any practical utility for social analysis. Moreover, such definitions tend to be ahistorical or phenomenological, presenting a culture as a unit or a whole. Once one starts scratching below the surface, these definitions crumble. Herskovits described the problem as early as 1945: To think in terms of a single pattern for a single culture is to distort reality ... for no culture is [so] simple [as not] to have various patterns. We may conceive of them as a series of interlocking behavior and thought and value systems, some even in conflict with others. The pattern of fundamental values in a society ... will be effective over the entire group; but there will be subpatterns by which men order their lives differently from women, young and middle-aged folk from elders, members of lower from those of higher socioeconomic status ... But all must be taken into account when an understanding of the mutations of culture in change is the end of the analysis.26

Fredrik Barth elaborated on the problem of cultural diversity in Balinese Worlds (1993). Reality is always diverse for a number of reasons. First, there is variation in ‘expertise’ and positioning in any community, and is there any expertise that can exercise authority for all? Second, there are also differences between men and women, young and old, poor and rich, vulnerable and powerful. Third, there is diversity in traditions. Fourth, local history, contention and context represent varied particularism. Finally, there are always the pragmatics of purpose and interests, and consequently different representations for different tasks. Thus, Barth asks, ‘which should the anthropologist privilege? Or do we adhere to a belief that, if only it is thoroughly abstracted, it all coheres in its essence?’27 This is hardly an option, according to Barth. In cultural analyses, ‘we are invited to approach our subject with questions of how meaning is constructed and conferred, how the webs are spun, rather than merely what is the shape of the edifice so constructed.’28 I will not make any conclusive statements about Sukuma culture. I don’t know that it exists as such. From the above discussion it should be clear this is not a postmodern deconstruction stance, but goes to the core of what culture is. The cultural diversity of the Sukuma was emphasised by a chief I interviewed. As the chairman of the Sukuma chiefs, he was writing

18

Chapter One

a book about the Sukuma and documenting traditions before they disappear. However, he stressed that it was impossible to make any uniform statements about the Sukuma people, their traditions and lives, for ‘there are differences everywhere.’ However, if we accept that cultures in general exist and that the (or a) Sukuma culture in particular exists, this is as good as any point of departure for analysing social change. After all, if there is one thing one should have learnt after a couple of decades of postmodern deconstructivist discourses, deconstructing everything to bits is the most deconstructing and intellectually de-stimulating practice possible – easy yes, but does it contribute to much new knowledge? Deconstructing a concept like ‘culture’ solves nothing. On the other hand, the object of anthropology is the study of cultural difference and variation. ‘Culture’ is so intricately woven into all social studies and disciplines that in practice it is futile to dwell too much on the concept as such. And yet there are some general patterns within a ‘culture’ that are more common to and shared among, say, the Sukuma than the Swedes. Witchcraft is but one example. Widespread among the Sukuma, it is not so in Swedish towns and villages. Culture, however, is not a unit, although nation states may have borders that differentiate cultures and people. Beyond that, where are the boundaries of a culture or society? ‘They were different in every different context of action and in every domain of discourse,’29 Feierman argues. ‘The wider world is not external to the local community; it is at the heart of the community’s internal process of differentiation.’30 The local is global and the global local. It is impossible to demarcate where a culture starts and ends, simply because this is a wrong approach and misunderstands what culture is and how it works. In his The Work of Culture (1990), Gananath Obeyesekere distinguishes between personal and cultural symbols.31 From his psychoanalytical perspective, a symbol has a dual function because it is both personal and cultural. A symbol is therefore a basis for self-reflection (the personal dimension), but it also communicates with others (the cultural dimension). Personal symbols are public symbols ‘that permit the expression of the unconscious thoughts of the individual; but since they make sense to others, they also permit communications with others in the language of everyday discourse.’32 A personal symbol is a cultural symbol that is related to an individual’s motivation and makes sense only in relation to the life history of the person. Still, the individual and all personal symbols are part of the larger institutional context in which they are embedded.33 Symbols therefore both enable and constrain cultural change. However,

Introduction

19

although all forms of subjective imagery and symbols are innovative, not all of them end up as culture. They have to be legitimated by the group in terms of the larger culture.34 Turning from symbols to traditions, the same processes are at work, and indeed to some extent they are common, since symbols are intrinsic to language, practice and ritual. ‘The difficult task in actual historical analysis is to create a method and a form of ethnographic description which can capture the cultural categories as both continuous and in transformation,’35 Steven Feierman observes. He continues: ‘Each person has a sphere of competent knowledge, but not all knowledge is equal in its weight within society, in its capability to move people towards collective action, or to create authoritative discourse. The study of intellectuals is an attempt to examine the variation in discourse from one social position to another.’36 Traditions exist, but they are not passively inherited from the past. Rather, they are actively created. This may mainly happen in two ways: new inventions acquire legitimacy from tradition if seen as direct continuity, or as a re-creation of a lost tradition. Traditions are always invented, and a tradition may therefore not bear any direct or visible relationship to the past, although people may believe there is direct continuity.37 There is another way as well. Certain elements in a person’s life-world and history are developed and given new meanings in new contexts. The present lives and life experiences become tradition and history. Culture is always in the making, and so also are cosmologies being reincorporated and reconstituted in society. Cosmology ‘is not merely about a world out there, isolated from the self. More essentially, it provides a web of concepts, connections and identities whereby one’s own attitudes and orientation to the various parts of the world are directed and moulded.’38 When the premises change, new traditions develop based on interpretations of how to solve new problems. The development of witchcraft is just such a case, as will be elaborated below. Roy Rappaport addresses this using another approach. He asks: ‘When does a system stop being what it has been and become something else?’ This is difficult to answer unless there is a distinct break in the succession of ecosystems,39 which is hardly the case among the Sukuma in Usagara. They are still dependent on the arrival of the annual rains for their life and well-being. Moreover, there is also always continuity in some elements or fundamental structural aspects, because ‘structural transformations in some subsystems [have] made it possible to maintain more basic aspects of the system unchanged.’40 Rappaport therefore argues that the crucial question is ‘What does this change maintain unchanged?’41 This is a

20

Chapter One

dialectic process between individuals and society. ‘Long-term continuity and active creation are in fact compatible. Even when forms of discourse are inherited from the past, the peasants must make an active decision to say that they are meaningful at this moment, to select a particular form of discourse as opposed to other possible forms, and to shape the inherited language anew to explain current problems,’ Feierman argues.42 But then another problem arises.

Individuals and society (culture) Feierman, in asserting that it is not society creating continuity or discontinuity in cultural practices but individuals living and acting in particular historical contexts, is adopting a position of methodological individualism.43 The alternative position is methodological collectivism. These are two ideal types of historical explanation. Methodological collectivism is holistic and states that human behaviour can be explained or deduced from macroscopic laws that apply to the whole social system whereby it is possible to describe the positions and functions of individuals within this overall whole. Methodological individualism deduces events and processes from acting individuals and descriptions of their situations.44 Simply put, is it individuals who produce society or is society that produces individuals? Methodological collectivists have society as the point of departure from which the individual’s behaviour is deduced. Methodological individuals start with acting individuals, from whom they go about deducing society or social units.45 This is also a discussion of what matters – mind or materiality. The archaeologist Ian Hodder says that by ‘materialist approaches [I mean] those that infer cultural meanings from the relationship between people and their environment. Within such a framework the ideas in people’s minds can be predicted from their economy, technology, social and material production.’ He continues: ‘By idealist I mean any approach which accepts that there is some component of human action which is not predictable from a material base, but which comes from the human mind or from culture in some sense.’46 Thus, whereas methodological collectivism is determinism, methodological individualism is reductionism. Karl Marx is of course lurking in the background here. Materialism defines reality as a form of ‘matter’. ‘An idealist is one who denies ontological reality to matter; a materialist to mind.’47 All materialist Marxists define subjectivity impersonally and freedom as the realisation of objective laws,48 and a key controversy has been whether Marxism emancipates or enslaves human behaviour. Materialist Marxism is an

Introduction

21

extreme variant of methodological collectivism. On the other hand, extreme methodological individualism is advocated by Jon Elster, who in the book paradoxically entitled The Cement of Society, concludes that ‘there are no societies, only individuals who interact with each other.’49 However, as Maurice Godelier notes, ‘human beings … do not just live in society, they produce society in order to live.’50 The works of the sociologists Pierre Bourdieu51 and Anthony Giddens52 have aimed to overcome the problem of methodological collectivism and individualism and how relations between humans and society operate and interact. Still they have worked within a sociological tradition that, since Émile Durkheim (1858-1917), has argued that in the social and human sciences, social facts can only be explained by other social variables.53 Nature and material aspects are denied relevance. From a rain-fed agricultural perspective, the most important parameters have thus been excluded in these approaches. For farmers, nature matters, and most importantly of all, water matters. Without rain, there is no farming, no harvest, and there is the worst possible consequence of all, starvation and even death. The presence or absence of life-giving rain is ultimately a matter of life and death.

Rain-fed agriculture in the global world The Sukuma are the largest ethnic group in Tanzania, and are estimated to number more than 5 million people. The origins of the Sukuma as an ethnic group are shrouded in history. According to Speke, who came to this area in 1858, ‘Sukuma’ means ‘north’. ‘Nyamwezi’, by contrast, perhaps means ‘of the moon.’ It was the colonial administration that listed and identified Sukuma and Nyamwezi as two distinct ethnic groups, although culturally they may have been one group. On the other hand, there might not have been tribal unity in precolonial times.54 The Sukuma were traditionally agro-pastoralists and cattle were their main possession and form of storable wealth for procuring all of life’s necessities. Although cattle still have importance in Sukuma society and cosmology, the role of farming has increased at the expense of cattle.55 Mwanza is the second largest city in Tanzania. By focusing on the Mwanza region along the shores of Lake Victoria, this book will address the relationship between traditional rainmaking, witchcraft and Christianity. The fieldwork was mainly conducted among the Sukuma people of Usagara village outside Mwanza town, but also in other villages, thus enabling a broader and more comparative approach and context.

22

Chapter One

According to the 2012 National Population and Housing Census, the population of Mwanza region was 2,772,509.56 Usagara ward is part of Misungwi district, which has 20 wards and 78 villages. In Mwanza region, smallholder agriculture employs about 85 per cent of the population, and in Misungwi district, 12.7 per cent of the land is under irrigation.57 Usagara village is located about 25 kilometres south of Mwanza, a 35 minute drive by public transport. The village straddles the Sirari-Mbeya road (B6) from Mwanza to Dar-es-Salaam (Fig. 1.3.). Thus, the village is truly semi-rural and semi-urban, with heavy traffic passing and trucks sometimes stopping to offload goods before continuing on their journey. The closeness to Mwanza and the transport facilities make for easy access to markets for the farmers.

Fig. 1.3. Usagara village located in a semi-urban setting.

Usagara ward comprises four villages, Usagara, Nyanghomango, Bujinga and Fela, and in Usagara village there are nine sub-villages: Usagara A and B, Isesabudaga, Sanjo, Kagera, Isela, Nyalwigo, Idetemya and Misungwi. Fieldwork was mainly conducted in Isela and Sanjo, but other places were also visited. The population of the ward in 2010 was 8,839, distributed among age groups as set out in Table 1.1.58

Introduction

23

Although the village is rapidly expanding and will soon apparently become a suburb of Mwanza, when more industries will be established, rain-fed agriculture is still the main activity and source of subsistence income for the majority. In 2010, in Usagara the number of cows was 2,057 and there were 42 oxen used for ploughing. These were owned by individual farmers who ploughed other farmers’ fields or supervised the ploughing in return for compensation. Agricultural production in 2010 was as follows (Table 1.2):59

Less than 1 month 1 month – 12 months 13 months – 5 years 6 years 7 years 8-13 year 14-18 years 19- 44 years 45-60 years 60 + Unknown age Total

Female

Male

98 281 415 323 344 470 577 1,435 441 170 21 4,575

89 240 470 370 300 403 717 1,335 201 121 18 4,264

Table 1.1. Population of Usagara Ward and age distribution.

Rice Maize Millet Cotton Cassava Sweet potato Mikunde (beans)

Expected /average

Produced

1,191 1,191 1,191 794 1,191 1,191

300 1,300 3 96 986 132 16

Table 1.2. Agricultural production, 2010 (in tonnes).

As a place located just outside Mwanza, Usagara could be anywhere and nowhere. Most people just drive by, and along the roads of Tanzania there are innumerable such places.60 Thus, this village may illustrate

24

Chapter One

global processes at work in other places where people live, but most others simply bypass. However, in such places, important webs of significance are spun and traditions are made. And disappear. Moreover, Usagara has been part of a chiefdom where historical developments have occurred that are important to the study of the relationship between tradition and modernisation. The dependency on annual rain has structured societies, and humans have tried to control and modify the weather through rainmaking and rain-stopping rituals, which were believed to procure the life-giving rains at the right time. The rainmaker has therefore had an important role throughout history, since he was responsible for the wealth and health of his people by controlling and providing the life-giving waters. Rainmakers sought to control and manipulate nature by rituals whereby the forefathers and the deceased provided rain through the chieftain or king as medium. Traditionally, rainmaking has been linked to chiefdoms and chiefs (or kings). The chieftain’s or king’s cosmological position, or even his divinity in other contexts, was defined by his power to avert various natural disasters. If he failed to secure the life-giving waters and the wealth and health to his people, he might be killed because he endangered the safety of society.61 It is worth noting that modifying weather and making rain has not been restricted to ‘traditional’ religion and societies in Africa. On the contrary, it has also been a central part of US and NASA experiments, among others.62 Late in 1960, the rains failed in central and northern Tanzania, causing a massive drought, the worst since the 1890s. In 1963, President Nyerere abolished the chiefdoms, an initiative that was generally blamed for subsequent droughts, since the chiefs were unable to discharge their commitments as rainmakers.63 Agricultural practices have thus been deeply rooted in culture and religion, which link the ancestors to the structure and governance of society. In Usagara, rainmaking has disappeared, but the implications are not limited to agriculture or the perceived control of the ecology. This is because ‘rainmaking is much more than mere rituals that purportedly cause water to fall from the sky. It is also inextricably linked to a host of other issues: good and evil, the living and the dead, human and divine, royals and commoners, male and female.’64 Nevertheless, rainmaking as a tradition has continued in parts of Tanzania and is still central to cultural memory and religion. So why has rainmaking as tradition and ritual practice disappeared in Usagara? How is failing rain understood culturally and religiously and what are the risk-coping strategies as societies adapt to climate changes involving more prolonged droughts and erratic rainfall patterns? How does

Introduction

25

the loss of the rainmaking tradition affect other parts of culture and agriculture? Cultures are always in the making and the institution of rainmaking has been under pressure for a long time from modernity, globalisation and climate change. In many places, it has disappeared, and only the memories of the tradition survive. In other places, traditional rainmaking has not been opposed to Christianity. On the contrary, conversions to Christianity led not to its disappearance but to its incorporation into Christian practice.65 Moreover, Christianity also views droughts or failures of annual rains as punishment by God of people’s disobedience and sinful behaviour. Nevertheless, the rainmaking tradition in Usagara has been lost, and there are several reasons for its disappearance. From the outset, many informants identified three main reasons, which will be elaborated more thoroughly later. Firstly, politics. According to informants, the abolition of chiefdoms in 1963 erased the institutional foundations of rainmaking, but it seems that this process had started earlier. Particularly noteworthy is a 1958 article by Tanner, who wrote that most of the traditional ceremonies had virtually disappeared. Only ancestral rituals aimed at eliminating evil were frequently practised. Ceremonies to honour a chief by courtiers, by a husband in honour of his wife’s grandfather, or to honour the status of the elder, were rapidly disappearing. Almost all those related to the agricultural cycle and the building of a new compound, the first fruits harvest, and importantly, rituals when the chief aimed to secure rain, were gone.66 There are two aspects to this. On one hand, the removal of chiefs from office after independence seriously affected rainmaking as a practice. On the other, the previous continuity was due in part to British support for chiefs in their office by seeking to enhance their prestige and authority. Earlier, the Germans had destroyed the authority of the chiefs, and ‘it was distinctly possible that the German destruction of chiefship had led to a period of “contempt” for chiefs and their rain, much like the contempt of 1980.’67 Thus, rainmaking and the chiefly institution were ‘attacked by the Germans and supported by the British, with local people undoubtedly taking positions as the struggle unfolded.’68 Moreover, in this process, farmers’ opposition to rainmaking rituals must also be seen in light of other struggles over power, hierarchies and oppression.69 With the abolition of chiefdoms in 1963, the ritual link to a social environment larger than the individual household was broken, and the Sukuma were left to address their problems and misfortunes individually.70 The main role of the chiefs had been to provide the health and wealth of

26

Chapter One

their people. They were not administrators as such and it seems they had no particular role in coordinating communal life. A chief’s overall obligation was to secure the well-being of his people and to control the weather and mitigate prolonged failures. Failure in these duties could lead to his abdication and replacement by another chief believed to possess the ritual powers needed to control the rain. However, even prior to 1963 other religious developments as part of larger political processes had undermined this institution. Christianity and Islam actively sought to break this ritual link, and in a famous rainmaking ritual in Nassa in 1952, nobody from the chief’s nuclear family attended since he was about to become a Catholic.71 Secondly, education and knowledge dissemination. A central part of the Catholic mission has been to provide schools as well as hospitals, which in general have been greatly welcomed. Compared to other Christian denominations, Catholicism offers more opportunities and the missionaries have been more engaged in social activities and in providing for the betterment of the population. This has contributed to the greater success and advantages of Catholic missionary activity relative to those of other denominations, including the Pentecostals. Education and schools are definitive drivers of knowledge production and the incorporation in a meaningful way of that knowledge into a society and culture. This type of education and knowledge directly challenges tradition and the transfer of knowledge through the generations. As to rainmaking, the advent of modern education has meant that changes in the hydrological cycle and rain patterns are understood within a scientific framework of meteorology and today as climate change, not in terms of ritual practice. Although missionary educational activities were originally based on school teachings in classrooms through books, the advent of the radio transformed the world of knowledge by making possible the rapid flow of information. While the decline of the chiefs proceeded much more gently after independence than under the Germans, it also happened at a time when the territories of the rainmaker became smaller. At the same time, exposure to the world increased. The whole of Tanganyika was covered by radio transmission by 1955, and from 1958 to 1968 the number of radios in the country multiplied tenfold to over 500,000. People began to listen to the weather reports and to attempt to incorporate this knowledge into their existing understanding of and worldview relating to rainmaking.72 The change did not overturn accepted knowledge, but it shifted emphasis. Radio did not tell people anything, in relation to weather, that they had not known before, but it gave them some kinds of knowledge in greater detail

Introduction

27

and with greater frequency. People knew … that some famines spread much more widely than the boundaries of any one kingdom. These could not easily be explained as the work of a [rainmaker], or of any political leader.73

This new information also challenged the rainmakers, because they too listened to radio. More than anyone else, they knew what they had done, and saw the consequences and effects of their own work. Moreover, they too had to interpret their powers within their own cosmologies by balancing existing principles against the new religions to which many of them had also converted.74 The importance of politics and the spread of knowledge through education and mass media cannot be underestimated, as Feierman affirms: In the 1960s there appeared to be complete unanimity, in the realms of the great rainmakers, about the fact that those particular ex-chiefs could control the rains, and that the political relations between people and chiefs and government determined how rich the rains would be, and how fertile the land. At the later time, in 1980, many local people were openly discussing the problem of the ‘contempt’ in which villagers held rainmakers … The problem was that as old rainmakers died, the next generation of men [claiming] to be rainmakers did not have the stature to take their place.75

This spread of knowledge has accelerated and been globalised with the advent of television and the internet. Everywhere anybody can hear that climate change is threatening the globe. There are droughts and famines all over the world as a consequence of increased carbon emissions. The temperature is expected to increase by 2 degrees this century and this increase will strongly impact the hydrological cycle and precipitation patterns. In this global and modern world, then, who is likely to believe that some old rainmakers can control and secure rain? Thirdly, religion. Informants also emphasised the introduction of new religions – in particular Christianity – as a reason these beliefs and practices have disappeared. For more than a century, Christianity has preached that rainmaking rituals are pagan and missionaries have done whatever they can to dismantle the traditional veneration of the ancestors (although the Catholics are more pragmatic than the Pentecostals in allowing ancestral propitiation that does not include witchcraft). Even though the missionaries are not completely satisfied with the pace of conversion among the Sukuma, evangelisation has had a deep impact on culture and cosmology. The world of the ancestors is as alive and present as it has ever been, despite all missionary intentions, but it has changed. A

28

Chapter One

century of missionary work has opened an ontological gap. Whereas the world used to be structured around and defined by the ancestors, their relationship to the living and the present has been altered, and they are becoming less active in influencing society. Thus, the existence and presence of the ancestors is different from their active engagement with this world. One major change is their role in rainmaking. These rituals are believed not to work any longer in a modern and global world. The rain is no longer within the realm of the ancestors, it is caused by hydrological parameters related to climate change. In this regard, the Christian worldview and the scientific understanding of the world work hand in hand. This diminishing role of the ancestors in this world has created new spaces for cultural and religious innovation and creativity. The loss of tradition in social and religious settings enables change. The ancestors are still active but have taken on new and more marginal roles. The ontological gap created by Christian missionaries and the modern and global world is filled with new and reinvented traditions and practices based on existing worldviews and cosmologies. It is within this social and theoretical framework that the development and spread of witchcraft will be analysed. Thus, the overall aim of this book is to address why and by what means and for what reasons traditions disappear and to understand why change happens. The disappearance of some traditions also enables the creation of new traditions and practices. This dialectic will be a central theme in the analysis. Some of humankind’s deepest and most resilient ideas and identities are rooted in religion. This is also where, I argue, one has to search for answers as to why rainmaking as a tradition has disappeared and why witchcraft as a practice is rapidly increasing and spreading. Thus, I mainly address two questions. First, why do traditions disappear? What are the social, political and religious reasons certain elements and practices from the past are not re-incorporated into the social matrix constituting society, religion and cosmology? Why do some aspects of tradition and culture lose significance? Second, how is the disappearance of tradition also a vehicle for social change and the reinvention of practices and creation of new traditions? How does loss of one tradition lead to cultural creativity (intentionally or not), and enable new beliefs and knowledge systems? Although there are numerous social and political reasons for these changes, which will also be discussed, the answers to these two questions will mainly be sought within religious realms, or in how religions work in the current context of globalised traditions.

Introduction

29

The approach in this book can best be described as historical anthropology in a comparative perspective, with an emphasis on religion. Some of the data are based on primary fieldwork, but the result is largely an historical analysis. Since the practice of rainmaking had largely disappeared when I did my fieldworks, the aim has not been to document a lost tradition by writing a culture historical account of the Sukuma based on what a few elders could tell. Rather, the aim has been to approach the social complex of change and how and why traditions disappear. Hence, my focus changed from the present to an historical analysis with continuity to today, since many of these processes started a long time ago. Thus, the aim has been to try to understand how historical trajectories in time and space change and constitute society and cosmology. This also implies that the overall aim has been to emphasise in a theoretical perspective the structural processes at work in history. Since the history and culture of the Sukuma is diverse, the processes and structures identified and discussed may therefore be different among other Sukuma in the region. Even so, the theoretical discussion of why and how traditions disappear and new cultural constructs are created may help in understanding social processes in other parts of Tanzania and beyond.

CHAPTER TWO RELIGION, RAIN-MAKING AND RAIN-FED AGRICULTURE

When the weather is everything – when it determines, in ways nothing else can, what will grow and how much, whether and how long time people will do migrant labour, whether it will be a feast or famine year, whether some will live or die – it is unwise not to take such things very seriously … That the rain begins promptly and falls regularly each season – indeed, that it arrives and falls at all – is, quite literally, a matter of life or death. Without rain nothing grows. And without growth, people and animals will wither and die. —Todd Sanders 76 … disastrous droughts, epidemics and epizootics are not only hearsay and phantoms in the minds of the people but well-known facts of life. Life is precarious. Threatened by destruction through famine, sickness and death, life is always at risk. To stay alive is an achievement, something to work for incessantly through the whole array of technological, organizational and ideological means offered by culture and society: through cultivation and livestock-rearing, through cooperation with kin and neighbours and through the veneration of the ancestors. —Per Brandström77

This work does not document rainmaking as a cultural and religious practice in ethnographic depth. Nevertheless, it is necessary to discuss the role and meaning of rainmaking in culture and cosmology in order to understand its fundamental importance in traditions and the overall theoretical challenges to understanding why a ritual that was once most important has disappeared. This in turn draws attention to how religions work and by what means, an approach, namely the role of religion in ecological practice, that may challenge other current approaches to religion. Rainmaking is intrinsically linked to the availability of water, but how can one include ecology and natural variables in social analysis, in particular in religious studies, without resorting to determinism and

32

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functionalism? A water system approach may open up new possibilities for analyses and understandings of what matters most for rain-fed agriculturalists – the arrival of the right amount of rain at the right time for cultivation.

How religions work Defining religion is a difficult task, perhaps impossible if the aim is to capture a universal content of religion across time and space, and definitions may not be the most fruitful approach in analysing religion. Max Weber’s The Sociology of Religion has been seen as ‘the most crucial contribution of our century to comparative and evolutionary understanding of the relations between religion and society, and even of society and culture generally.’78 Weber himself starts his book thus: ‘To define “religion”, to say what it is, is not possible at the start of a presentation such as this. Definition can only be attempted, if at all, at the conclusion of the study. The essence of religion is not even our concern, as we make it our task to study the conditions and effects of a particular type of social behaviour.’79 Following Geertz, religion is a model of ‘reality and a model for reality.’80 Religion thus not only describes the social order, but shapes it, defining the ‘rules of the game’, at least in terms of cosmic answers and solutions. ‘But no one, not even a saint, lives in the world religious symbols formulate all of the time, and the majority of men live in it only at moments.’81 From another perspective, despite the fact that the real world and people’s life-worlds form part of religion, religion is not an epiphenomenon of nature. Rather, it aims to address three main overall questions: 1) What becomes of us after death?, 2) How should we lead a moral life?, and 3) How and why were the universe, life, and human beings created?82 Regarding religion and the holy, Otto avers: ‘It is one thing merely to believe in a reality beyond the senses and another to have experience of it also; it is one thing to have ideas of “the holy” and another to become consciously aware of it as an operative reality, intervening actively in the phenomenal world. Now it is a fundamental conviction of all religions, of religion as such, we may say, that this latter is possible as well as the former.’83 Still, understanding religion on religious terms is difficult, if not impossible. Eliade’s approach is,84 for instance, a transhistorical search for meaning and for religious experiences that make ontological claims about human nature and about being.85 He emphasised the irreducible character

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of religious experience and the impossibility of grasping the essence of religious experiences through physiology, psychology, sociology, etc. According to him, religious experience is always existential: ‘Understanding is ecstatic and contemplative, not reductionist and analytical. Understanding is given to us, from somewhere within ourselves or from the outside, but it is not known through thinking.’86 One may sympathise with this approach where the aim is to understand religion solely in religious terms. In practice, though, this approach is flawed, because ‘to accept religion in its own terms is really to deny that it has any ideological function.’87 Moreover, all religious phenomena are historical events contextually situated, and consequently cannot be understood outside that historical framework.88 On the other hand, for Marx religion represented alienation and first and foremost ideology. For Weber, religion was theodicy, ‘linked with a transcendental conception of a god who has unlimited power over his creation and whose motives are in principle inaccessible to human understanding.’89 In any society, religion thus has a function and works regardless of metaphysical concepts and eschatology. If there is an omnipresent and almighty god, in this world he (or she) works in one way or another (although there are many examples of divinities that choose not to do so, but that does not affect divine agency or detract from other religious processes and perceptions at work). On an individual level, religion may also be the key building block of identity:90 religion ‘can be conceived as the superstructure into which all other aspects of life can be placed.’91 This does not imply some idealistic religious ‘totality’, but rather that all aspects of a given culture can be structured by religion.92 Still, the importance of religion in daily matters may differ dramatically: ‘to be religious is to believe in some supernatural power, something that may or may not make itself manifest, once or twice in a lifetime, or every minute of every day,’ Reynolds and Tanner argue.93 Barth proposes that the most fruitful way to approach cosmology is to perceive it as ‘as a living tradition of knowledge – not as a set of abstract ideas enshrined in collective representations.’94 Religion can therefore have quite different roles and importance in people’s lives. By approaching religion in this manner, attention is drawn to the ways in which religion works, and all devotees, regardless of affiliation, accept that religion works in one way or other. If there is nothing and nothing at work, that is atheism. Where devotees may disagree strongly is over how and by what means religion works. Thus, apart from theological, metaphysical and exegetical discourses, religions are supposed to work in the here and now as well as in realms beyond. This has implications for

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conversion or changes in beliefs. Richard Gombrich writes that ‘… the new ideas will seem cogent and may gain acceptance if they seem to offer solutions better than those already available to current problems … That religion offers solutions to a problem does not mean that that problem is necessarily religious in character or would not admit of a quite nonreligious solution.’95 Pascal Boyer has in his Religion Explained addressed how humans acquire a certain range of religious notions and beliefs. In many religions, salvation is not the central theme, although it is in some, such as Christianity. On the contrary, ‘the world over, people are concerned with the causes of particular evils and calamites.’96 One way to approach religion is to start from the very basics: for those who believe, religion matters. In the words of Reynolds and Tanner, ‘religions, the world over, are concerned with human physical existence, human bodies, what they may and may not do, when they may or may not do it, how they should be conceived, born, fed, cleaned, dressed and buried.’97 Religion is thus intrinsic to all life cycle rituals from birth to death, and may function in one way or other: it may not directly impact all matters and practices, but serve as an umbrella for structuring premises in the world and beyond. By including otherworldly or divine spheres, beliefs are not opposed to knowledge, but represent another form of it.98 The ontological differences between scientific or religious knowledge are not at issue here, and neither is the question of whether gods or ancestors exist. The importance is that for believers, regardless of affiliation, religion matters and is true and works at a more fundamental level than knowledge of or the existence of this worldly sphere. Moreover, this approach is premised on a view that humans cannot have full knowledge of the divine realms and what exists on the ‘other’ side, since humans are inferior to gods or divinities. The superiority of gods and ancestors by definition implies they have power to influence this world and all human beings, for better or worse. Thus, religions function in ways not necessarily fully understood by humans, although the effects and consequences are felt by people, or so it is believed. Also, humans believe they at least have part knowledge of how religions work, and therefore turn to their gods for help in times of trouble, or in simple obedience, since divine powers are superior and structure both this world and the other. Notwithstanding exegesis, dogma and theology, religions are always concerned with practical human problems in some way (Fig. 2.1). ‘Our approach is not concerned with the origins of religions so much as their functions. We relate and explain the force of religious ideas by reference to the needs of individuals in their everyday lives, not to society and its

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forms,’ Reynolds and Tanner argue. They continue: ‘We have become convinced by the evidence worldwide that the function of religions is to respond to human needs, to help people at times of personal crises (e.g., at funerals), or when they are undergoing a change of status (e.g., at weddings), or generally in relation to everyday strains of normal life. Ours is thus a functional approach.’99 Moreover, ‘religion caters to needs at all levels, but perhaps mostly at the more basic level … However … the concept of need … is not sufficient to explain what religions appear to be doing in the world.’100

Fig. 2.1. The arrival of the life-giving rains.

By emphasising that religion functions and works, it is necessary to clarify my meaning in the term religions work. Concepts such as ‘work’ and in particular ‘function’ have, as part of the criticism of structural functionalism, gained negative connotations in the history of anthropological thought. In Ritual and religion in the making of humanity, Roy Rappaport asserted that ‘neither religion “as a whole” nor its elements will, in the account offered to them, be reduced to functional or adaptive terms.’ He continued: ‘An account of religion framed, a priori, in terms of adaptation, function or other utilitarian assumptions or theory would … paradoxically, defeat any possibility of discovering whatever utilitarian significance it might have by transforming the entire inquiry into a

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comprehensive tautology.’101 This example suffices for me to make my point: I do not perceive religion in adaptive terms. The emphasis on rainmaking may perhaps muddy the picture, since it is directly related to the environment and successful harvests, thus linking ecology and religion – the functional outcome in the here and now of ancestral intercession. All human situations involve a highly significant interplay between biophysical and cultural processes. Thus, human culture has influenced the biological processes on which we depend and of which we are a part.102 Although adaptation is not necessarily a maximising process, adaptive structures are processes and regulatory hierarchies entailing social stratification.103 The external effects can be perceived as a bridge between environmental and ecological economics.104 However, in such an approach to adaptation, religion becomes an ‘epiphenomenon’. This implies that social forms are caused by, or emerge out of (perhaps as a by-product), the interactions between environments and technologies.105 The criticism of this approach to religion is exhaustive and need not be repeated here, and the simple emphasis on function had its anthropological heyday from the 1950s onwards. This is not what I mean by function and work. Rather, allow me to approach religion from the perspective of the divine realm (or, at least, how it is perceived and presented by believers), and start with Christianity and its Jewish antecedents. Christianity works and very much so, if we are to believe Christians. In the Hebrew myth, there is creation from nothing: ‘And God said. “Let there be light”; and there was light’ (Gen. 1:3). By the word alone, God created the cosmos and the world and all within it in only six days. This is the kind of work I refer to when I say religions work. Importantly, in Christianity there is a fundamental doctrine that ‘God works in mysterious ways.’ Thus, humans may or may not know how and why God works, but that does not matter. Even if humans have only partial knowledge of this, they have sufficient to adhere to the cosmic laws given by God. And here God works again. Jesus was crucified and by taking on human sin, he ensured salvation for all. As a consequence, if one follows the rules, one may attain eternal life in heaven. This is a huge promise and a durable work of a God – what more can a devotee wish for? Miracles are another way of illustrating that religion works, and in this particular case, that the Christian God works. Believers truly believe that miracles take place, that prayers and wishes are suddenly fulfilled, and that sometimes miracles happen without human requests. These are simply the works of God originating in and fulfilled through his own plans. However, for sinners, that is, those who act against God and his will (and this is also a sign of free will),106 God has worked in

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other ways to prepare a rather unpleasant destiny for eternity; hell in its various elaborations throughout history. The ways in which God works, mysterious or not, are believed to have consequences for non-believers as well, which is also the main rationale for more than a century of missionary activity worldwide, Africa included. The repercussions of God’s work – the award of divine pleasures in heaven instead of being doomed in hell to eternity – have legitimated the spread of Christianity by missionaries. From this perspective, being ‘pagan’ is no excuse enabling escape from hell. Rather, the contrary is held to be true, hence the missionaries’ zeal in spreading the Gospel. However, it is not only Christianity that is believed to work in this universal (or cosmic) way: Islam is also held to be universal, with implications for the destiny of Christians as well. In Islam, hell has seven layers, where sinners suffer in accordance with the sins they have committed. The uppermost level is the least torturous, but the torments increase in time and space the deeper the sinner descends into hell. Within this theology, being a Christian is not an extenuation. Since Christians basically chose the wrong religion, all of them are doomed to the fifth level of hell. On the positive side, the Muslim hell is not eternal as the Christian one is, and after sinners have been punished sufficiently in accordance with the divine plan, they are also admitted into paradise (which also comprises seven layers). Universal religions, therefore, are from the believers’ (and missionaries’) perspective, believed to work irrespective of whether people believe in their premises, and even if people are unaware of the religion and hence the role and function of missionaries. Thus, both the Christian and Muslim Gods are active, and work, albeit in largely incomprehensible ways, with believers possessing just enough knowledge to be able to live a pious life and ensure salvation. However, in emphasising the function and work of gods, one must also address questions of time and scale. Gods may once have worked in a primordial era, but may not do so anymore. This does not alter the ontological status of the gods as existing: in a cosmic perspective, humans are not in a position to demand that gods work for them (indeed, in Christianity this is seen as heresy). The Supreme Being among the Sukuma is one such god. It is impossible to reach him through sacrifices and prayers and he is so remote that he does not interfere in the fate of individuals. He is not working any longer because he has done his job. What he created, exists and has never changed, and therefore he has withdrawn.107 Meredith McKittrick provides an interesting perspective on this in regard to rainmaking among the Ovambo agropastoral communities of the

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Cuvelai floodplain in northern Namibia and southern Angola. Rainmaking was believed to work, and even today elders recall that it once did so. However, this changed with the coming of the missionaries and in particular during the Great Famine of 1913-16. During the drought, the missionaries were less dependent upon the rain than the Ovambo, in that they were able to obtain grain supplies from South West Africa, saving numerous lives. Rainmaking was ultimately not about rain as such, but about access to sustenance by the people. The provision of food independent of the failing rains dismantled rainmaking as practice and ontology. One elderly Christian convert summed up the situation in this way: ‘All these things died with the coming of the missionaries. People have given up even those things which were helpful. Today these things are useless.’ He went on: ‘If you try them today, they won’t work, but they were helpful in the past. I don’t know what your people [Europeans] did to my people, because even non-Christians do not practise what they believe. The belief is there, but they don’t practise it.’ 108 Approaching religion from the perspective of how it works is therefore not simple functionalism or reductionism, but rather an approach that probes to the core of religious practices. There are also numerous gods in other religions that today have no practical purpose. Brahma in Hinduism is one such. As a creator god and part of the Hindu trinity (Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva), he has done his job and has withdrawn from daily and practical work in the world and cosmos. Vishnu maintains the cosmic principles, whereas Shiva destroys and creates. The gods do different things, and more importantly, are active and work in diverse ways, directly affecting the lives of humans.109 This suggests another aspect of how religions work. If one may call Buddhism a religion (it is more a philosophy of life), strictly speaking it has no gods. Still, Buddhist principles hold that the cosmos works according to the doctrine of karma, or the principle that actions cause reactions. A person is not reborn as an ‘I’ in a strict sense, but each new rebirth is the consequence of previous actions. The Buddhist Nirvana is not a ‘heaven’ in a Western understanding of the term, but is enlightenment, a state characterised by ‘nothingness’. Since former actions cause reactions according to the karma doctrine, the only permanent state where nothing happens is a state of complete zero, where no actions cause reactions.110 Setting aside the cosmic principles of the world religions, the point is that religions work in one way or other. This has nothing to do with adaptation from a human perspective. And although gods and divinities may interfere in worldly and ecological matters and the well-being of humans, they may not. Humans may try to get divine grace to work for

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them through prayers or sacrifice, for instance, rainmaking rituals, and in many cases believers hold they have succeeded in securing divine outcomes in worldly matters. But even where these approaches fail (because, say, humans have sinned and are being punished), this does not change the overall and cosmic principles and guidelines. Rather the contrary is true. The rules of the cosmos and the world beyond exist whether humans live or die, and allegedly even if people do not believe in them. Religions are believed to work, but different religions are believed to work in different ways and by different means. If there were no such conception of gods, cosmic principles or divinities working on a grand scale, including the Buddhist conceptions of karma, there would be no religion. In practice, a kind of Western atheism would prevail. Thus, I am not concerned here with the origins or existence as such of religion. My approach is the believers’ approach in practice: God, gods and the ancestors exist, including various malignant forces such as the devil, roaming ghosts, etc. But they do not merely exist in another sphere: in varying measure, they influence this world. From this and the believer’s perspective, what are the beliefs about how the spirits and divinities of the other world, which are superior to humans, function and work in this world? How do they intervene and in which realms do different religions (defined broadly) impact worldly matters? This approach also emphasises which rituals are performed and how people can approach their gods, divinities and ancestors with a view to changing daily life in this world. As I will argue, Christianity and the world of the ancestors, including the practice of witchcraft, operate on different premises and affect this world in substantially different ways. Precisely because of this, they can coexist and work hand in hand. A common feature of many African cosmologies is the division of the world into two distinct realms. One is the visible or the manifest world, which is ‘obvious’ to all, and the other is the invisible or unseen world, which is nevertheless as real as the visible world. Indeed, it is more real in that it structures and defines the premises of this world. The visible world is the everyday world of living – farming, collecting water and fuel, political and economic matters, etc. The invisible world comprises the ancestors, God and the realm of witchcraft and the occult, among other spiritual forces. These two realms are intrinsically linked and the invisible forces largely determine outcomes in the visible world. The visible world is therefore shaped by a deeper, ‘more real’ reality, and consequently, it is of utmost importance to control the spiritual and occult forces that would otherwise harm society.111

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In most cosmologies, humans facing problems turn to the ancestors or gods. Problems involving the wrong types of water or the absence of annual rains are divine concerns or within the realm of the ancestors, and for them to solve.112 Religion works and may have practical consequences here and now. On the other hand, Christianity, in practice, works quite differently. The here and now is largely omitted from the realm of this religion. Whether people starve or die, plagues haunt society and diseases kill animals, women are debarred and life-giving rains do not come at the right time, there is a double perception at work. On one hand, these misfortunes are not believed to be the Christian God’s work. Although in principle the Christian God can control these events and processes, since he is believed to be almighty, it is also believed that such mundane problems are not the concerns of God in his daily and practical work. Or rather, although mitigating worldly problems may be a concern of God, usually he does not solve them here and now. Rather, these misfortunes are placed within the larger cosmological framework in which God works. Thus, on the other hand, such misfortune is also commonly and in varying degrees seen as God’s penalty for sin. Throughout Christian history, God is believed to have punished sinners and unbelievers collectively with plagues, droughts and floods. In other words, it is not for God to solve the problems he has brought down on sinners and misbelievers. That is for humans to do, cosmologically through obedience and repentance and practically by surviving as best they can. This does not imply the Christian God does not work (in all senses of the term, including penalising humans). To the contrary, he does very much work, with eternal consequences for humanity, if one is to believe Christianity. However, his main active engagement in the cosmos is after humans die. The grace of God may send some to heaven for eternity, whereas others may be doomed to hell. Indeed, this is a very powerful way of having an active god at work, and was ultimately used by missionaries as the main argument why one should convert to Christianity. Apart from eschatology and what may happen after death, the ways in which the Christian God works as compared to the ancestors point to a crucial aspect in one’s attempts to understand religion and how it works in society. There are two main differences. First, Christianity mainly works in the other world and the hereafter, whereas ancestors work in the here and now in society. Thus, the religions resolve different problems in different realms. Christianity may promise an eternal life in heaven, but cannot (or at least does not) procure the life-giving rains upon which people are utterly dependent for life and well-being. The ancestors can

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resolve the latter problem. This brings us to the second difference: the ancestors are active and can be contacted and requested to solve current problems. Thus, the ancestors can be activated, or, in other words, humans may manipulate the divine world for their own betterment, at least to some degree. This is also in the interests of the ancestors, since the descendants are their heirs and family. An approach such as this is not possible in Christianity. There is no way humans can manipulate God to secure health and wealth through ritual and sacrifice. One may pray, but the outcomes are highly uncertain. Miracles are believed to take place in Christianity, but where, when and why is a mystery. Even Christians acknowledge that miracles to solve problems in this world happen rarely. The rule of the game is that humans have to solve their problems themselves. The ways and means by which humans engage in the world and solve their problems are, however, judged after death, and include severe penalties for eternity. Put bluntly and practically, Christianity offers nothing in this world, and everything in the other. In a divine, eternal and cosmic perspective, earthly lives are small and short, and in the bigger picture God’s grace is a blessing and cosmic lifesaver. However, given that humans are small (and in Christianity, inferior and sinful), in the real life before a destiny in heaven or hell practical problems do matter. Life matters and problems have to be solved. Sickness and malignance cause death and have to be combated and avoided, and the overall greatest challenge for rain-fed agriculturalists is the arrival of the annual rains. The ancestors were believed to help and procure this crucial resource. The Christian God is not believed to do this. Christianity is not believed to solve practical problems here and now. This has created a space for different religious practices to operate on different scales by different means, in which also ‘one Church’s beliefs and practices are another Church’s superstitions.’113 Given the logic that religion works, Christianity not only works parallel and opposite to traditional beliefs, but may also foster the development and increase of traditional practices. When a Sukuma person is sick, the grace of God is not available at home, creating space for traditional healers.114 From the perspective of working gods and divinities, why be a Christian? On the other hand, Christianity may offer that which traditional religion or witchcraft cannot, namely eternal life in heaven. Thus, these two belief systems complement one another and work in parallel, because basically they answer different questions and resolve different problems in different realms.

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Wijsen and Tanner note that among the Sukuma ‘religious practice originates from the misfortunes which they experience in their lives … they will not worship, any more than Westerners will worship, unless they feel that they are obtaining grace ex opere operato.’115 Ex opere operato is the principle that sacraments work – they are holy and divine and work automatically since they are divine by excellence.116 In Roman Catholic theology … a sacrament is an outward sign instituted by Jesus Christ that is productive of inner grace … The traditional Roman Catholic view of the effectiveness of the sacraments … is described by the phrase ex opere operato (‘from the work done’), which is best explained … by saying that the faith and virtue of the minister neither add to the sacrament by their presence nor detract from it by their absence. The minister is merely the agent of the church, and the effectiveness of the sacrament is based on the saving act of God in Christ, which is signified by the rite and applied to the recipient of the sacrament. The theological explanation of the sign that effects by signifying is not easily communicated and has often been criticized … Roman Catholic theologians remark, however, that the mystery of God’s saving act is not capable of complete rational explanation … Hence, the proper material and the traditional formula are treated as sacred. Since Aquinas, the material used is called ‘matter’ and the words are called ‘form’; the terms are borrowed from Aristotelian metaphysics. The material becomes sacred and salutary only by its conjunction with the proper words. The effect produced has for centuries been called ‘grace’.117

This belief that something works automatically is not restricted to Christianity. As will be seen later, the belief that magic and witchcraft work has close resemblances to the principle of ex opere operato in Christianity. Church condemnation of such practices and beliefs as pagan or diabolical does not change the perceptions and beliefs that something like this principle is at work in them. Wijsen and Tanner state that ‘the Sukuma see religion in terms of the options it provides rather than the obligations it creates. They have periodic problems and their religious practices tend to be periodic.’118 Thus, conversion to Christianity is not a straightforward displacement of one religion by another. Instead, it is a process of syncretism. The different religious systems offer different possibilities and solutions to various problems. This also results in hybrid and overlapping conceptions and parallel practices, since the worldly problems still exist and ‘plans never turn out exactly as intended. The more people the plans involve, the more unintended consequences there are likely to be. In a sense a religion, like any other social movement, is bound to some extent to be a victim of its

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own success.’119 The benefits of Christianity are also largely its main shortcoming – it does not solve the most acute problems here and now, the problems that have to be resolved. Consequently, religious solutions are sought elsewhere. This highlights the premises on which the Sukuma world works. ‘Causation in their thinking is animate rather than inanimate. An event, particularly an unfortunate one, has to be caused by someone or something, living or dead, with malevolent intentions toward the sufferer. There are no pure accidents in Usukuma.’120 As will be discussed in Chapter 5, this is the realm in which belief in witchcraft flourishes.

Sukuma cosmology Since this analysis is concerned with the loss of tradition, how knowledge is transferred from one generation to another, and how religions work, it may seem contradictory to try to outline a Sukuma cosmology. One faces the same problems in approaching religion as one does in approaching a culture: how is it possible to capture and present a specific menu of beliefs and practices purporting to be representative of all the people in a given community? There is and always will be huge variation in belief and practice, and general abstractions and perceptions do not do justice to the social mechanisms at work. Therefore, this short description is not intended to capture a coherent Sukuma worldview or cosmology, but rather to identify some of the premises, perceptions and practices at work. These will be discussed more fully later. In the 20th century there were four main characteristics of indigenous religious practices in Tanzania. First, people believed in a single God, and the sun was a divine symbol, symbolising both the God’s remoteness and enveloping warmth. Second, prosperity or misfortune was believed to be caused by ancestors who intervened among the descendants. Third, misfortunes were also believed to be caused by witchcraft. Finally, the use of medicines was believed to harm or protect, give health and create fertility, and safeguard in war and give victory.121 Pre-literate Africans have commonly been described as ‘notoriously religious’, but the Sukuma are as secular as any contemporary Western society and any dualism between ‘religious’ and ‘secular’ has no meaning for them. Religion is part of culture and only ritual specialists give more weight to religion. In the Sukuma worldview122 there exists a Supreme Being or God who otherwise has no specific characteristics, and this divinity has little relevance in rituals or in explaining misfortunes.123 Ritual life among the Sukuma is structured around the relationship between the living and the dead, and manifested in ancestral veneration

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and propitiation. In general, religious practice takes place when people feel the need for it.124 ‘The religion of the Sukuma, in its practical aspects, is composed almost entirely of a direct ritual relationship with the spirits of their ancestors.’125 Sukuma religious practices and beliefs have an individual, rather than a familial or communal, character. Indeed, ‘Sukuma religion may be described as a “do it yourself” religion.’126 In Sukuma cosmology, the religious concerns are rain (and springs) in the dry season. Moreover, among Usukuma there are no initiation rites.127 Few Sukuma have conducted religious practices except in relation to the agricultural cycle, which was the responsibility of the chief.128 ‘The success of the Sukuma religious system is that, in practice as well in theory, it is no system at all, except perhaps in very general terms, nor is the Sukuma cultural system so institutionalized that the rituals of the chiefly system imposed a religious structure on all who wanted to participate as citizens in that particular chiefdom.’129 Moreover, ‘when asked for their religion, traditionally minded Sukuma would reply: “mimi ni msukuma tu” (I am just a Sukuma), meaning that they made no distinction in their own minds between religion and secular life; a word for religion did not even exist in the Sukuma language.’130 Religious practices were not and still are not rigidly linked to institutions. In consequence, there are no communal shrines were regular worship takes place, an absence that relates to the Sukuma practice of ‘living apart together.’131 Tanner notes that ‘the Sukuma have no consistent cosmology but a rough theory of causation which is not specifically dependent upon the results or failures of ancestor worship.’132 Although Sukuma religion almost only comprises the ritual relationship between the living and the dead, there are also non-ancestral spirits and the Supreme Being. The details regarding the Supreme Being are varied and uncertain, but he is not a supreme god in the Western sense. He is not responsible for maintaining the world, although everything is contingent on his force. Interestingly, compared to the Christian God, the Supreme Being is universal but is too superior to bother with mundane things and the well-being of humans. The Supreme Being is mainly concerned with nature as a whole and not controlling humans and natural fluctuations. No one has seen the Supreme Being and he has no particular home. Below him in the hierarchy are the non-ancestral spirits, and below them again is the world of ancestors. The Supreme Being is concerned with the ancestors as spirits, since they are relatively nearer to him than humans.133 Moreover, most evil is caused by humans or the will of an ancestor or a witch, and this evil is ethical and not ontological and is thus susceptible to change.134

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There are several non-ancestral spirits: the Spirit of Good Luck is superior to the Spirit of Bad Luck, and both are hierarchically beneath the Supreme Being. The Spirit of Bad Luck is a very strong man responsible for all manner of misfortune, from death and poverty to sickness. Then there is also the Spirit of Distribution, which tries to ensure that as many as possible have a fair share of property, although he is dependent upon the Spirit of Good Luck for this. The Spirit of the Bush controls the areas surrounding the inhabited lands. Meanwhile, the Spirit of the Lake controls the lake and other bodies of water, such as rivers, streams and pools. The Spirit of the Night looks after the well-being of humans and all living things during dark hours. Control of the hours of daylight rests with the Spirit of the Day, but is separate from the Spirit of the Sun, which minds all created things – human and non-human – and whose main power is in allowing people the opportunity to work and cultivate. The Spirit of Creation is also subordinate to the Supreme Being. Whereas the Supreme Being produces the elements of life, it is the Spirit of Creation that gives them form so they are able to live. When a miscarriage happens, it is said that life was refused by the Spirit of Creation, even though the Supreme Being had initially approved it. Finally, there is the Spirit of Guardianship, who looks after all life and guards health and wealth.135 ‘The whole mass of magical activity has hardly been touched by modern ideas, and it is possible that its relative harmlessness will leave it untouched for many years to come,’136 Tanner wrote in the 1950s. He continued: ‘The belief in these spirit beings seems to be in danger of no rapid change caused by either Mission activity or other processes of cultural change, possibly because the lack of connected rituals makes them insignificant to the stranger, while at the same time the complexity of their language may hide their belief from most enquiries.’137 To what extent these divinities or belief in them still exists and how they are reincorporated into the social matrix is difficult to tell, since elders may believe more in these spirits than the younger people. On one hand, there is continuity of culture and tradition based on its deep ontology, but on the other, with modernity and globalisation, including Christianity, traditional cosmology has been gradually dismantled and changed. The role and work of the ancestors and spirits, although still existing in varying degrees, have been diminishing in recent decades. That said, the ancestors are as alive as before, but important changes have occurred. This is, however, not a recent phenomenon, as Tanner noted back in 1967: ‘Now both the educated and uneducated persons neglect their ancestors for years and consider propitiating them only when they are in trouble.’ He continued that ‘the cult of the ancestors has

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changed from maintaining their goodwill by regular rites … to the present intermittent recognition of their powers to harm and the ceremonies, individual rather than collective, necessary to recover their goodwill. It is their interference rather than their benevolence that occasions the ritual.’138 From being the centrepiece of society and cosmology, they assumed a more marginal role, creating space for religious innovations, especially the increasing incidence of witchcraft. Even so, the beliefs that the ancestors exist are prevalent and remain strong, but their role and function in society and cosmology have to a large extent changed. It is, however, noteworthy to recall what Tanner remarked in 1959: ‘Although the ancestors are dominant in the ritual life of these people, they are relatively weak in their powers and they are never considered to have any direct control over the forces of nature; in fact they have no overall control over any particular facet of life and are themselves considered to be ultimately dependent on the Supreme Being and other non-ancestral spirits. There is no idea that the ancestors will automatically look after their descendants and that illness and death are a result of their inattention.’139

Ancestors and rainmaking Death is not an end but a continuation of life, uniting the living and the dead. The ancestors are dependent on their living relatives and the lack of children means both physical and spiritual extinction. Without a name, one is nobody, and the child borrows identity from his or her ancestors, thereby establishing links between living and dead.140 Grandchildren have therefore been seen as the continuation of the self, representing a successful lifecycle, and ‘the birth of grandchildren secures the link between the past and the present and establishes the bond between the living and the dead in the cult of the ancestors.’141 How a deceased person becomes an ancestor is not entirely clear. Being an ancestor is not existence in the afterlife as a transformed soul, but rather a replacement of the principle of life by an ancestral spirit.142 ‘Within a human being … there is a spiritual entity, associated with the blood, which survives death. Thus, unlike animals, humans continue existing after they have died. The surviving spirits of human beings, or spirits of ancestors, are usually called masamva.’143 Breath is the centre of life and resides in the heart. When a person dies, it is said his breath is finished. Breath is not synonymous with the concept of ‘soul’, but should be understood more as the spirit of life.144 The point at which this power becomes active in another sphere is uncertain. A father seems too close to be seen as part of the group of ancestors and a grandparent, although

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viewed as a more distant relative, was nevertheless close to the grandchildren. Thus, there seems to be a gap of at least one generation between the living and the dead with regard to ancestral propitiation and it seems that ancestors do not become active as spirits until a grandson has a son who can propitiate and conduct sacrifices. In any event, a potential ancestor spirit is in the blood of every person, and this spirit becomes activated after death. The ancestral spirits are in the blood of the living relatives.145 Moreover, in death there seems to be an element of spiritual unity where the recent dead and the dead long ago represent one. Also, the spirits of ancestors are not living in the graves but somewhere else – outside and in particular up and above.146 Importantly, the ancestors as humans are not good or bad, but good and bad.147 Ancestors may be malevolent for different reasons. Sins such as incest between close kin may threaten both human fertility and the fertility of the land. If the descendants do not name their children after the ancestors, maladies may also result. Moreover, if ancestors are not properly remembered in prayers and propitiation, they may cause misfortune. People who die of unnatural causes are particularly dangerous, and if the corpse is lost, lineage unity is breached, exposing family members to more misfortunes and sickness.148 ‘The ancestors are considered specifically as the protectors of the family … Although so many of their troubles are thought to be due to ancestors, there does not appear to be any fear of them even when their descendants are suffering from their activities.’149 The belief that propitiation of ancestors may cure illness and reduce malignance is based on a firm notion that the ancestors may take part or full control of their descendants.150 Sickness is not only physical illness, but also has causes in the ancestral world. Tanner refers to a family from Bukumbi that experienced an illness (which also harmed their cattle) they could not explain. A traditional healer eventually established that two female ancestors had been suspected of witchcraft and driven out of their family. The spirits were annoyed that the living family members did not remember them, and therefore they had brought on these illnesses. The living family members had never heard of these old relatives, but the reputation and fame of the healer was such that they adopted his recommendations that a ceremony should be held, including expiation of the sins committed when the family had wrongly accused them of witchcraft and their subsequent failure to propitiate them. The ceremony, involving the sacrifice of a black sheep to the forgotten ancestors, was expensive, costing more than two months of salary.151 In another propitiation to the ancestors involving the sacrifice of a cow, the invocation to the ancestors started thus:

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Chapter Two Accept, grandfathers who ate raw meat, among whom was Ngwinula, a chief, this your cow so that you may give us blessings, and you also Itale, Sawaka, and Machibya, who was also a chief, take a share in this cow. Give me health and wealth, my ancestors, and share in your cow. You old men, including Kagunzuli who was a magician, give me riches so that I can keep a shrine, rear livestock and men.152

The role of the ancestral tradition has been fundamental and ubiquitous. A client of a diviner put it this way: ‘We Africans don’t have religion, only tradition. Priests, even the Bishop, they are just following money. If they have problems they come here …’153 By making sacrifices and propitiating the ancestors, misfortunes could be avoided and prosperity achieved. The most important ritual whereby the ancestors provided wealth and health for all individuals and the community as a whole was that associated with rainmaking. ‘Without rain, people, plants and animals will die. In short, rain is life.’154 Rainmaking can be seen as a territorial cult and as an ‘institution of spirit veneration which relates to a land area, a territory, rather than to kinship or lineage groupings.’ Its main function is to ‘ensure the moral and material well-being of the population of that land and it will especially be concerned with rainmaking or the control of floods, with the fertility of the soil for agriculture ... normally controlled by a limited elite of priests and functionaries.’155 Although the Sukuma live in an arid area for half the year and despite the importance of rainmaking rituals, they have not developed other religious institutions and protective rituals for water resources. This may be because these resources have traditionally been adequate and that water-gathering has been the primary task of women rather than men, thereby making water difficult to include in the spiritual world of patrilineal ancestors.156 In Sukuma cosmology, the religious concerns were for rain (and water springs) in the dry season. Few Sukuma have conducted religious practices except in relation to the agricultural cycle, being the responsibility of the chief.157 The rains may come in different forms. If heavy showers arrive early, they may wash away all seeds. Excessive rain may prevent the crops from maturing properly, while delayed or patchy rain may cause drought and famine.158 Even as rain came to be seen as a gift from God, the chiefs, together with rainmakers, were responsible for performing the rituals necessary to ensure the life-giving rains. Disasters such as absence of rain, drought or destructive flood or storms were not seen as caused by God, but by evil spirits. In the 1960s, Balina et al. documented the following traditional prayer for rain:159

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O God, you come from Balang’hani, Bisugilo, Bakalwinzi and Bamazoya; you bring us prosperity; you continue westward to Ruhinda. - You take away evil, you put it into the lake - We want to be peaceful, so that we may get good crops, many children, goats, cows and let rain come. O kind God come down, come down.

Hans Cory has given a detailed account of how a rainmaking ceremony was performed in the late 1940s and early 1950s: First two perfectly new cooking pots are obtained into which are placed two white stones, a small amount of rain water obtained from the first slight showers and mixed with dawa (medicine). On the day of calling down the rain a black goat and a white sheep are slaughtered. The blood from the goat is mixed with the other ingredients in the pots, and the blood of the sheep is boiled separately with other dawa and is used for smearing the face of the Rain Doctor. The meat of the two animals is cooked and eaten by him, in addition to a dish of cooked food brought in to him by each of the villagers. The ceremony having been performed, the people return to their homes and the Nfuti Mbula (rainmaker) is left alone to hold communion with the ‘spirits’. He makes a large fire of green grass from which arises dense clouds of smoke. From this day on he continues to call in a loud voice at regular intervals of the day to the ‘spirits’. He is granted a period of a full month in which to achieve success.160

Rain ceremonies were not necessarily held each year, and were conducted when the rainmaker predicted a year of bad rain. When a famous rainmaker from another area was called to a village facing a shortage of rain, he would start by asking questions about the situation. Was the sun hot and what colour was it when setting? Were there strong winds and from which direction? Did a certain species of birds arrive? And so on. The rainmaker was a skilled observer of natural phenomena and could interpret signs in nature regarding the arrival or failure of rain. Importantly, he would frame his interpretations in ways that would enhance his status rather than undermine it if the rains failed. Rather than attributing the absence of rain to rainmakers more skilled and powerful elsewhere, he might blame the absence of rains on the inhabitants, accusing them of violating taboos, hiding the birth of twins or neglecting certain rituals and observances.161 The ancestors were responsible for the rain, but their goodwill also depended on the villagers: By cooperating, spirits can bring rain to this world. Or they can withhold it. The options they choose at any given time depends, in the main, on the

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Chapter Two living: if the living are ‘working together’, ‘cooperating’, and ‘living together harmoniously’, this bodes well. Spirits will likely see this, be pleased, and bring rain. If, on the other hand, people quarrel, do not cooperate, and so forth, the ancestors will know, be angry, and withhold the rain.162

In the anthropological studies of the Sukuma, there has been no systematic documenting of rainmaking rituals. Since the tradition has disappeared in Usagara, I was unable to fill the gaps. The only information about the ritual was from elders, who recalled how the rituals were performed decades ago (described below). As with all ritual practices, there were huge variations and studies from other areas may be only partly representative of how the rituals were conducted among the Sukuma. Nevertheless, the studies by Todd Sanders of rainmaking by the Ihanzu in Tanzania are of particular interest. Among the Ihanzu, there is a saying, which refers to the relationship between commoners and chiefs, that ‘rain is more important than the child you have borne.’ For commoners, it is the rains that are the central issues and not the chiefs’ children.163 There are many different types of rain, but they can be divided into two overall classes: male rain and female rain, each with certain characteristics. Male rain arrives first and is heavy, explosive and destructive. Female rain comes afterwards and is softer and lasts longer, soaking and softening the ground. Importantly, a good harvest depends upon a successful combination of both. If only one type of rain occurs, it will not be procreative, and it is only when male and female principles work together that they are potent.164 ‘Together, male and female complete a vision of the world, a world that otherwise would remain imperfect and impotent. Impotent, that is, in the sense that only together are the masculine and feminine principle capable of effecting cosmic transformations.’165 In rainmaking rituals, there is one royal male chief and one royal female chief, who respectively own the male and female rains. The dual leadership represents and condenses the masculine and feminine principle of the gendered universe within itself. This entails two aspects: possession of rain stones, which are sacred and gendered, and the knowledge of how to use them.166 If the male and female chiefs fail in their ritual rainmaking efforts, the society may turn as a last resort to the women’s rain dance, described at length by Todd Sanders. This was only performed when the rains have failed completely, and normally takes place in January or February. These rain rites are organised by the male chief’s sister and normally last two days, but possibly longer if the rains do not arrive. Women who have given birth to a child may participate. In particular,

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those who had borne twins were believed to be extraordinarily fertile and have a special role in the rituals. Menstruating women, on the other hand, were strictly forbidden from participating, since they could threaten everybody’s well-being and the forthcoming rain. Preparation for the rain dances started in the morning with a visit to the dancing ground to protect it from possible witchcraft attack, which might jeopardise the outcome of the ritual. Later in the afternoon, the women returned to the ground. Many were stark naked and they also went naked to the two royal clan caves, where the royal spirits and ancestors resided. They addressed the ancestors and asked for rain and anointed the enormous ancestral snake-spirit that was believed to live there. In the evening, they proceeded to the rainshrine where they again asked the chiefly ancestral spirits for rain.167 Most of the songs the women sing are sexual and obscene, emphasising penises, vaginas and sexual intercourse.168 The lyrics also include references to super-powerful clitorises, gigantic penises and copulating monkeys. Another central theme is mocking male procreative powers, such as ‘the penis is dried up and worthless; it stops the rain from shitting down.’ The dances are also lewd and obscene. The reason for these sexually explicit songs and performances is because women are believed to be naturally wetter than men and therefore better equipped to attract rain. Women’s watery composition is on account of their vaginas, whereas men have lean bodies and ‘dry’ penises, which are not a good thing at all.169 Women’s wet bodies are associated with rain and fertility and therefore auspicious.170 An informant described the rationale thus: Women are wet like rain. Men are barren, dry. This is easy to explain. Women, their vaginas, never dry out; they are always wet. We [men] can be dry for years on end. Even if we have sex only a few times in one day, we become really dry. A woman, however, never dries out. Water comes out of them all the time that keeps them wet. For this reason you might say that women are like rain. During the women’s rain dances they dance naked, even in the middle of the afternoon! This is because they are displaying themselves, showing that they have a lot of water and fat. The ancestral spirits rejoice and the rains come. You don’t see those [male] rain-making assistants wandering about outside naked, do you? They don’t have anything wet [to show].171

By behaving in such a non-feminine way while still stressing their wetness, female dancers combine hyperfeminity with hypermasculinity, which brings the ultimate communal good, the life-giving rains after these dances.172 In another context,

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Chapter Two ‘In the old days’ widows and widowers were doctored in groups outside the village, in the presence of the whole tribe. Their clothing was removed, and when they were absolutely naked the doctors smeared their bodies with the juice of ‘stinging bulbs’. They were then made to cohabit together sexually in public; if they refused ... they might be killed on the spot. They were thought to be holding off the rain, and unless they were so treated the country would become ‘spoiled’ by the heat of the sun.173

The sexual content and the gender roles often occur in rainmaking rituals,174 but the extent to which they were part of Sukuma rituals is uncertain. Although the history of the Sukuma of Usagara as part of the Bukumbi chiefdom is not thoroughly documented, there is still sufficient data to address the disappearance of rainmaking as a ritual and tradition

Bukumbi Chiefdom The Sukuma came to this area some 400 or 500 years ago, and in Sukumaland there were 52 kingdoms or chiefdoms. Originally, the Sukuma belonged to the Bantu-speaking people that migrated from the area south of Lake Chad through the Congo River Basin, and crossed Lake Tanganyika before coming to the area south of Lake Victoria.175 Today’s Usagara village was part of the Bukumbi chiefdom, which stretched from Sanjo sub-village in Usagara in the east, bordering Fela village, to Okiliguru village in the south, Mkolani in the north and Lake Victoria in the west. Initially it was a small chiefdom, but gradually expanded through war. According to chiefly oral history, there have been 23 chieftains since the Sukuma first came to this region, and the chiefdom was named after its chieftains. Based on one generation lasting 25 years, the Bukumbi chiefdom has been present in the region for 575 years, or 460 years, based on a generational duration of 20 years. This is consistent with other research and documentation suggesting a Sukuma presence in this region of 400-500 years. Bukumbi was the earliest Catholic parish to be established on the southern side of the lake by the White Fathers. In January 1883, Fathers Ludovic Girault and Siméon Lourdel came to Kigongo by the shores of Lake Vitoria and were the first missionaries in this region (Fig. 2.2). They were welcomed by Chief Kiganga, who is said to have remarked, ‘let them settle in Bukumbi, they are people like us.’ Their exact date of arrival is uncertain. A plaque in the cemetery gives the date as 13 January 1883. However, according to local lore, on 10 January 1883 Father Girault made a blood pact with the chief. A cut was made in the chests of both men and, to symbolise the welcome to Bukumbi, a drop of blood was placed in two

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beer cups, which they both drank. This event took place at a separate rock, where prisoners used to be put to death.176 The first Bukumbi mission diary of the first White Fathers has, however, an entry for 4 January 1883. The Society of Missionaries of Africa opened its Bukumbi Mission Station in 1884.177 The White Fathers of the Bukumbi mission are regarded as the most reliable source of information from this time.178 According to oral history and tradition today, Kiganga was baptised in 1883 by Girault and Lourdel, and is believed to have been the first convert in this area.

Fig. 2.2. Kigongo – the cemetery where rainmaking rituals were performed.

However, Sarah Walters has conducted an in-depth study of the parish registers, and in the Bukumbi baptism register Chief Kiganga is registered as number 223 in 1894.179 The warm welcome of the missionaries and the subsequent conversions were not only a religious matter, but also related to internal conflicts and strategies among the chiefdoms, including trade routes and Muslim threats. In particular, there were constant fears the Sukuma would be attacked by the Ganda empire. It seems the White Fathers who settled at Bukumbi from 1883 onwards lived in constant fear of this eventuality, as

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the Bukumbi Diary entry for 8 March 1884 attests: ‘My God these Gonda cause us uneasiness.’ In this political context, the Christians were expected to support Kiganga in times of conflict. However, with the death of Mutesa, the Sukuma escaped invasion.180 Chief Kiganga ruled over 68 villages at the time the White Fathers came in 1883, and it is estimated that about 5,000 people lived in them. In the 1930s, about 15,000 people were living in the chiefdom, this number increasing to 17,800 by 1948.181 The chief was also a rainmaker, but after his conversion to Christianity, he and his successors did not conduct the rituals themselves but had assistants, who consulted fortune tellers. In the recent past, traditional healers had a central role in making rain. If a healer saw in a vision that there would be little rain in the year to come, a group of healers would come together to discuss the problem and the best way to resolve it. In this chiefdom, the cemetery for the Christian chiefs is in Kigongo village, beneath a rock shelter where there is a Bantu rock painting, the only rock-art in this area (Fig. 2.3). The earlier chiefs were also buried here, and the rainmaking rituals were conducted at the cemetery beneath the rock-art. Today, the stones used for grinding medicines for the rainmaking rituals are still scattered in the cemetery. The cemetery is reserved for chieftains and their families and the common people are buried elsewhere. One of the chiefs was initially buried somewhere else, but was later reburied in this cemetery. Although this is not a Christian cemetery as such, priests have been coming and conducting funerals for members of the chieftain’s clan in the prescribed Christian way. There are now 20 graves in the cemetery. Among those living near the rock-art, including members of the chiefly lineage, it was assumed there was a relationship between the rock painting and the ancestors, but it was uncertain what the images meant and how old they were. In the past, to view the rock painting one had to ask permission and receive blessing from the ancestors. Now, there are no ceremonies for propitiating the ancestors when visiting the rock-art, but before doing so, one has to pray at the grave of the Christian Chief Kiganga. Bantu-speaking rock shelters with rock-paintings are often closely linked with rainmaking and as entrance points to the ancestors and the other world.182 These beliefs have continued in the mere fact that one has to pray to the Christian chief before entering the area and viewing the paintings.

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Fig. 2.3. Rock shelter with rock-art.

The rock paintings at Bukumbi are worth dwelling on. Why have the traditions and cultural memory of this most fundamental ritual place become lost? These paintings are a clear testimony of time depth and of the consequences of not reincorporating knowledge into culture,

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particularly since this place was at the core of the ritual legitimacy of the chiefdom, where ancestral rites and rainmaking rituals took place and where the chieftain’s family still lives. This loss is the more puzzling given that the chief’s family and the clan elders are among those who were central actors in the rituals, and those who should have remembered them, since they participated in them. One may imagine two scenarios. On one hand, the knowledge of the rock paintings disappeared long ago, long before the current chief acceded and his family inherited the ancestors’ place and became chief. This may be a possibility, but is not likely. The chiefdom of Bukumbi is only some 500 years old, or, in other words, the oral tradition and the knowledge of the ritual importance is not that old. Moreover, this place has been the epicentre of rainmaking rituals as well the core of the chiefdom’s legitimacy. Indeed, the ancestral cult is still evident in that only chiefs and their closest relatives are buried there. On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly, rainmaking ceremonies were conducted by ritual specialists or healers who had hidden and sacred knowledge of the place and the ritual access to the ancestors. In short, not even the chief and his clan or family may have had full access to all the sacred knowledge – they were the sacrifiers but not the sacrificers, to borrow the terminology from Hubert and Mauss.183 As a consequence, the ritual specialists may have possessed a particular and sacred knowledge that could not be shared with even the chief. This perhaps seemingly mundane example points nevertheless to an important aspect of why change happens and traditions disappear. Everybody forgets. All knowledge needs to be constantly remembered and actively transferred and reincorporated into the social matrix. Even ritual specialists may forget essential knowledge. In a comparative perspective, when Barth conducted fieldwork among the Baktaman in 1968, the ritual specialist decided to perform the sixth degree of initiation. However, it was ten years since he had last conducted this ceremony, and he needed several days just to recollect and reconstruct in his mind how the rite was performed. He also consulted others for help, and many elders had only vague and fragmented recollections of even the elementary initiations through which they had once passed.184 In other words, the traditions had almost been forgotten by those supposed to pass them on. Forgetting is perhaps as natural as remembering, and in the continuation of tradition there is always a creative modification of past events. With regard to the Baktaman, Barth writes: ‘The problem is, here the old men are out of tune with the generally prevailing consciousness of the rest of the Baktaman. It is not merely that some old men know something, and have a theory, and

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others do not know … The problem is, in the clan, they are dealing with an object which hardly exists apart from its secret objectification.’185 Tradition is disappearing. Since the chief and community are now Christian and the young generation adopts what is generally called a Western lifestyle, it was acknowledged that within a few years all of the traditions will have disappeared. Importantly, as some informants emphasised, tradition encompasses much more than rituals and ancestral propitiation, including family values and social relations, norms and morality. In this sense, and as often observed, tradition equals culture, it represents life-worlds and beings in the world. Thus, as one older man said, the consequences of not adhering to tradition are severe: if tradition disappears, it will be the end of the world as it is written in the Bible. Thus, with the assimilation of traditional values into Christianity, the neglect of tradition may have apocalyptic dimensions. From this perspective, tradition and Christianity are unified when it comes to cultural values and morals as opposed to what is perceived to flow from modernisation and globalisation.

Chief Charles Kafipa Today’s Chief Charles Kafipa has held office since 1944. As such, he is one of the longest-serving chiefs.186 I had the pleasure and honour to meet him.187 Despite being more than 80 years old, he was vibrant and eloquent, full of energy and enthusiasm, and with the charisma and authority only dignified persons have. He was, quite simply, still the chief in mind and body. When I arrived at his house, he formally and politely welcomed me before finishing the talks he was having with other community members. He asked me how he could help, and I told him I was interested in the history and religion of the Sukuma. He then asked if a 45 minute interview would be sufficient, since he had a tight schedule. I said, of course yes, and he asked what in particular I was interested in, and I replied rainmaking. The interview lasted almost two and a half hours and it was not really an interview. The chief spoke without interruption, in fluent English and with great enthusiasm. Rainmaking was once the most important ritual and is no longer conducted, but as he also said, nobody had asked him about rainmaking in the last 50 years. The chief spoke about what once had mattered most. Although chiefs no longer have formal power, they try to preserve and prolong culture and tradition. Chief Charles was actively documenting the traditions of the Sukuma by writing a book, since he was one of the elders who had the requisite knowledge. But, as mentioned earlier, he stressed

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the difficulty of documenting the history of the Sukuma people, since there were many differences among them. Different chiefs had organised rainmaking rituals in various ways; there were numerous beliefs and concepts and a huge variety of cultural and religious practices. Consequently, the rainmaking ritual he described may not be representative of other Sukuma chiefdoms. According to Chief Charles Kafipa, who is a Christian, every chief had to know how to conduct the rainmaking rituals. If he did not know the proper practices and ways to secure rain, he could be expelled from his post. On the other hand, a successful outcome of the rainmaking rite legitimised the chieftain’s position. Sukuma rainmaking rituals involved two fundamental aspects. First, they were based on belief in and prayer to God, and God’s greatness and powers were attested to through his duties and deeds affecting people. Second, it was based on the belief that when humans died, they retained contact with those alive. The deceased were broadly classified in two categories: the ‘good people’, who had behaved well during their lives, and those who had a bad character while alive. The latter group were undesirable and not included in rainmaking rituals. The ‘good people’ were respected and had been accepted by God. Consequently these ancestors could be approached and propitiated by the descendants to seek favours from God. There were certain preconditions the rainmaker had to meet before commencing the ceremony. In Sukuma society, polygamy was widespread. The rainmaker had to be married and his first wife was the one most respected by the ancestors. He was allowed to see her before the ritual, but he had to abstain from intercourse with his other wives for five or six days beforehand. On the appointed day of the ceremony, the rainmaker would go to a sacred and secluded place early in the morning. This isolation and solitude were mandatory. In particular, no women were allowed to come across, because they could disturb his mind by awakening thoughts of relationships with women. He could prepare himself throughout the day and the only persons allowed to see him were a young boy and girl, who brought him water and food, and any other items he requested. He would start by fetching water and collecting a branch of special leaves. These were ground on a grinding stone with another stone. The grinding required full concentration and had to be done soundlessly. Any sound or noise would mean that the rainmaker had not been concentrating on his task, and he would have to throw away those leaves that had been improperly pulverised. The leaves are a link to water and rain, since they grow on plants needing both.

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When the rainmaker conducted the ritual, he called upon the ancestors and requested them to make contact with God and present the issues at stake and ask for rain. The message the ancestors would be asked to convey would begin: ‘God – who controls the east, north, west and south.’ The rainmaker would call upon the ancestors by name, mainly those who were known and remembered, and in particular old rainmakers. He would then pray and sing traditional songs and the rain would come. The rainmaking rite was also part of other rituals for ensuring a successful harvest. Each year, before the planting, the chief would cut his hair in a ceremony involving the royal drums. He could cut his hair at other times of the year, but this particular ceremony had symbolic significance. The hair on the ruler’s head would grow again, symbolising the sprouting and growth of the seeds and thus the coming success of the harvest. The last rainmaking ritual in the chiefdom took place in the 1960s, but the rainmaker had subsequently died, taking with him the actual knowledge of the rites. The decline of rainmaking as a practice has also to be seen in the political context of the chiefs after 1961. After independence, there was misunderstanding and distrust between chiefs and people. According to Charles Kafipa, the chiefs were believed to be colonial puppets. As Mamdani argues, the type of chieftainship the colonial powers created was an administrative and not the traditional variant. Although it represented continuity to some extent, it also broke with tradition and continuity. Through this mechanism, the British exercised indirect rule and the politics of decentralised despotism.188 According to the chief, the British colonialists forced this alliance upon the chiefs. In practice, everybody was subject to colonial rule, but many people thought the chiefs had the power to prevent this new regime. Thus, while the British developed a system that pretended to give chiefs power, in reality it undermined their power and their legitimacy in society. With independence, the government recognised that the power of the chiefs had been lost and nurtured the belief that the chiefs had been puppets of the colonisers. The chiefs could either oppose the new government or choose a more conciliatory approach. At a meeting between the chiefs and government in Morogoro, Kafipa asked Julius Nyerere: ‘What will be the future of the chiefs?’ The answer was that those with education would be employed by government and included in the state system. Those with no or insufficient education would remain as traditional leaders, but without institutional power. Politically, the abolition of chiefdoms as an institution was a blow to the practice of rainmaking. However, religious beliefs are not easily erased

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by the stroke of a political pen. Consequently, the dismantling of tradition was also enforced by stronger and more brutal means. After independence, Chief Francis of Burima received a request to make rain. As a traditional leader, he accepted the request and conducted the proper rituals, which ensured that rain came aplenty. But then events took another turn. Chief Francis was arrested and transported to Mwanza, were he was kept in prison and tortured for four or five days. He was challenged by the police, who accused him of being a liar and alleged that making rain was an act to deceive his people. This incident had dramatic consequences for traditional rituals, in particular rainmaking rituals, since they were closely associated with chiefly power and rule. Fear of prison and possible torture made many people afraid of conducting traditional rituals and also curtailed chiefly power and influence in society. Chieftainship as an institution and chiefly power were intertwined with religion and ritual, and once these traditions were dismantled or came under pressure, they were difficult to revive. After independence, the Tanzanian government opposed these rituals because they were closely linked with chiefs’ powers. As a consequence of decades of neglect of traditional rites, very few villagers now supported rainmaking as a ritual institution. Rainmaking as a tradition was believed to secure the vital and lifegiving waters at the right time. All agriculture is dependent on water, and fluctuating and erratic rainfall patterns have always been and still are the major threat to a successful agricultural outcome. Rain is crucial to the direct outcomes of agriculture, but productivity and prosperity are also dependent upon land rights in their most basic form. Just as the abolition of chiefdoms directly impacted rainmaking rituals, other political processes and decisions have forcefully restructured agricultural practices and consequently harvest outputs and food.

The agrarian question and overall challenge of rain-fed agriculture The classic agrarian question in Africa has been how capitalism can enable agricultural development that contributes to industrialisation and decreased poverty. Thus, agrarian reforms have been seen from broadly three perspectives – the social, economic and political. The social perspective has a welfare focus and emphasises possibilities to reallocate land to the poor. The economic perspective stresses the emergence of small commercial farmers who create employment with multiplier effects.

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Finally, the political perspective argues for transforming the whole agrarian structure as a development strategy.189 In 1895, the German colonisers declared that all land, occupied or not, would become Crown lands. In 1928, the British governor authorised land grants for periods up to 99 years. After independence, all land continued to belong to the state.190 The Land and Village Land Acts of 1999 state that all land on mainland Tanzania ‘shall continue to be public land and remain vested in the President as trustee for and on behalf of all citizens of Tanzania,’ meaning that the state is the ultimate owner of the land, and makes grants for the occupation and use of it.191 President Nyerere introduced the concept of Ujamaa in the Arusha Declaration in 1967. This policy was populist and was based on what today is commonly seen as a utopian belief that a modern state could emerge from communal villages. The aim of Ujamaa was to increase agricultural productivity and at the same time reduce economic inequality.192 At the heart of the socialist vision of Ujamaa was a particular view of the world and its commodities. In this view, there was a limited amount of good and goods in the world, and one person’s gain would be another’s loss. Since Tanzania aimed to be ‘self-reliant’ in order to avoid dependence as a newly independent state, this implied a zero-sum national economy. Within Tanzania, wealth accumulation in any form would be at the expense of someone else, who would lose something,193 thus running counter to the socialist vision. Nyerere placed the nation at the centre of the framework for modernisation and as a result repressed cultural, ethnic, social and religious diversity. By abolishing chiefdoms in 1963, the rural population’s relationship to the state was changed. The chiefs had largely lost popular support in the colonial era, but with this radical break, in combination with villagisation, the state-peasant relationship was fundamentally transformed.194 From 1967 to 1973, the number of people in Tanzania living in Ujamaa villages increased from about half a million to about 2 million, approximately 15 per cent of the rural population. In 1973 the government abandoned the policy of voluntarism and the president ordered that the whole population should be moved into villages. This took place through organised ‘operations’, basically a military metaphor for mobilisation.195 ‘Operation Villagisation’ forcibly removed about 7 million people into villages, or about 50 per cent of the rural population.196 Through this process, some 8,230 new villages were created.197 However, as Bryceson remarks, villagisation ‘was not about socialist collectivity as much as nuclearizing scattered household settlements into villages where health

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dispensaries, schools and agricultural marketing services and productive infrastructure could be more efficiently provided.’198 Nevertheless, villagisation also led to environmental degradation. This may have happened in any case, but the process of villagisation accelerated it.199 In practice, there was little link between the Arusha Declaration and the new Ujamaa policy of 1967 and the actual implementation of the policy, apart from the nucleated village unit. The farmers were still dependent upon fluctuating market prices for their crops rather than government stimuli. Although farmers were promised numerous benefits, the new policy was viewed with considerable scepticism. As Kjekshus wrote in 1977: … the implementational features have fundamentally undercut some of the preconditions of the program and harmed the outcome. Already the socialist features of the village plan have been compromised, and it is doubtful whether the move has been a school in grass-roots democracy that has strengthened the peasantry’s sense of self-reliance and dignity. More fundamentally, it is doubtful whether the change of settlement pattern is consistent with the fundamental requirements for economic development in the Tanzanian ecology.200

The Sukuma used to live in widely dispersed households on the semi-arid cultivation steppe, and there were no villages in Usukuma until the forced villagisation of 1974. This political decision to force the Sukuma into villages and to work on communal farms had severe repercussions. As a consequence, life for the Sukuma became harder in the postcolonial era and the environment and land was desiccated.201 ‘The dispersed nature of their homesteads and the irregular and localized rain which they experience has given them a very individualized and localized view of their problems and their attempted solutions.’202 This would change with villagisation, with serious implications for culture and cosmology. The villagisation process disregarded existing customary rights and land tenure systems, thereby completely undermining the security of customary landholders.203 It also created other problems that contributed to agricultural decline. Nuclear settlements and villages created an artificial land shortage in areas where land was in abundance. With farmers living together, all land in the vicinity was farmed, but beyond a certain point it became uneconomical for a farmer to walk and establish new farms. As a consequence, in many villages farmers faced land shortages while unoccupied farmland was available only some ten miles away.204 The postcolonial era also saw changes to traditions, including an increase in the killing of witches, a theme which will be elaborated in

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Chapter 5. Thus, it has been claimed, ‘… villagization broke down many of the communal ties that bound villagers together. Crime increased dramatically as people of distant clans found themselves living close together in a social situation where traditionally allegations of witchcraft were of daily order. In time, killings became the order of the day …’205 The idea behind Ujamaa was that any wealth produced should belong to and be shared by all who had produced it, and not individuals. From a government perspective, however, it would also enable better state provision of schools, hospitals, water infrastructure and what at that time was seen as more modern and productive agriculture. The process of villagisation was, nevertheless, a difficult time with social upheavals as a consequence of being forced to move. Still, farmers did not lose their farming lands as such, except those farmers who lived where new settlements were established. Since 1989-90 people have been allowed to move back to their original lands, but most people have stayed in the villages. Nevertheless, although the intentions behind the vision were good, the programme failed to transform Tanzania into a modern selfsustaining state.206 In Tanzania today, about 70 per cent of farming land is cultivated by hand hoe, 20 per cent by ox plough and only 10 per cent by tractor. Small-scale farms still predominate and are on average as small as 0.9 hectares, with only a few farms of 3 hectares or more.207 This leads us to the next major reform with serious consequences for agriculture. After President Nyerere stepped down in 1985, an agreement with the International Monetary Fund was reached. There followed rapid liberalisation, expansion of the market economy and a reduced role for the state.208 In short, under Ali Hassan Mwinyi, the second president of Tanzania, the government adopted the IMF’s structural adjustment programme and its neoliberal paradigm. The good intentions behind introducing free market economy were and still are, as they had been under Ujamaa, developing Tanzania and ending poverty. Both Ujamaa and market liberalisation share one practical problem in common: there are limits to development from above unless people are engaged in the processes bottom up.209 The neoliberal programme also failed to deliver on its promises. A few Tanzanians have, of course, benefited from capitalism and become enormously rich. This has had two effects. First, it has strengthened awareness among the poor that they are in fact impoverished in various degrees. Second, it has shown that the free market can deliver what it promises, a rapid shift from poverty to prosperity. The problem is to understand how and by what means it is possible to succeed in the market. Moreover, with the market economy following the line of thought behind the Reagan and Thatcher doctrine, there is no society but only

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individuals who rely on their own capabilities and do not depend on government assistance.210 This contradicts traditional and customary values and social practices among the Sukuma. Both Ujamaa and liberalisation policies have had far-reaching effects, not only economically but also socially and religiously. Wijsen and Tanner argue that ‘the villagisation campaign … lasted too short [a time] to cause any major influence on cultural patterns of thought and behaviour.’211 However, this may not be so. The process of villagisation, which took place in 1974 among the Sukuma, disrupted ancestral propitiation and broke links with the ancestors, since people were moved from their natal areas, original homes and sacred places. Indeed, as will be elaborated later, villagisation, together with globalisation, market liberalism and the advent of new religions, contributed to the disappearance of rainmaking as a tradition. This brings us back to the importance of water and the role and function of ancestors in these rites. Is the presence or the absence of water solely a technical matter, or is it an intrinsic part of wider cosmological realms? And how does it relate to the practical development of water infrastructure? In 1971, the Tanzanian government adopted a policy aimed at providing every household with safe water within 400 metres by 1991, but this water policy was implemented for only 40 per cent of the rural population.212 Water is an increasingly scarce resource, and not only at household level. Importantly and fundamentally, erratic rainfall patterns represent huge uncertainty and risk for rain-fed agriculture. Water is the basis of all agricultural practices. In many regions, water is a scarce resource for the majority of the people, and the availability of different types of water and the purposes to which it is put depend on a wide range of industrial, economic, energy, cultural and religious practices and considerations. The absence and presence of different types of water sources structure all societies, whether those sources are rain, rivers or lakes or a combination of water bodies at a certain place. Too much water at the wrong time of year, such as unpredictable and devastating floods, is as bad as too little water when it is really needed, the result being drought. Life-giving water is in a special category: a specific type of water at a particular time – that is the right amount of water arriving during the annual flood or the rainy season – is essential to agriculture and successful harvests and vital to human survival.213 The water-world changes according to seasonal rhythm, human modifications such as dam building and irrigation schemes, and the consequences of globalisation, including climate change. For many people, climate change is experienced as large changes in water systems, resulting in more droughts or floods and

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unpredictable weather, all of which directly impact agrarian practices. Agricultural societies have adapted to and been restricted by the types of water available at a given time, but on the other hand, changing waterworlds have also created new possibilities for developing societies and social structures. Thus, understanding the water-world and how different types of water create possibilities and limitations for livelihoods and agriculture is fundamental to understanding current agricultural practice and future development.214 We must now direct out attention to a water-systems perspective.

Water-Systems Perspective In a number of works, Terje Tvedt has developed a water systems perspective.215 Environmental history is not only about how humans impact nature, but also about how different environments have created possibilities and constraints for social development throughout history. However, nature or the environment has often been perceived as a single phenomenon. This may preclude fruitful analysis of how different natural elements have structured society and been modified by society. In one perspective, natural landscapes can be seen as different waterscapes or water-worlds. Deserts are characterised by the absence of water; savannahs and tropical forests have different volumes of water; and arctic areas are covered by snow and ice, etc. Importantly, these water-worlds change throughout the year. Water is constantly circulating on the planet. The hydrological cycle – the amount of precipitation at a given place and time, its timing and its duration – is part of the different seasons. The appearance of water as rain, rivers, lakes, waterfalls, wells, ponds, underground pools, or snow or glaciers, has fundamentally influenced the world humans have lived in and continue to live in. Humans have always adapted to, used, exploited and been constrained by the water-world they have lived in according to their technological knowhow, cultural traditions and ideological and religious worldviews.216 We are in an age of uncertainty when climate change is threatening the planet. Although climate change is caused by increasing emissions into the atmosphere that will lead to a predicted increase in temperature of 2 degrees Celsius by the end of this century, the change is experienced in the form of changing waterscapes and changes in the hydrological cycle. In short, climate change affects water-worlds. Climate change involves the melting of glaciers and ice-caps, but also increased evaporation due to increased temperatures. Thus, will there be heavier rainfalls and more

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floods? Or will there be less rain, increasing droughts and shrinking water levels in rivers and lakes? And where will there be more water and where less? Will Northern areas become colder, with more snow and longer winters, and southern areas drier, with prolonged droughts? And how will increased sea-levels impact different regions of the world? Past changes in the hydrological cycle and various water-worlds have throughout history had a significant impact on the development and disappearance of societies and civilisations.217 The unique character of water is such as to enable new insights into the development of societies in history.218 Moreover, compared to other natural elements, water is always in flux. Given the difficulties or even impossibilities of studying nature as a whole, since humans adapt to different parts of nature in different ways, water stands out as the most important element in nature. It is both particular and universal at the same time, and it is not only a natural element, but also a social, cultural and religious element.219 ‘These characteristics combined mean that it is possible to reconstruct, describe, delineate and understand its movement and role in nature and in society and at the same time evade the problems created both by natural or biological determinism and social constructionism.’220 Since the days of Émile Durkheim (1858-1917) there has been a dictum in social and human sciences that social facts can only be explained by other social facts.221 Consequently, natural variables and the physical world were left out of research in the humanities and social sciences. C.P. Snow characterised this divide as the ‘two cultures’ – a universe of humanities and a universe of the natural sciences.222 A ‘water system’, or more precisely ‘complex and multifunctional water systems’, can be seen to consist empirically, analytically and theoretically of three layers of nature-society relationships, all of which require attention individually, in conjunction with each other and in their interdependencies. The first layer can be understood to address the physical form and behaviour of waterscapes. The second analytical layer addresses human modifications and adaptations to water-worlds. The third and final analytical layer addresses cultural concepts, institutional dimensions and ideas about water and water systems.223 The first layer: Physical form and behaviour of waterscapes. This is the most fundamental layer and refers to water as a natural element, and how its presence is relevant to societies. This layer relates to the hydrological cycle: how much precipitation occurs within a region at a given time and when; how much water is flowing in rivers during the year; how water is stored in underground reservoirs or glaciers; changing water

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volumes in ponds and lakes; and the interface between rivers and oceans. ‘The “water system” should be seen as an exogenous, physical factor, always in flux in nature at a given time. This physical aspect of water should not be regarded as a separate ecosystem, but as constituting a central part of any ecosystem.’224 Thus, to understand this physical layer one needs to collect natural scientific data. However, this data will also reflect social modification, since differences in the physical spaces and amount of water in waterscapes have importance for the ways in which societies have developed and been structured in history. The second layer: Human modifications and adaptations to actual water-worlds. This layer comprises two interconnected human-water relationships: human modifications of actual waterscapes and other waterrelated artefacts and structures. Modification of a water-world is not only the product of natural and geographical conditions, but also of a society’s cultural and technological potential and determination to control and use water at a given time, and how these elements relate. Hydraulic structures can take many forms and are shaped by the actual water in the topography, such as how and where rivers flow and where and when rain falls. Irrigation, diversion of rivers and building dikes to constructions of wells, pipelines and mega-dams are all human modifications. They either alter the water-world directly or take the form of separate water-related artefacts and structures. As part of this layer, one may also include different boat technologies and bridges as adaptations to changing waterworlds. The third layer: Cultural concepts, institutional dimensions and ideas about water and water systems. This layer puts the emphasis on how water is seen and used in society and why different types of water are used, managed and controlled. Management practices may include laws and regulations, prohibitions regarding pollution and ideas about health and sanitation. This layer also includes the religious and spiritual aspects of water, and consequently concepts of purity and impurity. Another worldwide feature is the use of water in some way in purification rituals and the belief that divinities reveal themselves or may be approached through water and water rituals. The cultural aspects of water are wide ranging, and include gender and age relations, the economy, notions of leisure and pleasure, to mention just a few.225 Perceptions of water have varied in different societies and cultures throughout history, and may even reveal competing elements. A water system perspective may enable one to include both social and natural variables without falling prey to either blind reductionism and determinism or extreme social constructivism. Nature – or water in this

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case – is socially mediated in society and culture, but the physical characteristics of water do matter: human modifications of waterscapes are the result of an interplay between physical appearance of water, technology and ideas about water. In a water system perspective, it is possible to see society and history as a product of human and non-human factors and the relationships between them. This approach allows water or nature to be an exogamous factor and to exist independently of cultural ways of knowing, but also allows nature and different water-worlds to be understood culturally. Thus, and not only because the human body consists of 70 per cent water, water by its very nature refutes the dichotomisation that has been drawn between society and nature, and this has methodological and theoretical consequences.226 As Terje Tvedt observes: The water-systems approach can be used as an entry point to investigate how changes in the water system affect societies and how changes in the society modify and are manifested in water systems and in human modifications of the same systems. How spatial variations in physical aspects and past modifications of the water systems constrain, structure and provide certain possibilities for political action and how geographical proximity affects the transmission of change are a subject matter of geopolitics’ relation to water.227

With rain-fed agriculture as a particular water system, one may adapt and develop this approach (Fig. 2.4). There is, of course, no direct and deterministic relationship between people’s ideas about their world and how they cultivate. For instance one may grow millet using a hoe irrespective of whether one believes in Christianity, Islam or the ancestors. Rain (layer 1) is, however, a constant and limiting factor that structures agricultural practice. Thus, by analytically using agriculture – from Latin agricultnjra, from ager field, land + cultnjra culture – one may distinguish the physical work and actual cultivation as belonging to layer 2 and the cultural elements as part of level 3. As already noted, these levels overlap and are mutually dependent.

Difficult choices To get a deeper insight into the rationale for rainmaking rituals and the ontological depths they represent, one must dwell in a little greater depth on rain-fed agriculture and the stakes involved.228 The importance of rain in rain-fed agriculture cannot be overstressed. Rain-fed agriculture selfevidently needs rain.

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Fig. 2.4. Rain-fed agriculture as a water system.

Everything depends on the arrival of the right rains in the right amount at the right time, and their failure and the ensuing dire consequences underscore the fragility and vulnerability of all aspects of life. This total dependency on an unpredictable resource represents a huge uncertainty. Farmers aim to reduce and control this uncertainty in the best possible ways, but their means are in practice limited. Farmers rely on tradition, in this case the culturally accumulated knowledge derived from generations of experience involving the soil, crops and crop performance under varying and erratic rainfall patterns. Now, this centuries old knowledge is adapted to the modern world in which life and well-being largely hinge on growing the most valuable cash-crops that produce an income and secure a livelihood beyond subsistence. Nevertheless, when margins are small or hardly exist, it is largely the experience and knowledge of how to produce as much as possible given all the limitations – thus unconsciously echoing the slogan of the international donor community of ‘more crop per drop’ as the solution to the water and food security crises – that will lead to prosperity or

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destitution, life or death. This is, however, a difficult call. To explore this further, we must turn our attention to the interconnected layers of rain-fed agriculture in a water systems perspective.

Erratic rain (Level 1) In Mwanza, as in many other places in Africa, there are two main rainy seasons: one in February-April and the other in October-November. The first is the ‘long’ rainy season and the latter the ‘short’ season. However, ‘rain is scarce in this semi-arid region. When it does fall, it is often erratic and unevenly distributed. Too much or too little at the wrong time can and often does spell disaster for these agricultural people.’229 Moreover, even when the rains come, they may fall unevenly: one village may receive sufficient rain whereas the clouds may pass over another village without rain falling. Even within a village, the actual precipitation may vary depending upon particular clouds and rain at a given time in the rainy season. Although life-giving rain is of utmost importance, the two rainy seasons are not of equal weight, and it is during the long rainy season that most of the food surplus is secured. The long rainy season is thus fundamental to food security in a given year. When the short rainy season comes, additional food is produced. All of this will be eaten by the time the farmers expect the next long rainy season. If this fails, the results may be catastrophic. In 2011, the drought in the Horn of Africa affected up to 13 million people and also hit parts of Tanzania, the Mwanza region included. In Usagara, the long rainy season from February to April was disastrous. The rain almost completely failed and there were only small intermittent showers. The short rainy season in October-November 2010 had also been bad, but not as bad as the ensuing long season. During the autumn of 2010, there had been enough rain to produce some food and small amounts of cotton. Consequently, there was barely enough food to tide people over to the next long rainy season. In 2011, the maize planted in late January died, and farmers hoped for the rain so they could start cultivating rice in particular. The rain, however, did not come and the fields were left virtually barren. Without rain, there was nothing the farmers could do. As one farmer put it, one cannot move the land and farmers have to live where their land is. Still, the farmers work and have to be prepared if the rain comes. The preferred agrarian cycle is to prepare the land and plant in January and wait for the rain to come and harvest in March-April and then plant again

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and harvest in June. In a year of good rain, generous rain should fall at least three days a week from March to April. However, in 2011 the rains failed more or less completely, with only some small showers from midMarch onward. When the rain fails, not only have farmers put in a lot of effort in vain, but the outcome is a failed harvest (fig. 2.5).

Fig. 2.5. Failed crops as part of the drought in the Horn of Africa 2011.

Dependence upon fluctuating rains is a gamble. The vulnerability of rain-fed agriculture was once described by an Indian finance minister in his national budget as a ‘gamble on the rains.’ He went on to stress that ‘variations in rainfall, or disruptions in water supply, can make the difference between adequate nutrition and hunger, health and sickness – and ultimately – life and death.’230 Moreover, ‘rain-fed farming is not just risky; it involves long delays between investment and fluctuating returns. Sooner or later, steadily accruing loan interest outstrips a borrower’s fluctuating capacity to pay.’231 In 2011, the farmers faced the ‘hungry season’ with barren fields and hardly any food. When the rains came in Usagara village in late August in the short rainy season, they were met with great relief. Everybody had survived the difficult ‘hungry season’, but as one old woman remarked, this drought had been one of the three worst

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in her whole life. Famine is serious food deficit, and in the globalised world where one needs money, farmers face a difficult choice: should one grow food- or cash-crops? Coping with the uncertainties of erratic rainfall in a time of climate change, when rainfall patterns fluctuate even more markedly, is an immense challenge. Farmers living on the absolute subsistence minimum are dependent on rain and on making the right decisions. How is it possible to be strategic when everything depends on the uncertain rains? Millet is a low water-intensive crop and in times of hardship may secure livelihoods. Rice and cotton, on the other hand, demand much water for cultivation, but if rain comes in abundance, they are the choices that bring the most money and prosperity. Farmers cannot afford to make wrong decisions, yet they do, because everything depends on the rain, which is impossible to predict. One may distinguish between dry spells and droughts. Almost every season, variability in rainfall generates dry spells of between two and four weeks, which result in shorter periods of water stress during the growing season. Dry spells are manageable through investments in water infrastructure. Meteorological droughts, on the other hand, occurring on average once every decade in moist semi-arid regions and up to twice each decade in dry semi-arid regions, result in complete crop failure. When such droughts occur, they cannot be counteracted through agricultural water management, so that other social coping strategies are necessary such as relief food, grain banks, etc.232 The main solution is diversifying risks. Specialisation may increase vulnerability, whereas diversification may reduce uncertainties. Some plots of land are used for maize, cassava, beans and vegetables and others for rice and cotton. Herein, however, there is also a paradox. If all land is used to grow millet, which is less water-intensive but generates little cash, there might be enough food if the rains fail or are insufficient. However, if the rains are good, farmers will lose opportunities because of their wrong choice of crop. Thus, when the rain fails, much arable land will be left uncultivated, because farmers will not want to put prepared rice fields under millet in case the rain does come. Hence, food deficits are also culturally made. Ultimately, this situation highlights the impossible choices farmers have to make when their lives and subsistence are totally dependent on unpredictable annual rains. When the rains fail completely, all these strategies are in vain. The result is hunger and famine, which have huge impacts on society. People have to get money to buy food. Today, the global market on which they sell their agricultural products during times of good rain is also where they

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have to buy their necessities at fluctuating and increasing prices when there is drought. Money matters and changes lives. After the long rainy season failed during the spring of 2011 in Usagara, during the following summer the farmers and their families experienced hunger and had a very hard and strenuous time. Those with the least food got some supplies of maize from the government, but otherwise social mechanisms in the village helped increase food security. Within families and among neighbours, people with a small surplus shared food with others. Those better off for various reasons also employed the poorest to do work in return for small wages, which enabled them to procure food. Moreover, Usagara village enjoyed a comparative advantage in being located close to Mwanza and other smaller cities. People from Usagara could thus migrate as day labourers to towns or search for agricultural work in other parts of the country. Thus, although the drought brought hardship and suffering to the Sukuma of Usagara, all of them survived. When the rain fails and there is drought and no food, farmers struggle to survive. They are forced to seek other types of work. Some try to generate income to buy food by selling vegetables and charcoal. Others are employed in construction work, in particular building houses. From such day labour a person may earn Tsh. 5,000 a day, which may provide food for several days for small households, but only enough to feed larger families for one day. Working as a day labourer is hard and it is mostly the men and the householders in families that undertake this type of work. However, in construction work, water is needed in the building process, and carrying water to construction sites is the work of women. Thus, women in households also engage in seasonal work when there is a crisis and an acute need for extra income to buy food for survival. Although some people migrate to other places for work, most aim to do day labour work in the vicinity to avoid the extra costs of living and renting in another place. In Usagara, most people worked close to their village. It was said that during this drought, at least one member from each household was engaged in different activities apart from farming. This drought was hard, but the Sukuma have throughout history been used to droughts and have adapted to this way of living. Despite the difficulties, globalisation and the market economy have brought some advantages in times of crises. The problem with drought, it was explained by one, was not really that harvests failed. The problem is the lack of money that enables farmers to buy food from elsewhere. By being day labourer, it was possible, even in the most recent crisis, to generate some income and thus buy food and survive. This was quite different from the

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crisis in the early 1980s when there was no food to buy even if people had money. The absence of rain influences all parts of society and life. During the drought the wells run dry. Villagers had to dig new wells at greater depths and further away. This implied that the women had to walk longer and spend more time collecting and carrying water. Girls are the first to be taken out of schools to carry water when there is a drought and more time is needed to secure water for the household’s daily consumption. There was less drinking water for both humans and animals, and several farmers had to sell their cattle. Although the short rainy season during autumn 2011 was good, rain can be a double-edged sword. If it rains continuously and intensively for a week, the crops will be swamped and die, since they also need sun. Rice can survive intense rains for longer periods, but maize and other staples are more sensitive. Good rains are those that ideally last two-three days, followed by some three-four days of sunshine, and so on. Thus, as with rain so with sun: too much or too little at the wrong time is equally bad. The short rainy season during the autumn of 2011 started early. The first rains came at the end of August and continued. Although the heavy rains necessary for rice cultivation did not come, the light rains provided enough water for maize, millet, finger millet, beans and other crops. Thus, after the catastrophic season in spring 2011 and the poor harvest of autumn 2010, the rains in autumn 2011 provided farmers with food for survival and even a surplus for sale. When the rain started, the farmers opted for different strategies. With the arrival of the first rains in late August, some farmers suspected they would not last. They therefore postponed maize planting, since they did not want to lose the planted seeds or waste time and money. Waiting to plant is a way to minimise risks, and by the end of October there were still farmers who had not started planting (the main period of rain during the short rainy season is October and November). Other farmers, however, calculated differently and took a chance in the belief that the early rains of late August would continue. Some started cultivating maize at the beginning of September, and because the rain kept coming they had the chance to have two harvests in this rainy season. Thus, given equal dependency on the seasonal rains, there are different ways to reduce risk and manage the uncertainties of rain-fed agriculture. But in the end, these risk-managing strategies are a gamble when everything depends upon unpredictable and erratic rains.

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Agri - field, land (Level 2) Any study of agriculture may in some way include the works and thoughts of Karl Marx. Modifying the natural waterscape for agricultural purposes is first and foremost work – hard, physical work. Marx wrote: ‘Labour is, in the first place, a process in which both man and nature participate, and in which man of his own accord starts, regulates, and controls the material re-actions between himself and Nature.’ He goes on: ‘[Man] opposes himself to Nature as one of her own forces, setting in motion arms and legs, head and hands, the natural forces of his body, in order to appropriate Nature’s productions in a form adapted to his own wants.’233 The role of water is, nevertheless, barely touched upon by Marx, despite water’s overall importance to agriculture. He writes; ‘The soil (and this, economically speaking, includes water) in the virgin state in which it supplies man with necessaries or the means of subsistence ready to hand, exists independently of him, and is the universal subject of human labour.’234 Thus, from this very basic point of view, with water and land one can cultivate, but the picture is, of course, more complex. Although rain-fed agriculture is limited by the arrival and presence of rain, there are still numerous and different ways to practise agriculture and numerous crops to grow. By the end of March 2011, when the rain had not arrived and the prospects for the forthcoming season looked miserable and people prepared for difficult times, farmers started to plant millet in various fields. The latest one can plant millet with a hope of a successful harvest is in April. However, they did not cultivate millet in the fields they had prepared for rice cultivation, since they believed the rain would eventually come. Still, even if millet is drought resistant, it nevertheless requires varying amounts of rain for a month. Unfortunately the rain failed in April as well, leaving farmers with almost no harvest or food until the onset of the next season’s rains. The maize harvest during autumn 2011 was successful compared to the previous season. Nevertheless, the cassava harvest experienced low yields because sand had spoiled the fields. Moreover, all crops suffered from destructive plagues of insects. Additionally, an agricultural institute had once tried to eliminate one of these pests, but had failed, with the result that it had multiplied. In the past, combinations of cash- and food-crops were grown: cotton together with chickpeas, millet, cassava and sweet potatoes, while in more swampy areas, which have now dried up, rice was cultivated. Millet was the dominant staple until the 1980s, but since then people have introduced

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crops they prefer to eat, and today millet is perceived as disgusting because of its murky brownish colour. From the 1980s and 1990s onwards, rice cultivation became more dominant. Rice is preferred as a staple for several reasons. First, it is the dietary preference today. Second, if a surplus is produced or cash is needed, it can generate a good income, with prices per kilo ranging between Tsh. 1,6001,800. Third, rice can be stored for years after harvest and thus represents both food security as well as potential cash income. Maize, for instance, can only be stored some five or six months after harvest and must therefore be consumed within a relatively short time. Finally, even when there is insufficient rain for planting, as in spring 2011, the rice seeds may survive up to three years. Thus, the resistance of rice to spoilage is also a security mechanism. Apart from cultural choices and market prices, the farmers also have to gamble on the rains and which crops are viable given the amount of precipitation. This is, of course, a game of jeopardy, because no one can know how much rain will fall, and the consequences of the wrong decision may be fatal. Yet, decisions have to be made, and sometimes they are wrong. Cotton is highly drought resistant, whereas maize and sorghum are more vulnerable to water shortage and drought. As such, cotton is preferable during dry periods. However, cultivation of cotton is water intensive and requires a successful rainy season, whereas millet needs little water. Where land is a limiting factor, farmers must calculate the proportion of land to be used for subsistence agriculture in relation to cash-crops. When they do not have enough land for cultivation, food-crops for personal consumption are more often given priority over crops that may generate limited cash in an uncertain market. Among the villagers it was generally agreed that the best way to improve agriculture is to introduce small-scale irrigation, which would enable more secure foodcrops, with some additional cash-crops. In addition, there are reasons beyond cultural preferences for staples other than millet, even though this is given as the most important. When smallholders change crops from year to year, the soil may lose some of its nutritional qualities. A major problem with maize is that the crop is attacked by striga – also known as ‘witches’ weed’ – a highly destructive parasitic plant. Millet is also highly vulnerable to striga, and the government has instructed farmers who grow millet in their fields one year, to grow cotton or cassava the next in order to eradicate the parasitic plant. However, if the next season is also dry, farmers face an added problem, since they cannot grow millet again. Striga particularly affects

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maize, sorghum and millet, but not rice, which is located in wetter areas. Nevertheless, instead of using pesticides, if a field is infected by striga, farmers may cultivate cotton or cassava the next year, since striga does not survive alongside these crops. In short, crop rotation patterns also influence the crops chosen in a given year. The Sukuma were the ethnic group cultivating most cotton and cashcrops in Tanzania. Mwanza region has been at the heart of cash-crop farming in Tanzania. In Usagara before 2011, the majority of farmers had shifted from cash-crops, and in particular cotton, to food-crops. Half-adecade ago, about 50 per cent of the farmers was growing cotton, whereas in 2010 only 13 per cent had cotton as the major crop. The main reason for this decline in Usagara was the vulnerability caused by the free market system. If the cotton price is high, farmers switch from food to cotton production. When the prices of fertiliser and pesticides increase, the returns from selling cotton decrease: the growing costs may be higher than the net returns and farmers would not have enough income to pay for these inputs. The price for cotton was so low that food-crops become the new cash-crops, in particular rice. Moreover, individual farmers cultivating cotton on small farmlands cannot compete economically with large industrial plantations. Thus, increased expenses and decreased cotton prices caused farmers to return to food-crops to survive. In particular where life is a constant struggle to make ends meet, most farmers prefer subsistence agriculture, which secures at least some food. All those interviewed would prefer small-scale irrigation farming if possible, mainly in the form of subsistence farming with some additional cash-crops. In Usagara, rain-fed subsistence agriculture does not yield much surplus, but does meet human needs in years of sufficient rain. The farmers were living at a minimum subsistence level and were engaged in a constant struggle to feed mouths. Even so, farmers need to sell part of the crop for cash to cover school fees, medical expenses and so on. However, during the short rainy season in the autumn of 2011, farmers started reverting to cash-crops and cotton production, and many more were expected to produce cotton again during the main rainy season of 2012. The government offers preferential loans with good conditions to farmers who want to invest in cotton production, and farmers pay back their loans after the harvest and sale of the cotton. Overall, then, there has been a change from subsistence agriculture to cash-crops and back again, and then possibly a return to more cash-crops. About 75 per cent of cotton is exported, mainly to China (approx. 50 per cent), but also to India, Bangladesh and Taiwan. Prices for cotton used to be Tsh. 500-600 per kilogram, but rose rapidly to Tsh. 1,200 in 2011.

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There were two main reasons for this doubling of prices: the appreciation of the US dollar and low global production. The farmers in Usagara were well aware of these changes, although not necessarily of the reasons for them. Some farmers suggested the Tanzanian government had increased prices in order to help them. The misunderstanding of why prices increase may lead to wrong choices about which crops to cultivate. In Usagara, cotton was largely abandoned because of the falling prices. With the rapid increase in those prices, many farmers were rethinking their options and considered growing cotton again. However, because the prices of cotton are governed by the international market and not the Tanzanian government, farmers may again fall prey to fluctuating prices if global production increases. Farmers also continuously experiment with different techniques and types of crops to intensify productivity. Chemical fertilisers are expensive and degrade soil quality, while manure from cattle is limited (Fig. 2.6). Thus, they try other types of manure. One option is to soak leaves from trees in water for a certain time and then spread them on the fields. When farmers experiment with new techniques, they first test them on small plots, and only when they have seen the results will they employ them on larger fields. Although some farmers are receptive to innovation and new cashcrops, there was, nevertheless, general scepticism and concern about the sustainability and long-term security of new crops. There were plans to introduce new cash-crops such as jatropha, but farmers were in general reluctant about them, because of the uncertainty of the market, fluctuating prices for inputs and sales and the quality of the processed crops, all of them vulnerabilities they would naturally wish to minimise. Farmers feared that this boom will not last and will turn out to be just another project that eventually leads back to subsistence agriculture. Nevertheless, although farmers were mainly relying on subsistence farming, as much as half the crop might be sold to generate income. Thus, if farmers were able to keep all the food they grew, there would perhaps be sufficient for the whole year. Normally, however, they do not hold back food for the next year, because they have to sell some of it to earn money. This highlights the impossible situation the farmers face: all decisions are a gamble on the rain to get the highest yield possible, failure to achieve which may have devastating consequences. But even with a successful harvest, farmers have to sell large parts of their food supply to generate income and cash. It is extremely expensive to be poor.

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Fig. 2.6. Cattle – a natural fertiliser.

Culture and religion (Level 3) The previous descriptions of agricultural practices and choices are all, of course, within the realm of culture. Cultural choices and decisions, together with religious conceptions and understandings, shape all practices, but as shown, the cultural world is also dependent, restricted and enabled by the external, real world. And for subsistence farmers living off rain-fed agriculture, rain is the first and most important parameter – without rain, no food. But food is not just food. There is hardly any other item endowed with so much cultural and religious significance, including taboos, as food. Suffice it to point out here that the cultural values of food often outweigh other rational considerations with respect to water consumption, agricultural production and caloric output. Thus, one key advantage of millet as a food-crop is that it requires less water for cultivation than other crops and as such it is a surer food source during times of failing rain and drought. Generally, although millet has been the traditional staple, people do not like to eat it anymore and will not grow it, even though it requires less water for cultivation. This change in dietary preference has direct

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implications for what is grown. Thus, cultural taste and preferences have changed actual farming, and even during famines farmers rarely grow millet. And this is the case even though farmers were encouraged by the government to grow millet. Rather than planting millet on the fields prepared for rice cultivation, the fields were left uncultivated. Most farmers instead gambled that the rain would come and enable them to grow rice, which is preferred both as a cash-crop for income and because it is perceived as tastier. Regarding cotton (Fig. 2.7), other social mechanisms are at work. Apart from the low selling price, there are further reasons cotton is a less attractive cash-crop than others. In Usagara, cotton is sold to a local cooperative, but payments are frequently delayed. Often, farmers only get paid the first week and then the cooperative claims it needs to borrow money from banks. Subsequent payments may be delayed up to a month – a time when most farmers really need the money and cannot afford to wait. Other cash-crops, such as tomatoes grown in gardens, are paid for immediately and rice in particular is seen as most lucrative as a cash-crop. Milk is also sold, and keeping livestock, which are also a source of meat, is an additional source of income. However, even though cattle are a valuable resource generating extra income and providing security, particularly when the harvests fail, grazing land is limited and farmers cannot exploit the potential of livestock as much as they would wish. During droughts and famines, government support and foreign aid are part of the strategy and planning for survival. Although the external help is limited and survival on it is hard, such help is nevertheless part of the coping strategy of the subsistence economy. There is a Sukuma saying ‘We will pass’, and the Sukuma have always suffered from severe famines, which occur every six or seven years. During famines, each person receives one big tin-can of maize from the government. This is not enough to survive on, but it gives the farmers some relief as they search for other job possibilities. When drought and food shortage crises occur, the Sukuma usually turned to the ancestors for help. However, although the ancestors were propitiated in other Sukuma areas, this was not the case in Usagara. After they became Christians, propitiating the ancestors has been seen as akin to using witchcraft, and the church condemns both practices. Rainmaking rituals were also seen as sinful by the church and thus villagers did not conduct them.

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Fig. 2.7. Cotton cultivation.

The direct consequences of failing rain were that people suffered and starved and that poverty increased. This was interpreted in different ways. First, global climate change was seen by many as the cause of the scarcity

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or absence of rain, in particular among those with a modern education. Indeed, through its access to information from television, radio and newspapers in varying degrees, rural Tanzania is part of the global world and the discourse about climate change is central in these rural areas too. Second, farmers have long been cutting trees in the forests, and consequently the land has become eroded and lost substantial waterretention properties. Deforestation is thus seen as an important human factor affecting the actual water environment. Third, changes in weather and the absence of rain were also seen as stemming from declining traditions and the broken relationship with ancestors, so that it is no longer possible to communicate with and propitiate them, or make sacrifices. With regard to the last theme, neglect of tradition and the nonpropitiation of ancestors have given rise to numerous interpretations. Some traditional healers and diviners blame the Christians, in particular the Pentecostals, whom they perceive as evil because they have created more, and new forms of, witchcraft. Others saw the drought as a punishment by God because Sukuma values were no longer followed. In general, there was an element, or at least the perception, of generational conflict, since the youth were not honouring traditional values and respecting elders. Women, too, were criticised for dressing inappropriately and not wearing their traditional dress. The lack of rain in 2011 was thus also understood as a collective punishment by God for the moral decay of and misconduct and sin in society. As one informant explained, when people do not follow Sukuma tradition and values, God penalises them with the absence of rain. Moreover, there has been an increase in witchcraft, and this is also believed to influence rainfall patterns in various ways. People use witchcraft to become rich, and one informant linked the drought directly to the killing of an albino in 2009. Nobody was arrested for the crime. According to this farmer, this misdeed led God to punish the society collectively by withholding rain. In other villages with many traditional healers, however, rainmaking rituals were conducted, and if and when the rain comes, the rainmakers were acknowledged and greatly respected. When rainmaking rituals succeeded and the rain came, the life-giving waters were also seen as holy and a divine gift from God to all people. Although the practice of rainmaking had disappeared in Usagara, Christians did pray to God for rain, including the Pentecostals. People had long been praying for rain in the church, but it never came. Among Muslims, too, from a religious perspective rain is seen as a gift from Allah, but erratic and fluctuating rain is seen as a consequence of climate change and deforestation, which reduce the overall amount of water.

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Although rainmaking as a ritual has disappeared, the whole rainmaking cosmology has not. There were still people in the village believed to have power to withhold the rain. The reason they might wish to harm other people and society was unclear, but somehow they wished to be respected and seen as important. In cases where rain is believed to be withheld by anti-rain witches, people may consult traditional healers who devise medicines to be sprayed on the fields where the farmers would like to receive rain. Thus, the absence or presence of rain was seen as an ongoing contest between those with the power to make it and those who could restrain it. If the rainmakers were the more powerful, they would punish the rain-witches, including by sending sandstorms to kill them. In 2010, in the neighbouring village of Nyahorongo, a man predicted before the short rainy season that there would be no rain that year. When the rain had still not arrived in November, the villagers grew very angry and beat the man to death. Withholding the rain was not seen as related to the world of ancestors as such, but as a result of witchcraft and malignant forces. Thus, as a brief summary, actual cultivation is not merely about planting, sowing and harvesting, but represents an intricate mixture of rainfall parameters and natural variables, including soil composition and qualities; customary and technological practices; as well as a wide and influential spectrum of cultural, ideological and religious concepts. Crops and cultivation are also part of the global world market as well as being literally rooted in centuries-old practices and experiences, which brings us to the relationship between globalisation, modernity and tradition.

CHAPTER THREE GLOBALISATION, TRADITIONS AND CHANGE

After a very minute scrutiny of the Sukuma tribal structure I decided that none of the existing institutions could be used as a base for building up of an effective and modern political system. The main reason for the necessity for complete emancipation from traditional institutions, with the exception of the executive, is that they differ considerably in different areas as to their functions and powers, although they are known by the same name everywhere … The old institutions were based, almost without exception, on conceptions and ideologies which have been lost, or are in the process of losing, all hold on people. —Hans Cory, government anthropologist, Tanganyika, 1954235 We tell the Chiefs quite frankly that their authority is traditional only in the tribes, which were the traditional units. Tanganyika is not a traditional unit at all, and if the Chiefs want to have a place in this thing we call Tanganyika, they have got to adapt themselves to this new situation. There is nothing traditional in the Central Government of Tanganyika today. —Julius Nyerere, on the eve of Independence Day, 1961236

Before proceeding with the analysis, a brief discussion of what is meant by globalisation, modernity and tradition is required. This is, however, difficult since each of the terms has been the subject of lengthy books and discourses. Such detail is not possible here. In this regard, it is worth recalling what Karl Popper once said about the explanatory depths of science: ‘Science does not rest upon solid bedrock. The bold structure of its theories rises, as it were, above a swamp. It is like a building erected on piles. The piles are driven down from above into the swamp, but not down to any natural or ‘given’ base; and if we stop driving the piles deeper, it is not because we have reached firm ground. We simply stop when we are satisfied that the piles are firm enough to carry the structure, at least for the time being.’237 From this perspective, discussion of definitions allows us to gain more knowledge about the processes being analysed and enhances understanding

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of their complexity. The objective of such discussion is not to derive phenomenological, ahistorical or context-free definitions. From one perspective, belief in ancestors, rainmaking and witchcraft is a risk-managing strategy, if one may use this term to describe religious processes. Rainmaking aims to procreate the rains, facilitate good harvests and enable prosperity and well-being and to avoid the disasters, famine and death that result when the rains fail. Witchcraft, on the other hand, works differently. This subject will be discussed more fully in Chapter 5. Suffice it to add here that while witchcraft is also about gaining wealth and health in one way or other, this is generally achieved at the expense of the wealth and well-being of others. In a zero-sum economy, harming another is therefore a way of procuring personal wealth, although not all witchcraft conforms to this pattern. Witchcraft is also different in its use of the occult to achieve its goals. In any case, procuring wealth is the main strategy for alleviating poverty, and hence, witchcraft is therefore also one way to reduce risk or cope with the uncertainties of the world. In practice, it also works as insurance where no other options are available, or so it is often believed. Let us then turn to examine risk societies and risk coping-mechanisms.

Risk societies The sociologists Ulrich Beck and Anthony Giddens have worked extensively on risk societies and theories. At the outset, one may distinguish between two types of risk: external risk and manufactured risk. External risk refers to events that may unexpectedly strike an individual. Manufactured risk is created by the progress of human development, and Chernobyl is one such example.238 Giddens argues that there has been a transition from external risk to manufactured risk, and ‘the emergence of a risk society is not wholly about the avoidance of hazards ... Risk society, looked at positively, is one in which there is an expansion of choice.’239 Ulrich Beck has dubbed risk society ‘organised irresponsibility.’ In the words of Giddens: ‘the transition from external to manufactured risk is bringing about a crisis of responsibility, because the connections between risk, responsibility and decisions alter.’240 He argues that before the industrial era, people were at the mercy of nature, including plagues and famines. By contrast, in ‘industrialised countries today we are largely immune from these insecurities; our uncertainties about the future derive from the social forces we ourselves have unleashed.’241 At the outset, he seems to be drawing an artificial distinction between industrial and nonindustrial countries, developed and developing ones. Although there are

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different degrees of vulnerability, from a water perspective no societies are immune to natural disaster, including developed and industrialised countries. Simply put, different societies adapt to the water-worlds in different ways. According to Giddens: A risk society is a society where we increasingly live on a high technological frontier which absolutely no one completely understands and which generates a diversity of possible futures. The origins of risk society can be traced to two fundamental transformations which are affecting our lives today … The first transformation can be called the end of nature; and the second the end of tradition. The end of nature … means that there are now few if any aspects of the physical world untouched by human intervention … For hundreds of years, people worried about what nature could do to us – earthquakes, floods, plagues, bad harvests and so on. At a certain point, somewhere over the past fifty years or so, we stopped worrying so much about what nature could do to us, and we started worrying more about what we have done to nature. The transition makes one major point of entry in risk society. It is a society which lives ‘after nature’.242

Beck agrees that ‘risk society begins where nature ends.’243 A risk society is a ‘world characterized by the loss of a clear distinction between nature and culture. Today if we talk about nature we talk about culture and if we talk about culture we talk about nature.’ We live therefore, he argues, in a hybrid world that transcends old theoretical distinctions, where risk is seen in man-made hybrids only.244 Thus Giddens and Beck have got rid of both nature and tradition. But this is not necessarily the case, even using their own premises and definitions of risk societies. For example, water is a fundamental structure in any societal organisation, and the ways water landscapes and systems are developed are based on long historical trajectories and experiences transmitted through generations, or in other words, tradition. Moreover, industrial countries are not ‘immune’ to insecure water-worlds: on the contrary, they are more vulnerable than ever.245 Risk can be defined as ‘a cause of poverty and its persistence,’246 and ‘vulnerable households’ as ‘those liable to fall under an agreed poverty line over time and with a particularly high probability,’247 or are those for whom ‘the existence and the extent of a threat of poverty and destitution’ may result in ‘a socially unacceptable level of well-being.’248 Regions with rain-fed agriculture commonly face challenges associated with water scarcity, fragile environments, drought and land degradation, high population pressure and low efficiency with regard to rainwater and

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investment in water infrastructure.249 ‘The essence of risk management lies in maximizing the areas where we have some control over the outcome while minimizing the areas where we have absolutely no control over the outcome and the linkage between effect and cause is hidden for us.’250 Importantly, while a risk can be assigned as a probability, uncertainty cannot. From this perspective, the arrival of the annual rains is an uncertainty – it is impossible to know or to control, and the farmers are to a large extent unable to counteract the failing rains with risk-minimising strategies, as seen in Usagara in 2011 when the long rainy season failed. An emphasis on water and, in this case, the arrival of annual rains challenges current risk theories and their theoretical underpinnings. Bernstein says that ‘the revolutionary idea that defines the boundary between modern times and the past is the mastery of risk: the notion that the future is more than the whim of the gods and that men and women are not passive of nature.’251 He goes on to quote the statistician Maurice Kendall, who once wrote: ‘Humanity did not take control of society out of the realm of the Divine … to put it at mercy of the laws of chance.’252 Beck argues along the same lines in saying that religion has disappeared from risk-management strategies and the perceptions of risks: ‘preindustrial hazards, no matter how large and devastating, were “strokes of fate” raining down on humankind from “outside” and attributable to an “other” – gods, demons or Nature. Here too there were countless accusations, but they were directed against gods or God – “religiously motivated”, to put it simply, and not – like industrial risks – politically charged.’253 Of course, the future is more than the whims of the gods, but that does not mean perceptions of gods are not part of today’s and future scenarios. When Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans in 2004, it was perceived by many fundamentalist Christians as an act of revenge by God.254 Thus, following the above premise, Christians in the US who believe God can intervene in the world and punish humanity by causing havoc do not belong to modernity and they are not modern. This is of course misleading, precisely because the religious aspects of nature still exist in varying degrees, and humans are not the masters of the natural world, especially when it comes to changes in water-worlds, whether they are caused by climate change or not. Thus, it would be more fruitful to include and challenge the implicit dichotomy between the modern and the traditional – the ‘rational’ and the ‘religious.’ From another perspective, Beck does that when he says, ‘we are witnessing not the end but the beginning of modernity – that is, of a modernity beyond its classical industrial design. This distinction between

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modernization of tradition and modernization of industrial society, will occupy us for quite some time.’255 He elaborates on what he calls the ‘second modernity’: .

In world risk society, non-Western societies share with the West not only the same space and time but also – more importantly – the same basic challenges of the second modernity … To stress this aspect of sameness – and not otherness – is already an important step in revising the evolutionary bias … whereby contemporary non-Western societies are relegated to the category of ‘traditional’ or ‘pre-modern’ and thus defined not in their own terms, but as opposite or the absence of modernity … To situate the non-Western world firmly within the ambit of a second modernity, rather than of tradition, allows a pluralization of modernity, for it opens up space for conceptualization of divergent trajectories of modernities in different parts of the world.256

This draws attention to how poverty in developing countries is intrinsically linked to water-worlds. In general and in practice, unless crops are irrigated, all harvests are dependent on seasonal rains that come in the right amount at the right time. Dependency on the annual rains is today as important as ever, but the cultural and religious roles and societal organisation have changed. Controlling life-giving water for agriculture has always been of utmost importance, and today it is mainly achieved through irrigation schemes, rain-harvesting techniques or ground water extractions. Until the recent past, controlling the rain was the realm of the chief, who safeguarded society through rainmaking rituals. In fact, it was the chief’s power to control life-giving waters that ensured his legitimacy as ruler. This sociocultural tradition has today largely vanished for a number of reasons. Globalisation is one of them.

New concept for new times ‘Globalisation’ is a fuzzy word which may, like ‘culture’, cover everything and nothing. Consequently, one needs to specify what it denotes. The word hardly appeared before the late 1980s, and although contacts between different parts of the world go back millennia, there are some trends that characterise the era which began with the ending of the Cold War in 198991. With regard to globalisation in particular, three factors more or less coincided. First, there was tighter global integration after the Cold War, with increased trade and economic activity. Second, the internet and faster communications networks made the world more interconnected. Finally,

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there was a stronger emphasis on identity politics (nationalist, ethnic, religious and territorial). A number of key characteristics and dimensions of globalisation can be identified. 1) Disembedding: Distance has become irrelevant, relative or at least less important (at least from the perspective of Westerners). 2) Acceleration: The speed of communications and transport has increased dramatically in the 20th century. 3) Standardisation: More and more standards are shared throughout the world, such as measurements, currencies, languages, etc. 4) Interconnectedness: People are becoming more connected and these networks are becoming denser, faster and wider. 5) Movement: People are moving more easily, often and rapidly across continents than before. 6) Mixing: It is easier for more people to mix and cross cultural, religious and territorial boundaries. 7) Vulnerability: The weakening and even obliteration of boundaries have made the globe more vulnerable. And this is true not only of poor countries exposed to the consequences of market economy, but also to the rest of the world, which faces, for instance, climate change, pandemics and transnational terrorism. 8) Reembedding: At a local level, responses to the above processes and characteristics have often taken the form of countervailing forces and alternatives.257 In a discussion of what globalisation is, it might be fruitful, as Hylland Eriksen has pointed out, to outline what globalisation is not, since many of these factors are often uniquely associated with globalisation. 1) Globalisation is not a recent phenomenon beginning in the late 1980s, since world systems have existed in earlier periods and Western colonialism is a good example. 2) Globalisation is not just a new word or form of economic imperialism and cultural Westernisation for two main reasons: it also has non-economic aspects and the ‘West’ is not the only global player, particularly in Africa, where the BRICS countries – Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa – are dominant actors. 3) Globalisation does not mean homogenisation. The view that there is or will be a ‘cultural village’ is simplistic and contact has rather strengthened diverse cultural traditions and identities. The process of glocalisation many feared has not come to pass. 4) Globalisation is not opposed to human rights. Although transnational companies working in poor countries do not necessarily follow and respect workers’ rights, human

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rights have been spread globally through various globalisation processes.258 Nevertheless, an aspect of globalisation that seems inevitable and irreversible is the adoption of Western modes of production and consumption, in particular the spread of capitalism and the market economy worldwide.259 This does not mean the West is the only actor, but that these processes and premises have become universal. And the economic dimension is at the heart of globalisation. One of the features of the present wave of globalisation is the tendency for states to enter into economic agreements with other states: free trade areas, customs unions, common markets, etc. Strictly speaking, economic integration has two sides. From the point of view of the non-participants this represents a retreat from globalisation, but from the point of view of the integrating nations it facilitates the flow of goods, factors and technologies.260

However, even though the economy and free market ideology are fundamental in the process of globalisation, globalisation is seen from two perspectives: one is the economic and the other the non-economic, which includes sociocultural, historical and political variables.261 From the economic perspective, the European Commission has defined globalisation as ‘the process by which markets and production in different countries are becoming increasingly interdependent due to the dynamics of trade in goods and services and flows of capital and technology.’262 Moreover, ‘globalisation as an uneven economic process creates a fragmented distribution of those resources for learning, teaching and cultural criticism which are more vital for the formation of democratic research communities which could produce a global view of globalisation.’263 From the sociocultural perspective, Giddens says ‘globalization can … be defined as the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events many miles away and vice versa. This is a dialectical process because such happenings may move in obverse direction from the very distanciated relations that shape them. Local transformation is as much a part of globalization as the lateral extension of social connections across time and space.’264 Thus, ‘globalization as a concept refers both to the compression of the world and the intensification of consciousness of the world as a whole.’265 It has also been said that globalisation is ‘a social process in which the constraints of geography on social and cultural arrangements recede and in which people become increasingly aware that they are receding.’266 And

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there is another aspect that must be stressed, the role of human suffering in the global world. This relates directly to poverty. In the global world, poor people are well aware of the fact they are poor. Even though people may have had less or the same amount of wealth in the past, the world of wealth has increasingly become the frame of reference in which the poor also define themselves. As Bonefeld and Psychopedis observe, ‘the most depressing aspect of globalization theory is that human beings are on the whole ignored,’267 an observation that touches on the vulnerability of globalisation. Vulnerability with reference to rain-fed agriculture is the failure of rains and successive droughts and possible famine. ‘Famine’ can be defined as ‘severe shortage or inaccessibility of appropriate food (including water), along with related threats to survival, affecting major parts of a population.’268 Including the ‘emic’ or the sufferers’ perspectives on the subject implies consideration of spiritual and religious causes, such as rainmakers, ancestors, witches or other spirits or divinities, not to mention weak leaders, who across Africa have traditionally been blamed by famine victims for their suffering.269 Kirby has argued that by using the concept of vulnerability, it is possible to capture in a unique way the specific characteristics and impacts globalisation has on society and human livelihoods.270 Keohane and Nye introduced the concept of ‘complex interdependence’ in their work Power and Interdependence.271 A central aspect of this interdependence is that it has two dimensions, sensitivity and vulnerability. Sensitivity refers to threats (whether economic or political) a country faces, whereas vulnerability refers to the capacity a country has to implement policies that minimise the costs arising from these threats.272 ‘The vulnerability dimension of interdependence rests on the relative availability and costliness of the alternatives that various actors face.’273 A common approach to identifying the impacts of globalisation on society has been the examination of trends in poverty and inequality.274 ‘Unlike security, the concept of vulnerability does not express a state to be achieved ... but rather expresses the common human condition of being wounded which is its root meaning. It therefore points, not to the attempt to make ourselves invulnerable which is unattainable, but to strengthen the means by which we might cope with the threats to which we are vulnerable.’275 Kirby continues: ‘While it is not impossible to envisage the term vulnerability being used to justify protecting ourselves against others ... the concept itself points beyond … to a focus on the fact that vulnerability constitutes an essential part of the human condition and requires shared or communal responses.’276

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In the world today (and in the past, but in different ways), money matters. Livelihood can be defined as ‘the activities, the assets, and the access that jointly determine the living gained by an individual or household’ and rural livelihood diversification as ‘the processes by which households construct a diverse portfolio of activities and social support capabilities for survival and in order to improve their standard of living.’277 However, wealth has throughout history been unevenly distributed. Money is not modernity, but with modernity (as in any other era) one may have more or less money or wealth. As such, there is no real beginning or origin of capitalism – it has always been somewhere in some form, but it has taken different forms in different periods.278 Thus, from one perspective, ‘the capitalist market looks more like an opportunity than an imperative, a compulsion, the imperative of accumulation and profit maximization, which is rooted in very specific social property relations and which creates its own very specific drive to improve labour productivity by technical means.’279 However, as will be argued, for the subsistence farmer living in sub-Saharan Africa on or below the absolute minimum where the ends never meet and there are limited cash-crops for sale, rain-fed agriculture offers limited possibilities and opportunities for development on the capitalist market. Moreover, as Karl Polanyi observed with regard to the industrial revolution in England, ‘[there is an] incomprehensible fact that poverty seemed to go with plenty.’280 Modernisation and globalisation with plenty of money take quite different forms from modernisation and globalisation without money.

Social economies According to Max Weber, modern history and capitalism represented a long process of rationalisation, and this is also true of the Western approach to the economy. There is a Swahili saying: ‘Treat your guest as a guest for two days; on the third day give him a hoe!’ As Nyerere wrote in Ujamaa – the basis of African socialism: ‘In actual fact, the guest was likely to ask for the hoe even before his host had to give him one – for he knew what was expected of him, and would have been ashamed to remain idle any longer.’281 The Sukuma hardly see any activity as purely economic.282 Finance is not just an economic activity, but also a social, cultural, moral and religious process.283 In East Africa, one is ‘born with a set of debts and credits, and dying with another set of debts and credits ... A life where final balance is never achieved, may be not even desirable.’284 Moreover, ‘it is hard to see how money can have a specifically Sukuma look except

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in the ways that it is used; there will never be anything which has a purely economic value.’285 Consequently, there is even in economic terms a difference between ‘brothers and others.’286 Beyond that, in a peasant society customary law, which deals with the rights and privileges of the people within their social and political institutions, is dominated by man’s relation to his environmental resources. Thus rules concerning inheritance, bride price, divorce, loans or mortgage reflect the importance of property or production deriving from the utilization of land resources. As land or different types of land, with their vegetation, are the basis for the peasant’s entire life, the customary laws dealing with land tenure and thereby with the methods of acquiring land are essential for an understanding of the farming system.287

The etymology of mortgage – mort gage – a pledge dead forever, is distinguished from a vif gage – a living one.288 ‘In the Luo case [in Kenya], for instance, cash deriving from socially approved activities and exchanges could be used for special purposes like bridewealth or funerals, but cash from unapproved activities (like selling patrimonial land, or gold or cannabis) could not be used for these without spiritual dangers to self, family or lineages, or without expensive and risky purification ceremonies.’289 Money obtained in amoral ways is called ‘bitter money’, and if used for bridewealth leads to the risk of losing one’s bride, her offspring, and even the whole lineage unless dangerous purifying rituals are conducted.290 As the Wolof proverb says, ‘a man without debt is a man without friends.’291 However, ‘Credit is debt, but when rural people ask for credit, as they often do, they are asking for the money, not the debt.’292 A gift ‘necessarily implies the notion of credit ... there is nothing to suggest that any economic system which has passed through the phase we are describing was ignorant of the idea of credit, of which all archaic societies around us are aware,’ Marcel Mauss says.293 He continues: ‘Exchange, whether by gift, barter or credit, had to do mainly with groups, not individuals: For it is groups, and not individuals, which carry on exchange, make contracts, and are bound by obligations; the persons represented in the contracts are moral persons – clans, tribes, and families.’294 Economy and transactions do not take place in neutral and value-free contexts. The social aspect of work is elaborated by Shipton: Work in equatorial Africa is something you do with others if you can, alone if you must, and in midday sun only when desperate. Sharing work can be conceived in more than one way. It can be seen in an economic idiom as exchanging labor, in a social and experiential one as keeping company, or in a political one as practicing some sort of solidarity or

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making a statement about ideology. It is a sign and a seal of religious commitment, since much work on farms is done by church groups, and whether or how often you show up can count you in or out.295

Generating wealth has also not primarily been about accumulating money, and in many cases money is not the most beneficial way of acquiring wealth. In a culture such as Sukuma culture, wherein cattle have both social and economic value, livestock are a much better investment than money in a bank. A cow, which gives birth to a calf each year, implies a doubling of the original investment, which no bank can match.296 Moreover, generating wealth was not necessarily an individual undertaking, but an activity related to kin and family. The mere possibility of material benefits, largely depending on group efforts, was not thought by them to be a reasonable exchange for the real bonds of blood and marriage negotiable with known people, who could be subject to social pressure on a person to person basis. Sukumaland is not fertile and cultivation is well spread out in recognition of this, so that any concentration of population meant over-grazing and over-cultivation near to these villages (which never existed historically for very good reasons).297

Economy is social, and the social is communal, and wealth and values in the broadest sense are transferred through generations. Economic systems and principles are therefore not value-free, but are part of traditions that embody social values. This whistle-stop tour through the world of economics brings us to the modern, since a key premise of Max Weber’s analysis is that with modernisation came rationalisation.298

Tradition and the modern ‘Globalization studies set out to resolve the dreaded dichotomy of modernity and tradition by subsuming all cultures under one or the other category. They chose modernities,’ Stroeken argues. ‘I hope to demonstrate that difference can be respected without lapsing into dichotomy. One way lies in an understanding of magical practice that does not oppose tradition to modernity; in hierarchical or evolutionary terms, but laterally relates the two on an experiential level.’299 At the outset one may start with the longestablished dichotomy between tradition and the modern, if for no other reason than that it exists and as such has relevance. However, it still needs to be dismissed for other reasons. As with other concepts, ‘tradition’ and ‘traditional’ have multiple meanings and are used in a variety of ways and

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contexts. Tradition and traditional are often used to refer to something ‘old’, common and somehow outdated, like the dichotomy between tradition and modern itself. More importantly, ‘tradition’ is often seen as opposed to modernity and modern societies, implying notions of a static past and societies limited to ‘local’ people, in our case particular African communities. Seen from this perspective, the use of ‘tradition’ is futile since all local institutions are complex and dynamic.300 Still, tradition is often used to refer to a vaguely defined or distant past, where things are assumed to have been better, more stable and more coherently organised than today, in other words, more authentic and unsullied by an equally undefined globalisation or modern world. Tradition is thus often viewed as the past as it used to or should be. Alternatively, tradition is seen as not necessarily anti-modern or antiglobal, but as vaguely defined premodern. A ‘traditional’ way of living may refer, often slightly pejoratively, to the absence of electricity or ‘modern’ goods, whereas ‘traditional medicines’ can refer more positively to non-Western or alternative medical practices. Nevertheless, in all these usages there are implicit notions of an ‘original’ core, whether this is seen in positive or negative light: there is something from the past not influenced by the present – more precisely, not changed by the modern or the non-local (Fig. 3.1).

Fig. 3.1. Modern or traditional – a useful dichotomy?

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Customary practice is another synonym for tradition. Customary laws are unwritten laws transmitted from one generation to another. They include a community’s perceptions and sets of values. ‘The Sukuma try to practice good conduct because they believe that ancestral spirits punish those who fail to follow their customs and traditions. All forms of misfortune … are the results of sinful acts that occur when people turn away from customary norms.’301 With regard to water, the management of water resources by customary law may differ greatly from that under other laws.302 Tradition matters, as it encapsulates the social webs of significance and morality. Tradition also often refers to a culture’s heritage. ‘“Heritage” is everything that belongs to the distinct identity of a people and which is theirs to share, if they wish, with other peoples. It includes all of those things … international law regards as the creative production of human thought and craftsmanship, such as songs, stories, scientific knowledge and artworks.’303 Implicit in this notion of heritage is the idea of ‘authenticity’, which denotes that some artefact (or cultural property or process) is original and a unique work and enjoys more authority and credibility than copies and replicas. However, the authenticity of objects and cultural heritage is not always obvious and straightforward, and can be negotiated, constructed and context-dependent. Authentic objects are believed and perceived to be ‘real’ and have an ‘aura’. Age is one criterion conferring authenticity, but also the life-histories of objects and artefacts define what is real and what is just similar or a replica, which may nevertheless be seen as authentic.304 The criteria defining and creating authenticity – whether they refer to artefacts or a culture – are also problematic, because they share in different degrees one basic premise: culture (or its authenticity) is seen as a discrete thing or a unit and not as a premise for and outcome of social interaction. Although critiques of culture as a concept have long emphasised this, the notion of the ‘original’, ‘authentic’ and ‘uncontaminated’ has persisted in understandings of tradition. Without entering into the debate about ‘indigenous’ cultures or traditions, which has reinforced this notion at least implicitly, there are no cultures or traditions exhibiting such ‘primordial’ or ‘unsullied’ features. Still, there are differences among cultures, in many cases fundamental differences, and the predicted homogenous ‘global village’ has not come to pass. Social and cultural differences exist in time and space, among and between groups and people. Moreover, different aspects of the past, ranging in time depth and consequently cultural importance and social embeddedness, have in varying degrees local origins, and as such can be

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understood as unique. As a matter of fact, cultural differences and variations are at the core of anthropological or ethnographic studies. This is also the consequence of seeing humans as active and culturally creative beings, constituting their own life-worlds, which cannot be reduced to deterministic factors, including the environment, which might otherwise structurally limit cultural variation. Still, the absence or presence of, for instance, rains for rain-fed agriculturalists does limit the possibilities for being in the world – literally, the very existence – but culture and cosmology are not reducible to subsistence strategies and survival. In the creative and constitutive process, the past is always inherent in the way the present is mediated. Put differently, tradition plays a role in reshaping society. Thus, finding the most fruitful (there is no right) level for analysing society and social change ranging from the individual at the micro-level to abstract notions at a macro-level (which may include transcultural concepts of the global) is difficult. Not least this is so because it is not only a matter of synchronic analysis, but also of how various elements of the past, with varying time depths, constitute social relations and society. The structures of changing traditions may be one approach, because the mechanisms at work go to the very heart of social structures. Returning to the Oxford Dictionary, tradition is ‘the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way,’ or ‘a long-established custom or belief that has been passed on from one generation to another.’ Oral traditions may help to illustrate the structural aspects of what a tradition is as a knowledge system and form of communication, in part because many of those people discussing practices and beliefs are still illiterate and/or the traditions are not written down. Oral tradition is ‘the first and still most widespread mode of human communication. Far more than “just talking,” oral tradition refers to a dynamic and highly diverse oral-aural medium for evolving, storing, and transmitting knowledge, art, and ideas,’ and many ‘societies … depend upon oral tradition as a major means of communication.’305 Hence, tradition is first and foremost about transformations and transference of knowledge systems. Why and how are certain elements of culture or religion, and not others, passed on from one generation to another? This involves two parties, the communicator and the receiver or the parental generation and their children. This is, of course, an oversimplification, since knowledge transfers and socialisation processes involve several parties – in fact the whole community from family members such as grandparents, uncles, siblings to friends, neighbours, schools teachers, government employees, priests or other ritual specialists,

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to mention but a few. Among all these people there will be shared knowledge but also a huge variety of meanings and opinions as well as diverse lived experiences, all of which make for cultural heterogeneity. Still, at a general level there will be certain agreement about what constitutes a community’s tradition, thanks to the important intergenerational knowledge transfer that constitutes a society and the webs of culture and cosmology as tradition. Perhaps more importantly than the intergenerational transfer of knowledge among the living, tradition in this case also involves and is to an extent defined by the ancestors. Tradition thus also refers to knowledge and practices transferred from the deceased to descendants – from the dead to the living.306 Moreover, traditions are not merely inherited but are actively renegotiated and reincorporated into the social matrix. The inclusion of the ancestors and descendants underscores an important point: culture and cosmology have a past, and this past is actively mediated in the present for the future. Thus, the knowledge of the ancestors is not only transferred to the present, but it unites that present with the past and the future. Within this cosmology, ancestors are as active as anybody, or even more active, and have a role and the potential to influence and determine social outcomes in this world if the necessary propitiation is made through the right rituals. Hence, the ancestors not only represent transferred knowledge, but also bind together the past and the present, the deceased and the descendants, and the profane and the religious realms. Nevertheless, knowledge systems are not only transferred within local communities. No societies are isolated islands, and as with culture, there are no outer borders demarcating the circulation of knowledge. Therefore, the local is always a product of knowledge mediated in a wider world. Traditions are necessarily local and global at the same time, but in varying degrees, and this draws attention to how knowledge is recreated and transferred. Global impulses external to the local community may change traditions and have a cultural impact, without necessarily changing the way knowledge is transmitted and culturally incorporated. As an example, German colonisers prohibited rainmaking rituals, but the British colonisers reintroduced the practice. Thus, one may challenge the ‘authenticity’ of the rainmaking traditions as practised in the period before Nyerere abolished chiefly institutions and, by extension, rainmaking as a practice again. Rainmaking was a colonially reinvented tradition, but was no less real or ‘authentic’, since the rainmakers and chiefs themselves redefined the previous practices. Importantly, from a perspective in which tradition is seen as knowledge systems transferred through generations, including the

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ancestors, the reinvention of tradition is ‘authentic’ because it is the knowledge, its transformation and the role of the ancestors that legitimise the ritual structure, and, not least, the outcome of the rituals, namely rain. External influences, in this case colonial rules prohibiting or allowing rainmaking, were of lesser importance to tradition as a knowledge system culturally incorporated into society. Even when rainmaking was prohibited as a practice by the Germans, the tradition as part of the knowledgetransfer system remained latent in the culture, and could be revitalised under the British as a practice.

Globalised traditions Spaulding asks: ‘How amendable to change are a people? Culture can and does change. If the material and political reality does not support the cultural world view, eventually people will shift to one which is more congruent with reality.’307 In one of the simplest understandings of tradition, it represents continuity in whatever form. The question then obviously becomes continuity of what, how and why? Jan Vansina’s book (1985) Oral Tradition as History can be seen as a long definition of tradition and the various ways in which tradition works. According to him, ‘“oral tradition” applies both to a process and to its products. The products are oral messages based on previous oral messages, at least a generation old. The process is the transmission of such messages by word of the mouth over time until the disappearance of the message.’308 Importantly, he stresses how information flows are part of the communication strategies in every society.309 Tradition has also been seen as the ‘grandfather response’, meaning that tradition is ‘the way our grandfathers did it.’310 Tradition may also be seen as a time-honoured custom, and a ‘traditional past’ often refers to a pre-conquest or a precolonial past.311 Oral tradition has at least two meanings: the material available and the processes by which such material came into present.312 Miller defines oral tradition as ‘a narrative describing, or purporting to describe, eras before the time of the person who relates it.’313 This definition is too wide but also excludes the role of elders, since tradition also refers to their past experiences and life-worlds. ‘Tradition is not a coherent body of customs, lying “out there” to be discovered, but an a priori model that shapes individual and group experience and is, in turn, shaped by it,’ Linnekin argues.314 She continues: ‘Tradition includes elements from the past, but this “past” is equivocal: it does not correspond to the experience of any particular generation … Tradition is fluid; its content is redefined by each

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generation and its timelessness may be socially constructed … “traditional” may mean times long past or what one’s mother did … the present and the past, space and time, are collapsed.’315 Hobsbawn devised the term ‘invented traditions’. These include … both “traditions” actually invented, constructed and formally instituted and those emerging in a less easily traceable manner within a brief and dateable period – a matter of a few years perhaps – and establishing them with great rapidity … is taken to mean a set of practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules and of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behaviour by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with past.316

The emphasis here is on how traditions as knowledge systems are transferred. Eugenia Skanklin has pointed out two major views of tradition in anthropology: a passive analytic construct borrowed from theoretical literature and an active and indigenous use. In the passive tradition, Marx, Durkheim and Weber among others were influential in defining the tradition-modernity discourse from the 19th century onwards. Tradition was largely seen as a passive and conservative force endangering and enforcing cultural homogeneity. For Marx, traditions would eventually be dissolved by modern production conditions, while Durkheim held that traditions would decline with the spread of rationalism in modern, urban settings. Weber, although he viewed tradition as both an active force in modernising societies and a passive force impeding change, saw the modern as purely rational action and the traditional as irrational.317 Based on extensive ethnographic fieldwork, Redfield introduced the analytical concept of the great and the little traditions.318 ‘More than any other anthropologist, Redfield was responsible for borrowing the passive meaning of tradition and its ethnocentric attributes from the theoretical literature of social sciences, in his effort to establish a basis for understanding the relationship between peasant and urbanite.’319 In his approach, tradition prevents change, growth and creativity, is irrational or emotional and promotes internal solidarity. He believed it would eventually disappear in the face of rationality, modernity and urbanisation. On the other hand, there is within anthropology a strand that sees tradition as an active concept, insofar as it is actively used by indigenous people as a medium for social change.320 Thus Shanklin concludes that ‘tradition has been used so often and in so many contexts that … it may not have any meaning at all.’ She continues: ‘While I see no reason to attempt to arrive at a single meaning for the term, I believe there is every reason to explore its implications,

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rather than to use it as a commonplace term surrounded by hazy, ideal assumptions.’321 Although the notion of ‘modern tradition’ exists, the modern and the traditional are often used analytically to point to two different frames of reference in the world, one pointing back to the past and the other forward to the future. This dichotomy is of course not very fruitful, precisely because knowledge transfers between generations are at the core of all social systems. However, before proceeding, it is worth approaching the concept of the modern. When it comes to Africa, much has been said about this on highly dubious epistemological and ethical premises. Chabal and Daloz, for instance, argue that much of what is happening in contemporary Africa may indicate that it is moving ‘backwards’ because it is somehow ‘retraditionalising’. The basis for this ‘re-traditionalisation’ is what they see as the way African countries fail when attempting to conform to the expectations of societies that are modernising. According to them, the most visible signs of ‘re-traditionalisation’ are the resurgence of ethnicity, ‘tribal’ politics and violence, and they pay particular attention to the increase in witchcraft.322 Then they ask: ‘can societies which exhibit such features be modern, or even modernising? Is it the case that the current African crisis has actually unleashed on the continent a regression …? Are such features … an indication that Africans are less likely … to become the individuals and citizens which are deemed necessary to the development of truly politically modern, economically successful and technological advanced countries?’323 Much could be said about this, but it is better to search instead for more constructive approaches. As with tradition, ‘modern’ and ‘modernity’ have an equally long and complicated and sometimes contradictory history and the concepts are often used interchangeably. From one perspective, modernity ‘is often defined in terms of humanism, either as a way of saluting the birth of “man” or as a way of announcing his death. But this habit itself is modern, because it remains asymmetrical,’ Bruno Latour argues.324 The asymmetry he refers to is the belief in the separation of humans and non-humans, culture and nature. In turn, this asymmetry ‘then becomes an asymmetry between past and future. The past was the confusion of things and men; the future is what will no longer confuse them.’325 Latour argues we have never been separated from nature and things but instead live in hybrid networks and consequently, as the title of his book proclaims, We Have Never Been Modern. Perceptions of the ‘modern’ are invariably connected to time, change and, irrespective of any definitions, notions of progress, and the mere fact

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of being in time. In retrospect, the dichotomy between ‘tradition’ and ‘modern’ can also be inverted: tradition outdates modernity. Although Marx, Durkheim and Weber argued that tradition would eventually disappear in the face of modernity, the modernity they had in mind was the modernity of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This is not the ‘modern’ modernity of today, rather that modernity has become tradition. Knowledge, practices and beliefs stemming from 100 or even 150 years ago have been passed on through generations. From this perspective, what is believed to represent ‘modernity’ at any given time will of necessity be context-bound in time and space, in other words historically situated, and will eventually become part of the shared knowledge transferred as tradition. One may add to this. What was modern in 1900 or 1950 is not modern today; even what was modern in 2000 may be un-modern now. This is evident in pop culture and music: last year’s hit is not modern but the line it must cross to join the ranks of that genre called ‘classics’ is blurred and undefined. Achieving the peak of being modern is perhaps best seen in the fashion business, where clothes are designed and consumed by a small elitist group so fast they will be unmodern before the less well-off can purchase cheaper copies. Fashion design is intended to have a very short expiry date. Being modern in this sense means somehow being at the very forefront, before the rest, or at least most of them. This is also seen in technologies like mobile phones and laptops. A mobile phone from 2000 is definitely unmodern, if it works at all. In retrospect, it seems rather absurd that thousands of people queue and even sleep overnight in front of stores the day before a new phone or iPad (iPod is not modern anymore) is released, waiting to seize on technologies that soon will be outdated, precisely because they are ‘smart’ items and because ‘smartness’ means not standing still. Thus, being modern, or the feeling of being modern, is in varying degrees closely connected to the consumption of commodities, the more recent, the better, but not always so. Retro-concepts may also be cool and modern. Being modern is thus inevitably connected to status in some way: things are actively used in creating differences and social hierarchies. The goods often differ, but, for instance, a clean and neat Manchester United T-shirt is a sign of modernity in both Mwanza and Manchester, whereas old rags and a rusty hoe are not, in either place. But being modern is more, much more, than things. It is fundamentally a personal and cultural experience, it is about being and participating in the world. As with purchasing the latest toys before anyone else, being modern is also the feeling of participating in and defining the world, of representing the peak

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of knowledge and experience in whatever sphere people at a given time define themselves as belonging to. This may involve listening to opera or hip-hop, wearing Manchester United T-shirts or Prada, reading classical philosophy or watching MTV, but all of these pursuits belong in the sphere of being ‘modern’. By contrast, the belief in the efficacy of rainmaking rituals and performing them is not being modern. Thus, one is seemingly back to the earlier dichotomy between ‘tradition’ and the ‘modern’. Classical rainmaking belongs to tradition, and it is difficult to see how rainmaking rituals can achieve the status of ‘modernity’ in the 21st century in a rapidly changing world haunted by climate change. One feature of rainmaking that defines it as belonging to tradition is its context-bound character and, hence, its association with the past, whereas globalisation is context-open and associated with modernity. Rainmaking as tradition belongs to localised and specific places. It is limited in time and space and presupposes a given climate and certain environmental conditions. Its status as tradition implies that it is seen as superior to other knowledge systems regarding weather variability. In this regard, rainmaking as a closed knowledge system, is consequently under pressure when other knowledge systems successfully argue that changing rainfall patterns are due to climate change. Globalised tradition as an analytical approach is intended to address the duality of flows in knowledge systems and how knowledge is incorporated and transmitted in culture. The concept of locality as an orientation point for the people being studied highlights the contrast between the two facets of globalisation – global flux and homogenising trends and cultural closure.326 Moreover, as others have observed, ‘the globalization of politics is not a one-way street. If relations of rule and system exploitation have become transnational, so have forms of resistance.’327 On one hand, any community interacts with a wider world and as such there are external influences impacting the local (Fig. 3.2). From the time of the missionaries and the colonisers onwards, Europeans have introduced and in many cases enforced various new knowledge systems. Power can as such be defined as a ‘network of boundaries that delimit, for all, the field of what is socially possible.’328 On the other hand, local communities not only transfer their own traditions in encountering and mediating external knowledge systems, but also actively engage in a wider world in which indigenous knowledge influences and is influenced by other knowledge systems. This relationship is, however, asymmetrical. As Ingold points out, what seems to take place in the globalised world is ‘the privileging of the global ontology of detachment over the local ontology of engagement.’329

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The local loses part of its importance and it has been argued that local networks have ‘increasingly been colonized or displaced by remote and more powerful networks.’330

Fig. 3.2. The local or the global – does it start or end somewhere?

Understanding the ‘local’ is thus difficult, and looking at the local through the prism of the global is somehow contradictory in the essential premise it contains.331 However, the ‘local’ does not exist in the sense that it designates a space not influenced by external factors, whether these be movement of people or ideas. Physical mobility may have been limited in the past, but in today’s globalised world there is a rapid spread of people, goods and ideas. Appadurai has emphasised the role of mass media in altering understanding of the ‘local’ by providing views of an external world to the majority of the global population.332 Still, any physical presence and existence is specific and localised – even the most ‘modern’ or ‘global’, and this physical being changes in time and space. Moreover, modern transport has tamed distance and has largely changed our view of the ‘small, prescribed and circumscribed places which may have reflected human life worlds in many periods and areas.’333

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By using the term ‘global tradition’ the aim is thus to capture or identify the processes of knowledge transfer and the reasons changes happen. If tradition is the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, then of necessity traditions cannot be seen in opposition to modernity. In all societies at all times there are transfers of knowledge between generations. What is transferred is another question, and how and to what extent it forms a core part of the social matrix of culture and cosmology is yet another issue. Nonetheless, ‘global tradition’ draws attention to the global aspects of the corpus of knowledge being transmitted between generations. Broadly, one may distinguish two aspects. Traditions, including rainmaking from the colonial period onwards, are exposed to external influences to a greater or lesser extent, and are vulnerable to change. Even where beliefs and practices change, these changes may be conveyed from generation to generation as authentic tradition and thereby perpetuate existing practices and traditions, but on different terms. On the other hand, global impacts may have other consequences, namely that knowledge is not transferred if it comes to be seen as irrelevant or out of touch with today’s world or what is otherwise called ‘modernity’. This does not mean that traditions cease to exist, but the analytical emphasis is on what is transferred by whom and why, and what is not transferred. And not the least important point, even if knowledge is transferred, it may not be reincorporated into the core of the social matrix as relevant knowledge today. Today, the global impact has among its consequences the loss of traditions, first and foremost as ontologically important practices, even though the memory of those traditions may persist. The younger generation knows poverty first hand and understands that subsistence farming with some additional cash-crops means they will continue to live in absolute poverty, but the absence or presence of the rains in the agricultural system is not ascribed to the role and influence of the ancestors. The rainmaking tradition is not transferred and does not continue. While there is a knowledge gap between generations as to how to perform rainmaking rituals – the younger generation does not know how to – the most important factor is that the knowledge is seen as largely irrelevant to explaining the absence of rain. Rainmaking rituals cannot procure the life-giving waters, and absence of rain and erratic and fluctuating rainfall patterns are seen as consequences of climate change. Thus, there is a break in the transfer of knowledge and consequently a loss of tradition. Rainmaking does not make sense in a global world among ‘modern’ people. The knowledge is actively not transferred or given

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cultural importance by being reincorporated into the social matrix. Still, the epistemological and ontological gap is not a vacuum, which is impossible, and new traditions emerge and are transferred to the new generations. The rapid expansion of Christianity can be seen in this light: the parental generation baptises their children and establishes a new tradition by communicating the knowledge of God and Christ to the children. The loss of tradition is accelerating not only because of massive exposure to globalisation processes through media and other means, but also because of demographic patterns, with the majority of people being young. When elders transfer knowledge to the younger, in most cases the information is not documented, precisely because it is oral. But when knowledge is not transferred, it is lost. I have referred to the young, the younger or the young generation rather loosely. What I mean in practice is that group between the early teens and the late thirties. This in no way implies that a 25-year old couple are not grown-ups with huge responsibilities. On the contrary, in Tanzania having several children before one’s thirties implies additional burdens and hardships while already living in poverty. The reason I call those below thirty the ‘young’ generation, or below 44 for that matter (which relates to the demographic statistics, which are elaborated in the last chapter), is that generally a generation is acknowledged to be about 25 years. But this is more than an analytical category: it highlights the essence of transmitting knowledge and traditions. Parents in their twenties or thirties have children, and if they are closer to the forties they may even have teenagers. What their grandparents taught them was important in their childhood, and now they are teaching their own children. Consequently, the question becomes: what is transmitted and transferred by whom and why? Emphasis on tradition as transmitted by the ‘younger’ generation highlights some crucial issues regarding how and why certain elements of knowledge systems are reincorporated into the social matrix and more importantly, are at the core of individual identities and frames of experience for understanding and explaining the world. Learning and socialisation processes in the early years of childhood are fundamental to a person’s understanding of culture and religion. Although all of life is a learning process and individuals change, the formative experiences of early childhood are more deeply structuring and resilient in the face of changes later in life. Understanding language, cultural norms and values and religious logic – all are shaped in the early years. True, one may convert and learn new languages, travel and adopt new cultural habits, but the early years are nevertheless fundamental in key ways. If the tradition

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of the ancestors is not transmitted to the children by their parents (or grandparents) when they are young, the chances that the tradition will be culturally incorporated diminish. The knowledge may still exist in society at various points in history, but will lack an ontological function as belief. Documented folklore and religious beliefs presented in books work in different ways from those beliefs transmitted as living religion and tradition. Yet, traditions are long-lived and deeply resilient because they constitute fundamental social matrixes or webs of significance in any community. Change takes time, and complete change takes even longer. Even Christianity cannot evade the power of the past: the ancestors live on, but perhaps more importantly, the logic of causation and how the world and the other world work, may persist. As will be elaborated later, even if the ‘cultural content’ changes, disappears or is not transferred as living tradition, the tradition may continue on other terms, in particular with regard to understanding how the world works, i.e., the causality. The ‘logic of the world’ may continue, and changing this ontology is more difficult and complex than substituting cultural patterns on the surface. Thus, loss of tradition is also a cultural recreation and construction of new traditions. As seen in the earlier account of the ‘old’ rainmaking traditions, this practice was also influenced by the global world. Moreover, there are always knowledge transfers between generations, and although the rainmaking tradition disappears and the role of the ancestors diminishes or changes, the beliefs regarding causation in the world continue and the logic of witchcraft operates on the same premises as those relating to ancestors do. This is perhaps the analytical framework within which the increasing practice of witchcraft can most fruitfully be understood. It is possible to continue the structure of culture and its logic of causation without transferring specific content. In other words, although the role and importance of ancestors is diminishing, the operative principles regarding the way they used to work in society and the cosmos still function, but now with witchcraft as the generative practice. Thus, the role of the ancestors in society is declining, in particular in rainmaking, but also in other propitiating rituals, but their importance, or more precisely, the ways they used to work, has found new expression in a changing society. The ancestors are still there somewhere and active, but not in the same way as in the past, although propitiations of ancestors and sacrifices may still solve problems in times of hardship. However, the former logic and way of engaging with the world they represented persists and is a premise for the flourishing witchcraft.

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Colonisers and capitalism The global impact on Tanzania is not really new, although it has become more massive with recent globalisation processes. Traditions have always been globalised in varying degrees, and the impact of colonisers and Christian missionaries has been decisive for Tanzanian culture and cosmology. Other cultural and political processes have also shaped the dismantling of traditions. In fact, Tanzania has been described as an ‘African experiment’.334 For almost 400 years before the colonial era, there had been intermittent European contact along the East African coast. The Portuguese had a foothold there but lacked the economic and military muscle to expand inland. Coupland has written that before 1856 ‘there were not many parts of the world about which the western peoples knew less or cared less than they knew or cared about East Africa.’335 Over the next four decades, this situation changed dramatically and East Africa was subjected to European penetration, partition and conquest. German colonisation of East Africa from 1890 onwards is remembered for its violence and excessive exploitation and oppression.336 The British, at least in their own view, opposed this brutal regime. According to Thornhill in his book Taking Tangyanika: Experience of an Intelligence Officer 19141918: We all know the German’s aptitude for militarizing the African native … to turn the teeming millions of Tanganyika’s peaceful population into an efficient machine of destruction, instead of an efficient machine of production, which the British Administration and the various Missions in the territory are striving to achieve … Should the Colony be returned [to the Germans] … even the humblest traveller in Africa would readily realize that it would be the end of the African’s welfare, his home land and natural occupation of tilling the land, tending his cattle and raising his family and slowly educating himself and so improving his lot in this world. And that after all, is the responsibility of those who take over slices of Africa.337

Apart from glorifying the role of the British in taking up the ‘white man’s burden’ and so legitimising colonisation, Britain’s aim in Tanzania as elsewhere was to turn the country into an ‘efficient machine of production’ by extracting natural resources and using the human population. Enforcing this world capitalist system in Tanzania and Africa had profound consequences for local societies. ‘It cannot be said that colonialism determined all social changes in German East Africa or in any other colony; nor can it be said that Africans lost complete control of their own

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environment and society, but they were well on their way to so doing.’338 In particular, agrarian changes, including the introduction of new crops, had major repercussions. It has been argued that, ‘given a choice, Africans preferred to meet their taxes and cash needs by growing a crop which was marketable for money – usually with the overseas market as the ultimate destination. Cash-crop farming was the least onerous form of meeting the demands of an economic system which Africans were powerless to reject and which they increasingly accepted as offering certain rewards in goods and services.’339 The purpose here is not to delve into colonial history. Suffice it to conclude that colonial regimes greatly impacted major aspects of culture and affected the recreation of tradition. Still, as Berry argues in No Condition is Permanent: … ‘traditions’ did not necessarily stop changing when versions of them were written down, nor were debates over custom and social identity resolved, either during the colonial period or afterward. In general, the colonial period in Africa was less a time of transition – from isolation to global incorporation, from social equilibrium to turbulence, from collective solidarity to fragmented alienation – than an era of intensified condensation over custom, power and property.340

As regards agricultural production, a little hand-woven cotton was produced before the Europeans arrived, but it was first and foremost the Germans who were responsible for cotton expansion on a grand scale, a trend that grew more marked under the British. The cultural impact of cotton monocrop production cannot be exaggerated, since such production is highly demanding, and restructures the rhythm of everyday life.341 In Bukoba during the German era (1884-1916), administrators and the White Fathers encouraged the cultivation of coffee for commercial purposes. This was more strongly enforced in the British era (1916-61). As early as 1916 the British made it compulsory for each family to plant 100 coffee trees on their farms among the bananas, a requirement that provoked great resentment.342 The introduction of cash-crops such as coffee strengthened proprietary ownership rights. At the beginning of the 20th century, sales of land were practically unknown, but a century of cash economy has had major impacts on the land tenure system.343 Traditions are always changing and are influenced by external and internal processes. They may range from brute force and oppression to ‘invisible’ pressures in daily social relationships within families and households. Brute force, which Tanzania experienced a great deal of, is a highly efficient way of eradicating traditions, but such oppression may also serve as a forceful way of maintaining and recreating tradition. This

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is, for instance, evident in the repression of Christianity in the Soviet communist era: the religion flourished even in secret. This also holds true for other social and technological practices imbued with religion and cosmology. The royal court was linked economically and cosmologically with blacksmiths. The blacksmiths from Geita were particularly renowned for their skills in metallurgy. At Geita, there were rich natural sources of iron, and today it is widely reckoned that the presence of iron in the upper levels of mines indicates there is gold at deeper levels. The practice of iron smelting at Geita goes back some five centuries. Blacksmiths made various domestic tools as well as weapons such as arrow-heads, spears and machetes. They were venerated in society and sold their products to other villagers in the surrounding region. Smelting iron and making tools were ritual processes that involved the ancestors. Before the furnace was built, a goat had to be slaughtered by a small boy of between six and ten years. The boy had to be naked, but with his face covered by the skin of another goat sacrificed earlier. The goat to be slaughtered had to have a pelt both black and white. When its throat was cut, blood was spilled on the ground where the furnace was later to be built. During the process of smelting, social taboos were observed among blacksmiths. None could have sexual intercourse with their spouses until smelting was complete and women were not allowed to participate in this task.344 This centuries-old tradition changed with German colonisation. The Sukuma ability to make weapons, including guns, was seen by the colonisers as a threat to their rule. Thus, the Germans forbade weaponmaking among the Sukuma, although they were still allowed to make domestic tools. Nevertheless, the blacksmiths continued producing weapons, but this had to be kept secret. If the Germans found out they had been making weapons, retaliation was brutal: the blacksmiths could have their hands cut off, be imprisoned and even be killed. The British may have thought of themselves as more benign colonisers than the Germans, but their political practices largely contributed to the processes whereby traditions were changed, often fundamentally. In the words of the government anthropologist in Tanganyika, Hans Cory: At present it is the avowed policy of the British Government to establish in all its dependencies such political institutions as will allow, in due course, of collaboration between the indigenous population and the British Administration in all public matters. The task of working out political reforms for this purpose for the Sukuma tribe in Tanganyika was given to the author as Government Sociologist … Finally an attempt has been made

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As noted earlier, the aim of the British was to get rid of traditional culture: ‘After a very minute scrutiny of the Sukuma tribal structure I decided that none of the existing institutions could be used as a base for building up of an effective and modern political system,’ Cory concluded in 1954. He went on: The main reason for the necessity for complete emancipation from traditional institutions, with the exception of the executive, is that they differ considerably in different areas as to their functions and powers, although they are known by the same name everywhere … The old institutions were based, almost without exception, on conceptions and ideologies which have been lost, or are in the process of losing, all hold on people (my emphasis).346

This last point is worth dwelling on. Although the British aimed to get rid of traditional and customary practices, these had to a large extent already disappeared. Cory, writing in the mid-1950s, observes: It seems that the chiefs are on the point of losing all their traditional sources of authority, which already look as though they were based on outdated tolerance and profound ignorance. The only source which remains as a substitute for all those which are disappearing is the executive power which the chief is granted by the central government. To what extent government will back up the chief’s executive authority and how far it will allow its control by institutions resulting from the introduction of popular representation will not be a matter of evolution, but of deliberation by the central government.

He continues:347 ‘Many of the younger chiefs have themselves probably become skeptical of their own super-natural powers and perform ceremonies not because they consider them effective, but in order to please the conservative elements among their subjects.’348 It thus seems modernity had already taken a strong grip on Sukuma society. A little earlier, in 1951, Cory wrote: I put the question before them [the chiefs] whether they considered the publication of the description of ceremonies which have been kept a great secret up to now, detrimental to the prestige of the Sukuma chiefs. They, as well as a few other Sukuma chiefs of whom I asked the same question, answered that many of the rites were no longer performed and their knowledge would probably soon be lost. They realized that the preservation

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of the knowledge of the rites in the form of detailed description would be of great interest for the generations to come.349

Traditions were changing and being lost. Still, Governor Twining, one of the last British proconsuls, took it for granted that the tribal structure should continue after independence: ‘… the tribe is the most important group in the territory and … the chiefs are an essential part of this system and are indeed, the bulwark of the territory … it is the duty of every servant of government to uphold and respect the honour due to the chiefs so that people may clearly see that the government recognizes the importance and the dignity of the position which they hold.’350 With independence and Ujamaa, new political processes put other pressures on tradition and customary laws. In Tanzania, dispersed settlement reflected extreme cultural pluralism and lack of occupational specialisation, and also weakened the potential for farmers to solve ecological problems through collective action. After independence, government aimed to create mechanisms for an economic, productive and efficient system of governance.351 In his first presidential address to parliament, Julius Nyerere emphasised this point: ‘The hand hoe will not bring us the things we need today … we have to begin using the plough and the tractor … But we cannot even do this if our people … continue living scattered over a wide area, far apart from each other … The first and absolutely essential thing to do, therefore, … is to begin living in proper villages.’352 Organised villages were thus seen as fundamental to economic development and to political integration in a culturally diverse society. Thus, the colonisers and different economic ideologies throughout history have affected and changed traditions. However, since rainmaking is first and foremost a religious practice within the realm of the ancestral world, possibly the strongest impact on traditional values and beliefs were those imposed by Christianity and the missionaries. In fact, proselytising as an ideological project has one overriding aim: converting alleged pagans (to use a derogatory Christian term) to the true religion. Although it is usual today to refer to African traditional religion, missionaries have by and large viewed ancestral propitiation and even more so witchcraft as pagan and diabolical. Tanner writes: The early missionaries, saintly and devoted men and women, saw their task as the conversion of the Sukuma from ‘paganism,’ without inquiring too closely what this ‘paganism’ meant and what its function was; it was a brash, vigorous, intensive evangelization. Paganism was so vigorously attacked all over East Africa that ‘pagan’ became a Kiswahili word for a person with no religion and, by implication, one of lower status.353

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These determined early attacks on traditional beliefs, together with European overlordship and other social and economic changes that were transforming society, implied that the Christian impact on culture and tradition was much greater than the actual number converted. Moreover, most people would be more aware of what the church was against than what it stood for.354 Missionaries have actively sought to demolish traditional beliefs and religious practices: this has, so to speak, been their mission. Thus, the impact of Christian missionaries on tradition cannot be underestimated, although as we will see, Christians themselves may disagree about how successful missionary activities really were.

Christians and converts The first Christian chief in Bukumbi chiefdom, of which Usagara was part, became a Christian as early as 1883 [1894]. However, the process of Christianisation in Tanzania has been gradual and today it is impossible to say how many Christians there are in Tanzania or Usagara in particular. According to the regional commissioner in Shinyanga region, in 1992 ‘roughly out of a population of 2 million only 6% have a formal religion and 94% of Shinyanga people are animists’ and an inquiring priest found in 1979 that 58 per cent of those he interviewed were ‘traditionalists’, 24 per cent were Catholics, 10 per cent belonged to the Protestant African Inland Church, 6 per cent belonged to the Seventh Day Adventist Church and 2 per cent were described as ‘other’. However, accurate statistics on religion do not exist and the national censuses have deliberately avoided questions about tribal or religious affiliation.355 Still, according to a survey carried out in 19 sub-Saharan countries based on more than 25,000 faceto-face interviews, 60 per cent of the population in Tanzania is Christian, 36 per cent Muslim and 4 per cent has another or no religion.356 Although the Sukuma have been exposed to Christian influences for a long time, based on statistics from 1988 Wijsen and Tanner argue that a century of missionary activity has not led to more than 12 per cent of the population becoming Christian. The percentage of Muslims was much lower, despite the even longer Muslim presence in the region. In the parish of Bukumbi, which started as a mission station in 1884, Wijsen and Tanner found that only some 5 per cent were Roman Catholics.357 Today, however, with the new globalisation, this has changed dramatically. The parish of Bukumbi, to which Usagara belongs, consists of ten villages in all. Using rough guesstimates, the parish reckons that approximately 50 per cent of the population is Christian (mainly Catholic, but also Lutheran and Pentecostal), 30 per cent is Muslim and 20 per cent still believe in

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traditional religion. Thus, if this estimate is to be believed, there has been a rapid change in the rate of conversion over the past two decades. Whatever the actual number of conversions, there was nevertheless general consensus among villagers that the number of Christians had increased substantially in recent decades. According to the Catholic Church, each year some 300 or 400 people from these villages convert to Catholicism and are baptised on Easter Day. In particular, it is younger people who are converting to Christianity, and many of them have moved from their villages and homes and have no strong attachment to their history and traditions. Moreover, as one informant observed, there is a ‘mob psychology’ at work among the young in which those who believe in traditional religion are seen as ‘primitive’ and ‘uncivilised’, and are consequently not treated as members of the group or community. Today, becoming Christian is a way of being modern. Believing in the old rituals and traditions is not seen as belonging to modernity and particularly to the global world. Thus, conversion to Christianity is not only about religion and eschatology, but also about identities as part of and influenced by modernisation and globalisation processes. This is not a new phenomenon, however. Tanner wrote in 1967: ‘There is no doubt that Christianity is thought to give more status to the individual Sukuma at the moment than the surviving traditional beliefs do, for the latter have never received any political support. This compulsion has been described time and time again in the phrase, “It is civilized to have a religion.” There is accordingly status to be obtained from using a Christian name.’358 This tendency has accelerated the rate of conversion and dismantling of tradition. However, this process started even earlier than the 1960s. Even though the number of converted Christians was small during the 20th century, Christianity nevertheless had a serious impact on the traditional belief system and its ritual practices, and with unintended consequences. Missionaries generally measure the impact of Christianity on culture and religion in terms of numbers of conversions and percentage of the population that is Christian. However, Christianity may nevertheless have a strong effect on cultural and religious change even when people do not convert. Regarding the Sukuma, Tanner wrote in 1955 that they were the tribe along the southern shore of Lake Victoria among whom ‘western influence has made greatest progress.’ He went on to note ‘a loosening of pagan beliefs, since ancestor worship has ceased to be part of political life and because of the influence of Christian missions.’ Then he added: ‘This has been accompanied by a great increase in the number of the magicians

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who have been attempting to practice over the area in place of the selected few who worked the same area in pre-European times.’359 There are two noteworthy aspects here. On one hand, although the Sukuma did not necessarily become Christians, the Christian presence gradually and steadily dissolved traditional religion and beliefs. Thus, the societal and cultural impacts of missionary activities do not necessarily lead people to convert, but may still change the social matrix of the communities. On the other hand, as will be elaborated later, Christianity created a social and ontological vacuum with regard to how religion works and the role of religion in daily matters. ‘Christian rituals in Usukuma, because of the demands on the few priests both in time and distance and the difficulties in adaptation, tend to be brief, if not perfunctory, and do not appear, therefore, to be either ritually complete or satisfying in themselves, apart from the fact that they do not concentrate on Sukuma crises.’360 Christianity could not address urgent matters for the Sukuma, and these problems had to be resolved in other ways. However, since no such ‘vacuums’ can exist for long, they will be ‘filled’, or more precisely, other religious changes will occur that will explain and resolve the very problems that former cosmological frameworks used to address. As Tanner noted as early as 1955, in parallel with the dismantling of traditional beliefs, there was a great increase in the number of healers in the areas where there had been only a few before the European presence. This has to be seen in relation to the changes in the role of the ancestors in this and the other world. Moreover, there was a larger concentration of traditional diviners in the immediate neighbourhood of Mwanza than in remoter areas.361 In other words, the increase in healers went hand in hand with increasing modernisation and urbanisation. This trend was not necessarily a reinvention or return to tradition; it was a cosmogonic innovation and development in response to new challenges in new times. Today’s current increase in witchcraft may therefore be seen as a continuity – or a tradition if one wishes – of processes and changes that took place a century ago.

The failure of the missionaries? For the purposes of conversion, the White Fathers talked of a four-year catechetical period, while the Maryknoll Fathers reduced it to three years in Shinyanga and did not see a period shorter than two years as advisable. However, the church did not view conversion as merely memorising essential prayers and answers in the catechism: the lengthy period was also a test of constancy and devotion.362

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Historically, and from the point of view of the church or missionaries, one main reason the church largely failed in its missionary purpose is that it misunderstood the importance of the spiritual anxieties of the Sukuma when they believe they are possessed by an ancestor or alien spirit.363 The other world and the world of the ancestors are as real and present as this world, and importantly, ancestors and other spirits influence lives and well being in the here and now. Moreover, even when people had converted, these beliefs persisted. Rather than disappearing with Christianity, the ancestral world was reinterpreted and took on new forms. Although the early missionaries were not very successful with conversion through preaching the gospel, their presence and practices may nevertheless have opened up an ontological gulf in Sukuma beliefs with regard to the principles of how the world works, including the other world. A crucial part of the missionary strategy was the building of mission hospitals and mission schools. In 1896-97, the White Fathers had 60 medical facilities in 46 missionary stations and annually treated 344,615 patients in Eastern Africa. By 1910-11, these numbers had increased to 289 medical facilities in 120 missionary stations treating 1,219,869 patients. In Tanzania the development of medical missionary work was substantial (Table 3.1).364 Hospitals Doctors

1890 3 -

1910 4

1934 15

1946 15 13

1955 34 43

1965 54 86

Table 3.1. Hospitals and doctors in Tanzania from 1890 to 1965. The ways in which both diocesan and expatriate priests distinguished health from faith must have been perceived by the Sukuma. They used Western medicines and patients who believed they were possessed by malignant spirits were denied prayers and asked to leave. The introduction of the new medical system and religion took place more or less at the time the colonial government was beginning to undermine the local political system and the chiefdoms.365 On the other hand, Western scientific medicine also had its failures that prevented modern hospitals from being viewed as replacing traditional medicine. Doctors in white coats treated physical symptoms without rituals in a sterile environment and, axiomatically, did not include the spirit world of the ancestors, who were believed to fundamentally influence well-being for better or worse. Moreover, patients in modern hospitals received little or no personal attention, an integral part of

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consultation with traditional healers. This social aspect cannot be underestimated .366 Finally, Western medicine is no longer free or easily available, whereas traditional healers are readily accessible and relatively inexpensive. It takes time to get a medical appointment and most patients have to travel long distances before queuing in overcrowded rooms and then having to wait again in another place to receive their medications. The traditional healer, by contrast, is more accessible, the social setting in his compound is more comfortable, he both diagnoses the illness and provides the medicine, and the consultation is a personal conversation that includes all aspects of the person’s life, including the spiritual world.367 As a consequence of the separation of medicine from religion advocated by church and also government health institutions, an environment has been created in which the two health and medical systems either compete or are seen as complementary.368 When a Sukuma person falls ill, he or she will often use both channels. Most often, they will visit the medical doctor or hospital to be treated first with modern medicines and thereafter consult a traditional healer, who will prescribe traditional medicines, which resolve the issues in the spiritual world giving rise to the misfortune. Thus, rather than eradicating the other world of ancestors and spirits, the development of hospitals and modern healthcare by church and government has created an ontological gulf whereby two parallel worlds coexist and only partly overlap and interact. This situation is not limited to medical treatment alone, since the realm of healers is much wider and includes a broad spectrum of problems and antidotes. Be that as it may, the two worlds co-exist: a ‘Western’, ‘modern’ or technical one, sterile and without ancestors and spirits; and the other one, where the premises and agency of the other world influence this world, a cosmology in which it is possible to contact or manipulate forces in the other world for good or evil in this world. These two worlds are not, however, of equal importance and strength in a religious sense. From the believers’ perspective, the sterile world without ancestors and spirits is the inferior one, since these other worldly agencies obviously influence this world. Another explanation for the lack of missionary success and paucity of Sukuma converts is the lack of priests. However, even in those areas where there were a number of priests, few Sukuma converted until recently.369 And even when they do, indigenous religion and beliefs have remained strong, giving rise to so-called popular Catholicism as opposed to official Catholicism.370 Thus, even where the majority have become Christians, aspects of the ancestral tradition prevail, but take on new forms or are changed and

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adapted to altered realities. And even though much of traditional ancestral propitiation has vanished, beliefs that ancestors can both cause and resolve misfortunes continue. Even some priests propitiate their ancestors. Indeed, the Catholics prefer not to train eldest sons as ordained priests because they have too many social obligations in the family and society and consequently continue the older traditions they are supposed to work against. Although the church has always been opposed to ancestral propitiation and traditional rituals in a strict theological sense, in practice it has tolerated many of these rituals and beliefs. This draws our attention to the polarisation Christianity has created: whereas the Catholics are rather flexible and pragmatic, the Pentecostals are fundamentalist and dogmatic. In Usagara, the first Catholic Church was built in the 1930s in Sanjo sub-village. For many people, Catholicism is more attractive than other denominations because the Catholics are more tolerant and flexible, allowing, for instance, people to drink alcohol. More importantly, the Catholic Church is involved in societal matters affecting people’s lives. The Catholics establish schools and hospitals and offer development programmes. This social involvement and development work for the betterment of villagers is generally appreciated and acknowledged. For decades the Pentecostals have had crusades in Tanzania, impressing many Tanzanians and convincing them to join Pentecostal churches. The Pentecostals are in many parts of Africa the fastest growing denomination. There are several reasons for this success. In many cases, Pentecostal teaching represents a reappropriation of Afrocentric ideas within the sphere of Pan-Africanism and a critical confrontation with Western ‘book knowledge’. It also continues many previous rituals, although in the opposite way. Thus, Pentecostalism works within existing cultural codes and cosmological worldviews, but in a highly radicalised and Christianised form. Still, it is a type of Christianity that bears close resemblance to previous thoughts and cults, although it rests on different premises. The world of the ancestors exists, as does witchcraft, but now within the sphere of the devil. According to van Dijk: These Pentecostal churches have engaged in a cultural dialectic on two fronts. They have challenged mainstream Christianity on the perception of evil, on the diabolisation of key elements of the African cosmology and on ways of counteracting witchcraft and evil spirits. Mainstream Christianity … has preferred to deny the existence of witchcraft … and rejected the power of spirits … amulets … and traditional healing practices as being mere superstition. It has refused to accommodate or absorb any of the elements of African cosmology in order to save the pure faith from being contaminated by devilish and occult forces.

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He continues: ‘The development of independent African Christianity and its diverse forms of spirit healing churches can be interpreted as a process of coming to terms with the powers that mainstream Christianity denied or ignored, and as a way of providing individual members with healing and protection.’371 However, Pentecostal churches are also seen by many as a threat to traditional values and beliefs, and according to some traditional healers, the Nigerian Pentecostals are the worst. This church community was established in the Mwanza region in 1998 and preach that God will solve all the people’s problems if only they turn to Him and pray in the churches. The Pentecostals not only preach that people should abandon their old traditions, beliefs and rituals, but in extreme form, they also claim that instead of being treated by doctors and in hospitals for serious diseases such as malaria and HIV/AIDS, people will be healed by God if only they pray in churches. The Pentecostals place great emphasis on charismatic prayer, and the healing powers of prayers is a central tenet of all these communities and is seen as one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit as described in the New Testament. Spirit possession and exorcism of demons are the main characteristics of Pentecostal healing, and demons are believed to be the reason behind all manner of malignance and affliction.372 Moreover, the Pentecostals directly aim to achieve a break with the past and tradition, including one’s former lifestyle. The aim of deliverance is to free people from the powers of Satan that hold them in bondage through demonic forces. These demonic forces are said to reside within society at large but more particularly within the individual’s immediate circle of family relationships and descent. Satan is believed to work through ancestral or generational curses (nnomee), which can become manifest in specific problems haunting individual family members such as infertility, alcoholism, misfortune or tragic death.373

In addition, there is the cost of belonging to a Christian community. Membership in a Christian congregation is expensive, but there are differences between denominations. Ideally, churches expect congregants to pay 10 per cent of their annual earnings to the church, but the Catholics allow people to remain in the congregation even where they cannot afford the full amount. Still, the Catholic Church charges an estimated 10 per cent of the yearly earnings for conversion and baptism. Throughout the year, people donate money amounting to Tsh. 20,000 or more per annum. The Protestants, in particular the Nigerian Pentecostals, charge their members much more, often a minimum of Tsh.100,000 a year and even up

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to Tsh.10,000 a week. Congregations in the latter church are run by and named after the priests or bishops, who established them, and congregants complain that these clergy use the church’s money as their own. Unlike the celibate Catholic priests, Pentecostals have families which they need to support and many are rich by local standards. The way these clergy spend donations to the church has led many people to reconvert to Catholicism, which charges less and provides more social programmes and opportunities. Thus, the different religions and cosmologies may be sources of tension in the community, not only in terms of the ways the different congregations are organised, but more importantly with regard to the ways in which they are supposed to work and deliver the outcomes they promise. The new cosmologies mesh with and replace previous cosmology, with its continuity over centuries and even longer. In other words, they fundamentally alter tradition, and hence it is important to address the processes at work in greater depth and also the possibilities of returning to tradition.

CHAPER FOUR RAINMAKING: RETURNING TO TRADITION?

Traditional religion was thus involved in finding out who was responsible for the absence of rain, an activity often involving the persecution of pragmatically innocent people, but unifying the community in the face of a hostile environment. It was also involved in rain making ceremonies to create particular showers. Since these ceremonies were and indeed are directed at the world of the spirits or God, they might just as easily be carried out by Christians. —Wijsen and Tanner 374

True, as the above quotation concludes, the ceremonies were directed at the spirits or powers in the other world, but can rainmaking ceremonies be carried out by Christians? In theory, the Christian God can provide rain, but in practice, is this how Christianity works – believers pray for rain and God secures it? Is it possible to return to rainmaking within a Christian cosmology, or, if not, is it possible to return to the old rainmaking tradition?

The chief and his institutions ‘In Sukumaland’, writes Tanner, ‘as far as can be found out from tradition, the chief was not an established institution from which little change could be expected without a major social revolution.’ Much of the succession was matrilineal, so ‘it was very rare for there to be a fixed succession known in advance. When a chief died or was deposed his successor was chosen in a complicated process which took into account the political balances within the chiefdom and very infrequently the views of the dying chief.’ Often no obvious or dominant candidate emerged, ‘and after days of wrangling in which divination was brought in to resolve deadlocks, a compromise candidate was chosen, who, although he may have been of

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the chiefly family, would almost certainly have lived as a commoner all his life.’375 Tanner goes on to describe the qualities of the chief (Fig. 4.1). While this official ‘was never a diviner-magician … it was his duty to provide these services in the interests of the chiefdom.’ For instance, in the 1953 Nassa drought, ‘the Christian chief arranged for rain-makers to do their best for the chiefdom without carrying out any ritual act himself.’ The chief was not a moral example to his people, and if he behaved badly ‘he would be deposed and replaced by a relative; his spirit could still … damage the chiefdom if he had been killed.’376 However, Cory writes that ‘every chief was considered … the earthly representative of the most powerful spirit and the founder of the spirits of all his successors.’377 Thus, the status of the chiefs may have been ambiguous. Among the Sukuma, there have also been different traditions and practices regarding chiefly inheritance and installation. In one case, a chief in the Shinyanga district asked Chief Charles Kafipa to supervise the installation rites of a chief so that they were done properly. According to Chief Kafipa, the government does not support the works of the chiefs, although they largely view the institution of chief as valid. According to him, chiefs were sworn into office through an installation rite in which they promised to protect and safeguard the well-being of the people, and changes of government do not alter that oath and promise. Moreover, according to him, the people have not changed, because those living today are the descendants of those who swore him in. Nevertheless, since the political and ritual functions of chiefs have been abolished, people nowadays may reject their chiefs since they are no longer working for them. By the same token, people no longer have any right to demand that the chief perform rainmaking rituals and he can refuse such requests. What then had the rights and duties of the chiefs been, and what were the chiefly rites? Cory documented the rites prevalent in the Siha chiefdoms of Shinyanga. In 1951, he wrote that after death, the chief’s … head was severed from the body, put on a tray made from the wood of the nkologwamva tree and left … until it was fully decomposed; then it was cleaned and the cranium set aside to be used by the new chief as a bowl for lion fat, with which he was anointed on various occasions. The lion fat was mixed with many protective medicines. The remaining part of the skull was preserved in a hidden place until the successor died, when he was buried with the head of his predecessor, after the two parts had again been joined together. This procedure indicated symbolically the continuity of the ‘brain power’ of chiefs and the close co-operation of the living and dead ruling members of a dynasty.378

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This bodily continuity in the chiefly installation rite following the death of the previous chieftain was of utmost importance, but was not limited to the chief and included other sacrifices as well.

Fig. 4.1. A ntemi’s crown. For the election of a new chief all the banang’oma assembled at a council called kisaka. The possible candidates were the sons of all the sisters of the deceased ntemi … Each party faction put forward its candidate in the kisaka, and for each candidate chickens were killed for the purpose of divination.379

When the assembly had chosen the new chief, they went to his house, caught him, smeared lion fat on his forehead and struck him several times with a stick, saying: ‘You, so-and-so (using a disrespectful expression), you will now become our ntemi. Henceforth you will have the power to kill us. To-day was the last occasion on which you were beaten by other men. Don’t forget these strokes and that you are still a human being like all others. You have been elected, but before you there have been rulers who died, and after you will come yet other rulers. Always remember.’380 As these rituals were taking place, the grave of the dead chief was dug either within the royal residence or at a traditional cemetery for chiefs. A

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black bull was killed and the chief’s body was wrapped in black cloth. Chiefs were usually buried shortly after sunset as it was believed that burial during the day would result in the chiefdom experiencing terrible heat and bad rains in the coming year. In many chiefdoms the chief was buried together with two sacrificed humans. The victims had to belong to a certain clan in some places, whereas in others any person was eligible for this dubious honour. The victims were called bukangala, which is the word for wooden headrests. In one funeral, ‘the grave was of round design, roomy and about six feet deep … First, the dead girl was put into the grave in a sitting position with her legs outstretched … The body of the ntemi together with the head of his predecessor was lowered … in such a way that the head rested on the dead girl’s breast. Finally the boy was put in the grave too, being set at the ntemi’s feet facing towards him. Over this group the skin of the black bull was spread.’381 The grave would then be filled with earth and no prayers or special ritual chants were uttered during the burial, and there was no sounding of drums. The chiefs’ duties were directly related to rainmaking and successful harvests. Each year, before the small rains started, the ntemi would consult an oracle about the prospects for the coming season’s harvest. ‘This was a diviner who exercised his skills only in questions concerning the community and not the individual.’ His predictions were expected to be detailed, for example: ‘This year you will have plenty of rain. There will be streams of water everywhere. Therefore, it will not be advisable to plant the lower lying fields too early, for the seed or the young plants would be washed away or drowned. The best kind of sorghum to plant will be nhorongo tembe. Sorghum will bring more corn this year than millet.’382 The diviner was only concerned about particular crops, in this case sorghum and millet, and would give no advice about other crops, such as maize or cotton. The diviner sometimes provided medicine for sowing and protection from evil, but more often just the recipe for such medicine. On other occasions, he ‘announced that great danger threatened the harvest and that … a human sacrifice was necessary.’ This was needed to replenish the magic power of the Shingira and of the implements obtained from an earlier sacrifice. ‘He also described what kind of person had to be killed, whether … male or female, a child, or a grown-up person …[“the court-witchdoctor”]…had then to take the necessary steps to procure the ngogo, as the human sacrifice was called … the victim was killed with poison, and [there was] no suspicion even from the victim’s relatives.’383 Thus, the identification and killing of the victim as part of rainmaking rituals occurred in secret, and the treatment of the body is of particular interest.

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The corpse was buried and exhumed the same night, when the head was cut off and the body returned to the grave. The head was prepared by the ‘doctors’, the top of the skull was severed from the rest and the brain put aside. The rest of the skull was buried in the centre of one of the ntemi’s fields and the place marked with a stone. The brain was dried and powdered, and a small part of the powder was mixed with the bugota, while the rest was mixed with a portion of seed to be stored and used as an ingredient for the medicine of the coming years.384

The cranium would be cleaned and used as a bowl when the medicines were mixed into the seed for the year. The traditional explanation of this human sacrifice was that it was necessary because a new season demanded lives and one sacrifice would save many other people. Others said that no one would have a good harvest without using the brain, and that all agriculture and cultivation required intelligence.385 The seeds were magically prepared and during the season there were taboos to be observed; hair and nails should not be shaved or cut until after the harvest festival, sexual intercourse outside the house was forbidden and no bloodshed should be caused.386 As soon as the seeds were sown, the chief called upon a rainmaker. Rainmaking ceremonies would not necessarily be held each year, but if the oracle had predicted bad rains, rites were performed. ‘The chief was held responsible for lack of rain, especially when the rains were normal in other chiefdoms but failed in his own. Thus, when … famine threatened the land and cattle began to die, the ntemi was in danger of being deprived of his position and being driven … from his ikuru and chiefdom.’ Cory also writes: If a chief had ruled for many years and was popular with his people, the failure of rain was ascribed to evil influences from outside, above all to evil machinations of hostile neighbours who had taken away the rain, and sometimes tribal wars were started for that reason. Another possibility for a more cunning chief was to load the responsibility for the failure of the rain upon the shoulders of his local opponents, and thus to get rid of them and confiscate their property in addition. But if the chief was unpopular, probably no subterfuges could help him and he had to go, because there could be no better reason for his quick expulsion than his obvious inability to produce good rains.387

Disappearance of rainmaking in Usagara It was commonly acknowledged that there was a general contest between those who wanted a return to tradition and those who wanted to abandon it. The chief was normally the rainmaker or was otherwise responsible for

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the annual life-giving rains by employing rainmakers at his court during times of crisis. Only the ancestors could solve problems by influencing the weather and controlling, creating or diverting the rain, and only traditional doctors were able to approach the ancestors through rituals and specific medicines. In Usagara village, it was often claimed that the reason there was less rain was because people were no longer following tradition. According to some elders, the two most important elements of tradition to be continued were cultivation of millet and rainmaking rituals. In the past, if the rain came late or was insufficient, the chieftain would call fortune tellers who could make contact with the ancestors and identify why there was less rain. When the causes were known, the rainmaker conducted the necessary sacrifices and rituals. The rainmaker was to wear only black clothes during the ritual, which took place at a sacred ancestral place. As part of the ritual, he used a mix of traditional medicines contained in a small ceramic pot (Fig. 4.2.). This pot was undecorated, unlike the pots used for domestic purposes. A black cow with white facial markings or a black goat would be slaughtered in the ritual, and had to be prepared and eaten on the spot. The rainmaking ritual took a day and if conducted before the rainy season it would be followed by rain within four to five days. If the ceremony occurred in that season, the rain would begin the same day. Some argued that rainmaking disappeared with the abolition of chieftainship in 1963, while others claimed it vanished as a consequence of villagisation during the 1970s. In Sanjo sub-village, one elderly woman recalled that the last time they had conducted rainmaking rituals was in 1961. She ascribed the disappearance of the practice to the influence of Christianity, since the church forbade both rainmaking rituals and propitiation of ancestors. The last yearly harvest festival, when food and beer were given to the ancestors at the cemetery, was in the early 1970s. After villagisation, this tradition too ceased. Villagisation brought people from different clans together to live, whereas before communities were more homogenous. This sociopolitical process thus altered relations with the ancestors. Even so, although the rainmaking ritual and harvest festival have disappeared, villagers, even those who are Christian, have continued to this day to propitiate the ancestors. Another old man did not know exactly when the practice of rainmaking vanished, but it was a gradual process. The major changes occurred after independence when chiefdoms were abolished, but the disappearance was also a matter of not having the right specialists in the village. In the 1980s, there was one renowned rainmaker who was successful in making rain, whereas today there are no longer skilled rainmakers able to conduct the

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rituals, even if they do want to organise the ceremony. In Fela, a neighbouring village, a rainmaker had died some years ago and there were nobody to take over his ritual position. Thus, rainmaking as a practice died with him. There are two ways of becoming a rainmaker: rainmakers are either born with the gift, or the knowledge of rainmaking must be learnt by practice and supervision by elderly rainmakers, who transfer the knowledge. In September 2010, one rainmaker actually did conduct rainmaking rituals in Usagara when the rains were delayed, but it rained for only one day, and no rainmakers conducted rituals before the subsequent rainy season. Thus, some people still have the knowledge, and if there were younger followers to learn the traditional skills, they might reintroduce rainmaking as a practice, which is still performed in other places. As noted, a main reason for the abandonment of rainmaking has been the presence of new religions. There are many different denominations, all of which oppose rainmaking as a practice and belief in varying degrees. However, where villagers invite a well-known rainmaker from another area to conduct rituals in the village, some claimed the Catholic Church would not forbid the ritual from taking place. It was stressed that such endeavour would require a huge gathering of people to participate in the ritual and finance the sacrifice. In the past, the chief had the responsibility and power to organise and prepare for the rainmaking ritual, but today there is no one who can or will do this and the chiefs no longer have this authority or moral responsibility. Moreover, people would not attend the ritual, so the whole enterprise would be futile. The drought of 2011 was part of the drought in the Horn of Africa. One old woman recalled this was one of the three worst she had ever experienced. She argued that one possible reason for it was because no rainmaking rituals had been conducted. The belief that rainmaking as a ritual functions persists among many elders, but they are unable to conduct the ritual and have little support in the village. When I interviewed this old woman, a group of younger males, including her own grandchildren, listened politely. When the interview was finished and she returned to her work and we had started to move off, the youths started opening up. They did not believe in rainmaking and called the rainmakers liars, cheaters and charlatans who deceive people and take their money for rituals that do not affect the weather. Consequently, there are strong social pressures on the elders who believe in their old traditions. One former rainmaker also pointed to this: although he believed in the possibility of modifying weather through the ancestors and had these capabilities, by advocating

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Fig. 4.2. Pot used in rainmaking rituals in Usagara.

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rainmaking as a practice and belief he would risk ridicule by the youngsters. Nobody wants to be the village fool and clown. There are also other reasons rainmakers themselves no longer want to perform the rituals. In cases of lack of rain, a group would seek a rainmaker for his services and make an agreement if the rain comes. If and when that happened, the rainmaker would be paid a cow or two. However, rainmakers have often been cheated. After the rains had arrived, villagers might come to the rainmaker and say that the rain was not due to his rituals, but to those of other rainmakers in neighbouring villages, and refuse to pay him in accordance with the agreement. Another reason for the disappearance of the ritual, according to some rainmakers, is that those who have inherited this capacity from elders have not followed the prescribed way of living and rituals and have lost their powers. Where the rainmaker has not followed the proper religious instructions and practices, the rain can come with malicious force and destroy the land. Thus, making rain is a dangerous business with grave consequences if anything goes wrong in the ritual. The consequences of failure are such that rainmakers themselves have been reluctant to conduct the rites unless they have full support of the villagers, who must believe in the practices and outcomes. In Usagara, one rainmaker, who was blind, said he was too old to perform the ritual. According to him, making rain is very difficult and entails great social responsibilities. If he made mistakes, he would destroy the land and harvest, with devastating consequences for the people. Rainmaking could even be a source of conflict. Even when a group of villagers had agreed to make a sacrifice as part of the ceremony, they could argue about exactly where the rain should fall and when it should start and stop. Thus, although they might initially agreed to provide the sacrificial animal, if they could not agree among themselves on these issues, in some cases the animal would not be forthcoming and there could be no rainmaking rituals. Another fundamental reason why rainmakers no longer conduct rainmaking rituals is that they have little support among other villagers, who have converted to Christianity or Islam and consequently oppose these rituals: even the chiefs these days are Christian. Villagers are supposed to actively participate in the ritual, but now, if the ritual takes place, they stay on the fringes. Moreover, the sacrifice of a cow is a crucial part of the ritual, but villagers will often not share the costs and provide a beast to the rainmaker because Christianity does not allow such sacrifices. Rainmaking is a communal ritual for the prosperity and welfare of villagers, and it is pointless for rainmakers to conduct the rituals without followers and believers.

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This highlights the ontology of the rituals. Rituals are not theatre or for fun: for those who believe, they matter deeply. It also highlights the collective aspects of ritual. Ritual specialists may believe in the performance and outcome of rituals, but this does not matter as long as the participants reject the observances and premises. Sacrifices are a serious matter, since they involve direct communication with or approaches to the divinities or divine realms. With regard to sacrifice, in the history of anthropology there have been two main theories: the gift theory and the communion theory. In Tylor’s classic gift theory, the sacrifice is seen as a donation to the divinity, either as a voluntary gift or as homage or abnegation.388 In Smith’s theory of sacrifice, the fundamental aspect is the ‘communion between the god and his worshippers by joint participation in the living flesh and blood of a sacred victim.’389 Sacrifices are, however, not homogeneous actions, notwithstanding definitions of ‘sacrifice’ that have tried to pinpoint such an essence. Importantly, ‘sacrifice as we know it today is by no means just religion.’ Rather, it … is a guarded privilege and a way to seek or exercise power and privilege (and therefore political), a dramatic performance (and therefore aesthetic), a way of raising hope, salving conscience, or perhaps projecting or transferring aspects of self (and therefore psychological). It is often, too, a way of joining people together, and in doing so potentially marking them off from others (hence sociological).390

Moreover, sacrifice may involve more than two actors. When A sacrifices an object to B, a third party may also be involved, as is evident when Christ died on the cross. When Christians say ‘the Saviour died for our sins’, the implication is that the living are indebted for this sacrifice.391 Consequently, if ritual participants do not believe or adhere to the tenets of the sacrifice within a cosmology, the sacrifice is futile and, in the worst case, heresy, since no persons, whatever their religion, are supposed to perform mock rituals. Christianity has in any case condemned such rituals and sacrifices. Often when church persons label sacrifices as pagan and idolatrous, they misconstrue the act of sacrifice as worship of the animal rather than as being based on an understanding that the life, strength and breath of the animal are a channel of communication with divine realms.392 In the end, such misconceptions do not matter because, according to the church, any communication with divinities other than the Christian God is ‘pagan’ or non-Christian.

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Lost but remembered past Much of tradition has disappeared in the sense that it is not transferred to the younger generation. Even if it is, it is not incorporated into culture and the social matrix and afforded relevance and significance as knowledge that structures life-worlds today. Still, the knowledge is remembered by elders, and as such exists, but it is no longer tradition being transferred among and between generations. The loss of tradition is not restricted to rainmaking, but includes numerous other practices and beliefs. One traditional belief still remembered but not practised is the prohibition on going into the fields to cultivate when bad rains with heavy winds and hailstones come. In the past, people were forbidden to leave their homes and work in the fields under such conditions, but nowadays nobody cares about these former restrictions. The bad rains come and hailstones and tornados destroy fields and property. In October 2011, nine houses were destroyed in Sanjo subvillage by the heavy rains and winds. Such rains are seen by some elders as the consequence of not adhering to social rules in the community, in particular with regard to agriculture. Cultivation along the paths, for instance, was prohibited, but people now do so, and as a penalty the heavy rains came. It was also believed that the lastborn child in every family, regardless of sex, may have had the power to divert rain. When people cook in their houses, the cooking pot is supported in the hearth by stones of different size. If the lastborn takes one of the small stones and throws it outside, the violent rains, hailstones and strong winds will stop. Thus, the lastborn could throw a stone in order for the rain to fall normally and the weather to be calm. Stones were not always used, and sometimes a piece of maize would be thrown out of the house to reduce the winds and dangerous hailstones. If the lastborn child stood in the house and threw or spat maize out of the door, the bad rains would disappear. In similar bad weather, people out fishing on or crossing Lake Victoria who were caught in a violent storm would cut themselves and allow their blood to drop into the lake, and the wind would return to its normal strength. Another belief was that if parents who had given birth to twins went into a well to clean it, all the water would disappear. In traditional Sukuma cosmology, twins were perceived as a bad omen and when such births occurred, rituals were necessary to secure the fertility of the land. Similarly, if a child was born feet first, rituals were mandatory. There are and were, of course, numerous other beliefs. Sukuma cosmology is as complex as any other cosmology. Tradition matters and

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the loss of rainmaking as a ritual institution was keenly felt by many elders, and this was more than mere nostalgia for times past. It is religion. They may go to the church and pray for rain and food, but in the past when the rain failed and the fields were barren they would have turned to rainmaking as a ritual and practice. The rainmaking ritual was also seen as more important and effective than mere prayers, because the villagers were engaged in a collective effort. Mere prayer in church was perceived as too easy and would not suffice when all life, well-being and society were at stake and in danger. The rainmaker was also seen as a good person, since the whole village benefited from his ritual capabilities. Consequently, many felt that the rainmaking tradition should continue, since all farmers depend on the rain, without which no one has food. Rainmaking was ultimately the prerequisite for successful harvests. ‘Hence, what is good for land is good for agriculture, what is good for agriculture is good for mankind, and what is good for the majority is good for the nation.’393 Thus, rainmaking was a collective ritual by and for the welfare of the whole community. This is a simple but life-giving logic, but even these concepts are under pressure. The issue of climate change challenges conceptions about the effectiveness of rainmaking, and the global discourse on climate change is as evident in Tanzania as elsewhere. On one hand, many believe that lack of rain is due to climate change and not the ancestors. Consequently, it is believed by some that rainmaking rituals will not work. On the other hand, even during times of climate change the ancestors are believed to have the power to secure rain, some argued, because rainmaking rituals are conducted successfully in other places. Nevertheless, the church opposes such rituals as pagan and in Usagara most people claim they only believe in God and do not propitiate the ancestors for rain. Still, even though Christians do not turn to the ancestors for rain, for other misfortunes some (or the majority?) propitiate them without revealing the practice to others, partly because they may be Christian or ‘modern’. In any event, the ancestors continue to influence this world in different ways. However, even where ancestors are still believed to have the power to procure lifegiving rains, it is difficult to reinvent the rainmaking tradition once it has been lost. A small group of individuals cannot just invite a rainmaker from another place. It is too expensive for a small group of private persons to organise such an event, and if the ritual is to be successful, many participants as well as contributors are needed. In addition, there are very few rainmakers around nowadays, which limits the ritual expertise and makes conducting the rainmaking rituals difficult, even where the other prerequisites are in place.

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Moreover, more than a century of Christian missionary effort means there are mutual, overlapping and sometimes contradictory perceptions regarding how and the means by which the rains come. One older woman stressed the role of ancestors and the importance of rainmaking rituals, but then concluded that only the Christian God can make rain and that no humans or rainmakers are capable of modifying the weather. Given that the rains were believed to belong to the realm of God, she did not know why they failed or became more erratic. Among the Sukuma who still believe in propitiating the ancestors, it is commonly held that it is possible to combine the old traditions and religion with Christianity, in particular Catholicism. As Christians, they argued, they could still propitiate the ancestors and conduct the traditional rituals, and even the Catholic Church allowed them to seek medicines from traditional healers, though not from those engaged in witchcraft. Others argued that there was no possibility of going back to the old tradition and rites, even though these were still believed to solve problems and save society from disaster. The traditions were lost and nowadays people did not know how to perform the prescribed rituals. But, as several informants emphasised, if they had the ritual knowledge they would turn back to tradition and their ancestors with their problems and would continue the ancestral rites. Culturally and religiously, the disappearance of traditional practices was seen as a huge loss, but without a cultural memory and continuity it was seen as difficult, even impossible, to restore and recreate ancestral tradition. Moreover, most of the old people possessing the ritual ability to communicate with ancestors have died, so there are few people still living who represent a link to the past and the ancestral world. The rainmaking tradition as ritual practice has therefore disappeared, although the knowledge of how to conduct the rituals was still present among a few elders (Fig. 4.3). It was also widely believed by many elders that rainmaking and ancestral tradition, if practised, could solve the problems and misfortunes they were facing, but without recruitment of new ritual specialists the cultural memory and actual knowledge of the tradition would eventually disappear. Thus, according to the elders who still believed in the value of their traditions, it was very difficult to reverse the neglect of the ancestors and of traditional values. Consequently, all troubles and difficulties in society would persist and it was even believed they would increase. Without ancestral propitiation and rituals, in the future it would not be possible to communicate with those ancestors still possessing the powers to make rain and solve misfortunes. Therefore, people would suffer all kinds of misfortune and disaster, from famine and

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starvation to personal problems and illness. Even in Lake Victoria there were fewer fish than there used to be, and this too was seen as a result of the neglect of tradition and failure to conduct traditional rituals.

Fig. 4.3. The arrival of the rains.

Burima – rainmaking and witchcraft Burima is a village east of Magu town.394 It is one of two villages in the Mwanza region renowned for witchcraft and rainmaking, or perhaps more correctly, renowned for rainmaking and feared because of witchcraft. What are facts and what is fiction is difficult to distinguish, but among other farmers and villagers, Burima has a reputation for having a strong spiritual presence. Rumours of the spiritual powers of Burima have flourished. There is something unique about this village, which has more and stronger supernatural powers than other villages. Consequently, the most skilled and renowned rainmakers and traditional healers have lived there. This was basically explained in two ways. The spiritual superiority of the village attracted healers and diviners to the village, and those very agents acquired and perfected their skills there. The overall reason for there being something special about Burima was that, so it was claimed,

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tradition was still alive and authentic there. Rainmaking was still performed, and it was also believed that the most powerful witchcraft was present there. The witchcraft medicines from Burima were believed to be in very wide use, from the miners of Geita to rich businessmen. For all its reputation, some estimated that about 50 per cent of the villagers of Burima were Christians, Christianity reportedly having come to this area in 1896. However, it was also pointed out that the Christians did not oppose all traditional practices and that some of the changes they have effected had been for the better. Circumcision of young girls, for instance, has had strong negative impacts and is no longer conducted. Lack of medical treatment for both young girls and young boys following circumcision meant that the wounds would not heal for a long time. Today, if a young man wants circumcision, it is surgically performed at a hospital. In the past, there used be other initiation rites for boys reaching manhood. For a week, novices were taught secretly at a special secluded place in the village, but this tradition has disappeared as a result of Christianity and modern education. Among those who still believed in the traditional religion, Christianity was not seen as a threat, and they claimed that they respect others and their respective religions. In Burima village, rainmaking was still practised. The reason the tradition was so strong in this village was, according to informants, because many elders actively continued their past practices and successfully encouraged others to participate in rituals and abide by the older value system. Rituals and religion are not apart from the social codes, but are at its very heart. The impact of Christianity here was also comparatively less, and although many villagers were Christian in name, they were not necessarily so in practice and they could still participate in traditional rituals and the propitiation of ancestors. There were nevertheless differences in the understanding of how rainmaking rituals work. In church, people pray to God, but it was stressed that in a rainmaking ritual participants have to make an effort and contribute more actively than by merely praying. The sacrifice of cattle is such an investment that demands more of the villagers and with the proper sacrifices and conduct it was claimed the ritual cannot go wrong and there will always be sufficient rain. Rainmaking works. When the rain fails, on the other hand, fishermen along the lake zone have often been blamed. Before they can sell their catch of small fish, they dry it, and therefore they need the sun. If it is raining, the fish will not dry and it was therefore believed that the fishermen conduct anti-rainmaking rituals. Although it was acknowledged this could not be actually proven, when the rain came it was believed the villagers had been more powerful

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and successful in performing their rainmaking rites than the fishermen in counteracting the rain through rituals. Thus, the presence or absence of rain was also seen as a contestation between ritual specialists, some of whom were believed to possess stronger spiritual abilities than others. Although both climate change and the non-conduct of rainmaking rituals were cited as explanations of why rain failed and there was drought, one older man gave a more pragmatic explanation: it is common that there is less, or more, rain in some seasons than in others. This is part of the yearly fluctuations, he said. Ritually, this creates huge flexibility when the success of rainmaking rituals is judged. Whether there is only some rain or it pours down, the rainfall can be interpreted as the outcome of a successful rite. In 2011 in Burima, when the rains did not arrive, a group of elders gathered and started preparing for the ritual. They contacted a rainmaker to conduct the ritual once they had negotiated a price. All the villagers were invited to participate in the ritual. Most Christians did not contribute financially to the ritual, arguing that only God could control the weather. Other Christians, however, did, and many of the non-Christians still adhering to traditional beliefs participated, although some of them also refused. Six sub-villages joined in and each paid the rainmaker Tsh. 20,000. In addition, the elders who participated in the ritual also contributed financially and some villagers were willing to contribute quite a substantial amount of money for the successful performance and outcome of the ritual. Even though local fishermen were sometimes blamed for the absence of rain, some of them also supported the ritual financially. Given that there were numerous sponsors, it is difficult to establish the exact cost of the rainmaking ritual. In the village, it was voluntary for villagers to contribute financially and those who did not support the ritual were not fined or required to pay compensation, although in the end they also benefited from the rain and got it free, if one is to believe that the ritual worked. Preparations for the ritual started in September when villagers demarcated the area in the village where they wanted the rain to fall. The rainmaker had concluded his preparations in October, including providing the necessary medicines, and thereafter conducted the ritual. Thus, the rainmaking ritual takes place in September or October, depending upon the preparations, and although there are two rainy seasons, the rainmaking ritual is only conducted once a year in this village and covers both seasons. In other words, in this village the ceremony takes place before the short rainy season.

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Before conducting rainmaking rites, the healer consulted would predict if the forthcoming season would be good or bad with sufficient or insufficient rains. Based on his forecast, the villagers would take the necessary steps to prepare themselves if the forecast for rain was bad. This included villagers being advised to cultivate crops requiring little water, such as millet. In 2011, the rainmaking ritual was conducted by 14 elders from the village. The ritual can only be performed at a particular sacred place, which was located in a sacred forest along the shores of Lake Victoria at some distance from the village. This is also a royal cemetery where six chiefs lie buried. Only men were allowed to visit the place and it was taboo to wear shoes or socks when entering it. In the forest are sacred trees from Uganda, not found elsewhere in Tanzania. If a tree is cut down, the offender will be fined a cow, which will be sacrificed at the place. The sacrifice of a cow is the central part of the rainmaking rite. After the beast was cooked and eaten, all the bones were thrown into the lake or the nearby river. After completing the sacrifice during the rainmaking ritual, the 14 elders went back to the village. They were not welcomed and did not announce that they had conducted the ritual successfully before they returned to their households. Once a year, normally at some time from June to September, there was also a rite to acknowledge and propitiate the ancestors, who were seen as responsible for successful harvests. A meal was prepared from newly harvested crops and pressed into a goat or cattle horn and taken to the cemetery where it was left for the ancestors as a gift of food. As part of this ceremony beer was also brewed and given to the ancestors. The harvest festival was also celebrated with good food and dance. What is noteworthy is that while this ceremony may truly be defined as ‘traditional’, it is still a result of globalised traditions and a hybrid, in that it celebrates prosperous outcomes. A century of cash-crops and market links to the global world has left its mark by being incorporated into the religious realm. As noted earlier, previously the rainmaker was only concerned with subsistence crops, in particular sorghum and millet, and he would not give advice about cash-crops such as maize or cotton. In this ritual, no distinction was made. The celebration was for a successful harvest of all crops through the agency of the ancestors. Although cashcrops are a consequence of colonisation and modernisation or globalisation, all bountiful harvests ultimately benefit the people. Thus, ancestors may also be revered when the harvests are good and generate a cash income.

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As indicated, however, even in this village it was generally held that most people were Christian, although no reliable statistics were available. Moreover, being Christian was not seen as hindering adherence to tradition and propitiating ancestors, and allegedly even Pentecostals who worship the Christian God in church, also propitiate the ancestors on other occasions. According to some elders, there was no contradiction between believing in an almighty God and at the same time acknowledging the role and importance of ancestors and propitiating them in rituals. There is only one god, and the Christian God is not different from the god they believed in traditionally – only the name is different. However, as was emphasised on several occasions, in this village too beliefs that the ancestors influence daily life and well-being were declining and fewer people paid attention to past tradition. Particularly the younger generation have given up the old ways and want to become modern. What characterises the modern way of life and being is first and foremost, it was explained, luxury goods from abroad and elsewhere, and according to the elders the youth want an easy life without hardship and do not want hard work. In other words, they don’t want to base their lives and well-being on rain-fed agriculture. As will be elaborated later, this has serious consequences for the transference of rainmaking as ritual and cosmology – or tradition in a broad sense – as well for the way of life. Yet, some also pointed to the elders and held them to blame for the changes. Nowadays, elders hardly have time to sit down and tell their children about the past and the importance of tradition. After dinner, the elders used to sit and talk about history and culture to their grandchildren, but this socialising practice is also disappearing. As was pointed out, it is not only the young generation that watches TV. Another factor that contributes inexorably to the erosion of tradition is language. Today, more people than ever are on the move and Swahili has become the lingua franca. When people return to their villages they prefer to speak Swahili and not Sukuma, and consequently the children and the younger generation do not learn Sukuma properly. Moreover, at school only Swahili and English are taught. Without the language, tradition and knowledge lose one of their most fundamental transfer mechanisms. The vast complex of metaphors is not easily transferred into another language, if at all. In the 1950s, Tanner noted that the complex of magical ideas had hardly been touched by modern ideas and that belief in the various divinities ‘seem[s] to be in danger of no rapid change caused by either Mission activity or other processes of cultural change, possibly because the lack of connected rituals makes them insignificant to the stranger, while at the same time the complexity of their language may hide their

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belief from most enquiries.’395 If indigenous languages once conserved culture and preserved tradition, they have now, through their decline, become a major driver of the extinction of tradition. Regarding rainmaking, there was even here collective pressure propelling the disappearance of tradition. Not only Christians opposed these beliefs: when non-Christians who otherwise adhered to tradition began to doubt the possibility of ritual manipulation of the weather, fewer and fewer people practised them or advocated them for fear of being seen as ludicrous and as the village fools. Believing in rainmaking is challenging in the modern world since there are all too many reasons for not believing in such rituals. Nevertheless, some elders argued that the two most important aspects of the past will continue; namely the rainmaking rituals and propitiation of ancestors. The ancestors were still believed to be capable of resolving problems and difficulties in society if they were propitiated, but if they were neglected the miseries would continue and become impossible to handle. This also included the consequences of climate change. Awareness that climate change will impact daily life and food security was widespread, and this has altered the understanding of how rainmaking as a ritual in a global world may work. On one hand, it was believed that given these global challenges, the ancestors could not address absent or erratic rainfall. These weather fluctuations are beyond the realm and sphere of influence of the ancestors. On the other hand, it was also believed that these global climate changes will take place because they were predicted in Christianity and the Bible. Interpreting and understanding climate change and weather fluctuations within and as a consequence of Christian cosmology takes different forms. Although people have worshipped and prayed in church as well as propitiated ancestors, they have no means to solve these problems and only God can change the course of life and history. When the rains came for only about two weeks the year before and people were unable to cultivate, this was not seen as collective punishment by God but in fulfilment of Christian predictions, in practice a warning of the Doomsday soon to come. God has prescribed how to live a good life and when miseries occur there is no way in which people can interfere in the already given divine plan. Despite the many changes in and pressures on the older ways of living, there were also strong beliefs among many that tradition will continue and not be lost. When people, including the young generation, face misery and problems, it was anticipated they would return to the ancestors for their help. Even if they have forgotten the ancestors or not learnt their role and the importance of propitiation, in times of hardship they will learn and

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tradition will continue and flourish. Also emphasised was that fact that though many say that they will be modern and claim they do not believe in the ancestors, when their troubles are mounting, they go to healers for advice, often in secret and without admitting as much to friends and family. Thus, the healers or some of the elders in the family such as the grandparents can transfer the knowledge of the ancestors to the younger generation, including those who have converted to Christianity. Still, it was claimed that most local villagers did not support and seek advice from healers mainly because they have had an education and did not trust the healers, or in other words, they have become ‘modern’. This may also be seen in relation to changes in ancestral tradition. Ancestors were regularly propitiated, and depending upon the problem, were believed to have the power to solve it. However, their sphere of influence has been reduced and in the modern world there are spheres for which other solutions are available or preferable. If a person for instance has malaria, he will be treated at a hospital or medical station. Consequently some illnesses are now outside the sphere of the ancestors. Indeed, there are large fields and spheres of lives where the ancestors are no longer believed to exert a strong influence or be the only source of betterment. In other domains, however, ancestors are still believed to be active and powerful. If a child has been given the wrong name at birth and this impacts its life adversely, for instance it cannot sleep and cries all night, the parents may contact the elders who will suggest a new name. The name links the child to the ancestors, thus being in this world is defined by and linked to the world of the ancestors. Importantly, the elders continued tradition as it used to be practised and this was seen as a constructive social morality compared to the ways in which new healers work and the consequences of their practices, namely increased witchcraft. In theory, both elders and healers can solve the same problems and misfortunes, but the elders argue it is better to seek their advice than use witchcraft. The elders will examine the situation and advise on the proper sacrifices and ancestral propitiation. According to the elders, one reason witchcraft is increasing is not because the connection with the ancestors has been broken, but because tradition is gradually disappearing. If the young are not taught their traditions and how to propitiate their ancestors, they are more likely to use witchcraft when they grow older, which in the worst cases involves children killing their own parents. The consequences of witchcraft, seen as a trend and as invented tradition gone wrong, were widely feared. Thus, elders acknowledged their main challenge was teaching the younger generation about tradition and the past. However, as they also pointed out, they have hardly any proper

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means of doing so, and consequently feared that tradition would probably disappear in this village also.

Cemetery and land It has been said that ‘death is the origin and centre of culture’396 and Hegel once wrote that history is the record of ‘what man does with death.’397 Death lies at the heart of all facets of humanity and is a crucial factor in the constitution of societies,398 because death not only threatens society,399 it also creates society.400 Although theology and eschatology are fundamental to any cosmology and religion, death is more important for the living than the dead.401 The deceased changes from being in this world to becoming an ancestor in the other world. This involves numerous important social changes. Transmission of the material heritage between generations takes place upon death, which, like tradition, also involves spiritual knowledge. Transmission can take place post - or pre mortem, and includes the dead person’s properties, including debts, social obligations and moral obligations. These transfers also involve access to wives and lineages.402 Importantly, funerals reaffirm and redefine social relationships,403 which can be challenged, and consequently death is the constitution of new relations, of which the relations with ancestors are the most significant for influencing the lives and well-being of the living and their generations to come.404 The links and relationships with ancestors are closely tied to where they are buried, or, from a pragmatic point of view, the place where one has access to them. This also underscores the importance and impact of ancestors in daily practice and for social well-being. In Africa, land has traditionally been intimately linked to kin, ancestors and graves, but with mortgages now available, these social institutions are threatened.405 Today, ancestral graves and their placement have perhaps become even more important for political and social reasons unrelated to religion or cosmology. Previously, people did not build grave markers, but nowadays they have become markers for those claiming descent from them. Thus, they have become sacred sites and an anchor for social identity.406 Politically, all land in Tanzania is owned by the state and can be confiscated. There may be compensation for cultivated land if the land rights are acknowledged. Graves on the land define rights to it and may entitle the owner to compensation if the property is confiscated. Thus, burying the dead on farmland with grave stones as markers is a way of securing the land (Fig. 4.4). In this way, even politically ancestors secure

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the living, their property and their well-being. The dead matter, even today, or perhaps more so, but on new premises. In Usagara, the cemetery previously used does not exist any longer. Traditionally, the dead were buried in the cattle pastures (Fig. 4.5), but with villagisation from 1974 this practice ended because the land was reallocated. Today, being buried in pastures is seen as undesirable since cattle may physically disturb graves with their hooves, although without harming the ancestors as spiritual beings. Moreover, people believed they lost the memory of their ancestors when they were buried in the pastures, so it was preferable to bury them closer to their homes. When people died in other areas during villagisation, they were transported back to their family area to be buried, a practice which continues. Burial among the ancestors is a way of keeping alive the memory of the original family or clan for generations.

Fig. 4.4. Christian burials on farmland with grave stones.

In the past, when a father of a household died, he would be buried where the cattle were kept. This symbolised the importance of cattlekeeping among the Sukuma and the responsibility to ensure their wellbeing. The dead were buried in a foetal position like an unborn child in the womb. In this position, the body would be oriented to the east. With German colonisation and Christianity, this tradition was discontinued and

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the dead were buried lying on their backs in the graves. Among other Sukuma, men lay on their backs with their heads directed to the north and women to the west. This practice relates to a story about the original clans coming from the north and going westward to find brides before returning home.

Fig. 4.5. Burials used to take place in cattle pastures.

In practical terms, there are clerics who travel around and attend to liturgical matters and conduct Christian funerals. As a consequence, ancestral propitiation has taken new forms and is still practised, despite church opposition, and the descendants also make sacrifices to the ancestors depending on the problems they aim to solve. Burying the dead close to home has been important for propitiating the ancestors. If a family member experiences difficulties, he or she may contact the ancestors for advice in solving them. Moreover, with the dead buried nearby, the memory of family members is more alive than if they were buried at a distance. The church has opposed this practice, and in particular among Christians there seems to have been a change as regards the beliefs in and role of ancestors in their homesteads and fields. Ancestors used to play an active role in helping and solving problems among the living if they were propitiated and given sacrifices. Among some Christians today, this has been reversed. The dead and the ancestors are still believed to exist and be

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active, but now they are seen as more malignant spirits that bring problems and disaster rather than prosperity and well-being. Thus, among Christians there is growing reluctance to have the deceased buried close to their homes and in their fields. A problem with burials on farmland is that farmers often disturb older graves when ploughing and cultivating and bones and skulls are exposed. Thus, a cemetery would solve this problem, but in Usagara the Christians do not have a specially demarcated cemetery. The Catholic parish at Bukumbi has a large congregation and lacks the financial and practical means to provide cemeteries for all its members. Consequently, the responsibility for cemeteries has fallen to the subvillages. Sanjo sub-village, therefore, worked to provide and collected money for a cemetery. A generation ago, there were some 60 households in Sanjo, but this number has doubled to more than 120 today and it is expected that more people will settle in the sub-village. Due to the increased population, the ten-cell committee made plans to build a cemetery on the outskirts of the village, which will be for all member of the community, whether Catholic, Pentecostal, Muslim or believers in traditional religion. A cemetery will also solve other problems. With villagisation, newcomers on traditional land became common. But people are not just people, and in death the ancestors are invoked, and consequently strangers were a threat to customary practices. They did not belong there, between and among the ancestors. In particular, burials of strangers close to households have been viewed with suspicion and reluctance. If a stranger visited the village and by unfortunate coincidence died while being there, people would not bury him or her close to their homes. It was generally believed that he or she would become an evil ghost, roaming and inflicting malignance on people. Consequently, the stranger would be buried as far from the homesteads and village as possible. This also points to eschatology in the broad sense: what happens to the dead after death? Regarding eschatology and the lives of the dead, there were two main perceptions, depending on belief systems. When a Christian dies, he or she may go to heaven or hell. A person who believed in traditional religion and consistently propitiated the ancestors would, upon death, become an ancestor in the other world. Importantly, Christians are not incorporated into the world of ancestors and are not propitiated as ancestors after death. Still, even Christians may propitiate their nonChristian ancestors in cases of misery and misfortune within the family or clan. A healer will tell them what to do, and even though they are Christian, they may invoke their elders and ancestors to solve their

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problems. Thus, although the dead are remembered and mourned as social beings, the ancestors still exist but in varying degrees and extent. Consequently, will it be possible to return to tradition as it used to be, not as a perceived past but as a future filled with prosperity and hope? The most likely answer is no.

Invisible forces of globalisation and modernity: the point of no return? In aerial navigation there is an expression ‘the point of no return’, that point when an aircraft in flight cannot return to the airport it took off from because of insufficient fuel: there is no return. Although this mechanical metaphor does not do proper justice to all the actors and processes at stake in social analysis, it may still be helpful to think along these lines for awhile. Is it possible to return to rainmaking and to previous traditions, or is that era gone for good? Changes in social history are not reducible to deterministic factors or natural evolutionary principles, and, of course, given cultural creativity, emancipation and productivity, anything is possible. However, practically, in the global modern world, given existing structures of knowledge and shared rationality, will it happen? Addressing such issues is of course difficult, since it also involves how knowledge is incorporated into culture as a whole in the future or living traditions, but one may approach these questions from the perspective of those who perceive tradition to be declining and diminishing. Those who have knowledge of what, in their view, mattered most in the past, also feel that, and analyse how, their knowledge is not given significance. They know too, and very well, why tradition is not transferred. One elderly traditional female healer spoke very angrily about the changes in Tanzanian culture and religion. From her perspective, ancestral tradition was declining and taking new forms, changes that she felt strongly as cultural loss, since they also involve religious identities at the individual and personal level. According to this healer, the pressure on traditional beliefs and values started long ago with the spread of Islam by the first Moslem conquerors. Later, Christian missionaries and white explorers from Livingstone on spread Christianity and built churches. The Europeans exploited the people and natural resources, and the ideological consequences of colonisation led to a gradual dismantling of traditional values and the role of ancestors. From then on, people started neglecting the ancestors and their propitiation, with disastrous consequences today in the form of calamity and evil in society.

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According to her, the consequences of not propitiating the ancestors are ever more problems and disasters in society, which cannot be resolved unless people return to their traditions and beliefs. In the past, traditional healers solved people’s problems by approaching the ancestors, but both Arabs and Christians told people not to believe in these diviners. Christians claim that believing in ancestors is like believing in ghosts, or in other words, witchcraft. Previously, local people had special sacred places for propitiating ancestors and making sacrifices when bad things happened in their lives and in society. Today, without these sacred places, the dead have turned into roaming ghosts. When ancestors are not buried in the proper places, they cannot be contacted and asked what they want as sacrifices to address the calamities in society. Consequently, they roam around causing evil. She had more to say about the current state of society. When the tradition of propitiating and making sacrifices to the ancestors disappeared, moral decay occurred in society. Elderly people are raping young girls and men are marrying one another – practices not representing traditional African values – and all of this is caused by the neglect of the ancestors, she claimed. The only solution is a return to tradition. This is possible, if one person in the community is chosen to represent the others in propitiating the ancestors and finding out what kind of sacrifice they need to resolve all the evils and misfortunes. However, today, modern life, and in particular the new religions, make this difficult, since the younger generation does not believe in ancestral tradition and will not return to the old religion and ways. According to a man almost 70 years old, the consequences of neglecting rainmaking rituals were directly felt in agriculture. Harvests had in general been less bountiful, because the rainmaker was not securing rain and also healing the land. Nevertheless, he also stressed that it would be impossible to return to traditional rituals since the majority have now become Christians. It is difficult to convince them that the current state of affairs is a consequence of the neglect of rainmaking rituals. According to him, all of tradition disappears, not only rainmaking but also other rituals related to the agricultural cycle. Previously the elders used to come together and propitiate the ancestors on other occasions as well, but not anymore. This sincere grief at the loss of tradition is more than mere nostalgia, and reflects a fundamental sense that ontology is changing. One may wonder then why such people become and still are Christians, while at the same time seeing Christianity as one main reason for the disappearance of traditional values and practices. The old man answered that people have to change with the times and with modernisation. The old ways belong to the

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past and those days are gone. Asked what was good about modernisation, he just laughed sadly and shook his head, taking some time before answering. Communications were good, he said. Nowadays it is easy to travel and the roads are good. But he had difficulty in pinpointing other benefits. I did not press the issue. When instead I asked about the most negative aspects, he started laughing again. First and foremost was the influence of television, which, according to him, had had an extremely negative effect on the youth. When young people watch TV and see what people do in other places and abroad, they want to become and behave like the people in the films. Another issue he mentioned was the growing rootlessness among the young, who turn to gangs or mobs and steal and rob. Moreover, they do not want to live a village life but search for a better life in cities and other countries. Very few want to farm, and many aim to live in cities and have paid jobs which do not involve hard physical work. Consequently, the young hardly heed the elders anymore. Young men may even walk away when the elders discuss the past and how things used to be. The consequences of the decline of tradition will be experienced differently by elders and the younger generation. For the elders, he said, this will be perceived as a great loss, because it is their lives and experiences that nobody cares about. The young ones, on the other hand, will not know what has been and what they have lost because they have never learnt it, and for them the situation will just be normal. The neglect of elders and their knowledge is, however, not only a result of TV and other media. The introduction of new religions has meant they have been taught not to search for answers and knowledge in past culture and religion, which has been seen as pagan. Thus, according to him, religion also plays a huge part in the disappearance of tradition and the lack of interest among the young in their own culture, history and religion, in other words, in tradition as a whole. This is also one reason, in his view, witchcraft is increasing. Strictly speaking, with the proper propitiation of ancestors and successive rituals and sacrifices, one may enjoy the same benefits as those conferred by witchcraft. However, because of education and religious prohibitions on propitiating ancestors, this tradition has largely vanished and cannot continue as a path. Thus, when tradition is abolished, traditional means of solving misfortunes and problems are lost and witchcraft becomes one of the few remaining solutions. Moreover, many see the power of witchcraft as greater and more direct than that of the ancestors. This belief gains credence from the rumours about people who have resorted to witchcraft and apparently become wealthy and successful as a result. In addition, he added, many of the young today want easy short-cuts to improving and

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simplifying life by immediate results. Using witchcraft is, he said, one way younger people distance themselves from tradition, one way of being modern. However, as he also pointed out, turning to witchcraft is not really about neglecting tradition; it does not represent something new: witchcraft too is dependent on the ancestors. The ancestors are part of witchcraft, but not in the way they used to be when traditionally propitiated.

Poverty of tradition and rain-fed agriculture If rainmaking as ritual and tradition belong first and foremost to the realm of religion, widely defined, the consequences of failing rain are nevertheless in the real world here and now. Failing rain in rain-fed agriculture means famine and human suffering. Elders complain that the younger do not want to do hard work as farmers. There are good, deepfounded reasons for this, apart from the fact that being a farmer is not necessarily seen as ‘modern’. The prospects for a farmer dependent on unpredictable rains are a life in poverty. The young know that rain-fed agriculture is synonymous with poverty. Being modern is also about hopes and dreams, both of which TV may help to create. Whether these will be fulfilled is another question and the majority of young Tanzanians in the countryside will in all likelihood become farmers depending on the annual rains, because the actual alternatives are few. However, the hopes of a better life, or at least another, even when people will have to depend on the arrival of the annual rains just like their forefathers, have deep impacts on religion and tradition, and on how knowledge is incorporated into the social matrix and afforded importance. Although elders refer to tradition as a rich resource and a treasure trove of knowledge and experience, including the ancestral realm believed to be able to solve many kinds of misfortune, in particular the rains, this tradition as lived and experienced in today’s world is to a large extent also a tradition of poverty. The traditions may be rich in cultural content, but the physical and material life of today is largely hardship and suffering. Thus, apart from global knowledge about, for instance, the impacts of climate change impacting on weather systems and rainfall, rainmaking cosmology is closely linked to hardship and suffering, poverty and destitution. Nobody wants to live in poverty. Rainmaking as belief and tradition is therefore at great risk of change and disappearance in the modern world, because this cosmology also implies an uncertain and difficult life of hardship, suffering and possible famine. The person who is and feels modern and hopes for a better future with other opportunities is

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unlikely to identify with this type of life. Younger people have different hopes for the future and for their children and most parents do whatever they can to improve their children’s prospects. And they also know that the erratic and fluctuating rainfall patterns are the consequence of climate change, not of elderly men sacrificing, or not sacrificing, oxen. Wijsen and Tanner have aptly entitled one of their books Seeking a good life,407 which is the essence of Sukuma (and most other) lives. By considering tradition as material poverty, some of the fundamental aspects of tradition as resource and wealth are underscored. Tradition is thus a double-edged sword. It is a lifesaver and insurance mechanism if social principles and values are adhered to. However, this social security is also one reason it is difficult to develop or gain personal wealth, in particular if one depends on rain-fed agriculture. The young know this very well, another reason they distance themselves from tradition. Tradition and the family may save them in times of misfortune, but the social obligations associated with this security net come at a high cost. Water may illustrate this point. According to traditional Sukuma law as documented by Cory, rights to water play a prominent role:408 -

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Any source of water, such as a stream, spring, well, pond, etc, is free for everyone. Any source of water situated on private ground, whether natural or dug or constructed by the holder, is free for everyone. No holder can monopolize the water source on his holding. If a number of men dig a water-hole in a river bed or on any other piece of land, the water is free for everyone. If a man has dug a water-hole for a certain purpose, for instance, making bricks or building a house, the water is still free for everyone. If a village or sub-area of a village decide under the leadership of the village headman and/or the basumba batale (work leader) to construct a common water-hole, one man from each house must help with the digging. If a man does not participate in common work, he cannot be deprived of the use of water, but he may be punished by the village organisation. The villagers cannot claim exclusive rights to the use of such water.

The rights to household water from any installation includes the right to collect water from a neighbour’s roof, and even from the house-owner’s rainwater tank, even when the tank’s water supply is insufficient until the next rains.409 ‘Water vending is not practiced in the villages and the informants regarded buying or selling of household water as impossible. Water is simply not a commercial good to be bought and sold in a market,

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unless it is used for cattle.’410 The rights to use water for livestock thus differ:411 -

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Any source of natural water customarily open for watering of cattle, or any source declared to be open by the authority (mainly lambo), is free for everyone. Water-holes may be used only by those who constructed them whether it be the water-hole of an individual cattle-owner or a water-hole constructed by the inhabitants of a kibanda (neighbourhood) or gunguli (parish). To water cattle at another man’s water-hole without permission is punishable. Often the transgressor is required, as a penalty, to enlarge and clean the source of water. These privately constructed water-holes can only be used by strangers after they have obtained permission from the authority. It is permissible to charge fees for the use of the water. The permission is given only for short periods, usually until the cattle-owner has finished the construction of his own water-hole, or has found free water for his cattle. The fees are high. If a man opens up a source of water within the boundaries of his holding, no other man is allowed to send his cattle there for watering without permission of the holder. A newcomer cannot enclose any source of water (bukumbiji) on his land which he found already in public use on his arrival. This applies to water-holes which may have been constructed by the former occupant or by the community and the nsumba ntale. The new household cannot close off a path leading to a water source and keep it only for the use of his own cattle. His own cattle must have a path to it and therefore no excuse is accepted for closing the path on the grounds of crop damage. The right to dig water-holes is not restricted. Inhabitants of one chiefdom who run short of water for their cattle can dig water-holes in another chiefdom.

Since the 1950s, these rules have continued almost unchanged.412 Lambos used for watering cattle are often owned by groups or individuals. Still, other people may use them freely to collect household water, and this has created a situation where people are slow or reluctant to build new sources for household water, as an informant explained Drangert: ‘It is difficult to cooperate because people have different views and opinions how to go about it. Those who have constructed lambos are fortunate and perhaps many people will copy their work in the future, but not now, since you can draw water from the existing lambos!’ The informant proceeded: ‘You do not see the reason to dig your own and do not want to sweat and labour when water is available. Very often our thoughts end at this stage.’413 Moreover, those who have already built water-holes are reluctant to do so

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again since others can enjoy them freely, and they have already achieved higher social status. This view was expressed by several of Drangert’s informants:414 I have dug a small pond close to the seasonal stream in order to use it as a fish pond. Now it turns out that a number of families are drawing household water from it. I cannot refuse them. I do not want to put in stepping stones to make the drawing easier. Nor am I prepared to dig a well closer to my home just to help others. If there was a rule saying that the small group of people who dug the well would become the only users, they would agree to develop it. Those who only turn up to draw water from the new well would otherwise be too many. You would find that even those who developed the well will not get water because the others have come earlier and emptied the well. This is really discouraging. The reason for not making a rainwater tank is that many people would be interested in drawing water from it. If I refuse them water, they find me uncooperative and this will destroy everything. I could charge a fee to recover my expenses but they may then cause other problems like uchawi (witchcraft). Without such drawbacks I would have tried to develop a tank.

As one informant said, ‘everyone has a right to use household water sources, this is the main difference compared to other food items.’415 Free access is powerfully reinforced by the popular belief that a person ‘excluded from using a water source may resort to sorcery or simply pollute the water.’416 Thus, Sukuma water rights and norms pose a dual challenge. On one hand, everyone knows that other villagers can use ‘his or her’ water for household purposes even if they have not contributed to the construction. On the other hand, he or she can also use other water sources. Nevertheless, despite the risk of free-loaders, people still build wells, etc., because they may enhance their status by being seen as generous.417 Sharing is a fundamental aspect of social systems, as Marcel Mauss was perhaps the first and most eloquent to point out. It is also one of the basic insurance mechanisms in society when famines occur, and when there are no other safety mechanisms. The hardships and realities of rainfed agriculture cannot be stressed enough. Without understanding what is at stake, one cannot understand why changes in religion and tradition take place. Rain is life, its absence is simply possible death. And with rain, life is hard. Subsistence farming along with often unreliable cash-crops is basically a life of hardship, often living in poverty. Thus, it is no wonder

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that agriculture and water have had fundamental roles in Sukuma cosmology. The hoe is the essence of hard work, but it is also associated with the origins of the royal clans who brought iron-making into northwest Tanzania. Consequently, it is a central theme in many folk songs: ‘Let us grab the hoes now’, ‘The hoe is wealth, grab it’, ‘God will bless you if you grab the hoe’, ‘Do not be a thief, grab the hoe’, ‘The hoe ends misery’, ‘Fear the hoe, you will not eat’, ‘The hoe is wealth, it will bring you cows’, ‘The hoe is wealth, it will bring you a woman’ and so on.418 No matter how hard farmers toil, failing rain means famine. Although poverty is an unfortunate and intrinsic characteristic of subsistence farming in this area, matters go from bad to worse when the rain fails. The ontological repercussions and depths of poverty affecting body and mind can hardly be expressed. Whatever their inadequacy in expressing human sufferings, words are some of the few tools we have to gain an understanding of the resultant misery. The hardship of famines and the relief at survival are conveyed in the folk song called ‘This famine’ from 1979:419 This famine, it has upset livestock compounds People have cried a lot They are lamenting In the abandoned homes We survived perishing, farmers We have sorrows (2x) We were struggling a lot We were crying of famine My wife Monde The child of ng’wana Because the famine is over Let us make a feast day to celebrate Let us buy a ram (2x) Even if I do not have one I will buy one from Mhina Let us eat [the fruit of] of my efforts We were suffering a lot Staying without food during the day Sleeping without dinner Tying your cloths to your belly (2x) We survived perishing, farmers We have sorrows (2x) We considered Mayunga’s war as finished At last we won (2x)

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The Mwanza local historian Michael Masalu once explained the implications of famine in general: Hunger, it really disturbs people. Some will move elsewhere, until they leave faraway for good. Others may have no transportation like bicycles, or they have no vehicles, they carry their food from faraway, from Magu for example, all the way to Mwanza town. They travel by foot looking for food, others have no strength to do so, they cannot walk. ‘We were required to sell our cattle, we had no more cattle, we sold them!’420

The increasing hardship is felt by people themselves. As Pat Caplan notes with regard to fishermen on Mafia Island, life became ever harder from the 1980s, and a question that arises is how people interpreted this situation – did they see themselves as agents of change or as victims?421 There were four main concerns: lack of food security and increased poverty; illness, including HIV/AIDS; being excluded from development; and loss of existing rights. The major perceived risk was food security, and in terms of their experience, people felt less secure now than they used to be, mainly because food prices had risen while the possibilities of earning money from cash-crops had decreased considerably.422 And those suffering from poverty do whatever it takes by any means necessary to escape the poverty trap. However, being poor means, almost by definition, that the means at hand for doing so are limited. In the absence of other options, there is one last and all-encompassing means to solve poverty, misery and misfortune, witchcraft – or so it is believed. Christianity is perceived as having harmed agricultural practices since farmers have not been allowed to conduct rituals to heal the land. Even so, the ancestors are remembered and respected for what they did, and they are relatives. Sometimes, villagers may approach a healer and ask him to solve household, family or personal problems. Other times they may ask grandparents to direct them and tell them what to do. In times of hardship, they may sacrifice chickens, goats and sheep to the ancestors. The ancestors may help the living if there is sickness and general malignance. If a woman is unable to fall pregnant, the ancestors may also help restore her fertility. In general, ancestors may help in all matters, including the well-being of humans and animals. Even though there are no longer rainmaking rituals, in a Christian syncretic cosmology, ancestors may still have the potential to heal the land and provide good harvests through the church. The ancestors are dependent on God to help the living, and therefore descendants pray to their ancestors in church hoping that they will see their troubles and assist them. In the church, there is a particular day when priest and congregation

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pray for the fertility of the land and for good harvests. However, if the rain still does not come, they know that this is beyond the realm of Christianity. When there are crises, Christian organisations help with food supplies, but do not have enough food to help everybody. The congregation relies on money saved to help members in times of crisis, but it is difficult to get money from external donors. Thus, in practice, Christianity cannot solve actual problems, neither through God and prayer nor through the congregation and community work. In consequence, people are largely left to fend for themselves. Malignance and the threat of death have to be addressed with whatever means are at hand. It was generally acknowledged that there has been an increase in witchcraft and that more and more people use it in business to increase wealth. With more money, there is more witchcraft. In the past, mainly old men used witchcraft, but today men and women, young and old, turn to it, and the number of healers has increased. Growing witchcraft is also seen as resulting from government’s failure to do anything to control what is preached and taught within religious circles. It was also argued that there is more witchcraft today because of modernisation. Previously, the ancestors solved problems, but everything has changed rapidly and people try new approaches to achieve results. Whereas elders complain that the younger generation does not adhere to old customs any longer, the young may respond that it is the old beliefs that tear society apart from within through witchcraft. However, belief in witchcraft seems to be stronger than ever even among the young and the killings were never firmly rooted in past traditions.423 Moreover, although the Catholic Church opposes witchcraft and works against it, the practice still exists among Christians, who seek out healers in secret without informing anyone. And priests may also go to the healers and dabble in the occult in secrecy. Propitiating the ancestors was a family or communal act on behalf of, for instance, the household if the rain failed or the harvest was unsuccessful. Thus, these rituals were seen as benefiting the whole community. Witchcraft, on the other hand, is a more individual act, benefiting the person who employs it. As such, the increase in witchcraft is a sign of a more selfish and individualistic society, or so it was claimed. Moreover, whereas the ancestors were propitiated for the benefit of a sick individual or the group in general during times of crisis or when evil struck, with witchcraft the community is divided. Nobody knows what somebody else might be planning to do and when. Thus, witchcraft creates more suspicion in the community. Witchcraft was also seen as destroying development. On one hand, those with little or no income use witchcraft to destroy the wealth and lives of those who had prospered. On the other,

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those who had become wealthy are also believed to have used witchcraft to do so. Most people, however, or so it was claimed, use witchcraft to enhance their own life and gain wealth, and only a jealous few will also use it to destroy other people’s wealth and property. Although it was held that one could achieve much the same results by propitiating the ancestors, there was a sense that in the modern world it is better to use the modern way and not approach the ancestors. They are connected with the past and tradition, but witchcraft is connected to the challenges of today and tomorrow. Thus, witchcraft has to some extent replaced the role of ancestors and is perceived as a way of being modern.

CHAPTER FIVE WITCHCRAFT AND WITCH KILLINGS

New situations demand new magic ... —Evans-Pritchard 424 … the Sukuma traditional system of government and religion has disappeared while leaving unchecked their belief in the practice of witchcraft and the existence of witches and wizards. Their traditional social controls had further been weakened by the considerable movement of younger families into new settlement areas. —Tanner425

It is difficult to get a full picture of the spread and extent of witchcraft in Tanzania today and the number of alleged witches being killed. What seems to be the case is that there has been a rapid increase in witchcraft. It has been claimed that there is a silent holocaust taking place in Tanzania, involving the killing of numerous witches and, in particular, old women.426 What is this based on and what are the numbers of actual killings? Why has albino killing flourished along with other witchcraft practices using bodily parts to enable wealth? Why do witch killings take place seemingly increasingly and out of control? And finally, if there is a dramatic increase in witchcraft, how is it possible to end the witch killings?

Approaching witches As a point of departure, one may recall what Firth once said about witchcraft: ‘We do not believe in the validity of witchcraft, in the sense of the autonomous existence of invisible, personally controlled evil powers of the order described by our informants. If we did, our problem of interpretation would be different. We should still have to decide what types of social relationships lend themselves most easily to the witchcraft idiom.’427 Or in the words of Obeyesekere: ‘…witchcraft is entirely based on accusations and on peoples’ belief in its reality. There are no real

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witches in the world, even if people believe there are real witches in the world.’428 The focus will mainly be on Tanzania and in particular the Sukuma people. However, a wider African context and general theories about witchcraft will also be examined. In witchcraft processes one may identify three groups of actors. First, there is the alleged witch. Most often it is older women who are accused of using witchcraft to bring harm to families and societies, and numerous innocent people suffer greatly through such accusations. Second, there are those who use witchcraft. Although older women are accused of using witchcraft, most of them are not engaged in it. However, people do resort to witchcraft for gaining wealth in business, achieving personal success and inflicting harm on others. Third, there are the traditional healers (who have also been called witchdoctors) who engage in witchcraft by providing and securing the medicines used in witchcraft, but also the counter-medicines to protect people from it. There is no single understanding of witchcraft, but there are multiple and sometimes contradictory or overlapping perceptions and interpretations regarding the reasons for it, how it works and by what means. Broadly speaking, one may identify two trends in witchcraft. One is ‘traditional’ witchcraft, whereby the alleged witch is believed to use medicines to inflict evil on other villagers or modify the weather. Importantly, this witchcraft was fairly rare in the past and practised by few. Witchcraft today builds on this, but has also developed distinct characteristics, above all scale. In this recent type of witchcraft, human organs are used in medicines, and of necessity it involves the killing of innocent people prior to the making and application of the medicines. Albino killings are part of this practice, but it now also involves killing other people, and human parts are used in a wide range of medicines. A common purpose for this type of witchcraft is generating wealth, which to some extent is a characteristic of ‘traditional’ witchcraft, except that now pursuit of this objective is much more intense and pervasive. Thus, although these ‘types’ of witchcraft share some of the same logic, there are also significant differences.

Definition According to the 2002 Tanzania Witchcraft Act (Cap. 18 [R.E.2002]), witchcraft is defined as ‘sorcery, enchantment, bewitching, the use of instrument of witchcraft, the purported exercise of any occult power and purported possession of any occult knowledge.’429 All acts of witchcraft

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are punishable if murders are committed, and in January 2009 Prime Minister Misengo Pinda stated that those caught in the act of murdering albinos should be killed on the spot.430 In rural and urban Tanzania, among poor farmers and the rich elite, witchcraft is omnipresent. ‘Witchcraft (uchawi) transcends local and national culture and is part of daily life in all social settings and in all locations.’431 The use of supernatural powers to harm others is not a random act but a deliberate strategy working within given sets of social relations.432 As such, ‘witchcraft is a manifestation of evil believed to come from a human source.’433 Although it is theoretically available to everybody, in general it is thought that only deprivation could give rise to enough envy, hate and resentment for people actually to use it.434 In the words of Evans-Pritchard: ‘Envy, jealousy, hatred, are the drive behind witchcraft, and hence the cause of failure, misfortune, and above all sickness and death. Witchcraft beliefs may thus be said to provide the Azande not only with a theory of causation for particular events but also with a moral philosophy.’435 According to him, the Azande viewed witchcraft as an inherited quality whereas sorcery was an acquired power. ‘Witchcraft’ and ‘sorcery’ are sometimes used interchangeably and the distinction is often blurred. What is perhaps more important is that when there are beliefs about witchcraft, there are also beliefs that these occult forces can be overpowered by other medical and ritual practices performed by anti-witchcraft specialists.436 Moreover, in Africa, beliefs in witchcraft do not contradict beliefs in the power of the Christian God. While sorcerers are believed to cause harm by occult means, it is also held that diviners and medicine-men may derive their powers from God in order to neutralise the spirits or dark forces. ‘In other words, for them the belief in powers of witchcraft goes hand in hand with a belief in the – greater – powers of God.’437 In Tanzania, witchcraft is one of several ways humans are believed to inflict harm and evil upon others and is seen as a dangerous reality that people would like to have controlled and preferably eradicated in one way or other.438 The name of witchcraft is bulogi, which comes from the verb ‘to fear’. Among the Sukuma, the power of the sorcerer is not inheritable and dies with the sorcerer,439 and as Bjerke emphasised with regard to the Zinza in northwestern Tanzania, ‘witchcraft, is quite literally a craft in that it presupposes skills that have to be learnt; nobody is born a witch.’440 The sorcerer knows and secretly practises bad magic even though it is seen as immoral. Therefore nobody openly admits to being a sorcerer. Sorcerers can be held responsible for various calamities such as sudden storms on the lake; lightning strikes; unexpected deaths of wealthy people; infertility

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and miscarriage; death by wild animal; road accidents; the burning down of one’s house; and, of course, the failing rain. Sorcerers use different medicines in their malignant practices and may also control disembodied spirits. Thus, people believed to practice witchcraft obtain their powers through misfortune and greed, and aim for material benefits from their evil.441 In Kiswahili, a traditional ‘medical practitioner’ is a mganga (pl. waganga) while uganga refers to traditional medicine.442 The mganga has had an ambivalent position in society, since he has the power to do both good and evil, to harm and protect. Both powers are deemed necessary, since it is believed that curing witchcraft is impossible unless one is expert in it.443 In practice there is not necessarily a clear distinction between a mganga and a mchawi (sorcerer).444 The powers the traditional healers need are obtained from their ancestors. These are not inherited as such, but it is common for healers to come from the same lineage, since it is believed the ancestors themselves enable the powers. The diviner is dependent on the family ancestors as a whole and not as individual spirits.445 Among the Sukuma, the mganga was believed to represent a benevolent force that brought equilibrium between the two worlds. ‘Traditionally, the waganga were expected to bring about a normalisation and harmonisation of relations between people and between realms.’ This role is changing. ‘Present day waganga are increasingly associated with developing medicines and spiritual interventions that facilitate the individual patient’s quest for wealth accumulation and success.’446 The spread of witchcraft is by no means limited to rural areas. ‘The Sukuma have always been preoccupied with protecting themselves against the possibility of witchcraft and unforeseen danger in general. In towns, since each individual is surrounded by strangers, this is an abstract anxiety whereas in the countryside there is always a possible specific individual to focus on.’ ‘There is plenty of data to show that anxiety of malevolent magic does not decline with either education or urbanization,’447 Wijsen and Tanner argue. Witchcraft expands in urban environments because there are more people known by name who might reasonably harbor evil feelings against an individual such as rivals in work, business or love; there is no end to the possible difficulties for which an explanation is sought. Thus witchcraft is more useful and believable in towns, where malicious ancestors seem less likely to cause trouble than associates, work-mates, business rivals and neighbors. For the same reason non-ancestral spirits ‘majini’ flourish in towns.448

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As a consequence, it is claimed ‘that not just the human world but the spirit world itself has gone out of control.’449 This has implications for the spread and development of these beliefs. The ideas about witchcraft become real practices, as van Beek emphasises: ‘A model is just that: a model; that is, a model of reality. But models of reality have a tendency to convert into models for reality.’450 In this regard, there has been an inherent paradox in Tanzania’s approach to witchcraft and witch killings. On the one hand, official denial of its existence has limited the possibilities to control it and has left the commoners to deal with it. On the other, by acknowledging the phenomenon exists and confronting witchcraft beliefs and practices, popular beliefs are reinforced.451 As will be discussed later, developments in witchcraft have to be seen in light of the processes of Christianity and missionary activities. One cosmology is not easily replaced with another, and as belief systems Christianity and witchcraft fulfil different purposes. Thus, Christianisation in Tanzania has faced many of the problems the early Protestants did in Europe when ‘they removed magic from Christian ritual without countering the belief in magic.’452 Importantly, in African religion, the understanding of evil has been different from the understanding in Western religions. In Christianity, for instance, evil is defined theologically. Satan or evil beings and spirits are believed to be responsible for evil, and when humans are evil, they are seen as opposing and rejecting God by accepting his enemies. In traditional African religion, evil has a sociological definition and function. Evil is what destroys the social fabric and brings harm and evil to others. Persons working only for themselves as individuals and not caring about the community can be defined as evil, and evil is not caused by supernatural beings, but by humans, including witches and witchcraft.453 ‘The sorcerers par excellence are those believed to do supernatural evil unprovoked for the sake of their own pride and malevolence … ready to do unprovoked evil to all mankind, including that highest anti-human evil, evil to his own family.’454 Moreover, it is believed that to become a sorcerer, the power to practise evil magic is gained by killing one family member, as expressed in a poem:455 Your very nearest and dearest, the coven demands her. It could be one’s child, it could be brother or sister, but not simply a neighbour – they will not serve.

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Logic In discussing witchcraft and the occult, Chabal and Daloz note that not only are African societies not becoming more secular, as widely expected, ‘but there is a sense in which they are “re-traditionalising” – in that the realm of the “irrational” is seemingly gaining importance.’ They add in a footnote that ‘the notion of the irrational is merely an agreed codeword for religious beliefs in its broadest sense, not in any way a value judgement on the beliefs of Africans.’456 They continue that ‘for us, religious beliefs, beliefs in the irrational, are all the same. The question is how they matter politically.’457 Approaching religion from the perspective that all beliefs, whether witchcraft or not, are irrational is neither fruitful nor sympathetic. Evans-Pritchard demolished the view of African irrationality in his seminal work Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic among the Azande (1937), in which he showed the logical reasoning behind people’s rationalisation of magic and the occult. As James Kiernan observes, ‘since then, no anthropologist or other African scholar would consciously question the rationality of African people in general ... as for Africa being backward and retrogressive, this is simply not true.’458 In a ‘magical worldview’ things are logically connected and understood, as Wax and Wax have emphasised: ‘We think of ourselves as the believers in causal law and the primitive as dwelling in a world of happenstance. Yet … it is we who accept the possibility of logic and pure chance, while for the dweller in the magical world, no event is “accidental” or “random”, but each has its chain of causation in which Power, or its lack, was the decisive agency.’459 A religious system combining magic and ancestors is tailor-made to explain everything that may happen by way of misfortune (and fortune). When a Sukuma breaks his arm, he knows what caused it but he also wants to know the other factors which may have precipitated the accident. Moreover, such a system is highly flexible and based upon negotiations between the person in trouble and those who interpret the trouble and propose a cure. Witchcraft has an advantage as an explanation precisely because it not strictly defined, and therefore it can explain all kinds of misfortunes where other explanations cannot.460 When there is no answer to how (how to get a job, how to get a roof over your head, how to overcome guilt or anger, how to redefine yourself ...), magical thinking provides one with a very convenient answer as to why misfortune happens. The invisible world, rendered as a powerful realm with mediators [e.g., witchdoctors] provides the victims with a justification, a

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‘rationalisation’ of the pain, an explanation of sufferings, that produces some relief and satisfaction.461

Among the Sukuma, accused witches are often killed by machete.462 When alleged witches are killed, the majority of Sukuma do not see this as a crime but as appropriate and deserved and the killers are viewed more as heroes than criminals.463 The killings are seen as a relief from lethal threat which otherwise would continue to harm society. As one NGO director once said: ‘In the Sukuma community, if you kill a witch it is … considered … that you are doing something good for the community. It’s a culturally acceptable thing to do.’464 In fact, many villagers ‘are happy when a “witch” is killed!’465 By killing the accused witch, it is believed misfortunes in society will cease. Moreover, such deaths are not mourned and somebody seen mourning a witch would be ostracised.466 Tanner described an outbreak of witch killing in 1962, when numerous alleged witches were killed in a month. The rationale given by the villagers was that the witches had killed or been responsible for killing other people. Killing of witches was, however, not common practice among the Sukuma. Witchcraft allegations were traditionally solved by the council of the elders. If a witch were proven guilty, the council would organise a communal boycott and advise the witch to leave for good, since it was almost impossible to live under such a ban.467 As Stroeken says, ‘the Sukuma way of dealing with a suspected witch is not murder. They commonly resort to counter-magic and ritual to regain ancestral blessing and protection. It takes a lot of despair and perhaps even disbelief in magic to resort to the machete.’ He continues: ‘divination can heal, thus preventing retaliation. That is where the magical balance of gift and sacrifice come in, how it is breached and restored.’468 This places the emphasis on witches within their cultural context. The most thorough and thought-provoking book about Sukuma witchcraft is Koen Stroeken’s Moral Power. The Magic of Witchcraft (2010). Magic is cosmology and ‘witchcraft is integrated into a system of ritual traditions, practices of healing and diagnosis, marriage rules, decision-making and eventually the State and wider social systems. This relational totality … can hardly have changed overnight with colonialization.’469 Thus, although witchcraft in recent decades has been analysed in the context of modernisation, Stroeken argues that one has to narrow the scale and see it in light of ‘traditional’ practices. In particular, his elaborate theory of sacrifice and the gift system reveals new insights not only into magic, but also into models of exchange in broader terms. Marcel Mauss’s seminal book The Gift has strongly influenced anthropology.470 Contrary to anthropological theories that

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subsume sacrifice into the logic of gift, gift and sacrifice are different. Whereas the former alters one’s social position and represents ‘debt’, the latter changes nothing in one’s social position and represents ‘duty’. 471 Gift and sacrifice are two forms of social exchange. Two others are commodities and presents. ‘Just as commodities are purified forms of gifts, so are presents purified forms of sacrifice … Our society privileges the two forms at the extremities of the table: commodities and presents. We are less familiar with the two forms in the middle, representing magic … The former are gifts without sacrifice (economic transactions, purified from relational value); the latter are sacrifices without gift (tokens of affection, purified from social law).’472 It is within this frame of experience that the witch has moral power. The witch is an outsider within: she is kin or allied but also an absolute Other on account of her secrets actions and evil motifs. ‘Healers and witches are alike in hunting with invisible traps. Healers also live at the periphery of the village … However, the witch fundamentally differs from the healer in the quality of insidership she combines with outsidership.’473 The relationship between witch and victims is intimate and involves absolute debt. The witch is believed to think: ‘What do you have that I may need?’ Consequently, the witch ‘punishes them with death for evading the gift system, for denying others the attention and respect that comes with social exchange … the witch should be located at the heart of society … in its deepest invisible core. The witch has moral power.’474 Thus, at least as a partial explanation of current witchcraft, ‘the developers never ask what the price might be of restructuring people’s collectively crafted experience of the world. The fairly recent rise of witch killings may be part of the answer.’475 Witchcraft can thus be seen as the dark side of social exchange.476

Identification and consequences One likely reason for wanting old women out of the way is connected to local traditions of inheritance. The property of a dead husband is inherited by the widow and only passed on to her sons after her death. In times of increasing scarcity, acquiring the mother’s land and house may be very tempting. Other reasons include rivalry between wives in polygamous households and the settling of old scores between daughters and mothers in law.477 One way in which witches are identified is by physical signs, in particular red eyes, more common among women than men because women are responsible for cooking, most often over an open fire. The

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wood of Mnyaa tree is used as fuel. This firewood gives off much dense smoke, hence the red eyes.478 Witches are believed to fly around naked and to enter the houses of victims, who recall the experience in dreams. Witches use medicine to harm crops and cause sickness and death. In particular, sudden death of apparently healthy people is often seen as a result of witchcraft. People who are harmed by witches and fall sick do not go to hospital since it is believed that only ‘local medicine’ can cure them. The witches’ alleged appetite for human flesh leads them to dig up corpses and sack graves.

Fig. 5.1. Cattle – traditional wealth.

Consequently, new graves are carefully swept clean so that if witches visit during the night, their footprints will be visible and descendants will know that the graves have been disturbed.479 The belief that one may be bewitched creates fear among, for instance, people in the Musoma rural district in Mara region in Tanzania. If parents have educated children, they often advise them to buy land far from the family land to avoid bewitchment. Other parents refuse to build decent houses for their children for the same reason. This has its rationale, according to the elders: the best way to avoid envy is a life of modesty.

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People therefore continue to live in grass huts, rely on the public water resources, educate their children up to primary school level, wear cheap second-hand clothes and live by fishing and farming. Those who rise socially and economically above others are readily believed to have used strong and expensive medicines. Rich businessmen are always believed to have prospered by using medicine, because otherwise customers would not have bought their goods. Consequently, they are associated with witchcraft.480 Thus, witchcraft in practice is seen as both created by development but also as being a hindrance to development. This has other social implications and consequences (Fig. 5.1). One cannot lie about the number of one’s livestock because local gossip will always know where they are and what is being done with them. Money can be lied about and obligations rejected on the grounds of poverty, but no one can be sure that the person has enough money and has lied about it. Many will sell their stock as far away from home as possible in order to be secretive about their earnings.481

Traditionally, witches were believed to steal other people’s grain, in particular sorghum. Thus, in a zero-sum game, witches gain at other’s expense. Within traditional cosmology, diviners can discern witchcraft and see which witch stole from whom. Thus, witchcraft is not only visible to the seer but to the villagers as well. A common way for witches to accumulate goods is by using medicines to suck grain from another farmer to their own fields, and people claim that persons who cultivate only a small plot but get an unusually large harvest may well be witches. Witches are also believed to kill people to use them as labourers. The witch may, using medicines, bewitch a person, who will later die. Thereupon the witch digs up the grave and brings the corpse home. By smearing medicine on the corpse’s eyes, the witch will render it invisible and thus able to work the fields at night as a zombie. A less dramatic approach is for the witch to steal only the soul of a person, and return it before morning after it has worked as a zombie during the night.482 Thus, witches are anti-social and invert normal processes of social reproduction, because ‘instead of feeding others, they feed on others.’483 As a consequence, ‘for the Ihanzu, dying a “natural” death is a tantalizing but ultimately untenable possibility. In practice, everyone dies from witchcraft.’484

Rain witches Among the Mupun of Nigeria, ‘believed mystical forces and the experts that control them – such as magic and magicians, the art of rain-making

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and rain-makers, medicine and medicine-men and women, witchcraft and witches, sorcery and sorcerers – are supposed to help ... human beings, to relate with the spirit world in positive, negative or neutral ways.’485 When rain rites fail and droughts occur, village-wide rain meetings have usually been held, which usually end by identifying rain witches. Ritual leaders whose job was to procure rain were plausible culprits, as were the rainmaking assistants, since they also had great knowledge of how to secure rains. Similarly, those with privileged access to ancestral powers were possible candidates.486 Among the Ihanzu, rain-witches were the most menacing. While rainmakers attract clouds and rains, rainwitches do the opposite by sending wind to destroy them. The rationale behind the belief in rain-witches is that they are allegedly able to attract rain clouds from other villagers’ fields, thereby enabling a large harvest and much food, while other villagers suffer. This is the theory, but in practice it is believed rain-witches destroy the rain they attempt to steal and thus also destroy themselves. Consequently, rain-witches are seen as stupid and reckless.487 The prototypical rain-witch is a man – a loner: ‘Male witchcraft is different from female witchcraft. It does not target individuals but public goods: it dries up water holes, and it ruins grain and rain over vast distances … Unlike female witchcraft, this type of witchcraft is untargeted and is therefore considered an indiscriminate mystical assault on everyone.’488 Sanders elaborates: ‘Male witches destroy rain, while female witches destroy people: a diabolic division of labour that is far from accidental. For if female and male witches can inflict different sorts of mystical harms as individuals, then the two acting in concert, as a husband-and-wife team, provide the Ihanzu with their true “institutionalized nightmare”.’489 There is often an intimate relationship between witches and water, thereby linking witchcraft to wealth and the agricultural season: ‘During the bygone era of agricultural self-sufficiency, water was the source of people’s livelihood, prosperity and wealth. Hence, throughout southern Africa, water is associated with money ... Like water, money sustained life. But money also caused death. People drowned in rivers, were struck by lightning that accompanied rain, and could be murdered for money.’490 However, if traditional witchcraft was, and still is, related to agricultural harvests, these have also been the springboard for new types of witchcraft associated with other wealth-generating possibilities and activities. Moreover, its extension to these new and different forms of wealth has been accompanied by an intensification of the means used in witchcraft, including the killing of victims and the use of body parts in medicines.

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Witchcraft of wealth Based on studies in Cameroon, Peter Geschiere has identified a new phenomenon, the emergence of a ‘witchcraft of wealth’. With dramatic fluctuations in cash-crop prices and growing dependence on an uncertain labour market, the new ‘witchcraft of wealth’ offers an explanation for increasing inequalities. This new phenomenon is highly dangerous and out of control. What distinguishes this witchcraft from older forms, which cannibalised their victims to an extent, is its transformation of the victims into ‘zombies’ who work for the person resorting to witchcraft. People are rich precisely because they exploit zombie labour. It is believed the victims’ bodies are stolen from graves and sold to customers. As indicated, such perceptions were prevalent in older cosmologies, but these perceptions have taken on new and more pervasive forms in society. In the past, the type of witchcraft in which witches were believed to eat their victims was associated with chiefs, notables and traders. Today, on the other hand, the new witchcraft has become ‘democratised’ and can apply to anybody. Consequently, it is more widespread and people are more afraid of it.491 ‘Witchcraft offers hidden means to grab power, but at the same time it reflects sharp feelings of importance; it serves especially to hide the sources of power.’492 The reason some get rich is because of the power associated with the ‘witchcraft of wealth’, which provides possibilities to make use of other people at night. It is believed that witches walk around villages in secret visiting houses, eating other’s food, and even sleeping in a person’s bed, before waking early in the morning and leaving the house. The most powerful witches are those believed to be able to enter a house at night, remove the residents from their beds and have them work in their fields all night. When the residents are returned, they are unaware they have been bewitched, the only evidence being exhaustion in the morning as if they had been working the whole night through.493 This witchcraft may take other forms. In Northern Ghana, for instance, it is believed that women who get rich through trade have used witchcraft to transform souls into sellable items such as animals, groundnuts and shea butter. Not only is wealth believed to have been procured through witchcraft, but witchcraft may also occur if one achieves wealth. Young people are afraid of building smart houses for fear of being seen as a ‘show-off’ and consequently susceptible to harm from witches. Similarly, inheriting property and land implies a danger of being bewitched.494

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Capitalism, modernisation and globalisation Many Westerners believe that witchcraft will disappear with modernisation, but this stereotype does not correspond with the empirical reality in many places in Africa.495 Witchcraft goes in tandem with modernisation and globalisation. On one hand, there has been a trend in social sciences that sees the development of witchcraft as a critique of modernism as such. Spirit possession is, in this approach, seen as ‘an embodied critique of colonial, national, or global hegemonies.’496 Even more directly, it is suggested that spirits and the occult make ‘the implicit vampirism of capitalist accumulation and consumption horrifically literal.’497 This assumption has, however, been challenged since witchcraft in practice is not a social mechanism among, for instance, Tanzanian farmers, who actively criticise capitalism and globalisation as a discourse. On the other hand, ‘witchcraft is not merely a metaphor for social change, but acts out social change, and often shapes it.’498 The revitalisation of witchcraft has been seen as a consequence of globalisation and modernity, as Comaroff and Comaroff argue. ‘Witches are modernity’s prototypical malcontents. They provide – like the grotesques of a previous age – disconcertingly full-bodied images of a world in which humans are seen in constant danger of turning into commodities, of losing their life blood to the market and to the destructive desires it evokes.’499 Thus, ‘in many respects, the “traditional” witchcraft discourse does not constitute the opposite of capitalist logic – on the contrary: it can be grafted upon it in unexpected ways.’500 The ‘occult economy’ is defined by the Comaroffs as ‘the deployment of magical means for material ends or ... the conjuring of wealth by resort to inherently mysterious techniques ... These techniques ... often involve the destruction of others and their capacity to create value.’501 People are not against all new goods introduced through the market, in fact, they are enchanted by them – cars, TV-sets, refrigerators, etc. At the same time they are ambivalent about their presence. The new opportunities create both fascination and horror.502 ‘What scholars of the occult in modern Africa are witnessing is a form of cultural adaptation to innovation. The occult is a flexible repertoire of ideas, a cultural mechanism, that can be used by ordinary Africans to come to terms with massive social change and upheaval of unprecedented span and pace,’503 or in the words of Sahlins, with the ‘indigenization of modernity, [people create] their own cultural space in the global scheme of things.’504 As Bogumil Jewsiewicki has pointed out, it is also possible to see witchcraft

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as ‘the strenuous work accomplished by men and woman, ... who are among the most excluded of our world of globalization, to re-think the world in order to figure in it as actors and not as passive victims.’505 Thus, witchcraft does not disappear with modernity, but occult beliefs often ‘resist’ changes and are actively refashioned and adapted to new situations.506 Moore and Sanders say: ‘Witchcraft and the occult in Africa are a set of discourses on morality, sociality and humanity: on human frailty ... Far from being a set of irrational beliefs, they are a form of historical consciousness, a sort of social diagnostics ... that try to explain why the world is the way it is, why it is changing and moving in a particular manner at the moment.’507 Among the Ihanzu, there was previously no tradition of witchcraft involving use of human skin, genitalia or other body parts, but such practices have now become common. This is, Sanders argues, because ‘no one gets something for nothing ... there is nothing at all “free” about the so-called free market. By its very “nature” the market extacts a heavy toll in human lives. Far from being “natural”, “obvious” and “amoral”, as modernity’s mouthpieces insist … the market is laden with ambiguities, uncertainties and profound dilemmas. One’s involvement in it, these days unavoidable, is as dangerous as it is potentially rewarding.’508 With the market economy, there has been increased competition and conflict over limited resources, or at least in new ways. A middle-aged Christian man explained to Sanders: [Witchcraft] is much worse today than ever before ... In the past people wanted only a few things ... Today there are too many things that people want ... Everyone wants to develop ... People become jealous of what others around them have. Maybe that one has a radio and that one doesn’t, but he wants one ... He might be so angry that he bewitches the neighbour and his stupid radio. He might try to knock him down, to cause him to go backwards so that he will not develop. This is why today witchcraft is much worse. It is development itself that brings witchcraft. More development means more witchcraft (my emphasis).509

As a consequence, everyone uses medicine to boost business, or is believed to do so. ‘Across Africa, the occult has always been about controlling the powers of production, reproduction and growth. This is as true for “positive” and theoretically unproblematic occult forces as it is for “negative” ones, like witchcraft, where such control nearly always implies direct predation on others.’510 The reasons for the use of and trade in body parts for occult purposes, even in regions where this was not part of local

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tradition, were explained thus by an elderly Ihanzu woman: ‘Why not? There are no limits to what people will do these days for money.’511

Tradition and modernity – revisited in practice The outcomes of witchcraft may be money or wealth in this life, but the means by which these are acquired are firmly rooted in the ancestors or the other world. Witchcraft works within a religious realm and logic, but this does not mean the problems it solves are religious by nature or that the reasons for using witchcraft lie in religion. Rather, many of the triggers for using witchcraft are secular and arise from other social and political factors, which are nonetheless explained, understood and resolved within the religious sphere. One such political change is villagisation, which ‘created only an alienated, sceptical, demoralized, and uncooperative peasantry for which Tanzania would pay a huge price, both financially and politically.’512 As one informant told Sanders about life after villagisaton and during the socialist period: ‘During the ujamaa we had nothing. Nothing! Even for money you couldn’t get cooking oil or kerosene; some of us had to wear banana leaves because there were no clothes … Our homes, our cattle, our plots, our lives. Everything [was moved]. Those were awful times.’513 Moreover, the suffering continued into the 1980s. Whereas Ujamaa worked on zero-sum premises, in the neoliberal world there are presumably infinite goods and possibilities and personal gains are not at other’s expense.514 With the ujamaa vision, the world was presented as a finite one of interdependence … wherein one person’s or nation’s gain was another’s loss. Wealth production thus required direct predation and was for this reason morally problematic. The neoliberal vision, on the other hand, posits an infinite world of goods in which anyone and everyone can benefit. We only need to try. Within this metaphysics … [i]ndividuals need harm no one to get rich.515

There is nevertheless an important continuity from Ujamaa to neoliberalism. While both promised ‘riches for all, and provided recipes for how to get there … in practice, both have failed.’516 That aside, between these two economic visions there are different moral values ascribed to wealth production. These are mirrored in the understandings of spirit and devil discourses. One understanding echoes the Ujamaa vision: ‘No one gets something for nothing. Wealth does not spring from thin air, but circuitously from elsewhere … One’s person’s gain is another’s loss.’517

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One may therefore argue that the discourses on witchcraft and the understanding of them are not so much a critique of capitalism, modernity, globalisation and neoliberalism, as commonly argued by some anthropologists. Rather, these discourses relate directly to the life-worlds lived and experienced here and now ‘and offer a critique of … the failures of both ujamaa and neoliberalism to make good on their promises.’518 From this perspective, it is possible to ‘… see modernity as something possessed by other people in other places; something experienced briefly in the cities during wage labour, and left behind when returning home … modernity is something that by definition lies beyond their grasp, almost.’519 Traditional things can thus be seen as local and modern things as those coming from neighbouring districts, cities, Europe and beyond.520 This analytical framework – traditional is local and modern is distant – can also be applied to thoughts, ideas and behaviour. In the Ihanzu cultural imagination modernity is, above all, a world of modern material goods. Such modern goods circulate differently than what they call traditional goods. While both modern and traditional goods are reputedly moved through the economy by the unseen powers of witchcraft, the powers that animate traditional transactions can be seen – by diviners and by the zero-sum logic made manifest in such processes.521

A witch may therefore accumulate wealth by consulting a diviner who provides the necessary medicine. However, such wealth comes at a high cost and to obtain riches the person must sacrifice something precious – quite often the possibility to fall pregnant. Thus, richness in livestock or grains is obtained through loss of personal fertility, and childless families with traditional wealth are often believed to be witches.522 Whether the witches steal grain and use corpses or exchange grain and livestock for fertility, the witchcraft discourse of wealth accumulation works within a zero-sum logic and economy. Moreover, regarding traditional wealth, the site of production and consumption is more or less the same, and both diviners and villagers see this. Witches destroy in order to accumulate wealth for themselves.523 When it comes to modern goods, on the one hand, the workings of witches are neither seen by diviners nor do common people understand them. As before, however, witches are believed to destroy, but now they are also destroying without accumulating wealth themselves. Thus, it is believed that witches are against modernity, development and progress. Moreover, as a consequence, many people are afraid of doing business because they believe that their neighbours will not let them enjoy their

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prosperity. On the other hand, it is also believed that businessmen use witchcraft to gain wealth, since nobody can have so much and by seemingly doing so little. This type of witchcraft involves unseen powers, since it impossible to steal something from the locals which they did not have in the first place.524 As one elderly woman explained to Sanders: ‘All those shopkeepers are witches. How else do you think they fill their shops with those things they sell? Witchcraft, of course … I don’t know how they do it – who really knows the work of witches but witches? – but I do know one thing: they didn’t get all those things from me!’525 Implicit in this latter remark is the notion that nobody gets something for nothing, but when the distance is unlimited and the goods seemingly infinite, the world is no longer transparent. As Geschiere remarks: ‘I have tried to explain the modernising capacities of witchcraft discourse in present-day Africa by emphasizing their surprising ambivalence. “Witchcraft” is supposedly used as a leveling force, undermining inequalities in wealth and power, but the same force is often supposed to be indispensable for accumulation of such wealth and power.’526

Rumours or realities? One characteristic of witchcraft is rumours. Other villagers near Burima527 believe it to be the village where most witches and traditional healers exist and where most witchcraft and miracles take place. According to the stories, persons who have sinned or behaved disrespectfully may, for instance, see only the head of a person laughing at them outside the window of their houses. Once, according to another story, a lot of people boarded the village bus at the bus station. After driving three or four kilometres, the bus-driver wanted to collect the fares from the passengers, but nobody was to be seen in the bus, and all the passengers had allegedly disappeared through witchcraft. Witchcraft is used to achieve wealth. This includes achieving larger harvests than otherwise would have been possible and success in business. When there is drought and famine, there is an increase in witchcraft because some people are believed to use ghosts to enhance their prosperity. According to rumour, people come to Burima to procure the medicines that enable them to have other people working for them. This is also possible for farmers with large farms: by using ghosts during the harvests they may reap huge amounts of rice and maize, which they will sell and subsequently become rich. Without using medicine and witchcraft, their harvests would not be as large.

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Witchcraft is physically evident in the village, according to the farmers, and in this regard it resembles theft, in that witches steal property or people’s labour. The milling machine in the village is shut down at night and left ready for the next day, but sometimes the following morning it is out of oil. Then it is known that people have been working as ghosts there throughout the night. People who have others working for them as ghosts are using evil powers. Even if you went to bed at home, you may wake up outside, having slept under a tree. Such incidents may happen in other villages as well, but very seldom. In Burima, however, they are believed to be common. One reason why there is much witchcraft in Burima is that those born with these qualities and capacities live there, and the powers are transferred through the generations. Moreover, a footprint left on a stone by a person walking there long ago, is further proof of the special powers around there. In Burima, body parts of people believed to have been killed for medicines have also been found. The police have suspected healers in this village of participating in albino killings and the making of medicines containing human potions. As a consequence, there is an enormous need for traditional healers in Burima for protection against these malignant forces. The only way to protect oneself from such bad witchcraft is to visit another traditional healer who is more powerful than the others and pay him for medicine. The traditional healer will give instructions on the use of the medicine, for instance, placing it in different spots around the house, which will prevent those who use witchcraft from taking anything or anyone from that household. According to one story, a household in a particular village used medicines as protection against witches. When witches came one night to the house, the counter-witchcraft proved effective, for the witches were rendered immobile in the courtyard the whole night. When the villagers awoke the next morning, they could see who the witches were. They had bare torsos and the rest of their bodies were clad only in old clothes. The witches realised that what they had aimed to do was harmful and evil. Moreover, the anti-witchcraft medicine robbed the witches of the power to move. The household using the counter-witchcraft had, however, the power to return them to their normal condition, and did so. Since the witches were repentant and had not been able to execute their misdeed, no punishments ensued. It was also believed that medicines from Burima are so powerful they can render one invisible and enable one to walk among people without being seen. Thus, there are strong beliefs about the power of witchcraft originating from Burima, including the medicines to procure wealth and good luck in

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the mining industry and other businesses, which practices have also resulted in increased killings of witches (see below). Nevertheless, even if there is a reputed increase in the belief in witchcraft with the advent of modernity and globalisation, witchcraft and its consequences take numerous forms and the apparent increase in the killing of alleged witches is neither a necessary nor inevitable outcome of witchcraft. Thus, before proceeding with further analysis, it is necessary to examine the data and statistics available with regard to witch killings.

Killing of witches As mentioned earlier, according to one statistical survey, 60 per cent of the population in Tanzania is Christian, 36 per cent Muslim and 4 per cent has another or no religion. What is more striking about this survey is that 93 per cent of Tanzanians believe in witchcraft (Christians 94 per cent, Muslims 92 per cent) and traditional African religious beliefs and practices are prevalent among 62 per cent of the population.528 Although one should be cautious about these statistics, they may nevertheless indicate the ubiquity of witchcraft in Tanzania and the prevalence of traditional beliefs even among Christians or Muslims. The figure of 93 per cent regarding belief in witchcraft is remarkable, if accurate, and implies that witchcraft beliefs are far more common in Tanzania than in other countries. Even if the actual percentage is considerably lower, it would seem that witchcraft is widespread. A phenomenon peculiar to the Sukuma in Tanzania has been the intensity of witch killings, although such killings also occur in other regions. Since the 1960s, witch killings have increased significantly in Sukumaland.529 According to Tanner in the 1950s, old men could still remember that before the Germans occupied the country witchcraft was rare.530 Similarly, in the 1960s witchcraft incidents were rare.531 Still, the problem of witchcraft was acknowledged by the British and the territory’s high court produced a table of murder statistics in the mid-1940s (Table 5.1):532 There are, of course, uncertainties about the actual number of witch killings and many killings may not have been reported to the authorities. In any case, even if the actual number was two or five or even ten times higher, it would nevertheless have been modest compared to the rate from the 1970s onwards. In short, there seems to have been a dramatic increase in murders associated with witchcraft. Importantly, statistics in Tanzania are highly unreliable, particularly with regard to witch killings. It is simply impossible to know how many people are killed and the following

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statistics must be used with caution. Moreover, regarding witch killings, there are some serious methodological obstacles. Apart from the fact that the statistics are not published and are to a large extent based on secondor third-hand observations (for example, anonymous police sources largely impossible to check), it is also unclear how witch killings are documented, or what is categorised as ‘witch killing’. Witchcraft may also be used as a local term for violent death and police officers often use it lightly.533 Thus, the actual numbers may be higher or lower than the figures presented. Year

Murder cases

Witch-related

1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943

35 20 39 40 26 41 30 35 56

5 4 4 7 3 5 3 4 11

Table 5.1. Witch related murder cases 1935-1943. The killing of suspected witches became gradually more noticeable in the 1960s and notoriously so by the mid-1970s. By the end of the 1980s, the situation seemed to be out of control and the government instituted the Mongela Commission on witchcraft in 1988 to investigate the phenomenon. The commission’s conclusions were alarming.534 Between 1970 and 1984, 3,693 suspected witches were killed – 1,407 men and 2,286 women (Table 5.2):535 Here it is important to add a comment on the statistics since the number of killed witches is 3693 whereas the number of witch-related cases was 3,333. Mesaki explains: ‘It should be noted that the number of cases does not necessarily match the number of those killed because a single case can lead to several deaths while in other cases no murders occur.’536 Mwanza and Shinyanga regions accounted for no fewer than 2,246 of these witch killings, and in the following period, from 1985-88, a further 826 were killed in Sukumaland, for a total of 3,072 in this area between 1970 and 1988. The statistics on the killings from 1970-84 were broken down on a regional basis by Mesaki (Table 5.3).537

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Year

Cases

Men killed

Women killed

1970 1971 1972 1973 1974 1975 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984

106 181 133 308 216 242 219 189 164 225 220 294 221 324 291

31 50 49 135 74 87 68 94 41 81 116 199 97 144 141

84 133 106 192 156 168 175 131 172 163 119 158 151 212 163

Total

3,333

1,407

2,286

Table 5.2. Witch cases and witch killings 1970-1984. Thus, the killing of witches has mainly been a Sukuma phenomenon and among the 2,246 Sukuma killings, 1,869 were women and 377 were men aged above 15 years, a ratio of 5 to 1. Of the women victims, 62 per cent were 41 and older, that is, post-menopausal. On a monthly average, some 10-12 people were killed for suspected witchcraft among the Sukuma,538 with an average of 160 deaths a year in Mwanza and Shinyanga regions. For Tanzania as whole, there were 246 killings per year on average. From 1984 to 1993 there are no reliable figures for killings of alleged witches. A newspaper reported in 1998 that 325 people had been killed in Shinyanga region from 1996-98: 133 in 1996, 102 in 1997, and 90 between January and October 1998. Another survey conducted by TAMWA (Tanzania Media Women’s Association) revealed that between 1993 and 1998 in Mwanza region alone, 318 elderly people had been killed. According to a police official in Shinyanga region, however, when other innocents who are killed in remote villages are taken into account, murder will be seen to occur more or less daily in Shinyanga and Mwanza regions,539 although not all these deaths are related to witchcraft accusations. A report leaked from the ministry of home affairs, indicated

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that 5,000 people had been lynched between 1994 and 1998 (although all these deaths are not necessarily witch related).540 Region

Cases

Men killed

Women killed

Iringa Kagera Kigoma Mara Mbeya Morogoro Mtwara Mwanza Pwani Ruvuma Singida Shinyanga Tabora

132 82 17 3 13 1 1 1,098 2 4 731 1,022 227

120 77 10 2 13 1 6 269 1 3 675 108 122

16 70 7 1 927 1 1 185 942 133

Total

3,333

1,407

2,286

Table 5.3. Regional statistics of witch killings. Prime Minister Pinda told the parliament in late January 2009 that 2,866 elderly people accused of being witches had been murdered in the past five years, for an average of 573 a year.541 The police in Mwanza reported in February 2009 that more than 2,585 old women had been killed in eight (of 21) mainland regions of Tanzania over the previous five years (Table 5.4).542 Based on these numbers, every third day an old woman accused of being a witch in Mwanza region was killed, and every fourth day in Shinyanga region. The actual number of killings of suspected witches was believed to be higher, because not all such killings are reported to the police. As one respondent from Shinyanga put it: ‘It’s risky to inquire with the police about a relative killed due to witchcraft … because you will be regarded as an accomplice. And they might end up taking your life as well.’543

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Region

Deaths in Five Years prior to February 2009

Average Deaths per Year/Region

Mwanza Shinyanga Tabora Iringa Mbeya Kagera Singida Rukuwa

698 522 508 256 192 186 120 103

140 105 102 52 39 37 24 21

Total (eight districts)

2,585

517

Table 5.4. Witch killings of old women by regions and average deaths per year. The number of witch killings may total more than 1,000 a year. In a newspaper interview in 2005, Simeon Mesaki asserted that in Shinyanga region a minimum of 300 witch killings take place annually, and the total was most likely the same in Mwanza. According to an official who wanted to remain anonymous, ‘the government figures are very low, not accurate. I know a much higher number, and even that is not the full situation.’544 Thus, although precise data are hard to come by, the killing of alleged witches appears to be escalating. Official statistics and statements suggest that in the period 1970-84 an average of 246 people were killed as witches whereas today almost 600 people are killed annually. In each year from 1970 to 1988, an average of 160 persons were murdered in Mwanza and Shinyanga regions whereas this number has now increased to 245. In Tabora region, the annual average has increased from 17 killings to 102. According to Tanzania Human Rights Report 2010, in that year about 50 people were killed in Tanzania because of witchcraft accusations. Although this number is provisional, compared to previous years there has been a significant decrease. However, this list of witch killings is not exhaustive, the report adds, ‘due to the fact that not all incidents of killings related to witchcraft are reported.’545 In 2011, however, the national figures were higher according to the Tanzania Human Rights Report 2011: ‘Between 2005 and 2011, about 3,000 people were lynched to death by fearful neighbours who believed

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them to be witches. This suggests that an average of 500 elderly people, old women … in particular [are] killed [on] suspicion of being witches annually all over Tanzania. For instance, 242 people were killed due to witchcraft beliefs in Shinyanga alone from January 2010 to June 2011 … [P]olice statistics [also show] the growing trend of killings due to witchcraft beliefs from 579 in 2010 to 642 in 2011.’546 The discrepancy between the numbers given in the 2010 report and the 2011 report was explained by new data provided by the police. In the Tanzania Human Rights Report 2012 it is reported that 630 persons were killed as alleged witches.547 According to a senior government official in Mwanza district, the actual killing of witches may be decreasing, but he was not sure since he claimed he had no statistics. He stressed that the government works hard to eliminate witch killings, and official representatives are also travelling the district holding community and village meetings, which are reported in the media and newspapers. The number of traditional healers has, however, increased. They offer cheap remedies to the poor who cannot afford going to hospital. The healers may charge Tsh. 500 for their services whereas hospital expenses are much higher. The government advises people who consult healers that they do so at their own risk and counsels them to go to dispensaries, nurseries and medical centres. But as the official pointed out, the government cannot forbid the healers because the people, deprived of affordable medical assistance, will claim ‘you are killing us’. And, as he added, politicians don’t want to harm their prospects of re-election. In sum, despite gaps in official statistics and the shortcomings of other surveys, the conclusion appears to be unequivocal: the killing of accused witches has increased dramatically. Indeed, the witch craze seems to be spiralling out of control, as evidenced by, inter alia, the killing of albinos and the recent trend to kill people for wealth. Thus, my take on witch killings may indeed also be labelled as ‘alarming’. Is there a silent holocaust taking place in Tanzania where hundreds of innocent elderly women are accused of being witches and killed each year? The statistics presented suggest so, although this conclusion has also been challenged. Here I do not agree with Stroeken when he questions the ‘alarming’ number of witch killings. He suggests that anyone claiming the actual number of witch killings is under-reported should contemplate another statistic, the total number of homicides. He compares Mwanza region with California, a state with an approximately similar population density. In California, the homicide rate is 5.28 per 100,000 inhabitants, whereas among the Sukuma it is 2.52. Additionally, the total homicide rate among

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the Sukuma is below the general rate in the West. Thus, he concludes that Western outrage at witch killings is ethnocentric, because the victims do not mirror analogous Western age and gender distributions. 548 Even though Stroeken’s intentions are probably good in that he seeks to challenge the dubious honour attributed to the Sukuma by, for instance, Miguel (see below), the practical effect of his approach is dehumanisation of the victims. The overall homicide rate might be higher in the US, but that rate is hardly representative of other Western countries. Moreover, this line of reasoning is in any case highly problematic. Take Norway as a counter-example. It has 5 million people, more or less the same as the Sukuma population. If 500 or more older women were killed in Norway annually, should this be dismissed on the grounds that the homicide rate in California is higher? Or let’s assume 500 children below the age of five are killed – is it ethnocentrism to address this issue? No, it is humanism. It is precisely because the homicides have a particular age and gender profile that it is absolute necessary to address them. Behind each number there is a murder, and although Stroeken claims that it is the word ‘witch’ that mesmerises Westerners and has ruined the Sukuma reputation,549 this is not necessarily so. The question should be why the homicides display such a clear age and gender profile compared to more evenly distributed Western patterns? After all, without these witch killings, the Sukuma would have a very low homicide rate, a pattern that helps to pinpoint why such killings happen. Moreover, in comparative perspective, the main European witch craze took place over a 300-year period from 1400 onward. During these centuries, there were about 90,000 prosecutions for witchcraft and 45,000 executions.550 This yields about 150 witch killings each year in the whole of Europe. Even if the statistics of 500 or more witch killing among the Sukuma are too high, but perhaps not, less than one-third of the number of killings occurred annually in Europe at the height of its witch craze. And what happens today involves a much smaller area and a much smaller population. The crisis among the Sukuma should not be dismissed as misguided ethnocentrism. It is therefore important to distinguish cultural relativism as an academic method from cultural relativism as a worldview. The former is a way of understanding whereas the latter is a way of acting and passing judgment; the former is a scientific mode of inquiry that avoids dogmatic and authoritarian positivism, while the latter is a culturally relativist morality and nihilistic tragedy.551

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Albino killings and the mining industry Albinos have traditionally been stigmatised and discriminated against in society and there are numerous rumours that albino children have been killed at birth as ‘mercy killings’. In agro-pastoral communities, albino babies have also been placed in the cattle kraal gateway and trampled to death, and those who survived were allowed to live. Births have been reported as stillbirths and albinos have often been called zeruzeru, which is believed to refer to zero, an archaic term for ghost-like creatures, probably referring to the lack of pigment and denial of personhood.552 In the past, giving birth to an albino was seen as a bad luck omen. The whole family was stigmatised. Other villagers were not allowed to marry the albino, but people were also reluctant to marry any other member of that family for fear that their own children could be albinos. Albinos were stigmatised in the same way as people with leprosy. Even a visit by an albino was seen as a bad omen and people refused to eat and share food with them. Today, however, this has in principle changed, and people may marry members of families with albinos. Even so, the lives of albinos have gone from bad to worse. When albinos are born, men often accuse their wives of unfaithfulness with the devil or white people, and there are also widespread beliefs that children born with albinism are punishment for an ancestor’s wrongdoing or for having sex during menstruation.553 The sexual connotations of albinism have taken new form in recent years, the most disturbing being the belief that sex with an albino may cure HIV/AIDS.554 Albino women are even raped because of this belief.555 The recent albino killings in Tanzania began in 2006, but there were also earlier reports. From 2000 to 2009, the number of albinos killed was 68.556 From 2007 to 2009 alone a total of 59 albinos were killed (6 in 2007, 37 in 2008 and 16 in 2009) and 9 were mutilated. In 2010 and 2011, there were no reports of albinos being killed,557 whereas one albino was killed in 2012.558 The killing of albinos among the Sukuma is a recent phenomenon and seemed to ‘come from nowhere.’559 In the 1980s and 1990s, there were rumours that bald people would bring prosperity and as a consequence such people were reported decapitated and their heads used in magic potions. Thus, apart from witch killings, there are indications that people were killed and used for various purposes among the Sukuma, although these practices would also be part of the world of ancestors. Still, the killing of albinos is new. Why albinos and why as part of witchcraft? According to the Tanzanian government, there are about 1.5 million artisanal miners out of a total population of some 40 million, and Mwanza

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and Shinyanga have seen more mineral rushes than other regions.560 The work is dangerous and the miners have no medical insurance, so many of them believe they need powerful witchcraft protection. Moreover, if they have money, there is always the danger it might be stolen. They also believe they need good luck to find the minerals. Thus, there is a double need for witchcraft: protection and good fortune. It is impossible to know which parts of an albino’s body will be used, but often it is the legs from below the knees. It is believed that one cannot start working in the mines without first going to a traditional healer, and success or failure depends on the effectiveness of the medicines. And even if a man has no place or mine where he can start digging, if he has consulted a traditional healer he can start searching anywhere, even outside the mines, and achieve success and riches. The miner does not pay the healer in advance. However, after the miner has struck gold or diamonds, he will return to the traditional healer, who will instruct him on how to use his finds. In many cases, the traditional healer will claim the first find as payment for providing good luck, and the next find of gold or diamonds will belong to the miner. Consequently, many traditional healers are exceedingly rich, at least by local standards. If a miner does not return to the healer with his share, it is believed that all of his haul will magically disappear and the miner will be left with nothing. The witchdoctors (a term often criticised in academia as derogotary, but in some cases perhaps the most accurate) themselves are believed to be central in the myth-making about the alleged power of using albinos. Thus, paradoxically, in the past albinos were stigmatised and excluded from society, and today they are still outside everyday life but their bodies are believed to procure wealth as medical potions in witchcraft. Both perceptions have had devastating effects on albinos’ lives. Some believe the origin of albino killings has its roots in macabre Nigerian movies, which are popular among the miners when they have time off. One police officer allegedly commented that ‘an influx of Nigerian movies, which play up witchcraft, might have something to do with it, along with rising food prices that were making people more desperate.’ According to other Tanzanian policemen, the value of a killed albino, including all four limbs, genitals, ears, nose and tongue, may amount to US$ 75,000.561 Others believe albinos are killed because they are not useful and will not be missed in society, whereas another explanation is the analogy between the rare occurrence of gold and the rare albino charms. How this practice began will most likely remain hidden, but it is undoubtedly propagated by the waganga. Even though nobody

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really knows why and how albino charms work, the belief that they do, keeps such beliefs and practices alive.562 The use of body parts in medicines is based on the belief that it is possible to appropriate another person’s life-force literally through the consumption of that person. It is also believed that the acquired life-power is much greater if the body parts are removed while the victim is still alive.563 This has other implications: ‘The albino fetish has become the most expensive because it is perceived as harnessing spirits that are far more powerful than any plant or animal charm that waganga could otherwise offer.’564 Over the past decade, it is believed that more than 300 people have been murdered in South Africa for their body parts. This number may be much higher and one investigation revealed that more than 250 muti killings took place in the Limpopo province alone in one year.565 Muti murders occur when body parts and organs are taken from the victims, and according to popular beliefs, preferably when they are still alive.566 Referring to the muti practice in Swaziland, Ngubane describes how the murders take place. The parts of the body used for potions or charms are cut out when the victim is alive, so he or she can cry out in pain, and death seems to be by strangulation. The body is not buried but left, often by a river.567 It is believed the victim’s hands are ‘symbols of possession’, eyes provide vision and genitals imply fertility. According to belief, this power is greatest if the body parts are removed while the body is warm, and preferably from children under the age of 12.568 Geita is the main industrial mining area in Tanzania where albino potions are used. However, it is apparently not the main centre for provisioning this kind of witchcraft. Allegedly, one such place is Burima, where, as noted above, other types of witchcraft have also developed and increased. The killings may occur anywhere and the dead albinos are brought to the healers who ordered the murders. One day in Fela village – a neighbouring village to Usagara – some strangers came and asked for the name of the albino living in the village and where his house was. They went to the house, where his mother served them tea and porridge. Later that night when it was dark they returned, but could hardly see anything. They asked after the albino again, and his mother replied he was not there. Not believing her, they struck out blindly at the person they thought was the albino, but it was his mother. After killing her, they cut off her legs and put them in a bag, and fled. Only when they opened the bag did they realise they had killed the wrong person. The albino son survived and is still alive. If an albino killing takes place in a village, all the village leaders are called to the police and interrogated. The government’s determined

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campaigns and the reactions to albino killings seem to have reduced the actual murders, at least temporarily. However, many albinos now live in secluded camps for fear of assault and death, since the beliefs still exist.

Witchcraft in the fishing industry According to villagers in Burima, the use of traditional medicines for any purpose has increased, partly because of the expansion of the mining industry. Using magic and medicines is not restricted to the gold mines, but also in mines where precious stones are found. Consequently, the logic of using albinos has spread to those areas as well. Old women are not killed as alleged witches in the mining industry, only albinos. Moreover, it is widely held that the healers are also responsible for albino killings and the killing of other innocent people for witchcraft purposes. Although no albinos have been killed in Burima, in April 2011 a young child was found dead near the lake and only half the body was recovered. And in November, a woman was almost killed, but survived the injuries inflicted upon her. The perpetrators attacked her and cut open her chest from which they collected blood – almost like draining it from her. Particularly along the shores of Lake Victoria there are many murders for witchcraft, and the fishermen are accused of using the skin, blood or body parts of all types of people in their rituals. In this area, dead people are often found mutilated and dismembered, and often skin, genitalia or limbs are missing. The exact number of people killed is uncertain and there are many rumours. Local communities are well aware of the problem but are able to do very little about the murders and murderers. Often it is impossible to identify the victims and those who find them can do nothing but bury them. It is also difficult for the government and police to follow up, since many of the dead come from other areas of Tanzania and are impossible to identify. These are most often poor people searching for jobs, good luck and money in the fishing industry. Among the fishermen, it is believed that parts of dead humans bring good luck and a big catch. If these parts are submerged in the nets, it is believed they will attract the fish and so lead to a rich catch. It is also rumoured that fishermen smear human blood inside their boats and canoes to ensure good luck. Finally, there is the belief that the killings happen in different ways, for instance when the employer of the fishermen or a prominent person decides that human sacrifice is necessary. Such a person usually has many workers, and once out fishing on the lake the crew will kill one of its members. Since the murder will most often take place on the lake, and in many cases nobody else in the local community knows who is

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on board or from where they come, it is difficult to ascertain the extent of these killings and the identities of the victims. Whereas the body parts of albinos are only used for protection and good luck in the mining industry, common people are also murdered and their organs believed to enable any kind of prosperity. Men or women, young or old are murdered for their body parts and blood for medicines. The youngest child killed in Burima was only six. These killings are not restricted to the fishing industry or the lake. Belief in the effectiveness of body parts in potions has escalated and spread to all spheres under the influence of witchcraft. It was repeatedly stressed that these murders and witchcraft practices were not part of tradition or reflect how religion and rituals used to be and should be. The healers were blamed for this change and the development of institutionalised murdering. When healers are approached to provide medicines for help, protection, good luck or wealth, the healer may claim that such medicines need parts of a human body, and he will order the murder. In Burima, the first such murder was in 2004, and was ordered and executed by fishermen living along the shores nearby. The murderers were, however, caught and sentenced to jail. Nevertheless, the employer of the fishermen bribed the magistrate and the perpetrators were released. This infuriated the father of the dead son, an old soldier used to fighting, and he filed a new case in court. The culprits were convicted again, but only got a five year sentence and were released after two. The change in witchcraft practices was keenly felt and some argued traditional types of witchcraft had decreased, while new forms had flourished. Moreover, it was agreed that the new forms were bad and much worse than the old, and represented a negative and dangerous development. The new witchcraft demands human lives and the healers claim they need body parts, and consequently innocent people are killed. Although people were killed in the past, witchcraft was conducted in utmost secrecy in secluded places and therefore seldom occurred, but now it is everywhere and happens all the time. Whereas healers used to come from the village community, nowadays an increasing number of them come from other places, including abroad.

From healers to dealers569 Traditional healers have the power to practise both witchcraft and antiwitchcraft. They are therefore also feared as being dangerous. It is believed their medicine enables people to inflict evil and harm on others

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without being identified and arrested. Particularly after the albino killings began, people believed that the healers were involved in one way or other, and, in fact, were the ones who ordered the murders. Among the villagers, the traditional healers are seen as agents who facilitate the killing of albinos and the sale of potions from their bodies. Nowadays, there are more healers (mganga) than ever, but they are not necessarily seen as benign by villagers. The healers used to stay in remote areas and were few in number, but now they build their houses in public, often along main roads, to attract more customers for their services.

Fig. 5.2. Traditional healer. The Bujora Cultural Center and Sukuma Museum, Kisesa, Tanzania.

Healers are also feared because they use their skills to make money. In the past, their skills were venerated and appreciated because they helped others, but now it is often claimed the mganaga’s only concern is money. Proper healers who cure illness and counter evil are still believed to exist, but many other healers are seen as charlatans who cheat people and cause harm and misery with their witchcraft. In the past, when traditional healers came to a new area, they invited all the elders and informed them of their powers and the kinds of problems they could solve by propitiating the ancestors. The elders would then challenge the healers to prove they had the capacities they claimed.

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Nowadays, healers do not demonstrate their powers to the elders, but they spread information about their presence and powers to villagers, and the rumours about their capacities circulate through gossip, village talk and fear. These healers have little or no support from village leaders, but their alleged capabilities attract people, even though they do not reveal what power they have and what they can do. Traditionally, the healer had an important role in society since he could provide answers and solve problems in the community (Fig. 5.2). Today, many healers are more concerned with earning money than solving problems and securing social stability. Along with the increase in their number and the commercialisation of their practices, space has also been created for charlatans who, among other things, identify witches for money.570 Thus, there has been a transition of the mganga from healer to dealer.571 Today, both identifying and killing witches has become lucrative business.572 Accusations of witchcraft are also used as a strategy to sway the resolution of conflicts over property, land and inheritance. The charlatans actively take part in these dramas and sometimes incite the conflict. Witchcraft has thus become a form of conflict resolution in the absence of formal governmental channels not infested with corruption.573 In Geita district alone there are reportedly some 3,400 practising healers. Nowadays, it is the healers themselves who practise witchcraft. This has caused dissatisfaction among those traditional healers who work according to the law and the terms of their state licences. These traditional healers feel anger towards the witchdoctors for giving their profession a bad reputation and distinguish themselves from these charlatans. Traditional healers use only herbs and plants in their medicines, not organs and body parts.574

Historic use of body parts among the Sukuma Although it is often claimed that the use of body parts in medicines in witchcraft is recent, this is only partly correct. In Tanzania, among the Sukuma in this case, there were practices in the past involving such uses. These were, however, very limited, and it is therefore more correct to say that the recent ritual innovation has accelerated and that certain ritual practices have been incorporated into spheres where previously there were no such traditions. In this sense, current witchcraft practices build on and continue older worldviews and practices, which are reinterpreted and incorporated into other domains. Apart from the killing of witches, there seems to have been another practice of ritual murder among the Sukuma. Cory noted in 1949 the use

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of human excreta or finger nails in medicines, and that ‘war medicines’ were believed to include the flesh of enemies.575 Mesaki (1993) noticed that the ‘gold rush’ in the Sukumaland districts of Geita and Kahama had led, as noted earlier, to the evolution of ritual murders for good luck in the mines. Moreover, there was a belief that in order to win the traditional dance competitions (ngoma), the dance group leader needed magical help and medicines containing human parts.576 Chief Charles Kafipa of Bukumbi chiefdom explained the past traditions of using body parts in medicines and how they worked. The killing of albinos and use of their body parts in medicines is not part of tradition and, indeed, the chief argued strongly that it was against tradition. Such murders are NOT Sukuma culture. Moreover, according to him, those who kill albinos and those who use this type of medicine will not be successful in their endeavours: the rituals and medicine will not work because they are respectively performed and secured in the wrong way. Killing people for medicine is murder and has no ritual effects, and such killings are seen by all as truly horrible. Still, according to the chief, the bodies of chiefs and albinos are very important and powerful traditional medicines if they are properly handled by qualified healers. Albino bodies are only effective as medicines if their owners die naturally and their parts are then used in medicines. The extraordinary power of such medicines derives from the fact that albinos are believed to be composed of something different from other people, on account of their appearance in an otherwise black population. It was believed there is something missing or something extra in their composition. Traditionally, albinos used to be buried beneath the interior mud floors of their homes, with only the nearest family participating in the funeral. Thus, a healer could only get body parts with the consent of family members. The practice was both legal and had superior ritual potential. There were also beliefs that albinos are somehow alive even after death, and it is this that gives the medicines their special power. Today, with cement floors in modern houses, this funeral practice is difficult and albinos are buried in outside graves. This has resulted in the looting of albino body parts from graves. Even where the albino died naturally, such stolen body parts are equally ineffective as medicine because they were taken without the consent of family members. Thus, the agreement of relatives in the provision of body parts for ritual and medical use is necessary if the medicines are to be effective, and the other practices now escalating do not even work as ritual. The bodies of dead chiefs also furnished very powerful ritual medicines. Like a prophet, a chief knows from birth that one day he will

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inherit the chiefdom. This is wisdom transferred and shared by the lineage, and even before the chief is born it is known that one day he will become chief, Kafipa said. When the old chief died and the new chief was installed, he underwent an initiation rite whereby medicines containing body parts of the deceased chief were applied to his body. The dead chief had completed his ritual responsibilities by providing medicines in death that transferred power and legitimacy to the next generation of rulers. In the days leading up to the royal installation, the new chief would sit inside with elders and healers, who would ritually prepare his body with medicines. On the day before the installation, the new chief would order a fire to be lit to bring new hope and prosperity to the community and secure for himself respect and authority. The bones of dead chiefs had strong powers, particularly the bones above the eyes and of the forefinger. Both give authority and the respect of the people. A leader needs charisma and authority to rule and by pointing his finger he could command and demand respect, pointing out wrongdoers as well as right-doers. The pointing finger has a psychological effect akin to a military salute. Similarly, rainmaking rituals when the annual rains come also have a psychological effect on people, creating natural command and respect. This traditional authority has, however, been lost and the former respect has disappeared. In the past, the chief was the most powerful of all healers in the chiefdom. All the other healers had to give their medicines to the chief, and consequently he had more medicines than all of them. These medicines gave the chief authority and power by enabling him to perform his duties, namely being responsible for the wealth and health of his people, healing the land and procuring the life-giving annual rains. Human body parts were also used in making strong war medicines. Roots were mixed with usually very small amounts of the tongue, heart, penis and scrotum of an enemy leader killed in an earlier war and powdered lion gullet, as well as wild bees and big black ants, and the strongest bull was slaughtered and prepared as a meal to be taken together with the medicines. The diviner would address his warriors thus: ‘You have all swallowed the strong medicine which will make you strong as lions, and the ntemi has sprinkled the medicine over your arms which will make them deadly as snake venom.’577 There was also a particular ritual for wealth in the past. If a Sukuma faced bad fortune and wanted to gain riches, he would go to a traditional healer. The healer would identify that there had been a break in his relations with his ancestors and prescribe a special ritual. The healer would

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tell the man that one day a big python would come into his household. He should then give the python a goat, which the snake would swallow. Then the python would stay in the compound awhile digesting its meal. When this was completed, it was of utmost importance to collect the python’s faeces, which had miraculous powers. By selling the faeces, he could earn enough to buy a couple of cattle. Thus, within Sukuma cosmology it has been accepted practice that magical charms can create riches. It has also been suggested that the Sukuma origin myth ‘Masala Kulangwa’, in which the people are swallowed up by a monster, might be a source of the albino killings.578 However, this myth, documented in the 1950s, is no longer recounted.579 Importantly, cross-culturally there are often myths describing killings by gods or mythical figures, but there is hardly a one-to-one correlation between such myths and actual practices: that is why they are myths. Moreover, approaching witchcraft is a challenge for other reasons as well, because what is seen as witchcraft by some may be seen as antiwitchcraft by others.

Witchcraft or anti-witchcraft? In discussing witchcraft – and anti-witchcraft – practices, it is worth referring to two very different historical episodes in Tanzania, the Maji Maji rebellion (1905-07) and the Sungusungu movement, to shed light on different views about what witchcraft, or anti-witchcraft, practices are, and how they operate in practice. First, the Maji Maji rebellion. The German presence was harsh and brutal. In 1898, an 18-year-old schoolgirl from southern Tanzania wrote: ‘Our news is this, that the Germans treat us badly and oppress us much, because it is their will.’580 The Tanzanians ‘hated the rule which was too cruel. It was not because of agriculture, not at all. If it had been good agriculture which had meaning and profit, who would have given himself up to die?’581 It was against this background of suffering that the prophet Kinjikitile arose in 1904. Close to his home at Ngarambe there was a pool in a tributary of the Rufiji River. The spirit Hongo lived there and one day Kinjikitile was possessed by this spirit. The spirit dragged him into the pool at about 9:00 am. His relatives tried to pull him out, but were unable to rescue him. Kinjikitile disappeared into the water and slept there while his relatives remained by the pool overnight. Those who could swim searched in vain for him, and returned saying: ‘If he is dead we will see his body; if he is taken by a beast or by a spirit of the waters we shall see him returned dead or alive.’ The next morning at around the same time,

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Kinjikitile returned unhurt from the pool with his clothes dry and proclaimed that ‘all dead ancestors will come back.’ He continued preaching that all Africans were one and that his medicine – maji or water – was stronger than European weapons or bullets.582 Kinjikitile prepared for war, but told the people not to fight but to await his orders. At Ngarambe, he proclaimed: ‘The Germans will leave. War will start from up-country towards the coast and from the coast into the hinterland. There will definitely be war. But for the time being go and work for him. If he orders you to cultivate cotton or dig his road or to carry his load, do as he requires. Go and remain quiet. When I am ready I will declare war.’ By July 1905, no order had come and people grew increasingly impatient: ‘This mganga said he would declare war against the Germans. Why then is he delaying? When will the Europeans go? After all, we have received the medicine and we are brave men. Why should we wait?’ They continued: ‘How do we start the war? How do we make the Germans angry? Let us go and uproot their cotton so that the war may arise.’ Only a few fields and shoots of cotton were damaged, but the result was, as expected, war.583 There was another spirit named Kolelo, and many among the Zaramo identified Kolelo with Hongo, the spirit that possessed Kinjikitile. In the year 1905 … Kolelo also concerned himself with politics. He clearly decided that there were other needs to satisfy besides famine, and so the xenophobic movement of that year at first simply associated itself closely with Kolelo’s name. Kolelo had forbidden the further payment of taxes to the white foreigners; in mid July a great flood would come and destroy all whites and their followers. Later it was said that the earth would open and swallow them, that no bullets but only water would come from the soldiers’ guns, seven lions would come and destroy the enemy, “be not afraid, Kolelo spares his black children”.584

As the prophecies spread, it was also believed that it was God who had revealed himself. The prophets ‘called themselves hongo, messengers. They carried maji which they administered to the people. They promised unity and invulnerability. They called on all black men to rise against European rule. Theirs’ was revolutionary or more accurately a millennial, message, a promise to rid the world of the evils of witchcraft and European rule,’ Gwassa and Iliffe write. ‘It is likely that the people of Southern Tanzania had heard such millennial teachings before, but only as attacks on witchcraft. Now this religious tradition was mobilized against the Germans.’585

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Although its proponents presented the maji movement as an attack on witchcraft, it was also seen as the opposite. With the spread of the movement, when ‘people [of the Vidunda group] began to fear that they would be called witches and … went to Hongo to receive his medicine,’ the Vidunda Chief Ngwira denounced the movement. ‘All the Jumbes and old men went to Ngwira to tell him that a great witch-doctor Hongo had come to free them from the yoke of the Europeans … Ngwira was very angry when he heard these words for he realised that he was [an] impostor seeking to destroy the country … Hongo must be driven right away … But the Jumbes and old men paid no attention to his wise words.’586 The Germans saw the uprising as a ‘witchcraft conspiracy’. According to the German chief secretary Eduard Haber: The stronghold of witchcraft seems to lie near Ngarambi on the Rufiji. There a family of witchdoctors trains subordinates. They receive water which, as they pass through the land, they sprinkle over the washenzi to make them immune to any mishap and to Europeans’ weapons. Associated with the use of water, it appears, is a revival of a cult of the snake-god Koleo … The witchcraft was undoubtedly able to achieve such resounding success only because the broad mass of the natives believed they had grounds for profound dissatisfaction with the German administration.587

The German colonial official Stollowsky reported that: ‘Nawanga, Ligitire, and many other magicians had obtained from Bokero the water that came from the hot springs near Kibambawe. Bokero was preaching to the people of a great snake-god who lived in the rapids of the Rufiji. The god had told him that a great flood would come, inundating all the land, so that only the summits of the mountains would stand above it.’ Stollowsky further reported that ‘he was also claiming that the magic water, which he was giving the natives on behalf of this god of the black people, would give them special powers to fend off all enemies. It would also have the effect that, should the Europeans or the askaris fire on the natives, water instead of fire would come from their guns. Therefore, the natives no longer needed to pay hut tax or grow cotton or collect rubber; they would lead a happy, free existence.’588 Before the uprising, Stollowsky wanted Bokero arrested because he feared a very dangerous and subversive situation was brewing, but the German district officer Herr Keudel … did not in the least share my now firm conviction … on the contrary, he had himself been in Kibambawe a few days previously, and although his own people had warned him against going to the rapids, he had pitched his tent at that very spot and had struck up an acquaintance with the man who was known to be a magician, ‘a perfectly harmless fellow’. He had even

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In August and September 1905, seven German missionaries were murdered in today’s Tanzania and six mission stations were burnt down as part of the Maji Maji uprising.590 The German reaction was merciless. It is estimated that the 1905-07 Maji Maji rebellion led to the deaths of about 75,000 Africans, mostly from famine and disease.591 It has been generally held that Maji Maji originated with cotton. ‘Men and women were made to work together on government plantations contrary to accepted social practice and under the most harsh conditions. The natives of up-country resented this idea of forced labour even at the pain of war.’592 Even though the cotton schemes may be one explanation for the outbreak, this was not simply a ‘peasant revolt’, in the sense that only peasants pursuing peasant interests were involved. Moreover, although it was directed against early colonial rule and abuses, equal or even greater abuses existed in other areas, where there was smaller-scale social unrest. Therefore, these factors do not fully explain why there was a major rebellion. Any explanation must also take into account the organisational dimension.593 It has also been suggested that the primary documentation regarding the uprising and the importance of water have been coloured by German biases and other uprisings. The sole emphasis on water is not strictly an African perspective, since in Africa medicines to protect fields and farms most often comprise a mixture of water and grain. The Europeans may, Sunseri suggests, have elevated the power of water in light of Christian perceptions as well as other resistance traditions around the world, even though Africans told them that non-water medicines were also used in the rebellion. The Boxer rebels in China, which preceded the Maji Maji by a few years, used spirit possession rituals and water to render themselves invulnerable to European weapons. Moreover, the references to the great flood that would destroy all whites bear resemblances to Abrahamic inflections and interpretations, in an area of Islamic influence prior to 1905.594 Apart from a possible German misunderstanding of the role of water in the rebellion, it is no wonder the Germans perceived this movement as sheer sorcery and witchcraft. And from the perspective of those who rebelled, German and European rule was an evil of witchcraft. In this sense, the Maji-Maji uprising has been seen as an anti-sorcery cult and as part of millenarian movements taking different forms,595 including

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prophetic movements where old beliefs are reshaped in new contexts as advocated by a commissioning agent.596 Still, it is also noteworthy that the Vidunda Chief Ngwira denounced the movement as a type of witchcraft and its proponent as an impostor seeking to destroy the country. To an extent, Chief Ngwira was right in the latter belief, at least temporarily in terms of the fatalities as the rebellion was crushed. Also important is the fact that the very same ways of using magic were seen as anti-witchcraft and as witchcraft practices by different indigenous people. This brings us to another historic example, both highly different and yet within the realm of witchcraft or combating witchcraft. The sungusungu phenomenon arose first among the Sukuma and Nyamwesi people in the early 1980s, and is a form of village vigilantism in response to banditry and cattle theft and the failure of the police to control these crimes.597 After the war with Uganda, ex-militants raided cattle, and the sungusungu brought this plague to an end as well as significantly reducing other crimes in rural areas. The sungusungu movement also prohibited witchcraft, and participated in killing witches. In the process of identifying offenders, not only the witches but also diviners were often at work.598 Thus, what is witchcraft and what is anti-witchcraft is separated by a narrow line, and to some extent the distinction is in the eye of the beholder, although the consequences of one designation as opposed to the other may be radically different for the parties. The reason is that the same logic is involved in both processes. Moreover, many of the actors, such as the diviners, are involved on both sides of the table, both identifying witches and proposing a solution to eradicate the problem. Still, why witchcraft exists and seemingly increases is yet another question. From a religious point of view, it is possible to explain the logic and the ways in which witchcraft functions. But this religious understanding is situated in a social context, thus drawing our attention to the daily world, with its myriad challenges, within which witchcraft operates.

Economic explanations for increased witch killings An understanding of why witchcraft seemingly increases has been sought in economics. Although this is a problematic approach, at the outset there is a good reason to frame our understanding through economics. The killing of albinos in the mining industry is within the sphere of economics, as is the ‘witchcraft of wealth’. At a structural level, witchcraft and poverty are related as regards how the world is believed to function. In a religious world, it is possible to control or manipulate the restraining

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factors and create prosperity and opportunities. Ontologically, this works on the same premises as rainmaking: it is possible to intervene in such worldly affairs by otherworldly means, but there will always be different degrees of believed efficiency in terms of the outcomes of the rituals. Still, economic explanations largely fail to explain the rise and development of witchcraft, and in particular the reasons for killing alleged witches. I therefore scrutinise two economic explanations, the first by Wijsen and Tanner and the other by Edward Miguel. According to Wijsen and Tanner, the reasons why two-thirds of all killings of suspected witches and wizards in Tanzania take place among the Sukuma is at the outset difficult to explain. There are no important social differences between the Sukuma and the Nyamwezi, who speak the same language, share the similar political structures and face the same challenges and tensions. Hence, the explanation cannot lie within the shared characteristics of the two ethnic groups. Another explanation is the structural imbalance between men and woman. It is true there is a surplus of older women among the Sukuma who are not incorporated into polygamous marriage structures, but this is the case in other parts of Tanzania as well. One might suggest that older women among the Sukuma are more vulnerable to rapid social changes and, as a consequence, more likely to react with remarks and abuse of a sort that lead to accusations of witchcraft. However, other tribal groups with unsupported older woman have not developed such witchcraft campaigns. Moreover, the political changes of 1963, when chieftainship was abolished and later when villagisation took place, occurred throughout Tanzania. The resultant uncertainties and insecurities were thus not unique to the Sukuma. Indeed, chieftainship as an institution had been stronger in other parts of the country than among the Sukuma, suggesting that they would feel its loss less acutely.599 According to Wijsen and Tanner, the only major difference between the Sukuma and other ethnic groups in Tanzania may be the striking increase in the cultivation of cash-crops and the dramatic decline in subsistence food production. This would have had wide social and economic consequences. Land used for subsistence agriculture fell dramatically between 1945 and 1969. In 1960-61, 90,000 tons of cotton was produced, mostly in Usukuma. This rose to 231,000 tons in 1965-66, and 260,000 tons in 1989-90. In 1965, cotton output in the Mwanza district exceeded total output for Tanzania in 1961. This enormous increase generated money and made the Sukuma comparatively better-off than the average Tanzanian, although the farmers’ net income would have fluctuated.600

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Money has been part of Sukuma life for more than a century, but there is a major difference between money gained from subsistence agriculture and cattle, and money gained from cotton. It has always been recognised that those who possess money could not only hide it, but also ‘lie about how much they had … and thus avoid meshing their personal wealth into the needs of their kin and using some of it for popular neighbourhood obligations. In addition those who use their money too conspicuously have always been the objects of envy.’601 With the growth of cash-crop dependency came greater uncertainty. Large sums of money were injected into Sukuma society, but these were unevenly distributed. Although much of the cultivation and harvesting of cotton was done by women, the generated cash would mainly flow into the pockets of older male landholders, who would use it for their own purposes. Wijsen and Tanner say: ‘These women who worked on the cotton fields of their menfolk, who may or may not have been married to them with payment of bridewealth cattle, will have felt less secure anyway with the upheavals in every Sukuma community from villagization which deprived them of much of the land.’602 Thus, the changes may have affected women more than men and they may have been very aware of a social situation in which they were not protected by custom or receiving the equal treatment government propaganda promised them.603 Still, a distinctive Sukuma cotton-based agriculture does not explain why the seeming increase in witch killings took place among this particular group. Uneven economic distribution does not convincingly explain the underlying mechanisms, which are deeply rooted in religion or cosmology. Miguel (2005) has proposed an even closer correlation between economy and witch killings. Based on data from the Meatu district in Shinyanga region, his thesis is that extreme rainfall shocks and killings are linked. The majority of killings took place in the ‘hungry season’, the six months from February to July. The food from the previous harvest was generally depleted by February and households faced a most challenging time until the harvest in July or August, when food would be more plentiful, provided there had been sufficient rains. According to Miguel, the killings took place in the pre-harvest/harvest period when the rainfall shock for the next season was realised and there was little food left from the previous harvest. Many of the killings occurred in June and July and immediately after the harvest there was a sharp decline in murders. In a ‘forward-looking’ perspective, this may be explained by anticipation of the forthcoming food shortage, when households know how much food they will have from the harvest that is going to fail in various degrees. There were comparatively fewer killings from January-April, even after a bad

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harvest, and nearly half the killings took place from May to July in years with bad or little rain. One main reason for killing when the rain fails is, according to Miguel, that households have to calculate and safeguard the nutritional status of all the members of the household unit. Following this logic, it is better to pre-emptively kill or expel a ‘witch’ sooner rather than later.604 Elderly women are seen as more unproductive and with fewer prospects for future income. Consequently, they are among the first to be sacrificed. Thus, ‘income shocks are a key underlying cause of the murder of elderly women as “witches” in Tanzania: extreme rainfall leads to large income drops and a doubling of witch murders.’605 The main problem with both these explanations, in particular the latter, is that they are not convincing. The approaches are strictly based on economic perspectives and homo economicus. Moreover, elderly women identified as witches are often widows living on the periphery of the village and cultivating their own small plots, and as such hardly resemble Miguel’s unproductive women in households.606 There are also empirical problems. In his analysis of witch killings in the 1970s and 1980s, Mesaki found no significant trend regarding when during the year the killings took place. From 1977 to 1983, the killings occurred in all months, ranging from 61 to 97 deaths. Most killings took place in March (97) and April (94), whereas the month with the fewest killings was December (61). The figures for the months during the harvest were June (66), July (77) and August (88).607 Statistically, there is a slight correlation between rainfall precipitation each October month from 1970-1984 and the killing of witches, but this is not significant enough to warrant conclusive statements.608 Economics cannot explain witch killing, including the failure of harvests due to insufficient rain. However, other explanations may be found within the declining realm of ancestral tradition, of which rainmaking is a part.

The wider effects of the loss of rainmaking on culture and society It has often been pointed out that witchcraft is out of control and running riot – the occult forces are now overpowering traditional defence mechanisms.609 A direct consequence of the neglect of tradition and ancestors, according to some traditional healers, is the increase in the practice of witchcraft. The main problem is the new religions, which are believed to produce witchcraft and indeed bring evil, since they preach that people should not believe in tradition and make sacrifices to the ancestors. All the new religions are destroying tradition, but Islam and in

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particular Catholicism are seen as better, since they allow, in practice but not in theory, the continuation of ancestral propitiation and traditional rituals and beliefs. The new Protestant churches are, on the other hand, more dogmatic and do not allow traditional rituals. Consequently, they are seen as an evil threatening society. Traditionally, the Sukuma had three ways of dealing with witchcraft accusations. First, the neighbourhood council of elders would castigate and warn the suspected witches. Second, witches were ostracised and denied access to, for instance, water and grazing land in the village. Third, the most serious cases were decided by the chief and his court, which in grave cases could sentence the witch to death if the evidence was strong enough.610 These social institutions would have limited and controlled the actual killing of accused witches, a right reserved for the chief and his court. Moreover, tensions and witchcraft allegations would usually have been solved at the village level without progressing so far as to entail the witch being sentenced to death. Without any of these institutions, witches’ lives today are in the hands of individuals in a world of gossip, envy and money. Thus, one area where one most likely will find some answers to the increase in witchcraft is in the changes to customary village institutions, in other words, in changing traditions. A central feature of these institutions was the traditional rituals and the close intimacy with ancestors. Sukuma religious practices are structured around the ancestors, who explained misfortunes and malignance. However, the Sukuma have been moved from different areas and most people do not live in their natal areas. Consequently, the ancestors can no longer explain misfortune, and there is a growing belief in the presence of unrelated spirits. Moreover, the misfortunes of people living in towns or working in mines or the cotton industry are not normally seen as caused by the ancestors, but as a result of the malevolence of people they live among or of other spirits not connected to the ancestors.611 In this sense, time works against tradition: the longer the separation from ancestral practices, the deeper and wider the ontological gulf, and the greater the need for new religious answers. The elders in Usagara who still believe in their old religion claim that everything in the region is being destroyed. Some perceive that there are more evil forces in society today than before. When ancestral tradition was living, traditional healers could contact ancestors and provide medicines or prescribe sacrifices to neutralise the malignance or please the ancestors. Moreover, the perceived increase in malignant forces in society is seen as stemming from the new religions. As they said, when people are praying to God in churches it is impossible to know if they are doing so for good

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or bad things. Thus, when people pray without using medicines, it is witchcraft. Even with the erosion of tradition by globalisation and modernisation, traditional beliefs are still omnipresent but take new forms: there seems to have been a change from the world of ancestors to a world of witchcraft. Thus, because rainmaking has disappeared as an institution, there are broadly two perceptions, depending on which religious system people adhere to. On one hand, the world of the dead and the ancestors is as alive as it has ever been, but people are unable to approach the ancestors as they used to, or at least many do not. Consequently, they have to face the negative repercussions of the broken relationship without the possibility of benefiting from the powers of the ancestors. Witchcraft becomes a plausible alternative and in many cases the only one, or so it is believed. On the other hand, with modernisation, globalisation and Christianity, it is no longer believed the ancestors control the weather and can, with the proper propitiation and sacrifice, address personal misfortunes.

Fig. 5.3. Dried water pond during the drought in 2011.

Yet accidents, misfortunes and droughts always occur. When such things happen and they cannot be seen as malignance caused by ancestors, they are easily perceived as being caused by witches. Hence, the negative forces are no longer part of a cosmological whole but are integrated into

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the world of witchcraft. Traditional propitiation of ancestors had a stabilising role because it could both explain and solve misfortune. Without this religious tradition, malignance and misfortune have been transferred to the world of witchcraft and interpreted accordingly. This brings us back to religion and how it works. If witchcraft is fundamentally believed to work, then the explanation of why it takes place should most fruitfully be sought in the realm of religion, widely and loosely defined. To quote Richard Gombrich again, ‘… the new ideas will seem cogent and may gain acceptance if they seem to offer solutions better than those already available to current problems … That religion offers solutions to a problem does not mean that that problem is necessarily religious in character or would not admit of a quite non-religious solution.’612 Why and how can religion offer solutions to problems that are fundamentally not religious in character, for instance a water pond that has dried during a period of drought – water essential for the survival of the cattle (Fig. 5.3)?

CHAPTER SIX RELIGIONS AT WORK

Then God said, ‘Let the waters abound with an abundance of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the face of the firmament of the heavens’. So God created great sea creatures and every living thing that moves, with which the waters abounded, according to their kind, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth’. So the evening and the morning were the fifth day. —Genesis 1:20-23 Magic is the domain of pure production, ex nihilo. With words and gestures it does what techniques achieve by labour … Magic works in the same way as do our techniques, crafts, medicine, chemistry, industry, etc. Magic is essentially the art of doing things … a magician does nothing, or almost nothing, but makes everyone believe that he is doing everything … [it is] an opus operatum from the magician’s point of view. —Marcel Mauss 613

Religions work. In the face of new challenges, new religious traditions have emerged wherein ‘Africans have developed strands of reasoning that seek to explain and provide solutions to the confrontation with global systems and the feelings of exclusion that commonly result from such an experience.’614 As previously discussed, this should not be seen as an adaptive mechanism in an ecological perspective. That said, many of the problems the Sukuma face in agriculture are indeed ecological in nature. As Tanner remarked in 1967, ‘the Sukuma live in a state of almost permanent agricultural crisis. The soils of Usukuma are not particularly fertile, surface water is inadequate for most of the year, and the rainfall is irregular … in its gross fall [and] its distribution.’615 Still, even if religion through rituals may be believed to solve such worldly matters as failing rain or other disasters and evil, the outcome is not certain. In magic, medicines and potions establish links to the ancestors and their solutions, but, as with other religious practices, one can never be sure if ‘accesses’

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will be achieved.616 This is similar to Christian prayers: God may hear the prayers, but not respond to the entreaties embedded in them. But there are also differences among rainmaking, witchcraft and Christianity as religions or knowledge systems, and also in the ways in which they are believed to work. What are the various means by which people expect to secure divine results and positive outcomes of one sort or another?

Ritual causes The literature on ritual is extensive,617 including the relationship between ritual and sacrifice.618 However, the emphasis here will not be on these ritual theories, but on how and by what means religions work. Bruce Trigger distinguishes between transcendental religions such as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam and cosmogonic religions. In the former ‘the omnipotence of a single god renders that god’s existence totally independent of his creation, [and] sacrifice becomes merely a token of individual and collective human gratitude for the deity’s favours.’619 ‘Cosmogony’ is derived from two Greek words, kosmos and genesis. Kosmos refers to the order of the universe and/or the universe as order and genesis to the process of coming into being.620 Importantly, individual deities in cosmogonic religions are generally viewed as dependent on humans and supported by humans through sacrifices. In short, humans and gods depend on each other.621 This has salience for the types of rites being conducted, specifically sacrifice or prayer, the two fundamental acts of worship. Broadly speaking, sacrifice is more common in cosmogonic religions and prayer in transcendental religions, although both types of worship may occur in both religious types.622 In discussions of the relationship between sacrifice and ritual, sacrifice has been seen as ‘too much of a ragbag of elements.’623 Ritual, on the other hand, is more suitable since it has never been claimed that all rituals share the same fundamental meaning. Hence, the concept of ritual is wider than that of sacrifice, and by reviewing the former it is possible to search for how and when ritual action arises.624 Theologian Martin Modéus argues that there is always a situation that creates circumstances that are seen by some to be such as to trigger the need to conduct a ritual. These circumstances and reasons vary, but there is always a situation involved. Modéus therefore argues that ritual as a phenomenon should ‘not be understood primarily in itself, but as a function of a distinct kind of situation. This special situation will be called causa of the ritual.’625 This insight enables the analysis to turn from what the difference is between a ritual and a non-ritual act and to focus on what

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distinguished those situations that give rise to a ritual from ordinary situations.‘I consider ritualization as the process in which actions or reactions to specific situations make them distinct from ordinary situations … Every ritual performance is an act of ritualization that grows out of a situation, a causa.’626 Every ritual performance is new, even though old symbols and established rules are employed. It is not possible to perform ‘old’ rituals because the dynamic of ritualisation is always present, and hence the focus should be on the situations and circumstances that trigger the need to conduct rituals.627 Modéus elaborates: If ritualization then is an activity, not an institution, we must ask: what is the specific nature of the situation that makes ritualization appropriate? ... I will … use the term causa to distinguish a situation which is so ambiguous, important or problematic that it needs to be treated in a ritual way. By causa I wish to denote those circumstances, changes or events of nature or culture that are the ultimate reasons making the performances of the ritual desirable or necessary. The causa is the very situation that gives birth to the ritual performance, and to such a causa, ritualization should be seen as a reaction in deed, not in ideology.628

Thus, one has to distinguish between 1) the reason for performing the ritual (i.e., the cause), and 2) the meaning of the ritual, which lies in an interpretation of the performance. The cause does not necessarily have any relationship to the ideological or interpretative aspects of the ritual. In Christianity, for instance, it is the birth of a child that is the cause of baptism, not the necessity of salvation.629 Therefore, ‘we should seek at the most simple level of nature or society to find the causa, and not let our theological or intellectual understandings of a ritual obscure the picture. Finding the causa of a ritual is the primary task in ritual analysis, and it is important to see that the ideological content in a ritual often speaks of something completely different.’630 According to Modéus, it is essential to focus on and highlight the reasons (causae) it is necessary to perform a ritual. The main strategy to achieve this is differentiation, which implies that the performances conducted are so eccentric or extravagant that everyone understands the situation is unique and very special. Taboos and rules of sacredness may be used to stress this different situation, and alert people that the ritual situation is beyond normal, everyday life. Another fundamental aspect of ritual is the defining aspect. A definition both describes and creates at the same time, and rituals define social relations and hierarchies.631 The culturally learned definitions of the reasons for and the timing of ritual performance are activated through the performance, not the

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interpretation of symbols. Hence, rituals may ‘work’ even though they may contradict the symbols and the ritual itself. Moreover, agreement on the meaning is not necessary as long as there is simple consensus on the reasons to perform rituals.632 ‘The major point of rituals and symbols is not to communicate a cultural code, shared values or religious information, but, through focusing on the causa, to “trigger” that amount of understanding that is necessary to make that causa experientially real. The symbol or the ritual is a “loudspeaker” for the very situation, and hence the symbolic “meaning” is secondary for its ritual function.’633 Modéus, based upon other classificatory schemes, identifies six causae:634 First, causae of the cycles of nature. The basic cycles are the day, the week, the month, the year and the seasons. ‘When the same solemn performances return year after year, the impression is created on a basic level that the universe does not change.’635 An important point of these rites is ‘to impose cultural schemes on the order of nature.’636 Second, life cycle causae. The life cycle – birth, adolescence, marriage and death637 – comprises events or situations where there is a societal need to redefine and reconstruct social identities. In the coronation rites of a king, there is an obvious constitutive motif, but the causa itself is the death of the old king and birth of the new king. Third, constitutive causae. These are causes that arise in society and necessitate emphasis on an important circumstance or the cohesion of society or a particular group. The need for social stability or change may trigger such rituals. Hence, clustered in this category are ‘causae where the group is the problem itself, not causae where a constitutive motive is at hand as a secondary alternative.’638 Fourth, restitutive causae. The causes here lie in the need to bring back a person or group that for some reason has stepped outside the usual category of classification. Purification rites, rites of personal atonement and rituals to restore, recreate and purify society belong in this category. These causae are both similar to and different from constitutive causes: ‘The constitutive causae have to do with regularities, while restitutive causae ask for a way of dealing with irregularities.’639 Fifth, causae of crisis. The category has similarities with both restitutive causae and those associated with the cycles of nature. However, the causae of crisis arise when there is no way to deal with a problem – serious illness, famine, threat of war – empirically and practically. Sixth, causae of initiation. Although a coronation ceremony is triggered by the death of the old ruler, there are also initiation causae ‘that have to do with the necessity of movement of someone or something from one status to another’, for instance, initiation into a mystery or sect. There

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is also a close resemblance here to constitutive causae, but ‘in the constitutive causa, there is a need for a confirmation of conditions that are already valid. In the causa of initiation, the need is for a redefinition. In the first case, the causa asks for stability, in the second, for change.’640 From this perspective, ‘the main function of symbols in a ritual context is to differentiate and support the triggering of culturally learnt definitions of causae, and not to convey cognitive messages … ritual actors are normally, more or less, ignorant, or at least at variance, concerning the symbolic messages.’641 However, ritual symbols are to a large extent eccentric, and therefore we often assume they have to convey some knowledge, which is regarded as concealed. However, according to Modéus, the opposite is the case: Since ritual symbols frequently are vague, unknown or incomprehensible, their aim in the ritual context is not to be symbolic. The point of the symbol in the ritual context is thus not to communicate knowledge as if it was a text. If the ritual for its function was dependent on symbolic messages, and those were not properly understood by the actors, the ritual would not work.642

Modéus’s point that there are causes which trigger the need for rituals, in this case rainmaking rituals in particular, is worth pursuing. In short, there are reasons rituals are conducted, and the reasons for performing rainmaking rituals belong to category five, causes of crises.

Knowledge transfers and changing practices and beliefs In the late 1950s, everyday ritual and propitiation of ancestors were not seen as necessary, and people could neglect the ancestors for years and only propitiate them in times of crisis.643 ‘The ancestors themselves are very capricious and do not appear ever to complain of neglect in general … rather that they wish to be remembered in some particular way because of something which was done to them during their lives.’644 According to Tanner, ancestral worship was more family matter than political institution and the old institution of status enhancement through feasting was gradually disappearing.645 ‘Although in the past the worship of the ancestors had a very wide field of activity both geographically and socially, it is doubtful if nowadays it has any influence outside the extended family.’646 This was written in 1959. Thus, before tackling the changes happening today, one may dwell briefly on the changes in the past, which prepared the ground for today’s changes and the speed with which they are happening.

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Chaper Six The spirits of the ancestors are less active because they have less to be active about since families are smaller, individuals move more frequently and marry more exogamously as well as becoming more dependent on cash-crop, trading and part-time employment. The family ancestors, the religious force in the recent past working on sedentary tribally endogamous people, are no longer seen as the instruments of socioreligious justice … Even if the Sukuma have been largely freed from this concept of religious justice for which the traditional diviners were the diagnosticians, it has not been replaced by any satisfactory reliance on divinely inspired justice based on either Christianity or Islam. The ancestors have slid into a more general world of spirits who are not by definition related to particular individuals and families. (my emphasis) 647

Another source of social tension is the emergence of new religious cults, such as the Pentecostals, in response to which there has been an increase in traditional and popular practices among the Sukuma. From the 1950s onwards there was an increase in traditional healers among Mwanza, and this process has accelerated.648 ‘It is this individualism which we find significant in the Christian setting. If the Sukuma are individualistic people with increasingly individualistic ideas of property and progress, then religious change has to have an individual appeal,’ Wijsen and Tanner argue.649 Thus, the rapid decline of the Sukuma tradition regarding rainmaking and the ancestors in general is not really a recent process, and has been strongly influenced not only by Christianity and Islam, but also by social and political processes such as colonisation, the Ujamaa policy of villagisation and the later free market liberalisation. Sukuma traditions have always been globalised in the sense that they have been exposed to various external forces that have impacted the knowledge being transferred from generation to generation. However, one reason the knowledge of tradition is disappearing has to be found within the tradition itself, or more accurately, the way the knowledge has been transferred across generations. According to Cory, wall-painting was part of initiation rites of the Buyeye, a secret society of snake charmers in Sukumaland. The Sukuma have no compulsory initiation ceremonies into the tribe, but every Sukuma is initiated and joins one or several societies, ranging from those for hunting game, porcupine hunting, snake charming or fighting sorcery by magical means. The initiation rites into the Buyeye lasted about a week and ‘novices being initiated … may see a great deal but not actually learn much.’650 In other words, this was a mystery cult, not an institution actively transferring knowledge as explicit tradition and not all the members were expert medicine men. The paintings were made on the

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walls of the hut where the initiation took place. This hut could be a regular hut in the village or a special hut erected for the purpose. The wall-paintings were customarily erased at the end of the initiation ceremony.651 In one story explaining a wall-painting, a man named Shana wished to become a skilled witchdoctor and requested a member of a secret society of wizards if he could become a pupil. The wizard said that according to the custom, Shana would first have to sacrifice his daughter as an entrance fee into the secret society. Shana agreed and brought his daughter to the witchdoctor, who killed her and used certain of her body parts in medicines. From then on, Shana received many secret medicines from his teacher.652 Even artistic manifestations are similarly treated with secrecy and they also are, or were at least, used in the service of occult ceremonies. Whether they take the form of figurines, wall-paintings, songs or certain dances, they are produced in the first place for an initiated circle alone. Song and dance, by their very nature, were difficult to keep secret forever, but the descriptive arts remained, and still remain, known only to the initiated.653

With regard to these initiation rites, part of the downfall of tradition lies precisely in the fact that knowledge of tradition is only available to those initiated into mystery cults. ‘The secrets of connexion with the supernatural are conveyed only to the expert after his initiation and when he has become possessed by the right spirit; knowledge of these secrets solves for him beyond any doubt the riddle of cause and effect.’654 As a consequence, the knowledge system tends not to reproduce itself by itself and is more liable to vanish. As Barth notes, ‘the force of the rites, as mysteries, depends precisely on how the practice of secrecy moves every form of absolute truth out of reach and places the congregation in a relation to the vital and awful category of the unknowable as the essence of mystery.’655 Consequently, as regards reproduction of tradition, ‘we need to focus on the communicative consequences of events … When different recipients hold different keys, they will learn different things from the event.’656 In his article ‘The Guru and The Conjurer: Transactions in Knowledge and the Shaping of Culture in Southeast Asia and Melanesia’, Barth elaborates on this point with regard to the transfer of knowledge systems. The guru and conjurer do quite different things that have different cumulative effects on how traditions are transmitted. The conjurer initiates his novices into sacred knowledge, not necessarily articulated, but often performed. The novices are supposed to be transformed through participation in the rite

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itself, and as such the knowledge becomes embodied. The guru, on the other hand, teaches, explains, instructs, and elaborates – he shares his knowledge. Moreover, he always needs more or new knowledge to share. Thus, the guru’s knowledge is radically decontextualised and logical, and represents a different way of knowing.657 Rainmaking knowledge does not work this way. It is embodied by the rainmaker and his relations with the ancestors. The only way he can convince villagers is by procuring rain (and religiously, here he is put to an empirical test, in a way that witchcraft and Christianity are not). Rainmaking is therefore highly vulnerable as an institution and belief in a modern and global world. Thus, rather than being surprised that it has largely disappeared in the Mwanza region, one should perhaps rather be surprised that it has continued so long, and even persists in some places. If one reason traditions disappear lies in the everyday communicative situation, this partly explains why rainmaking as a tradition and practice was one of the first to be lost. Apart from the political pressures and the introduction of radio and other mass media that spread news of weather and climate change worldwide, the very way rainmaking was ritualised and transferred through learning and initiation contributed fundamentally to its decline and to the fact that no or few young people today will be schooled in and initiated into rainmaking. The rainmaker learns how to modify weather, if he believes in these powers, whereas villagers only believe in the outcomes – sufficient rains at the right time. Both beliefs are difficult to uphold in today’s modern and global world. Mystery cults are more difficult to perpetuate than world religions, or in Barth’s terms, the guru survives the conjurer. Wijsen and Tanner write that if Sukuma religious practices are viewed in functional terms, ‘the older form could no longer provide the services which it used to … It was archaic … and associated with the dying out of the elderly who tended to stay in the core tribal areas rather than to start life again in towns and immigrant areas which would have faced them with demands and problems more suitable for the young.’658 In the global discourse emphasising change and loss of tradition, one may highlight another aspect, namely demographic patterns. Demography has hardly been incorporated into explanations of why traditions change and disappear, but I think crucial aspects of change are to be found in particular demographic patterns. In Chapter One, the demography of Usagara in 2010 was touched on: 47 per cent belong to the age group 0-18 years and 42 per cent to the 19-44 year age group. Thus, only 11 per cent of the population is older than 45 years. As is common in ethnographic fieldwork, particularly those focused on culture and tradition, I have

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spoken mainly with the elders, that 10 or so per cent of the population which complains that the other 90 per cent is not adhering to traditional practices and beliefs. I have argued that the rate of change influencing all parts of society and culture is now faster than it used to be, including conversions to Christianity. As noted earlier, many claimed that about half the population of Usagara today is Christian. This figure may be more or less, but it was generally acknowledged that the percentage of Christians had increased rapidly even compared to estimates by, for instance, Wijsen and Tanner, who suggested that as recently as 2000 about 5 per cent were Catholics.659 The exact percentage of Christians is not as important as the demographic patterns, which may give some insight into why Christianity accelerates and ancestral tradition declines. If almost half the villagers are less than 18, this means that they were born after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War, or in other words when the ‘current’ globalisation started and spread at a rapid pace. If one includes their parents, those younger than 45, one may readdress the question of tradition. What knowledge do 40-year-old parents transfer to their children? In fact, a 44year-old man or women may already be a grandparent – and all of them are living in the age of globalisation. That affects culture and tradition. In light of this, it is perhaps not the most relevant undertaking to ask 60 to 80-year-old villagers about what they think – traditions have already been transferred and continued, but on new premises. As already indicated, rainmaking started to disappear a long time ago, before the 1950s, and suffered a serious blow with the abolition of chiefdoms in 1963. Thus, the increasing number of Christians and people who are ‘modern’ may rather explain the resistance to returning to tradition than why rainmaking disappeared in the first place. Christianity and being Christian have become tradition. This is the knowledge being transferred from parents and even grandparents now in their forties. They are all part of the globalised world. Thus, demographic patterns may matter more than has previously been realised: they may explain why the changes happen at a seemingly rapid pace, why the point of no return for tradition (specifically rainmaking but also customary ancestral propitiation) was passed long ago, and why Christianity is spreading throughout the continent as never before. And also, why witchcraft is increasing at an unprecedented rate and taking new forms. Demography matters: there are very few elders to convey knowledge of the past, and there are very many young people who are influenced by global impulses and participating in the global world. But first, why cannot the Christian God work as a rain-god to procure rain?

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Christianity and life-giving water – what God does and does not do Water is intrinsic and fundamental to world religions660 including the lifegiving waters in Judaism and Islam,661 river and rain ideologies in Hinduism and Buddhism,662 and what will be stressed here, in Christianity.663 I start by again referring to one old woman I interviewed. She argued strenuously in favour of rainmaking – rainmaking worked and provided prosperity to the community. However, the tradition had been lost, which she sadly regretted, and now all had become Christians. During the drought of 2011, they went to the church and prayed to God for rain and food, but as she said, nothing happened and they left the church more hungry. The clergy are, of course, concerned about the suffering of the starving parishioners, but why does not God provide for his children? Why does God not provide the life-giving rains needed for a good harvest? And why do Christians not blame God for the suffering, since obviously He, being omnipotent, could solve the problem? Why is God exempt from criticism? These questions may seem ludicrous or as verging on blasphemy from a Christian perspective, but they are not so for one important reason. Throughout the history of Christianity, the water-world and the life-giving waters have been very much a godly matter and God has indeed blessed people with the rains and water and punished sinners with the absence of water, or too much water, as with the Deluge (Fig. 6.1).664 Starting with Hebrew-Christian tradition, water has a fundamental place in the Bible and God’s plans and workings for humanity. Water is described as the origin of life. The creation of the living is described in Genesis (2:4-14) thus: These are the generations of the heavens and of the earth when they were created, in the day that the LORD God made the earth and the heavens, And every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field before it grew: for the LORD God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the ground. But there went up a mist from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground … And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed. And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil. And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads. The name of the first is Pison: that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold … And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the

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whole land of Ethiopia. And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth river is Euphrates.

Moreover, water generates prosperity and wealth for humans, and the lifegiving waters are for the welfare of humans and society. This divine aim and gift takes the form of sufficient rain or abundant rivers at the right season; ‘in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness’ (Acts 14:17). The abundance comes in the form of the life-giving rains: ‘And the LORD shall make thee plenteous in goods, in the fruit of thy body, and in the fruit of thy cattle, and in the fruit of thy ground, in the land which the LORD swore unto thy fathers to give thee. The LORD shall open unto thee his good treasure, the heaven to give the rain unto thy land in his season, and to bless all the work of thine hand: and thou shalt lend unto many nations, and thou shalt not borrow’ (Deuteronomy 28:11-12). There are also numerous passages in the Bible describing the lifegiving rain as a link between the divine and human realms, for instance, Isaiah (55:10-11): ‘For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.’ In the Old Testament, rainmaking was the utmost testimony of the powers of the gods. In the battle between the Jews and the Baalworshippers on Mount Carmel (1 Kings 16-45), the ultimate proof regarding which god was superior and indeed the only one was through rainmaking. In the desert, the Baal-worshippers failed, whereas when Elijah prayed and sacrificed, Yahweh let the precious rain fall. Thus, God actively intervened in this world by creating rain and life-giving waters.665 There are numerous other examples regarding how, why and when God created or restrained the waters, or was believed to do so.666 In any event, the world of water and its outcome as food has been a major concern in Christianity. In fact, in the best-known case the water-world was bypassed entirely and the miracles provided food directly: Jesus fed the 5,000 with two fishes and five loaves. Thus, throughout history providing food and alleviating poverty and hunger has been a divine concern. Today, such beliefs are not part of daily Christianity as practised and believed. In church there are prayers, but these do not solve the problems in this world. Christianity does not pretend to solve hunger, famine, evil and destitution in the here and now, the realities that press upon everybody.

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Fig. 6.1. The Deluge and one of God’s interventions in this world with water. Genesis 7:23. From Doré 1880.

Yes, miracles are believed to occur, but these are the exceptions, and humans do not understand how and why they occur at the exact moment they are experienced and believed to take place. Again, God works in mysterious ways. Thus, both in theory and practice, according to both

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biblical descriptions and believed miracles, God can provide the lifegiving waters if he wishes. In the logic of Christianity, however, this is beyond human comprehension and, more importantly, no humble human may ever complain or hold God responsible for human suffering. Not only will such complaints be heresy and involve several deadly sins, but throughout history the very idea of humans challenging God’s authority has been seen as diabolical. Such conduct is the work of the devil. Thus, God is free of responsibility because anyone accusing God of not procuring what humans need is not only opposing God’s (mysterious) plan, but is also in league with the devil. However, this image needs to be nuanced. There are many denominations and communities within Christianity and I would like to highlight some pertinent differences between Catholicism and the Pentecostals. One Catholic father I met in Mwanza stated bluntly that the Pentecostals were a disaster, because through their dogmatic preaching that all traditional beliefs are pagan, they were destroying culture and traditional values. Pastors, in particular from the US, fly in for a short period and only preach the gospel, without any social obligations towards and commitments in the community. According to him, traditional beliefs and folklore are not a threat to Christianity but a resource, and syncretism will persist for a long time. This was evident in the very foundation of the Sukuma Museum, established in 1968 by Father Clement. His aim was to preserve the cultural tradition of the Sukuma but also to include it into Catholicism. When he first came to Sukumaland in the early 1950s, he translated the liturgy and songs into the Sukuma language. Thus, the aim from the beginning was the inclusion of Sukuma tradition into Catholicism. On one hand, this inclusion has obviously resulted in changing traditions, but on the other, the museum is today one of the few institutions preserving the cultural heritage of the Sukuma. In any event, the mere presence of missionaries with their new religion provided the Sukuma with an alternative system of religion where previously there was none. This would have led to a questioning of and perhaps uncertainties about the efficacy of traditional practices.667 However, according to Tanner, ‘it must be admitted that the Church has not adjusted its work to Sukuma crises and where attention is paid to them, it is more likely to be the action of science rather than the comfort and guidance of religion.’668 In other words, if the presence of missionaries has contributed to solving people’s daily miseries and suffering, it has not been through eschatology but through schools, hospitals and new technologies.

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Tanner went on to observe about conversion, ‘there have to be reasons for leaving one set of beliefs and accepting an alternative set, or indeed, trying to practice both sets at once.’669 I will not dwell on why Africans convert to Pentacostalism, but merely repeat an earlier point, namely that Pentecostalism has incorporated some of the forms of the older traditional religion, although with a radical new content. Healing is a crucial aspect of Christianity in modern Tanzania, in particular among Pentecostals, 670 and ‘Africanization, understood as appropriation of Christianity at the grassroots level, has been an integral component of missionary Christianity from the outset.’671 Regarding how God works within Pentecostal Christianity, or at least in the preaching, I draw on two complementary examples. First, two American Pentecostal missionaries I met struggling to convert people to Christianity were frustrated over what they called the lack of self-sacrifice among the Sukuma. One of the missionaries had refused to bless a member of the congregation because he had not paid his weekly dues to the church. According to him, converts had to follow the same principles as they themselves did and make sacrifices to God. The missionaries had paid their air-tickets to Tanzania with their own money, and each week they donated money to the church. According to these missionaries, this person denied the blessing had once given money at the altar, and they concluded he had money, or had to find it somewhere and prioritise God! As they said, what good are the excuses that they have to support their family and not the church when they face God on Doomsday?! This example highlights the emphasis on godly matters and their interaction with worldly concerns. From the Pentecostal missionaries’ perspective, the world hereafter is the sole reference point: what happens after death and the consequences of being judged on Doomsday – heaven or hell? However, these worldly matters, trivial as they may seem to these missionaries, do matter to people. Children need school uniforms and fees have to be paid, the family needs food on the table and medical bills have to be met. In the missionaries’ overall cosmic framework, these are mere excuses. What matters is the big picture and in practice and as a consequence, worldly problems and suffering are too minor to be afforded importance and relevance. Second, the charismatic founder and leader of the successful Pentecostal International Central Gospel Church in Accra, Rev. Mensa Otabil, gave some illuminating insights into the ways God is believed to work in one of his many fire-and-brimstone sermons. While blaming the sad state of affairs on African politicians, he said: ‘But you can’t claim anyone’s money by faith – it’s illegal. If you want to have money, there is

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only one way: work … I prayed to God to prosper, but we have to change economic structures and social structures. If I don’t have that opportunity, I can pray all I want and I’ll still be poor … You can pray all you want, but it won’t help … unless we start looking at the structures of our nations.’672 In other words, you can pray all you want in church for food and money, it will not help: this is not the way God works. He is not uninterested in his children and human suffering, but he has a bigger and more important issue to deal with, the devil, or so it is believed. Both these examples may be understood within the theology and eschatology Pentecostalism has developed. With Pentecostalism, the devil and witches are in much sharper focus than they are in Catholicism: religion has been radicalised and the diabolical accentuated, or at least the devil has achieved a prominent place in the preaching and practices aimed at combating evil. In Pentecostal Christianity, ‘the devil is supposed to operate not only through blood ties linking people to their extended families … and local culture …, but also at the heart of modernity in the sphere of consumption ....’ Thus, ‘the prospect of prosperity is made to depend on deliverance. Occult forces, embodied by the Spirit of Poverty, may block the accumulation of capital … and witchcraft and ancestral spirits may prevent [people] from prospering in life.’673 When Christianity, in particular Pentecostalism, includes the ancestors and witchcraft within the realm of the devil, albeit unintentionally, this has dual implications. On one hand, Pentecostals acknowledge that the ancestors and witches exist and work, in this case diabolically and in malignant form, and consequently they have to be combated by all means. No Christians will deny that the powers of the devil are formidable: in fact he is even challenging God’s divine kingdom and reign. Within the preexisting cosmology, the ancestors and the use of witchcraft were powerfully present, but not as powerfully or evilly as the pure manifestation of Satan in a Christian perspective. Thus, one may argue that Christianity, by incorporating the ancestors and witchcraft into the sphere of evil in the dualistic Christian worldview, has endowed the ancestors and witchcraft with a stronger and more powerful role than they ever had before. Both have become so evil that they are part of the dark forces threatening God and are consequently part of the cosmic battle between God and the devil over the fate of eternity. On the other hand, within this radicalised dualistic worldview, there are various ways the good forces can combat evil.674 Christianity’s prescription is prayers in the church and submitting to the mercy of the almighty God. But in a society long dominated by the ancestors and the

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possibility of employing witchcraft, one logical and highly efficient way of combating witchcraft is by using witchcraft. Within traditional cosmology, Christianity and in particular Pentecostalism is truly seen as witchcraft: one traditional healer went so far as to claim that Christians use witchcraft to establish new churches and communities. Consequently, Pentecostal Christians are seen as witches who, by disrupting tradition, bring harm to society and ghosts that haunt it. Moreover, Pentecostals preach that people should not propitiate the ancestors but pray in the church. And by performing miracles in church through prayers, people believe the religion to be true. From the perspective of non-Christians still believing in tradition, these Pentecostal miracles are truly the fruit of witchcraft, or so many believe. Thus, the situation is apparently the following. On one hand, Christians, especially the Pentecostals, preach and believe that the ecology of this world, with its rain and life-giving waters that are so crucial to successful harvests, is not God’s main focus or interest. This is not because God is powerless or unconcerned about his children – to the contrary – but for reasons hardly knowable by humans, since God works in mysterious ways. However, two explanations often offered are that God’s major battle is cosmic, and involves combating the devil and his disciples, and that the absence of rain, with its subsequent misery, is a penalty inflicted by God upon humans as sinners. In practice though, while God is believed to be almighty and omnipresent, he may also be seen as largely impotent in the face of practical human problems and suffering here and now, whatever His divine plan and priorities. On the other hand, apart from concerns about what happens after death – heaven or hell – this worldly life matters, very much so, for humans. The break with the ancestral tradition and the replacement with Christianity, a religion not claimed to solve human suffering here and now, has caused an ontological vacuum, which has to be filled. Rainmaking is no longer performed and very few believe it still works. Even so, the absence of rain causes failed harvests and famine. With more poverty and human misfortune, suffering and malignance increase, and with urbanisation and development in non-agricultural sectors, the life-worlds and cosmological representations and perceptions of many people are also changing from an agrarian realm focused on rain to other domains. Rainmaking is no longer the most important frame of reference for generating wealth and health. Yet poverty persists and increases. If Christianity admits in theory and certainly in practice that it cannot solve these misfortunes, different means have to be found in other places. After more than a century of attack on ancestral tradition, intimately linked to rainmaking and ‘traditional’ ways

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of living and believing, ancestral tradition itself is no longer what it used to be. It has lost part of its power to solve misfortune and malignance. Although the ancestors are still involved in other ways, it is witchcraft that claims to solve the problems of this world, and here a dual process is at work. Any increase in suffering and hardship for the many and, by the same token, increasing wealth and prosperity for the few, is evidence that witchcraft delivers what it promises. Witchcraft works and is at work: it may promote wealth and poverty, harvest and harm, plenty and scarcity. Although modernisers such as Christians and Muslims often condemn witchcraft as backward and irrational, witchcraft is undoubtedly modern, and healers modernise so people are more ready to access their witchcraftsuppression services.675 Thus, there are other conflicting perceptions at work with regard to witchcraft. ‘Anti-witchcraft movements, rather than being anti-Christian as such, are against the churches as exclusive and powerful institutions with foreign origins which selectively benefit those who are closely allied to them … Such people are often seen to be wealthier than others and in being “good Christians”, turning their backs on what are locally defined as traditional obligations to assist kin and neighbours and to participate in collective activity.’676 Today, one way of understanding witchcraft is therefore within the wider religious context in which it is embedded, Christianity.

Water and witches in Christianity Firth warns against adding ‘our personal dimension to the interpretation of an alien religious ideology, to raise the generalizations to a higher power than the empirical content of material warrants.’677 However, within Christianity the difference between ‘us’ and ‘them’ disappears because of a very basic quality Christianity contains: it is universal in time and space; its premises in the past, today and in the future are the same for all humans, if one believes. This allows for a broader comparative approach. However, before proceeding with how religions work with specifc regard to rainmaking, witchcraft and Christianity, one may take one step back and look at witches in Christianity in history in relation to water and weather modification. Water is an intrinsic and fundamental part of Christian cosmology and eschatology.678 In medieval Europe and beyond, ‘witches’ were people seen by others or themselves as being capable of harm by using magical powers.679 This power was not inherited, but acquired through a voluntary pact with the devil.680 Witches gave their souls to the devil and were inscribed in Satan’s Black Book. By signing this book, a witch renounced baptism, but the pact

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was seen as akin to being initiated into Christ through baptism.681 The most infamous practice of the witch was oscolum infame – the anus kiss. Witches thus embodied evil and stood accused of maleficium, heinous crimes such as orgies, cannibalism and child murder. Evil could thus become a personal property transferable to others (Fig. 6.2).

Fig. 6.2. Osculum infame. After Guazzo in Rodker 1929:35.

In the anthropology of religion, there are four main categories of evil. Moral evil is characterised by the suffering inflicted by one person on another. Metaphysical evil is distinguished by forms of human poverty such as famine and plague inflicted by divinities as punishment for human ignorance and sin. Descriptive evil refers to sinister places haunted by ghosts and harmful spirits.682 Finally, there is diabolical evil, defined by evil as an independent dark force. The devil, intent on destroying the cosmos, is in this category.683 Witches in medieval Christianity were thus perceived as physical, external and embodied forces bent on the destruction of the Kingdom of God and indeed threatening the cosmic order. With Protestantism,

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however, another perception of evil arose. Johnstone argues that the distinguishing feature of Protestant demonology was temptation. This was not new in Christianity, since temptation has been a hallmark of the devil from the outset of Christianity and within Catholicism, but with Protestantism temptation was seen as the only, and most important feature of the devil and his works. Thus, the devil attacked everyone from within. Whereas Catholics generally perceived the devil and his disciples as an external force, for Protestants the inner struggle was the most important, and the Catholics, who did not acknowledge the nature of this diabolical force, were already corrupted by Satan. In other words, for Protestants the Catholics were already infected by Satan, since they knew not whence the evil came or how to confront it.684 These different perceptions also had serious effects regarding the means to protect oneself and fight against the devil. One Protestant preacher proclaimed rhetorically in 1543, do you think ‘the devil will be afraid or flee … from cross making, hurling of holy water, ringing of bells and such other ceremonies when he was not afraid to take Christ himself and cast him on his back and set him on a pinnacle?’685 For Protestants, there were no external means against the devil, only prayer. However, although the witch came to be seen as more diabolical from the medieval era onwards, witches were traditionally associated with weather-making, especially thunderstorms, rain, hail and inflicting snow and frost upon harvests.686 Nevertheless, it was also commonly held that major catastrophes such as floods or famines were God’s penalty for sins. Although it was believed witches could inflict harm on individuals, on a collective scale it was God’s wrath that led to punishment. Even so, individual witches were often held responsible for plagues, storms and fires.687 The underlying belief was that obedience to God’s law and commandments would ensure prosperity, as Weber elaborated in his The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism:688 the elect could be measured in terms of success and accumulation of wealth. Hence, ‘the course of worldly events could … be seen as the working-out of God’s judgements. This was but a refinement of the more basic assumption that the material environment responded to man’s moral behaviour.’689 The relation between witches’ control of weather and God’s collective punishment through natural calamity was described by Brother Francesco Guazzo in his Compendium Maleficarum of 1628: ‘It is most clearly proved by experience that witches can control not only the rain and the hail and the wind, but even the lightning when God permits … but they confessed that they could not injure whomsoever they pleased, but only those whom God had forsaken, that is … those who had fallen from God’s

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grace by mortal sin.’ Guazzo continues, ‘[witches may] cause rivers to stop flowing, and dry up springs, and irrigate the land with fresh springs produced from rocks and stones: they can make the water of a river turn back and flow to its source …’690 He goes on to describe how a witch was able to provide rain at particular spots if the farmers approached her and requested her accordingly. Thus, the history of the relationship between God and witches regarding weather modification is not clear-cut and both forces have intervened in the natural environment. Interestingly, there are several cases where witches are believed to have procured rain and, as such, life, in other words, worked for the betterment of farmers and fields, although the church saw these interventions as diabolical. Penalising humans collectively through various natural calamities was, by contrast, the work of God when humans had sinned and were disobedient. Moreover, witches were perceived differently in Western and Eastern Europe. Whereas witches were mainly seen as in a pact with the devil in the West, in the East witches were first and foremost associated with weather-making. Thus, among Eastern Slavs famines and plagues were seen as the work of witches and in these regions the church looked upon witchcraft more as a relic of paganism than devil worship as such.691 Thus, witches have been seen to be able to inflict harm upon others and modify the weather in one way or another. Although there are many similarities between the witch craze in Europe and the situation in contemporary Tanzania, there are also substantial differences. These will be examined to gain a deeper insight into the rationale behind witchcraft and witch killings. First though, it is worthwhile to examine the logic of magic in context.

Magic and religion One of the most important anthropological contributions to the study of magic is Malinowski’s essay ‘Magic, Science and Religion’.692 In it, he argued that people are practical about using magic, and are concerned about the risks. Consequently they only use magic when faced with exceptional conditions. If today’s risk management is mainly about strategies to reduce misfortune in those areas over which we have some control, we do not have these options in the areas of uncertainty: this is where risk and uncertainty to some extent merge. By including the realm of uncertainty into the realm of risk, it is possible to do something to minimise risk, and this is where witchcraft becomes powerful. Witchcraft promises that it is possible to do something: in fact there are no spheres or realms outside the world of witchcraft. Thus, according to Malinowski,

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magic is generally found where there is a gap in the human understanding and knowledge of certain of the unavoidable problems people must cope with.693 In Thomas’s words, magic is ‘employed unaccompanied to deal with unusual difficulties outside the normal routine.’694 Analytically one may distinguish between why magic is used and how it is believed to work. ‘Magic is essentially mechanistic; it is a manipulation of the external world by techniques and formulae that operate automatically’, Ruth Benedict argues. ‘Although both magic and science are bodies of techniques, they are techniques directed to the manipulation of two incompatible worlds …’,695 referring to the natural and the supernatural worlds. Magical beliefs are not very different from scientific beliefs, ‘but while all science … is always conceived as being positive and experimental, magic is a priori belief … Magic has such authority that a contrary experience does not, on the whole, destroy a person’s belief. In fact, it escapes all control.’696 Failure may even endow the sorcerer with more authority, because it highlights the terrible powers he has to struggle against.697 The ‘magician is a person who, through his gifts, his experiences or through revelation, understands nature and natures; his practice depends on knowledge: It is here that magic most approximates science,’ Marcel Mauss argues.698 Importantly, the magician or healer is believed to produce effects through his personal skills, and religious and magical rites are commonly not performed by the same person. Magical ceremonies are usually performed outside the religious buildings such as churches or mosques. Moreover, religious rites are performed openly and inclusively whereas most magical rites are performed secretly. This isolation and secrecy prompts suspicions about magical rites, which are considered unauthorised and abnormal.699 Thus, ‘a magical rite is any rite which does not play a part in organised cults – it is private, secret, mysterious and approaches the limit of a prohibited rite.’700 Magic does have similarities with organised religion, because ‘magic, by definition, is believed … Magic, like religion, is viewed as a totality; either you believe in it all, or you do not.’701 However, there are also differences. Religions such as Christianity are mainly directed towards the metaphysical and the abstract. By contrast, magic resembles technology in that it has a clear functionality and its outcomes, such as witchcraft, are directly evident in this world. Magic has a practical role here and now and it often promises and provides concrete results. In this sense, magic is not the opposite of religion (miracles do work in the here and now), but ‘magic is as anti-social as … can be, if by “social” we primarily imply obligation and coercion.’702 Another characteristic of magic and witchcraft

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is that it is individualistic. Religion is in most aspects a collective practice, as is evident in church congregations, although each and every individual must face God at Judgment Day. The way in which magic happens is important. In organised, collective religions, the outcomes depend upon the divinities, and devotees cannot control those outcomes. The supremacy of magic in practice and in everyday life lies in its perceived usefulness. Specific outcomes are possible: ‘Magic is the domain of pure production, ex nihilo. With words and gestures it … works in the same way as do our techniques, crafts, medicine, chemistry, industry, etc. Magic is essentially the art of doing things,’ Marcel Mauss argues. However, ‘… a magician does nothing, or almost nothing, but makes everyone believe that he is doing everything.’703 Thus, this process by which rites work – this opus operatum – is the same in church as in magic. The important difference is that whereas in the church this process is exclusively in the domain of God, it is humans who control magic or attempt to do so. This makes magic and witchcraft highly useful and practical: they enable humans to bend cosmic forces and powers to their will. They don’t need to depend on God and his works: witchcraft produces the desired outcomes, whether they be personal gain or other’s loss. Thus, to an extent, humans become like gods, at least regarding practical matters and concerns in the here and now. But this power and potential comes at a price. The dark side of witchcraft is that someone has to pay, in extreme cases in human lives.

Checking the promises: successful religions and ritual practices How is it possible to judge if a rainmaking ritual is successful? Herein lie some of the reasons for a ritual’s continuance or disappearance. Rituals aiming to manipulate the weather are particularly vulnerable to challenge by participants, because there is one external parameter against which the ritual outcome can be measured, the weather itself. Failing rains and the miseries associated with them have been seen as a consequence of neglecting the ancestors and the rainmaking rituals. Nevertheless, rainmaking rituals have not been conducted since the early 1960s, yet the rains have still come, albeit in varying amounts. Logically, the world has functioned quite well even without the ancestors and the annual rainmaking rites, without human and divine intervention. This ecological awareness that the world goes around more or less in the same manner without rituals must have created religious uncertainty

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among ritual participants: does the ritual matter and why continue with it? Although elders and ritual specialists may stress the importance of tradition and controlling the weather through the ancestors, sceptical observers in the village would probably have seen little variation in the erratic rainfall patterns with or without rainmaking rituals. In other words, the rituals did not work, or at least not well enough to secure rain in the right amount at the time it was needed. Rainmaking rituals consequently face a hard reality check: do they deliver what they promise? After more than half a century without rainmaking rituals, the rains are as erratic as ever. With or without rainmakers and rituals, the rains are still unpredictable. The development and spread of witchcraft is difficult or even impossible to ascribe to one factor. Perhaps it is more fruitful to acknowledge witchcraft as a fully fledged religious system, no different from Christianity or Islam, although operating on different terms and premises. The question of why witchcraft is increasing becomes largely irrelevant if rephrased, and it is the missionaries who are asked whether it is good that Christianity is spreading in Africa. Their answer will obviously be that Christianity is the only solution and path for humanity and salvation and that Christianity solves the world’s problems – both in the life hereafter and in this life. But the latter is not necessarily so. The interesting question then becomes why both witchcraft and Christianity increase in Africa? What kinds of solutions do the different religious systems offer, and how do they differ, since some Christians also use witchcraft? The short answer is simple: witchcraft is believed to be more efficient than Christianity. More importantly, witchcraft is believed to work in this world, solving mundane and practical problems here and now and creating health, wealth and prosperity. It is generally agreed that the Christian God, although omnipotent, does not bother about these trivial matters. His ambitions for humanity are beyond that and more important, namely the ultimate destiny of humans in heaven or hell. Still, for poor people without food and water or facing other miseries, the mundane is not trivial, but a matter of life or death. Consequently, these problems have to be solved in one way or another. The Christian God is utterly silent in providing help or solutions and uninvolved in daily life and the miseries of common people. Thus, the parallel religious cosmologies work perfectly well together: one solves the problems of this world and the other the problems of the next or other world. One may therefore say that Christianity has once again created a devil, although not intentionally. By strongly and largely successfully opposing

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ancestral tradition for more than a century, the church has largely undermined this tradition, but has also created a cultural and religious vacuum. But no such vacuums can persist. The miseries and problems the ancestors were believed to resolve continue, indeed, may have become more acute with increased poverty.

Fig. 6.3. Does rainmaking work in the modern world?

Christianity as a religion is basically not designed to solve problems like these, but witchcraft is. Witchcraft can perfectly solve any number of current miseries in a way that no other religions can emulate, or so it is believed. From this perspective, Christianity, missionaries and evangelisation have been highly successful in eradicating ancestral tradition as religious practices, but have largely failed to replace the role of the ancestors with the Christian God: these are basically different entities or divine realms working at different scales within and among humans. God belongs to the other world, and so do the ancestors, but whereas the ancestors, properly propitiated, help the living in their daily lives, God does not intervene in this world among his children: His intervention comes after death at Doomsday. Christianity has therefore created one cosmology but also left a whole cosmology ripe for new invention. Christianity has replaced the role of the ancestors in the world beyond with God, but the role of

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ancestors in this world and their abilities to solve problems for the living have not been displaced. Christianity has successfully diminished the role of the ancestors in this world, but not the logic of how they work. And that logic of causation has proved more durable than the power of the ancestors themselves: this is point of departure for the logic of witchcraft. Intuitively, Christians would probably reject the interpretation that the increase in witchcraft is an unintentional consequence of Christianity, since if there is one thing missionaries have striven to abolish, it is witchcraft. Nevertheless, this interpretation also redirects attention to the overall question of why change does happen. Christians and missionaries cannot of course be blamed for the rise of witchcraft individually, even though some Christians do employ witchcraft in secret. This highlights the obvious fact that witchcraft as a practice is executed by individuals. But individual behaviour and beliefs are situated in social contexts, or what one may call culture, including religion. The question then becomes whether Christianity has actively been part of the process enabling and creating a social space in which witchcraft has developed and flourished? If so, what social and cultural premises for witchcraft has Christianity been instrumental in creating? First and foremost it must be acknowledged that religion exists (from the believers’ point of view), or more precisely, that gods exist, albeit in different guises and on various terms (including saints and ancestors), or is believed to do so, but perhaps more importantly, that religion functions. This premise is shared by Christians and witchcraft practitioners alike. Religions work. So what is it about rainmaking, not necessarily as a tradition and the knowledge of the ancestors, since this logic still operates in witchcraft, but as a practice, that results in the decline of these rites while at the same time witchcraft is seemingly increasing? The short answer is that rainmaking is highly vulnerable to reality check. The strength and superiority of Christianity as a religion is also largely its weakness. To a great extent, Christianity has omitted this world’s problems as a major sphere of activity, and promises of eternal life in grace in the hereafter are difficult to oppose or reject as a good idea. But this idea relates to a stage to come and no reliable reports from heaven exist, although many claim to convey such. Thus, Christianity is largely immune to reality checks about whether it delivers on its promises. That is for the afterlife and the resurrected to evaluate, but if these exist, they probably retain an otherworldly existence, whatever and wherever that might be, without the possibility of complaining or changing their minds – an absurd idea that contradicts the very concept of being in heaven or hell. From our worldly perspective, it is likewise impossible to prove the existence of God and

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heaven – that is a matter of faith and belief. In practical terms, it is impossible to check whether Christianity, or Islam for that matter, deliver what they promise, especially as most daily miseries, suffering and hardship are not blamed on God but rather seen as a consequence of personal sin and misconduct. Rainmaking, on the other hand, is not free from reality check (Fig. 6.3). The outcome of the rituals is concrete and measurable: the presence or absence of rain. Thus, the rainmaker and the chief as propitiators would be challenged if the rain failed. When that happens, with ultimately fatal consequences for society, the rituals and advocates will be open to criticism. The seriousness of the implications of failed rituals will only amplify the critical judgments by laity and ritual participants. They are the ones who ultimately suffer from the consequences of the failure. Moreover, rainmaking is also highly vulnerable to competitive frameworks of understanding that explain erratic rainfall patterns in a more coherent way. Climate change is such a framework. It offers a de-personalised explanation of why and how rain comes or fails, without ascribing blame or responsibility (apart from carbon emissions and so on): it is part of the workings of nature beyond the influence of either God or the ancestors. It is within such a religious logic that witchcraft should perhaps be understood, between Christianity, which does not have to prove its success, and rainmaking, which cannot rationally convince the laity why rains fail. The ancestors may be active and have the powers to control and manipulate weather, but when they do not or the ritual specialists are unable to secure the predicted outcomes, then the reasons to believe that rainmaking rituals function begin to errode and finally disappear. The outcomes of witchcraft are clearly evident, but, more importantly, are judged by other standards and proofs. As with Christianity, the premises about how witchcraft works are largely shaped in another existence, but the results are measurable in the here and now. Some people become extraordinarily rich seemingly by doing nothing, while others become highly successful politically. At the same time, there is increasing poverty, causing sickness, suffering and ultimately death. This is the hardcore evidence within this logic. Thus, on one hand, the outcomes of witchcraft are clearly visible realities in the daily world, but on the other, the hows, whys and by whoms are kept secret and are beyond possibility of corroboration. As a consequence, rumours about who the witches are that inflict evil upon others as well as who is employing witchcraft for personal gain flourish and are widespread. The discrepancy between what can be proved and what cannot makes witchcraft a perfect system for

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explaining everything, and for making everything possible. This is the essence of witchcraft at work in practice. The declining cult of propitiating ancestors may also be understood in this perspective. The way in which ancestors work (rainmaking, for instance), is supposed to be able to solve any kind of problem among people. When the problems persist and even increase, there is again a reality check as to whether the religious actors and factors deliver what they promise. In practice, the ancestors cannot solve everything, despite the repeated insistence of the elders that they can. Witchcraft has, by contrast, yet another advantage. Although the healer in theory and in practice invokes the same ancestors for the outcomes of the rituals and the medicines, the promises for the outcomes are different and work distinctively in other ways. Witchcraft is kept secret and at an individual level, while ancestral rituals are collective, in the sense that they involve the household or clan, and are performed publically, culminating in the rainmaking ritual for the good of the whole community. The outcomes of secret witchcraft rituals operating at a personal level are judged on different terms. In collective and public rituals, the failures are acknowledged and realised, and subsequent failures are hard to explain and ignore in the long run: they create suspicion about whether the rituals work or not. Accidents and misfortunes still happen and here is where witchcraft as a logic and religious system has its supreme force. Whereas in the ancestral cult such misfortune could be explained in terms of the ancestors not solving the problems, a failing that over time could challenge the rationale of such beliefs, in witchcraft there are always others to blame. Somebody else has employed stronger and more effective medicines. Misery and evil, or the successes of others in becoming wealthy and powerful, become the ultimate evidence of why a person’s own medicines and witchcraft did not work. This circular, self-referential evidence is complete, and the only way to break out of this vicious circle is by employing even stronger and more dangerous medicines, ultimately by using human body parts. The very logic of how witchcraft works is also the source of its increase. The consequences of witchcraft can only be combated by employing more witchcraft. Whereas Christianity is immune from criticism about what happens in the other worldly realm, this is where witchcraft has its superiority. Witchcraft can, or at least is believed to, resolve any kind of problem in this world: it is the source of wealth and success and can deprive others of the same riches and resources and ultimately cause their deaths. The outcomes are possible to measure and adjudge in a world where poverty

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increases while some become exceedingly rich. The precise ways in which witchcraft works are impossible to know, but the mere fact that someone somehow has gained immense wealth whereas others suffer more and even die, is all the evidence needed for acknowledging that witchcraft works, and is at work. The burden of evidence in Christianity, where it is strictly impossible to prove the existence or effectiveness in this world of the Christian God, favours the spread of witchcraft. Witchcraft also works in mysterious, albeit more mystical and magical, ways. Although there are many unknowns, witchcraft is still more tangible both as regards how and why the rituals work and the outcomes of the rituals. The healer makes medicines, using whatever ingredients, which may include human body parts; he propitiates and incorporates the ancestors, the other worldly realm well known in the community’s culture; and the client physically employs the medicines either by ingestion, or applied to the body or sprinkled. The materiality of witchcraft and its operation on existing cultural premises and horizons of understanding strengthens the beliefs. Everything is here and now – from the healers and his medicines to the partaker and his problems.

The works of religion revisited - why kill witches? Stroeken has posed the question ‘When is murder, as an alternative to ritual, most likely?’ He continues: ‘Ritual fails to work if the experiential frame of intrusion is institutionalized, as it is by the Church and State,’704 and, ‘Divination is a ritual with therapeutic effects for participants. Prohibiting divination will more likely increase witch killings … Mildly put, it is risky to intervene in people’s framing of experience.’705 Thus, Stroeken here points to the consequences of changing traditions and the replacement of the ancestral cult with the church or with political changes instituted by the state. When deeply embedded cultural practices and structures in society and cosmology about how to deal with witchcraft are altered, there may be serious consequences. Witchcraft was resolved by the council of the elders or in the healer’s courtyard, and only rarely was a witch killed. If witch killing is not the Sukuma way, why does it happen? And why seemingly is there a rapid increase in these practices? Answering these questions is difficult and what I put forward here are merely tentative suggestions. As noted, economic or political circumstances are neither a necessary nor sufficient reason in explaining witch killings. After all, in the end killing a person is plain murder. Those who otherwise oppose murders as heinous crimes on human, social and

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moral grounds, nevertheless participate in them directly or indirectly by using medicines and potions containing human relics. How is this possible? Although I put forward some tentative explanations about why this happens, these suggestions also help to explain why coming up with solutions and practices to put an end to witch killings is difficult. I suggest that one has to understand witch killings within the sphere of religion or in terms of religious rationales and beliefs. Thus, unlike Stroeken when he asks when killing is most likely an alternative to ritual, I argue that witch killings are still very much within the realm of ritual and religion, but that they operate on very different premises and take new and other forms. Stroeken is right to say that the killing of witches is not the prescribed way among the Sukuma. However, this is within the traditional mode of dealing with witchcraft. As I have attempted to show, tradition as knowledge systems and the social constitution of society has largely deteriorated and, to an extent, disappeared. The uprooting of tradition has caused deep and devastating changes in society. The ancestors do not work in the same way as they used to. Christianity and, partly, Islam have altered the cosmological worldview and, perhaps more importantly in practice, how the world works. Modernisation, globalisation and capitalism have also fundamentally changed and structured society in new ways. Still, the basic argument is that religion works. This premise has not changed, even if many of the other premises and structures have. This simple, but fundamental, premise that religion works, may have both empirical and theoretical implications. As previously discussed, in the religious or divine realms, premises and perceptions do not necessarily change or work on a different rational basis, but the evidence regarding what is ‘truth’ may not correspond to what constitutes ‘truth’ in mundane matters. These realms are about belief. Obeyesekere has pointed out this paradox. Although a ritual specialist may be an excellent performer, even the best informed may not know the meaning of the texts he presents in a scriptural tradition or the meaning of the rites and mythologies in oral traditions. The meaning may be hidden from informants, buried in tradition, practice and initiation.706 This implies devotees may not have full knowledge of how and why religion and ritual practices work, but, importantly, within religious realms one does not need to have such knowledge – in fact, it is impossible. This is not the point of religion and not the way religion works. According to Humphrey and Laidlaw: Ritualization does require that people feel that somewhere there are rules telling you what to do and that the question of what is the correct thing to do can be settled by consulting them. It is this commitment to rules, rather than the production of a fixed series or sequence of actions, which is

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Thus, it is the commitment to ritual that matters and the belief that it works. This challenges our interpretations of ritual and religion, as Schutz pointed out in another context: ‘the primary goal of social sciences is to obtain organised knowledge of social reality.’708 However, ‘The constructs of social sciences are … constructs of the second degree, namely constructs of the constructs made by the actors on the social scene, whose behaviour the social scientist has to observe and to explain in accordance with the procedural rules of his science.’709 We may interpret witchcraft or other rituals in terms of social dynamics, but these terms and frames of interpretation are ours and not necessarily the actors’ or the devotees’. Indeed, our interpretations may not mean anything to the informants and there are numerous examples of informants strongly objecting to other’s interpretations and frames of understanding. Here I am on dangerous ground, and some clarifications are called for before proceeding. First, this is an academic book and I make the constructs of ‘the second degree’ in trying to explain the world and the processes I analyse. Neither my terminology nor my interpretations correspond fully with the informants’ views or frame of experience. Second, I am now coming perilously close to arguing along the lines of Eliade by saying that religion can only be understood on religious terms, or of Otto, who held that the numinous is a central aspect of the holy, that is, something that cannot be seen but only experienced, something qualitatively real but beyond the individual.710 Although this may be true from a religious perspective, it is not satisfactory from a scientific or interpretative perspective. And so one comes directly back to the dilemma pointed out by Schutz regarding constructs of the first and second degrees. If the religious experience is first and foremost that, beyond words and human rationality, what good are such explanations in helping to understand religion? Lastly, in empirical ethnography it is always dangerous to challenge informants on the grounds that they do not know what they are doing and knowing. If this were the case, what would be the point of doing ethnography and fieldwork (and where does it leave the interpreter)? One way to overcome these methodological and theoretical challenges is to turn the disadvantages into advantages and start at the most fundamental point of departure. This may sound like a banal and naïve approach, but it is still empirically well founded in not violating

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informants’ worldviews and frames of experience. First, religion, broadly and loosely defined, exists. This includes Christianity and Islam, but also the world of ancestors and witchcraft. Second, religions work. Lastly, although the belief that religion works is the fundamental ontological premise, there are nevertheless many uncertainties about how, why, when and by what means religion works. In Christianity, there are miracles and God works in mysterious ways. Human prayers may or may not be answered, and God may interfere in natural life in ways humans do not request or want, or positively through plentiful rains and harvests, or in many other ways. The ancestors may solve misfortunes and evil, and most often they are believed to do so if the proper sacrifices are made, but they do not act automatically and may also choose not to fulfil descendants’ wishes. And within the realm of magic and witchcraft, outcomes may materialise, but this nobody can take for granted. There is always uncertainty about how the divinities will interact with this world on their own, and there is always uncertainty about how they will react to human approaches, whether through prayer or sacrifice. Thus, this uncertainty may be one approach to understanding the development of witchcraft and rise in witch-killings. Before turning to witchcraft, however, it may be illuminating to examine other examples to see how religions in practice work. All the cases involve water in some way. Basically, when it comes to healing (or magical outcomes – depending upon the terminology and the particular religion), there is most often a shared trans- or supra-religious logic and understanding: If it works for you, it may work for me, even though I adhere to another religion and strictly speaking it should only work for you. But it is better to be safe than sorry, and there is no harm or danger in trying. If it works for me, I am lucky or blessed. If it does not work, it was worth trying in any case because there was a slight chance that it could. Starting with the world religions, high in the Himalayas of Nepal, at 3,800 metres, stands the Muktinath temple.711 This is a holy shrine for both Hindus and Buddhists and the two religions coexist and overlap, and in many cases it is difficult to tell the difference.712 The temple has 108 waterspouts and it is the second most sacred Hindu place in Nepal. The local Tibetan name for Muktinath is Chu-mig-brgya–rtsa, literally ‘hundred-odd springs’ and the waterspouts are associated with 84 Siddha or Great Magicians from the late Indian Buddhist tradition.713 In Muktinath, Hindus and Buddhists may use the same shrines, and similarly, in Bangladesh Muslims may also worship Kali and Ganga.714 Therefore, even though one labels certain monuments as ‘Hindu’ or ‘Buddhist’, neither those terms nor the temples and shrines are necessarily for one

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religion only. In Christianity, the second most visited pilgrimage shrine is Lourdes in France, and annually some 5 million people visit it, including non-Christians and the secular. The sacred waters are believed to cure human sickness, and all around the shrine are crouches and wheelchairs testifying to the miracles that have taken place.715 In Tanzania, the most revealing example of a miracle cure in 2011 involved the priest in Loliondo. Former Pastor Ambilikile Mwasapila ‘Babu’, aged 76, of Loliondo village in Ngorongoro district of Arusha region performed a ‘miracle cure’ that turned Tanzania upside down. After retiring as a Christian priest, he continued his mission and cured people with his special holy water, made from herbs. Rumours of the healing qualities of the priest instantly spread throughout Tanzania and beyond. Charging only Tsh. 500 for a ‘magical cup’ of his medicine, he was believed to be able to cure any disease, including HIV, AIDS, cancer and other terminal conditions. People streamed to his remote village, including former Prime Minister Lowassa (who was criticised in the media for so doing). Tanzanians from all over the country came to the former priest, including those near to death carried from hospitals. The border with Kenya had to be occasionally closed because there were too many foreign pilgrims seeking the ‘Loliondo miraculous drink’. In the village, the queue was reportedly more than 12 kilometres long (Fig. 6.4). People were dying in the queue; there were no sanitary facilities for the thousands lining the road, and the village turned into sewage pit; and along the route to the village prices for food and bottled water spiked astronomically by local standards. And this was all because he was rumoured and believed to have the magical capacity to cure any sickness, and the stories about his miracles multiplied. Even Muslims came to drink his magical medicine, because, as they said, if it works for Christians, it may also work for Muslims.716 This case may be more helpful in understanding the processes of witchcraft than one may at first assume. It clearly shows a religious logic at work: religions work and these works are believed to transcend religious differences. The miracles, if they work, may work irrespective of religion. No matter if one is Christian, Muslim or adhere to traditional African religions, miracles are miracles. If they work for some, they may work for others, and even if they don’t, it doesn’t hurt to try. Importantly, what this case also shows is that the distinctions between witchcraft, ancestors, Christianity or Islam, although important on paper and in scholarly discourses, are not so in practice. The priest himself stressed that the magical cure only worked through faith and the grace of God, but this did not deter all the non-Christians from coming. In practice,

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it was believed that the ‘magical cup’ worked ex opere operata. By drinking the magical cure, one would or could be healed. Perhaps.

Fig. 6.4. The queue on the way to Loliondo, 19 May 2011. Source: SahaJahn/Wikimedia Commons

Thus, the Loliondo case exemplifies two processes at work. On one hand, there is the fundamental and unchangeable premise that religions work, but on the other, there is also the uncertainty that it will work for me even though it works, or is believed to work, for others. Nobody can know for sure without trying. In this sense, the magical cure is like a lottery: if one does not buy a ticket, one is certain not to win; if one buys a ticket, it is uncertain that one will win, but no matter how small the chances, it is worth being part of the game. Witchcraft in practice operates on much the same logic. In using witchcraft for wealth, for instance, nobody can be sure of the outcome. Even among miners in Geita there are uncertainties whether the albino potions really work.717 The only thing one can be sure of is that if one does not use witchcraft (or propitiate the ancestors or worship God in church), there are slim chances of extraordinary reward beyond those expected through work, study, etc. Thus, once witchcraft has started to flourish, it works like a combined lottery and insurance, but for much more serious reasons and with much more serious consequences: it is a way of using the

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occult to reduce the gamble of life in an insecure and unpredictable world. On one hand, in a world of increasing poverty, everyone needs some shortcuts to increased wealth and health. The dream of becoming a millionaire is perhaps universal, but the odds are small. With witchcraft, it is believed one can improve one’s odds, although not determine the outcome. And indeed, as the rumours flourish, they provide concrete and physical evidence of how people have become rich seemingly without doing anything or being worthy of the fortune. The other side of the coin is when it is believed that other’s wealth comes at one’s own expense in some way, or that others may harm one. In these circumstances, it is wise to take precautions, even by occult means. This ‘insurance’ is counter-witchcraft. Again, it is better to be safe than sorry, and in these dark waters of insecurity the ‘new traditional healers’ go fishing. They nurture these beliefs and benefit from the uncertainties and insecurities by spreading rumours of their effectiveness. Thus, explaining why witchcraft increases, based on a religious logic that religions works although nobody can know for sure how, why and when, seems somehow straightforward. People seek refuge in the magical world given the premises that religion works. This is a world in which changing the premises and the outcomes of daily life and affairs is believed to be possible. The church may also promise this, but very rarely in actual practice are the outcomes explicitly evident. The church does not promise a one-to-one relationship between prayer and good health, successful work, prosperous marriage or excellent exam results. Witchcraft does. Whether this happens is another question, but then within this logic there are sufficient ad-hoc explanations legitimising the cosmological system and its effectiveness, even when it fails. Trying to explain why witches are being killed, and at a seemingly accelerating rate, is more difficult, because an increase in witchcraft does not necessarily imply intensified witch killing. Witch killings are not apart from ritual and religion, rather the contrary: it is perhaps within these frames that one can most fruitfully understand this practice. The actual killing takes place outside religion, in the sense that the killings are not ritualised, unlike human sacrifices in temples, for instance. These murders are often perpetrated by gangs of thugs, mere criminals, who in practice are hit-men executing innocent victims. These de-ritualised and externalised murders may also be one reason witch killings increase. When older women or family members are executed, it is most often not family members doing the killing, but thugs paid for by relatives or employed by healers. Similarly, when albinos are killed, it is not the miners themselves killing the victims: they simply buy the powerful

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potions from the healers. Thus, the actual killings are dehumanised: those who order the killings are not the killers, thereby creating a distance between victims and perpetrators. The rationale for killing relatives will also be part of the defense mechanism legitimising the murders in a religious setting or within certain frames of experience and logic. They were witches; they inflicted harm on individuals, families and society; and through their very execution society has reverted to its normal condition. It is only within a religious framework wherein witches are associated with evil, and misfortune and death for others, that this can be rationalised as a moral good. Otherwise it would be plain and simple murder. The same is true of albino killings for potions. Although the killings are perpetrated by thugs, the albino’s body parts are used and prepared in a ritual setting by the healer. Without this ritual manipulation, which involves the ancestors and their powers, the potions would be powerless. Thus, although the killings are not ritualised, the purpose of the killings and the subsequent use of the body parts are within an overall ritual and religious setting. Even so, most villagers see such killing as morally wrong: it is murder and it is not the way Sukuma culture used to or should be. So why is there a seeming intensification of rituals, involving ever higher stakes? In sacrificial theory, it is possible to rank offerings in terms of their value to the sacrifier. This value ultimately depends on the offering’s capacity to symbolise the sacrifier, to replace him sufficiently in the sacrifice. The resulting hierarchy includes the sacrifier’s own body. In fact, if the offering is the symbol of the sacrifier, nothing is a more appropriate symbol of him than parts of his own body (hair, teeth, eyes, etc.). Far more effective than these metonymic symbols of the sacrifier is the supreme metaphoric symbol, the human victim. The human victim has the greatest potency of all offerings, and beyond human sacrifice remains only the sacrifier’s own death. Sacrificing oneself is the logical limit of the sacrificial system and it this sacrifice that gives the system its full meaning. It is precisely the sacrifier’s death that the sacrifice aims to avoid by representing it, and the closest symbolic substitute is the sacrifice of other humans.718 In a cross-cultural perspective, human sacrifice is at the pinnacle of any sacrificial system, but it is difficult to pinpoint the exact reasons for or the cultural patterns behind the prevalence among the Sukuma of human killing within a ritual framework. As with mythological stories of homicide or regicide, it is all too easy to over-interpret the data and contexts, but I will give examples that may reveal some of the logic. Christianity is founded on self-sacrifice. Jesus was crucified and he took

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on human sin. This is the ultimate sacrifice. Simply put, it would not be enough to sacrifice a cow or a goat to achieve eternal grace for humanity. For this purpose, only the sacrifice of Jesus as God’s son sufficed. The Eucharist, with the consumption of Jesus’ blood and body, is an example of incorporating bodily and divine qualities to enable a transfiguration of one’s own body. Without stretching this analogy too far, there are still some perceptions, including data that the Sukuma traditionally used body parts in ritual, that confirm the suggestion in sacrificial theory that the more significant the desired outcome, the more serious the required sacrifice, culminating in human sacrifice. In discussing the elaborate rainmaking rituals involving animal sacrifices, several informants stressed that praying for rain in church is too easy. Such an outcome and gift requires that devotees make an effort. Rainmaking rituals have historically included human sacrifice, as for instance in ancient Egyptian, Mayan and Aztec civilisations.719 However, sacrifices carried out in this manner require a sacred person to consecrate the offerings. The sacrificial victim incarnates the society as a whole and therefore human sacrifices can be made only for the benefit of the collectivity.720 Strictly speaking, the killing of albinos for personal wealth in the mining industry is at odds with this sacrificial theory. Since the empirical data are not wrong and these theories are based on other data, it would appear that something peculiar and particular is going on in Tanzania. From a ‘pure’ logical perspective, human sacrifice is understandable given certain premises regarding how gods and the cosmos are perceived to work. From a human perspective though, it is harder to understand how anyone can believe in such practices, let alone carry them out. As mentioned above, in the whole of Europe there were about 90,000 prosecutions of witches and some 45,000 executions during a 300-year period.721 If the rate of witch killings in Tanzania is 500 per year or more, then there will be more witch killings in Tanzania in only a century than there were during Europe’s much longer witch craze. The estimates may be too high, but even if only 150 witches are killed each year in Tanzania, this is equal to the rate of executions throughout Europe. However, there are important differences between the European witch craze and Tanzania today, though these are more disturbing than comforting with regard to how this phenomenon may end. In Europe, the witch craze was part of Christianity. Although the craze, as the name suggests, ran out of control, it was still part of a legal system within a religious framework. Each suspected witch was tried, and only if she (the witches were mainly women) confessed or was otherwise proven guilty, would she be executed.

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These trials would not, of course, meet today’s standards, and they were often characterised by brutality and the use of torture, swimming and pricking to extract confessions.722 In areas where the Inquisition held sway, The Malleus Maleficarum was used as a manual.723 According to it, torture was the best way to secure a confession since it had the added advantage of breaking the witch’s pact with the devil. Nevertheless, only half of those accused of witchcraft were actually executed after trial. In other words, the trials served a purpose and somehow worked, given the premises of the time. And with changes in Christianity, the Enlightenment and science, all within the institutional sphere of law, church and society, witch killings eventually faded away in Europe, never to recur. The accusations against witches in Europe and Tanzania today bear some similarities. Both societies believed that witches inflict evil and harm, and are able to modify the weather. But here the similarities by and large end. All the factors in play in the ending of the witch craze in Europe are part of official Tanzanian laws and policy. Killing witches is illegal: it is plain murder. Neither the state nor the church authorise or legitimise witch killing. On the contrary, they do what they can to stop it. And unlike the judicial witch killings in Europe, in Tanzania they happen in secret and in the dark with the machete, and often on the basis of rumour. One may truly say that the witch killings in Tanzania are beyond control. Whether they amount to silent genocide is another question, but, even using the lowest estimates, the murders are occurring at a rate unprecedented in history. It is difficult to pinpoint one causative factor, or several, in these murders, but as I have tried to show, at least part of the explanation may be sought in the ways religions work, and here I mean not as the consequence of one religion and its theodicy or theology, but as a consequence of conflicting ontologies.

Conclusion The loss of the rainmaking tradition has had profound impacts on other aspects of culture and cosmology. Rainmaking was intimately linked to the role of ancestors. Although the world of the ancestors still exists, ancestors today have been marginalised and have less influence in worldly matters. The disappearance of rainmaking and decline of the ancestors cannot only be sought in religion. Other social and political factors have had a significant effect: colonisation; independence; the abolition of the chiefdoms and of chiefs as ritual specialists responsible for healing the land and providing the annual rains; villagisation, which uprooted the

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traditional way of living; the growing awareness of the wider world, weather forecasts and climate change through modern communications and mass media; and free market liberalisation and capitalism in the global world. Ancestors and rainmaking do not work in the modern world. And nobody wants to believe in a religion that does not work. Tanzanians are as modern and global as anybody else. This change has not, however, altered the fundamental premise that religion works. Wijsen and Tanner, both jointly and individually, have argued in several publications that the Sukuma are no more religious than anybody else.724 If this means that the Sukuma are not unusually strong believers in cosmology and soteriology, theology and theodicy, and exegesis and eschatology, they are right. But, as they argue, the Sukuma have traditionally been concerned about the ancestors and the life-giving rains. Perhaps the Sukuma rain-making world is one of the simplest and most perfect to have existed: what more do you need if the ancestors provide for the health and well-being of descendants by securing the annual life-giving rains in the right amounts at the right time? You don’t need to approach the ancestors unless there is a need. If the rains are good, society and cosmos work as they are supposed to. When this equilibrium is disturbed for one reason or another, then the ancestors are the ones to be contacted to solve the problem. Why be more religious than that? When religions worked and people and society prospered, there was no need to bother the ancestors, who in any case were commemorated in the annual harvest festivals. Things worked as they should work. In short, the Sukuma were not idolatrous, and had a perhaps unusual approach to religions, divinities or the ancestral world. The Sukuma religion was practical. This does not, however, imply that they were not religious, in the sense that there were supernatural agencies that were believed to have the power to solve problems and misfortunes in this world. To a large extent, these beliefs were also about how the world works. A religious logic is different from a secular logic when it comes to the operative structures at work both in the here and now and, obviously for religious people, in the other world. If the Sukuma are as non-religious as Wijsen and Tanner argue, it is difficult to understand why they are embracing Christianity at such a rate, or why witchcraft flourishes as it does. This, I have argued, can mainly be understood within the framework of working religions. Religions are supposed to work, not in the traditional Christian way that one has to obey and pray each day, or as in Islam, whose devotees have to pray five times a day. Either the gods work or not. And here, perhaps, is where a clue to

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understanding what has happened among the Sukuma is to be found, in particular with regard to witchcraft. If the globalisation process, starting with or before colonisation, including missionary activities, has steadily eroded and destroyed the role and world order of the ancestors among the Sukuma, a replacement has to be found. If Christianity, which is the order of the day, cannot solve current worldly problems, the problems will have to be handled in another way. This is literally tradition, meaning the way knowledge has been transferred through generations for ages: religion is supposed to solve such problems as failing rain, evil and misfortunes, in other words, the everyday problems. After all, this is what matters. Indeed, such problems are a matter of life and death. And after death one becomes an ancestor, one of whose primary roles is solving these very problems. Christianity has thus, unintentionally, created an ontological vacuum. This vacuum has become more marked through other globalisation processes, not least Tanzanian policies from Nyerere onward, including market liberalism, and today’s media exposure to the world. Thus, what we might be seeing here is this, and I emphasise that this is a tentative and perhaps speculative hypothesis. There are three cosmologies or frames of experience at work, and they are only partly commensurable, since ‘commensurability of forms of life is possible although those life-forms are enclosed in larger life-worlds that are different, even incommensurable.’725 First, there is the traditional cosmological understanding of how the world works. This is an agrarian world where everything is dependent upon the life-giving rains and the ancestors provide the rains as well as other benefits. However, this tradition is to a large extent lost and belongs to the past. Second, there is the modern and global world, where subsistence farming is associated with poverty, and every young Tanzanian is as global as anyone else. This world is also a capitalist world in which there is an increasing difference between those who have money, sometimes in overwhelming and vulgar amounts, and those who do not. Everybody can see these differences, but more importantly, they are directly felt on the body, and, of course, money matters more if you don’t have it. Finally, there is Christianity, with promises of a green and prosperous paradise after death, but only if one obeys a rather strict moral regime, especially if you are a Pentecostal. Despite all this, there is still everyday rural life, for most people are and will be farmers, dependent on the rains for their survival and wellbeing. Poverty and deprivation increase and the felt hardships become more pressing. In this real life, death is a major concern, but not

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necessarily life after death. Life is first and foremost about living, it is practical, and daily affairs focus on securing the necessities for being and well-being. None of the three cosmologies or frameworks of experience and existence is well suited to this task. The old rainmaking tradition and the works of the ancestors have by and large disappeared. Capitalism delivers what it promises but only for the few, while the majority live in utmost poverty that only increase. With Christianity, God is almighty and promises an eternal life of divine happiness in heaven after death, but it is rather silent and non-interventionist when it comes to problems and hardships here and now. In practice, the farmers are left on their own on the barren fields when the rains fail. The government may provide some assistance during droughts and famines, but otherwise farmers have to fend for themselves and depend on their families and extended social networks. Although the latter are of fundamental importance, in a world of hardship they are not enough. Turning to witchcraft is one further option. The pervasiveness and escalation of witchcraft may testify to the previous importance of rainmaking and ancestral tradition. With the declining role of ancestors in daily matters, the social and cosmological vacuum has been filled with or replaced by other beliefs and practices. If Sukuma ‘religion’ or cosmology was only concerned with rainmaking – the desired outcome – and the ancestors – the links between this world and the other – then its increasing disappearance would imply that most of the traditional belief system has vanished. This may, at least partly, explain why witchcraft is seemingly flourishing more among the Sukuma than among others in Tanzania and beyond. If the religion had been concerned with broader issues, shrouded in mythology, and characterised by elaborate rituals and rich religious materialities and monuments, one might expect that many of the previous elements would continue, even as some practices disappeared or declined. Or in other words, given different religious premises and practices, Sukuma farmers would not be left standing alone literally, culturally and cosmologically on barren, rainstarved fields after the rainmaking tradition was lost. An ontology and cosmology solely or largely structured around rainmaking has thus created a wider gap in lives and frames of experiences in today’s world than would be the case if the earlier religion had included wider webs of reference to culture, eschatology and soteriology. This focused rainmaking ontology may therefore have been more susceptible to replacement by another, or others, for instance Christianity. However, as noted, the latter ontology is rich in eschatology and soteriology, but does not provide enough answers for problems in the here and now. Witchcraft may fill that gap.

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Thus, the loss of tradition has had deep and unforeseen consequences. Religion is not only about life after death and the outcomes of working ancestors and divinities very much relate to practical, mundane matters – or life in its broadest sense. Rain matters and it is the fundamental element in rain-fed agriculture. Thus, an emphasis on water and religion is not methodological collectivism involving deterministic structures that people adhere to or follow. Rather, by emphasising the importance of rain and life-giving water ‘it is possible to reconstruct, describe, delineate and understand its movement and role in nature and in society and at the same time evade the problems created both by natural or biological determinism and social constructionism.’726 In other words, one can combine methodological collectivism and individualism. Central in this process is how knowledge is transferred through generations. Although religion is commonly perceived as static, in particular because of the eternal and universal character of Christianity, tradition is highly flexible and innovative. On one hand, this is how tradition continues, because it adapts to new conditions and contexts. On the other, given the asymmetry of the global context, such flexibility also represents vulnerability and even possible extinction of knowledge. External or global forces strongly influence which type of knowledge is transferred and seen as relevant to understanding society and the world, including the other worldly realms. Rainmaking no longer belongs to this category of knowledge. The consequences are not merely that a ritual has disappeared. The role of rainmaking and the ancestors represented a deep ontology that constituted the social matrix and cosmos. There have been changes and pressures exerted on Sukuma tradition by Christian missionaries, the colonial administration, Ujamaa and villagisation policies, and finally free market liberalism and development aid. No one could have foreseen how these changes have also had severe unintended consequences for the cultural reconstitution of social lives and cosmologies. Thus, if this study has demonstrated one point, it is that tradition as ontology matters, and that interfering in a society’s ontology is a serious matter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terje Oestigaard (Dr. art) is a senior researcher and the cluster leader of the ‘Rural and Agrarian Change, Property and Resources’ cluster at the Nordic Africa Institute (Uppsala), and docent in archaeology at Uppsala University, Sweden. He has conducted fieldworks in Bangladesh, Egypt, Ethiopia, Greece, India, Jordan, Nepal, Palestine, Tanzania and Uganda. His recent books include A History of Water: Water and Urbanization: Series III, Volume 1 (2014) edited with Terje Tvedt, The Source of the Blue Nile – Water Rituals and Traditions in the Lake Tana Region (2013) together with Gedef Abawa Firew, Water, Christianity and the Rise of Capitalism (2013), and Kremation och kosmologi – en komparativ arkeologisk introduktion (2013) together with Anders Kaliff. His current projects include The source of the While Nile in Uganda and Water Politics in the Nile Basin.

NOTES 1

http://oxforddictionaries.com/definition/tradition (Accessed 28 May 2012) Goody, J. 1987[1993]. Forward. In Barth, F. Cosmologies in the making. A generative approach to cultural variation in inner New Guinea: vii-xi. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. xi. 3 Braudel, F. 1980. On History. Weidenfeld and Nicolson. London, p. 74. 4 Geertz, C. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. HarperCollins Publishers. New York. 5 Goody 1987: xi. 6 Håkansson, T. 1998. Rulers and Rainmakers in Precolonial South Pare, Tanzania: Exchange and Ritual Experts in Political Centralization. Ethnology, Vol. 37, No. 3: 263-283, p. 278. 7 Landau, P. S. 1993. When Rain Falls: Rainmaking and Community in a Tsawa Village, c. 1870 to Recent Times. The International Journal of African Historical Studies, Vol. 26, No. 1: 1-30, p. 3. 8 Feierman, S. 1990. Peasant Intellectuals: Anthropology and History in Tanzania. The University of Winsconsin Press. Madison, p. 69-70. 9 Landau 1993: 28. 10 Caplan, P. 2009. Understanding Modernity/ies. The Idea of a Moral Community on Mafia Island, Tanzania. In Larsen, K. (ed.). Knowledge, Renewal and Religion. Repositioning and changing ideological and material substances among the Swahili on the East African Coast: 213- 235. The Nordic Africa Institute. Uppsala, p. 226. 11 The fieldworks were carried out in March-April and October-November 2011. 12 Map modified from The Gateway to Astronaut Photography of Earth, http://eol.jsc.nasa.gov/ picture: ISS028-E-6619 No2 13 Brandström, P. 1986. Who is a Sukuma and who is a Nyamwezi. Ethnic identity in West-central Tanzania. Working Paper in African Studies, No. 27. Department of Cultural Anthropology, University of Uppsala. Uppsala, p. 11. 14 See footnote 1. 15 Ibid. 16 http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/1664575/oral-tradition (Accessed 28 May 2012) 17 Barth, F. 1987 [1993]. Cosmologies in the making. A generative approach to cultural variation in inner New Guinea. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 26. 18 Goody 1987: xi. 19 Feierman 1990: 17-18. 20 Barth 1987: 60. 21 Jenkins, R. 2004. Social identities. Routledge. London, p. 5. 2

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Jenkins 2004: 5. Williams, R. 1980. Keywords. A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. Fontana/ Croom Helm. London, p. 76-77. 24 Tylor, E. 1968[1871]. The Science of Culture. In Morton, F. (ed.). Readings in Anthropology, Vol. II: Cultural Anthropology. Crowell. New York. 25 Mexico City Declaration on Cultural Policies, World Conference on Cultural Policies, Mexico City, 26 July – 6 August 1982. http://portal.unesco.org/culture/en/files/35197/11919410061mexico_en.pdf/mexico _en. pdf (Accessed 28 May 2012). 26 Herskovits, M. 1945. The process of cultural change. In Linton, R. (ed.). The science of man in world crisis. Columbia University Press. New York, p. 158. 27 Barth, F. 1993. Balinese Worlds. Chicago University Press. Chicago, p. 4-5. 28 Barth 1987: 69. 29 Feierman 1990: 35. 30 Feierman 1990: 36. 31 Obeyesekere, G. 1990. The Work of Culture. Symbolic Transformation in psychoanalysis and anthropology. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago, p. 22. 32 Obeyesekere 1990: 22-23. 33 Obeyesekere 1990: 25. 34 Obeyesekere, G. 1981. Medusa’s Hair. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago, p. 169. 35 Feierman 1990: 13. 36 Feierman 1990: 31. 37 Gombrich, R. and Obeyesekere, G. 1988. Buddhism Transformed. Religious Change in Sri Lanka. Princeton University Press. Princeton, New Jersey, p. 241. 38 Barth 1987: 72. 39 Rappaport, R. A. 1979. Ecology, Meaning, and Religion. North Atlantic Books. Richmond, California, p. 149. 40 Rappaport, R. A. 2001. Ritual and religion in the making of humanity. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 6-7. 41 Rappaport 2001: 7. 42 Feierman 1990: 3. 43 Feierman 1990: 13. 44 Watkins, J. W. N. 1973. Ideal types and historical explanation. In Ryan, A. (ed.). The Philosophy of Social Explanation. Oxford University Press. Oxford, p. 88. 45 Gilje, N. and Grimen, H. 2001. Samfunnsvitenskapenes forutsetninger. Innføring I samfunnsvitenskapenes vitenskapsfilosofi. Universitetsforlaget. Oslo. 46 Hodder, I. 1994. Reading the Past. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 19. 47 Gorman, R. 1982. Neo-Marxism. The Meanings of Modern Radicalism. Greenwood Press. London, p. 20. 48 Gorman 1982: 57. 49 Elster, J. 1989. The Cement of Society. A Study of Social Order. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 248. 23

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Godelier, M. 1988. The mental and the material: thought economy and society. Verso. London, p. 1, my emphasis. 51 e.g. Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge; Bourdieu, P. 1984. Distinction: a social critique of the judgement of taste. Harvard University Press. Cambridge, Mass; Bourdieu, P. 1995. The Logic of Practice. Polity Press. Oxford. 52 e.g. Giddens, A. 1979. Central problems in social theory: action, structure and contradiction in social analysis. University of California Press. Berkeley; Giddens, A. 1987. Social theory and modern sociology. Polity in association with Blackwell. Cambridge; Giddens, A. 1993. The Constitution of Society. Polity Press. Cambridge. 53 Durkheim, E. 1966[1904]. The Rules of Sociological Method. Free Press. New York. 54 Brandström 1986. 55 Brandström, P. 1985. The Agro-pastoral dilemma: Underutilization or overexploitation of land among the Sukuma of Tanzania. Working Paper in African Studies, No. 8. Department of Cultural Anthropology, University of Uppsala. Uppsala. 56 The United Republic of Tanzania. Population Distribution by Administrative Units. Key Findings. 2012 Population and Housing Census. National Bureau of Statistics. Dar es Salaam. 2013, p. 10. 57 Msekela, J. A. 2008. Socio-economic profile of Mwanza region. (by Regional Commissioner, Mwanza). http://www.mwanza.go.tz/kurasa/habari_mpya/SOCIO%20ECONOMIC%20PRO FILE%20OF%20MWANZA%20REGION.pdf (Accessed June 1, 2011). 58 Statistics from the ward office. 59 Statistics from the ward office. 60 I have for a long time been fascinated by people living along roads. On the way to different fieldworks I have been driving by villages and people, and I have often been thinking of how these lives are; glimpses of lives I have only seen for some seconds before the bus has passed on. I am not sure why I have got a fascination for people along roads, but it may partly be because these are places hardly any tourists stop and few studies are undertaken. To some extent, within anthropological and ethnographic studies such places have not been ‘interstingly enough’ – they are too close to the global world and they are everywhere, implicitly that they are not ‘special’enough. In this regard, studying the traditions and lives in Usagara became a study of ‘ordinary’ life, but as became evident, this ‘ordinary’ life was quite special and unique on its own terms. 61 Seligman, C. G. 1931. The Religion of the Pagan Tribes of the White Nile. Journal of the International African Institute, Vol. 4, No. 1: 1-21; Seligman, C. G. 1932. Pagan Tribes of the Nilotic Sudan.Routledge and Kegan Paul. London; Seligman, C. G. 1934. Egypt and Negro Africa. A Study in Divine Kingship. George Routledge and Sons. London; Saetersdal, T. 2004. Places, people and ancestors. Archaeology and society in Manica, Mozambique. Dr. art. thesis, University of Bergen, Bergen; Saetersdal, T. 2009. Manica Rock-Art in Contemporary

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Society. In Oestigaard, T. (ed.). 2009. Water, Culture and Identity. Comparing Past and Present Traditions in the Nile Basin Region: 55-82. BRIC Press. Bergen; Saetersdal, T. 2010. Rain, Snakes and Sex – Making Rain: Rock Art and Rainmaking in Africa and America. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). 2010. A History of Water. Series 2, Vol. 1. Ideas of Water from Antiquity to Modern Times: 378- 404. I.B. Tauris. London. 62 See Fleming, J. R. 2010. Fixing the Sky: The Checkered History of Weather and Climate Control. Columbia University Press. New York. In 2006, the Prime Minister of Tanzania, Mr. Edward Lowassa, requested the King of Thailand’s permission to use his patented rainmaking technique to make rain in Tanzania. In 2007 it was agreed that rainmaking experts from Thailand would come to Tanzania (BBC 2007/02/16: http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/6368371.stm). The reason for this urgent need of importing foreign rainmakers was a dry spell which had greatly affected the Mtera dam. The Mtera dam is a major power generator in a country haunted by electricity shortage. The main objective of the rainmakers was to fill the drying dam, but also to procure water in rivers, lakes and ponds, which would give water to millions who in 2005 suffered from starvation due to the failure of the rains (Lusekelo 2006, Mfanga 2006). It was planned that the Thai rainmakers should have demonstrated their capabilities in 2007, but it was postponed several times before the project was cancelled in January 2010. 63 Iliffe, J. 1979. A Modern History of Tanganyika. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 576. 64 Sanders, T. 2008a. Beyond Bodies. Rainmaking and Sense Making in Tanzania. Toronto University Press. Toronto, p. 5. 65 Landau 1993: 28. 66 Tanner, R. E. S. 1958. Ancestor Propitiation Ceremonies in Sukumaland, Tanganyika. Africa: Journal of International African Institute, Vol. 28, No. 3:225231, p. 229. 67 Feierman 1990: 17. 68 Feierman 1990: 17. 69 Feierman 1990: 119. 70 Wijsen, F. and Tanner, R. 2000. Seeking a good life. Religion and society in Usukuma, Tanzania. Paulines Publications Africa. Nairobi, p. 75. 71 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 59-60. 72 Feierman 1990: 251. 73 Feierman 1990: 253. 74 Feierman 1990: 257. 75 Feierman 1990: 16. 76 Sanders 2008a: xiii, 3. 77 Brandström, P. 1990. Seeds and Soil: the Quest for Life and the Domestication of Fertility in Sukuma-Nyamwezi Thought and Social reality. In JacobsonWidding, A. and van Beek, W. (eds.). The Creative Communion: African Folk Models of fertility and the Regeneration of Life: 167-186. Almquist and Wiksell. Uppsala, p. 168.

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Parsons, T. 1964. Introduction. In Weber, M. The Sociology of Religion: xixlxvii. Beacon Press. Boston, p. lxvii. 79 Weber, M. 1964. The Sociology of Religion. Beacon Press. Boston, p. 1. 80 Geertz 1973:93. 81 Geertz 1973: 119. 82 Davies, C. 1999. The Fragmentation of the Religious Tradition of the Creation, After-life and Morality: Modernity not Post-Modernity. Journal of Contemporary Religion Vol. 17. No. 3-1999: 339:360. 83 Otto, R. 1958. The Idea of The Holy. Oxford University Press. Oxford, p. 143. 84 e.g. Eliade, M. 1958. Yoga – Immortality and Freedom. Bollingen Series LVI. Pantheon Books. New York; Eliade, M. 1976. Patanjali and Yoga. Schocken Books. New York; Eliade, M. 1987. The Sacred and Profane. The Nature of Religion. Harcourt Brace. New York; Eliade, M. 1993. Patterns in Comparative Religion. Sheed and Ward Ltd. London. 85 Allen, D. 1988. Eliade and History. The Journal of Religion, Vol. 68, No. 4: 545-565. 86 op. cit Berger, A. 1986. Cultural Hermeneutics: the Concept of Imagination in the Phenomenological Approaches of Henry Corbin and Mircea Eliade. The Journal of Religion, Vol. 66, No. 2: 141-156, p. 151. 87 Morris, B. 1987. Anthropological Studies of Religion. An Introduction. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 177. 88 Allen 1988: 552. 89 Morris 1987: 77. 90 Insoll, T. 2004a. Are Archaeologists Afraid of Gods? Some Thoughts on Archaeology and Religion. In Insoll, T. (ed.). Belief in the Past. The Proceedings of the Manchester Conference on Archaeology and Religion: 1-6. BAR International Series 1212. Oxford; see also Insoll, T. (ed.). 1999. Case studies in archaeology and world Religion: the proceedings of the Cambridge Conference. BAR International Series 755. Oxford; Insoll, T. (ed.) 2001a. Archaeology and World Religion. Routledge. London; Insoll, T. 2001b. Introduction: the archaeology of world religion. In Insoll, T. (ed.). Archaeology and World Religion: 1-32. Routledge. London. 91 Insoll, T. 2004b. Archaeology, Ritual, Religion. Routledge. London, p.12. 92 Insoll 2004b: 13. 93 Reynolds, V. and Tanner, R. 1995. The Social Ecology of Religion. Oxford University Press. Oxford, p. 5. 94 Barth 1987: 84. 95 Gombrich, R. F. 1988. Theravada Buddhism. A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo. Routledge. London, p. 11. 96 Boyer, P. 2001. Religion Explained. The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought. Basic Books. New York, p. 12. 97 Reynolds and Tanner 1995: 7. 98 Stroeken, K. 2008. Believed Belief. Science/Religion versus Sukuma Magic. Social Analysis, Vol. 52, Issue 1: 144-165. 99 Reynolds and Tanner 1995: 15.

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Reynolds and Tanner 1995: 305. Rappaport 2001: 2. 102 Boyden, S. 1993. Human ecology and biohistory: conceptual approaches to understanding human situations in the biosphere. In Steiner, D. and Nauser, M (eds.). Human Ecology. Fragments of anti-fragmentary views of the world: 31-46. Routledge. 103 Rappaport 1979: 71, 151. 104 Pillet, G. 1993. External effects as a bridge between environmental and ecological economies. In Steiner, D. and Nauser, M. (eds.). Human Ecology. Fragments of anti-fragmentary views of the world: 146-175. Routledge. 105 Rappaport 1979: 45. 106 Hertz, R. 1996. Sin and expiation in primitive societies. Occasional papers No. 2. British Centre for Durkheimian Studies. Oxford. 107 Cory, H. 1960. Religious beliefs and practices of the Sukuma-Nyamwezi tribal group. Tanzania Notes and Records, Vol. 54: 14-26, p. 15. 108 McKittrick, M. 2006. ‘The Wealth of These Nations’: Rain, Rulers and Religion on the Cuvelai Floodplain. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). 2006. A History of Water Vol. 3. The World of Water: 449-469. I.B.Tauris. London, p. 460. 109 For an introduction to Hinduism, see for instance Bennett, L. 1983. Dangerous Wives and Sacred Sisters. Columbia University Press. New York; Eck, D. E. 1983. Banaras – City of Light. Penguin Books. New Delhi; Kinsley, D. 1993. Hinduism. A Cultural Perspective. Prentice Hall, Englewood. New Jersey, and Parry, J. 1994. Death in Banaras. The Lewis Henry Morgan Lectures 1988. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. 110 For an introduction to Buddhism, see for instance Gombrich, R. F. 1988. Theravada Buddhism. A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo. Routledge. London; Obeyesekere, G. 1968. Theodicy, Sin and Salvation in a Sociology of Buddhism. In Leach, E. R. (ed.). Dialectic in Practical Religion: 740. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, and Rinbochay, L. and Hopkins, J. 1985. Death, Intermediate State and Rebirth in Tibetan Buddhism. Snow Lion Publications, Inc. Ithaca. 111 Sanders, T. 2001. Save our skins. Structural adjustment, morality and the occult in Tanzania. In Moore, H. and Sanders, T. (eds.). Magical Interpretation, Material Realities: Modernity, Witchcraft and the Occult in Postcolonial Africa: 160-183. Routledge. London, p. 169. 112 Oestigaard, T. 2005a. Death and Life-giving Waters – Cremation, Caste, and Cosmogony in Karmic Traditions. BAR International Series 1353. Oxford, p. 145. 113 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 31. 114 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 34. 115 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 33. 116 Scribner, R. W. 1987. Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany. Hambledon Press. London. 117 http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/507284/Roman-Catholicism/43689/ Sacraments (accessed 23 July 2012) 118 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 30. 101

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Gombrich 1988: 118. Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 47. 121 Iliffe 1979: 26-28. 122 Ralph Tanner has in a number of early works studied the Sukuma religion: Tanner, R. E. S. 1955. Hysteria in Sukuma Medical Practice. Africa: Journal of International African Institute, Vol. 25, No. 3: 274-279; Tanner, R. E. S. 1956a. The Sorcerer in Northern Sukumaland, Tanganyika. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, Vol. 12, No. 4: 437-443; Tanner, R. E. S. 1956b. An Introduction to the Spirit Being of the Northern Basukuma. Anthropological Quarterly, Vol. 29, No. 2: 45-56; Tanner, R. E. S. 1956c. An Introduction to the Northern Basukuma’s Idea of the Supreme Being. Anthropological Quarterly, Vol. 29, No. 3: 69-81; Tanner, R. E. S. 1957. The Magician in Northern Sukumaland, Tanganyika. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, Vol. 3, No. 4: 344-351; Tanner, R. E. S. 1958. Ancestor Propitiation Ceremonies in Sukumaland, Tanganyika. Africa: Journal of International African Institute, Vol. 28, No. 3:225-231; Tanner, R. E. S. 1959. The Spirits of the Dead: An Introduction to the Ancestor Worship of the Sukuma of Tanganyika. Anthropological Quarterly, Vol. 32, No. 2: 108-124; Tanner, R. E. S. 1967. Transition in African Beliefs: Traditional Religion and Christian Change; a study in Sukumaland, Tanzania, East Africa. Maryknoll Publications. New York. 123 Wijsen, F. and Tanner, R. 2002. “I am just a Sukuma”. Globalization and Identity Construction in Northwest Tanzania. Rodopi. Amsterdam, p. 54-55. 124 Westerlund, D. 2006. African Indigenous Religions and Disease Causation. Studies of Religion in Africa 28. Brill. Leiden, p. 87. 125 Tanner 1967: 5. 126 Westerlund 2006: 86. 127 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 52. 128 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 51, 56. 129 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 57. 130 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 58. 131 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 57. 132 Tanner 1959: 124. 133 Tanner 1956b. 134 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 9. 135 Tanner 1956c: 81. 136 Tanner 1957: 350. 137 Tanner 1956c: 81. 138 Tanner 1967: 24. 139 Tanner 1959: 116. 140 Brandström, P. 1998. Lolandi – se jag är! En historia om det berättande namnet hos sukuma-nyamwezi i Tanzania. In Andersson, T. et al. (eds.). Personnamn och social identitet. Konferanser 42. Kung. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien. Stockholm. 141 Brandström 1990: 169. 120

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Stroeken, K. 2010. Moral Power. The Magic of Witchcraft. Berghahn Books. Oxford, p. 95. 143 Westerlund 2006: 88. 144 Tanner 1959. 145 Tanner 1959. 146 Tanner 1958: 225. 147 Westerlund 2006: 95. 148 Westerlund 2006: 94. 149 Tanner 1959: 121. 150 Tanner 1955: 274. 151 Tanner 1958: 226. 152 Tanner 1958: 228. 153 Green, M. 1995. Why Christianity is the ‘religion of business’: Perceptions of the Church among Pogoro Catholics in Southern Tanzania. Journal of Religion in Africa, Vol. 25, Fasc. 1: 25-47, p. 35. 154 Sanders, T. 2002. Reflections on Two Sticks: Gender, Sexuality and Rainmaking. Cahiers d’Études Africaines, Vol. 42, Cahier 166 (2002): 285-313, p. 287. 155 Ranger, T. 1973. Territorial Cults in the History of Central Africa. Journal of African History, Vol. 14, No. 4: 581-597, p. 582. 156 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 63. 157 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 51, 56. 158 Sanders, T. 1998. Making Children, Making Chiefs: Gender, Power and Ritual Legitimacy. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute, Vol. 68, No. 2: 238-262, p. 240-241. 159 op. cit Drangert, J. O. 1993. Who Cares About Water? Household Water Development in Sukumaland, Tanzania. Linköping Studies in Arts and Science 85. Linköping, p. 84. 160 Cory, H. 1951a. Traditional Rites in Connection with the Burial, Election, enthronement and Magic Powers of a Sukuma Chief. MacMillian and Co. Ltd. London, p. 328. 161 Cory, H. 1951b. The Ntemi. The traditional rites of a Sukuma chief in Tanganyika. Macmillan. London, p. 47. 162 Sanders 2008a: 119-120. 163 Sanders 1998: 254. 164 Sanders 1998: 250. 165 Sanders 1998: 251. 166 Sanders 1998: 251. 167 Sanders, T. 2000. Rains Gone Bad, Women Gone Mad: Rethinking Gender Rituals of Rebellion and Patriarchy. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Vol. 6, No. 3: 469-86, p. 476-78. 168 These aspects are eloquently documented in two documentary films from Mozambique by Frode Storaas and Tore Sæterdal: Making Rain (2006) and If the Vagina Had Teeth (2009). 169 Sanders 2000: 479.

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Sanders 2002: 293. Sanders 2000: 481. 172 Sanders 2000: 482. 173 Schapera, I. 1971. Rainmaking Rites of Tswana Tribes. African Studies Centre. Cambridge, p. 123. 174 Saetersdal 2004, 2010. 175 Malcolm, D. 1953. Sukumaland: and African People and their Country. Oxford University Press. Oxford, p. 4. 176 Durand, P. 2008. When the Bagamoyo Caravan reached Malya (or Maria). Malya – Kageye – Kigongo – Bukumbi. http://www.africamission-mafr.org/malya2.htm. (Accessed May 31, 2011). 177 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 12. 178 Holmes, C. F. 1971. Zanzibari Influence at the Southern End of Lake Victoria: The Lake Route. African Historical Studies, Vol. 4, No. 3: 477-503, p. 494. 179 Walters, S. L. 2008. Fertility, Mortality and Marriage in Northwestern Tanzania, 1920-1970: a Demographic Study Using Parish Registers. PhD-thesis. Cambridge University. Cambridge, p. 306. 180 Hartwig, G. W. 1970. The Victoria Nyanza as a trade route in the nineteenth century. Journal of African History, XI, 4: 535-552, p. 550. 181 Malcolm 1953: 9. 182 See for instance Prins, F. E. and Hall, S. Expressions of Fertility in the Rock Art of Bantu-Speaking Agriculturalists. The African Archaeological Review, Vol. 12: 171-203; Saetersdal, T. 1999. Symbols of Cultural Identity: A Case Study from Tanzania. The African Archaeological Review, Vol. 16, No. 2: 121-135; Saetersdal 2004. 183 Hubert, H. and Mauss, M. 1964. Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function. Taylor and Francis. London. 184 Barth 1987: 26. 185 Barth 1987: 60. 186 Durand 2008. 187 Interview 17 November 2011. 188 Mamdani, M. 1996. Citizen and Subject. Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of late Colonialism. Princeton University Press. Princeton. 189 Maghimbi, S., Lokina, R. B. and Senga, M. A. 2011. The Agrarian Question in Tanzania? A State of the Art Paper. Current African Issues No. 45. The Nordic Africa Institute. Uppsala, p. 19. 190 Maghimbi et. al 2011: 26-27. 191 Cl. 4(1), op. cit. Maghimbi et. al 2011: 28. 192 Maghimbi et. al 2011: 34. 193 Sanders, T. 2008b. Buses in Bongoland. Anthropological Theory, Vol. 8(2): 107-132, p. 115. 194 Havnevik, K. 2010. A Historical Framework for Analysing Current Tanzanian Transitions: The Post-Independence Model, Nyerere’s Ideas and Some Interpretations. In Havnevik, K. and Isinika, A. C. (eds.). Tanzania in Transition: From Nyerere to Mkapa: 19-56. Mkuki na Nyota Publishers Ltd. Dar es Salaam. 171

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Maghimbi et. al 2011: 27. Sanders 2008b: 114. 197 Mesaki, S. 1993. Witchcraft and witch-killings in Tanzania. PhD-thesis. University of Minnesota. Minnesota, p. 33. 198 Bryceson, D. F. 2010. Agrarian Fundamentalism or Foresight? Revisiting Nyerere’s Vision for Rural Tanzania. Cory In Havnevik, K. and Isinika, A. C. (eds.). Tanzania in Transition: From Nyerere to Mkapa: 71-98. Mkuki na Nyota Publishers Ltd. Dar es Salaam, p. 75. 199 Kikula, I. S. 1997. Policy Implications on Environment. The case of villagization in Tanzania. The Nordic Africa Institute. Uppsala. 200 Kjekshus, H. 1977. The Tanzanian Villagization Policy: Implementational Lessons and Ecological Dimensions. Canadian Journal of African Studies, Vol. 11, No. 2: 269-82, p. 281. 201 Wijsen, F. and Tanner, R. 2000. Seeking a good life. Religion and society in Usukuma, Tanzania. Paulines Publications Africa. Nairobi, p. 21-22. 202 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 62. 203 Maghimbi et. al 2011: 27. 204 Maghimbi et. al 2011: 33. 205 Mapolu, H. 1986. The state and the peasantry in Tanzania. In Shivji, I. (ed.). The state and the working people in Tanzania: 107-131. Codesria. Dakar, p. 107. 206 Sanders 2008b: 113. 207 Maghimbi et al 2011: 43-44. 208 Wijsen, F. and Tanner, R. 2002. “I am just a Sukuma”. Globalization and Identity Construction in Northwest Tanzania. Rodopi. Amsterdam, p. 145. 209 Havnevik, K. 1993. Tanzania. The limits to development from above. The Nordic Africa Institute. Uppsala. 210 Sanders 2008b: 116-117. 211 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 21. 212 Drangert 1993: 1-2. 213 Oestigaard, T. 2009a. Water, Culture and Identity. Comparing Past and Present Traditions in the Nile Basin Region. In Oestigaard, T. (ed.). Water, Culture and Identity. Comparing Past and Present Traditions in the Nile Basin Region: 11-22. BRIC Press. Bergen. 214 See Tvedt, T. and Coopey, R. (eds.). 2010. A History of Water. Series 2, Vol. 2. Rivers and Society: From Early Civilizations to Modern Times. I.B. Tauris. London. 215 Tvedt, T. 2010a. ”Water Systems”, Environmental History and the Deconstruction of Nature. Environment and History 16 (2010): 143-166; Tvedt, T. 2010b. Why England and not China and India? Water systems and the history of the industrial revolution. Journal of Global History (2010) 5: 29-50; Tvedt, T. 2010c. Bridging the Gap: A Water System Approach. In Østreng, W. (ed.). Transference. Interdisciplinary Communications 2008/2009. Centre for Advanced Study. Oslo. http://www.cas.uio.no/Publications/Seminar/0809Tvedt.pdf 216 Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard. 2010. A History of the Ideas of Water: Deconstructing Nature and Constructing Society. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). A History 196

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Globalization and Identity: Dialectics of Flow and Closure: 1-15. Blackwell. Oxford, p. 11. 327 Ferguson, J. 2006. Global shadows: Africa in the Neo-liberal world order. Duke University Press. London, p. 109. 328 Hayward, C. R. 2000. De-facing power. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 3. 329 Ingold, T. 2000. The Perception of the Environment. Routledge. London, p. 216. 330 Jones, O. and Cloke, P. 2002. Three Cultures. Berg. Oxford, p. 77. 331 Insoll, T. 2007. Archaeology. The Conceptual Challenge. Duckworth. London, p. 26. 332 Appadurai, A. 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. University of Minnesota Press. Minneapolis, p. 54. 333 Insoll 2007: 25. 334 Yeager, R. 1982. Tanzania. An African Experiment. Westview Press. Gower. 335 Arnold, D. 1980. External factors in the Partition of East Africa. In Kaniki, M. H. Y. (ed.). Tanzania under Colonial Rule: 51-85. Longman. London, p. 51. 336 Rodney, W. 1980. The Political Economy of Tanganyika 1890-1930. In Kaniki, M. H. Y. (ed.). Tanzania under Colonial Rule: 128-136. Longman. London. 337 Thornhill, C. J. 1937. Taking Tanganyika. Experiences of an Intelligence Officer 1914-1918. Stanley Paul. London, p. 285-286. 338 Rodney 1980: 141. 339 Rodney 1980: 135. 340 Berry, S. 1993. No Condition is Permanent. The Social Dynamics of Agrarian Change in Sub-Saharn Africa. The University of Winsconsin Press. Winsconsin, p. 8. 341 Gunderson, F. 2010. Sukuma Labor Songs from Western Tanzania. Brill. Leiden, p. 226. 342 Rald and Rald 1975: 55. 343 Rald and Rald 1975: 40-43. 344 For an analysis of ironworking in Tanzania with references, see for instance Mapunda, B. 2010. Contemplating the Fipa Ironworking. Fountain Publishers. Kampala. 345 Cory, H. 1954. The Indigenous Political System of the Sukuma and Proposals for Political Reform. East African Studies No. 2. The Eagle Press. Nairobi, p. iii. 346 Cory 1954: 96. 347 Cory 1954: 37. 348 Cory 1954: 7. 349 Cory 1951b: viii. 350 op. cit. Bryceson 2010: 74. 351 Yeager 1982: 39. 352 Yeager 1982: 39. 353 Tanner 1967: 188. 354 Tanner 1967: 190. 355 Mesaki 1993: 120.

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Shipton 2007: 193. Collinson 1894: 113. 394 The name of the village is not Burima, but made anonymous. 395 Tanner 1956c: 81. 396 Assman, J. 2005. Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt. Cornell University Press. Ithaca, p. 1. 397 Whaley, J. 1981. Introduction. In Whaley, J. (ed.): Mirrors of Mortality: 1-14. Europe Publications Limited. London, p. 1. 398 Parker Pearson, M. 2001. Death, being, and time. The historical context of the world religions. In Insoll, T. (ed.). Archaeology and World Religion: 203-219. Routledge. London, p. 203. 399 Hertz, R. 1960. Death and the Right Hand. Cohen and West. The University Press Aberdeen. Aberdeen. 400 For references on the role of materiality, see Fahlander, F. and Oestigaard, T. 2008. The Materiality of Death: Bodies, Burials, Beliefs. In Fahlander, F. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). The Materiality of Death. Bodies, burials, beliefs: 1-16. BAR International Series 1768. Oxford. 401 Oestigaard and Goldhahn 2006. 402 Goody, J. 1962. Death, Property and the Ancestors. Stanford University Press. California. 403 Strathern, A. 1981. Death as Exchange: two Melanesian cases. In Humphreys, S.C. and King, H. (eds.). Mortality and Immortality: the anthropology and archaeology of death: 205-224. Academic Press. London. 404 Vitebsky, P. 1993. Dialogues with the Dead. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. 405 Shipton 2009: ix. 406 Shipton 2009: 86-87. 407 Wijsen and Tanner 2000. 408 Cory 1953a: 131-132. 409 Drangert: 163. 410 Drangert 1993: 169. 411 Cory 1953a: 132. 412 Drangert 1993: 163. 413 Drangert 1993: 172. 414 Drangert 1993: 173. 415 Drangert 1993: 178. 416 Drangert 1993: 167. 417 Drangert 1993: 170-171. 418 Gunderson 2010: 264-266. 419 Gunderson 2010: 325-326. 420 op.cit Gunderson 2010: 328. 421 Caplan 2009: 214. 422 Caplan 2009: 216. 393

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Bryceson, D. F., Jønsson, J. B. and Sherrington, R. 2010. Miners’ magic: artisanal mining, the albino fetish and murder in Tanzania. Journal of Modern African Studies, 48, 3: 353-382, p. 379, fn. 7. 443 Mesaki 1993: 53. 444 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 364. 445 Tanner 1957. 446 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 364. 447 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 27. 448 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 164. 449 Haar 2007: 2. 450 van Beek, W. E. A. 2007. The escalation of witchcraft accusations. In Haar, G. T. (ed.). Imagining Evil. Witchcraft Beliefs and Accusations in Contemporary Africa: 293-315. Africa World Press, inc. Trenton and Asmara, p. 311. 451 Mesaki 1993: 1. 452 Carroll, J. 1981. The Role of Guilt in the Formation of Modern Society: England 1350-1800. The British Journal of Sociology, Vol. 32, No. 4: 459-503, p. 463. 453 Tishken, J. E. 2000. Indigenous Religions. In Falola, T. (ed.). Africa. Volume 2. African Cultures and Societies before 1885: 73-94. Carolina Academic Press. Durham. 454 Lienhardt, P. 1968. The Medicine Man. Oxford at the Clarendon Press. Oxford, p. 53. 455 Lienhardt 1968: 57. 456 Chabal and Daloz 1999: 63. 457 Chabal and Daloz 1999: 64. 458 Kiernan, J. 2006. Introduction. In Kiernan, J. (ed.). The Power of the Occult in Modern Africa. Continuity and Innovation in the Renewal of African Cosmologies: 1-18. Lit Verlag. Berlin, p. 1. 459 Wax, R. and Wax, M. 1962. The magical world view. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 1: 179–188, p. 183. 460 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 60-66. 461 Faure, V. 2006. In Pursuit of the Occult: The Investigation of Satanism and Witchcraft in South Africa. In Kiernan, J. (ed.). The Power of the Occult in Modern Africa. Continuity and Innovation in the Renewal of African Cosmologies: 153-181. Lit Verlag. Berlin, p. 173. 462 Mesaki 1993: 5. 463 Abrahams 1994. 464 Mesaki, S. 2009b. The Tragedy of Ageing: Witch Killings and Poor Governance among Sukuma. In Haram, L. and Yamba, B. (eds.). Dealing with Uncertainty in Contemporary African Lives: 42-90. The Nordic Africa Institute. Uppsala, p. 82. 465 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2009. Legal and Human Rights. Dar es Salaam, p. 22. 466 Mesaki 2009b: 82. 467 Tanner 1970.

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‘Burima’ is not the original name of the village, but a term used to designate a village where there allegedly is a lot of witchcraft. In fact, there are two villages called Burima and I visited them both. 528 Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life 2010. p. 34, 64, 178. 529 Abrahams 1994: 15. 530 Tanner 1956a: 443. 531 Brandström pers com. 532 Mesaki 1993: 64. 533 Stroeken 2010: 199. 534 Mesaki 2009b: 72-73. 535 Mesaki 1993: 98. 536 Mesaki 1993.99. 537 Mesaki 1993: 99. 538 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 135. 539 Mesaki 2009b: 73. 540 Duff, O. 2005. Tanzania suffers rise of witchcraft hysteria. The Independent. 28.11.2005. http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/tanzania-suffersrise-of-witchcraft-hysteria-517157.html. (Accessed May 25, 2011). 541 Banda, S. 2009. Tanzania: PM cries over albino killings. Africa News 01.02.09. Africahttp://www.africanews.com/site/Tanzania_PM_cries_over_albino_killings/li st_messages/22930 (Accessed May 25, 2011). 542 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2009: 21. 543 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2009: 21. 544 Duff 2005. 545 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2010. Legal and Human Rights. Dar es Salaam, p. 57. 546 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2011, p. 34. 547 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2012. Legal and Human Rights. Dar es Salaam, p. 31. 548 Stroeken 2010: 200. 549 Stroeken 2010: 200. 550 Levack, B. P. 2006. The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe. Third edition. Longman. London; Behringer, W. 2004. Witches and Witch-Hunts. Polity Press. Oxford. 551 Eriksen, T. H. 2005. How can the global be local? Islam, the West and the globalization of identity politics. In Hemer, O. and Tufte, T. (eds.). Media and Glocal Change. Rethinking Communication for Development: 25-40. CLACSO. Buenos Aires, p. 38. 552 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 367-368. 553 Ackley, C. 2010. The Fetishization of Albinos in Tanzania, p. 44. http://www.underthesamesun.com/sites/default/files/The%20Fetishization%20of% 20Albinos%20in%20Tanzania.pdf 554 Baker, C. Lund, P. Taylor, J. and Nyathi, R. 2010. The myths surrounding people with albinism in South Africa and Zimbabwe. Journal of African Cultural Studies, 22(2): 169-181, p. 177.

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Alum et. al 2009: 8-9. Tanzania Human Rights Report 2011: 36. 557 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2010: 58-59. In the report it is written that 58 albinos have been killed, but summing up 6 (2007), 37 (2008) and 16 (2009) gives 59 deaths. 558 Tanzania Human Rights Report 2011, p. 36. 559 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 368, 379 fn. 10. 560 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 379. 561 Ackley 2010. 562 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 368-369, 371. 563 Vincent, L. 2008. New Magic for New Times: Muti Murder in Democratic South Africa. Tribes and Tribals, Special Volume No. 2: 43-53, p 43. 564 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 371. 565 Vincent 2008: 43. 566 Faure 2006: 156-157. 567 Ngubane, H. 1986. The Predicament of the Sinister Healer: some Observations on Ritual Murder and the Professional Role of the Inynga. In Last, M. and Chavunduka, G. (eds.). The Professionalization of African Medicine: 189-204. Manchester University Press. Manchester, p. 186. 568 Comaroff and Comaroff 1999:290. See also Taylor, T. 2004. The Buried Soul: How Humans Invented Death. Beacon Press. MA. 569 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 364. 570 Mesaki 2009b: 83. 571 Bryceson et. al. 2010: 364. 572 Mesaki 2009b: 87. 573 Mesaki 2009b: 84-85. 574 Alum, A., Gomez, M. and Ruiz, E. 2009. Hocus pocus, witchcraft, and murder: The plight of Tanzanian albinos. International Team Report 2009 – Tanzania. http://www.underthesamesun.com/node/7, p. 7-8. 575 Cory 1951b. 576 Mesaki 1993: 110. 577 Cory 1951b: 64-65. 578 Durand, F. 2010. Albino Killings in Sukumaland: Study on a Shifting Cultural Paradigm http://www.africamission-mafr.org/Serial_Albinos_Killings_in_Sukumaland.pdf 579 Stroeken 2010: 93. 580 Gwassa, G. C. K. and Iliffe, J. 1968. Records of the Maji Maji Rising. Part One. East African Publishing House. Dar es Salaam, p. 3. 581 Gwassa and Iliffe 1968: 5. 582 Gwassa and Iliffe 1968: 9. 583 Gwassa and Iliffe 1968: 12. 584 Gwassa and Iliffe 1968: 16. 585 Gwassa and Iliffe 1968: 17. 586 Thebald Schaegelen, op. cit. Iliffe, J. 1967. The Organization of the Maji Rebellion. The Journal of African History, Vol. 8, No. 3: 495-512, p. 507. 556

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op cit. Iliffe 1967: 502. Stollowsky, O. and East, J.W. 1988. On the Background to the Rebellion in German east Africa in 1905-1906. The International Journal of African Historical Studies, Vol. 21, No. 4: 677-696, p. 687. 589 Stollowsky and East 1988: 688. 590 Hassing, P. 1970. Missionaries and the Maji Maji Rising. African Historical Studies, Vol. 3, No. 2: 373-389. 591 Iliffe, J. 1967. The Organization of the Maji Rebellion. The Journal of African History, Vol. 8, No. 3: 495-512, p. 495. 592 Yusuf bin Issa to Mr. Gawassa, op. cit. Iliffe, J. 1967. The Organization of the Maji Rebellion. The Journal of African History, Vol. 8, No. 3: 495-512, p. 499. 593 Iliffe 1967. 594 Sunseri, T. 1999. Majimaji and the Millennium: Abrahamic Sources and the Creator of a Tanzanian Resistance Tradition. History in Africa, Vol. 26: 365-378. 595 Iliffe 1967: 508. 596 Wright, M. 1995. Maji Maji: prophecy and historiography. In Anderson, D. and Johnson, D. (eds.). Revealing Prophets. Prophecy in Eastern African History: 124142. James Currey. London. 597 Fleisher, M. L. 2000. Sungusungu: state-sponsored vigilante groups among the Kuria of Tanzania. Africa, Vol. 70, No. 2: 209-228. 598 Abrahams, R. 1987. Sungusungu: Village Vigilante Groups in Tanzania. African Affairs, Vol. 86, No. 343: 179-196. 599 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 136. 600 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 137. 601 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 138. 602 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 138. 603 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 138. 604 Miguel, E. 2005. Poverty and Witch Killing in Tanzania. Review of Economic Studies 72: 1153-1172, p. 1163. 605 Miguel 2005: 1170. 606 Stroeken 2010: 198. 607 Mesaki 1993: 131. 608 This analysis was conducted by climate researcher Prof. Ole Reidar Vetaas, Dept of Geography, University of Bergen, Norway. The data for analysis were the precipitation patterns from the meteorological office in Mwanza and Meskai’s statistics regarding witch-killings in the period 1970-1984. Regarding the correlation between the October rains and witch killings was r = 0,48, which is a border case where a significant pattern occurs if r > 0,48. In addition, this is based on 15 years only, which statistically is a too short time span for conclusive statements. 609 Kiernan 2006: 9. 610 Mesaki 2009b: 77. 611 Wijsen and Tanner 2002: 55. 612 Gombrich 1988, p. 11. 588

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Mauss, M. 2001[1950]. A General Theory of Magic. Routledge. London, p. 175. 614 Binsbergen, W. v., Dijk, R. v. and Gewald, J-B. 2004. Situating globality: African agency in the appropriation of global culture. In Binsbergen, W. v. and Dijk, R. v. (eds.). Situating Globality. African Agency in the Appropriation of Global Culture: 3-54. Brill. Leiden, p. 32. 615 Tanner 1967: 134. 616 Stroeken 2010: 1. 617 See for instance Bell, C. 1992. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. Oxford University Press. Oxford; Bell, C. 1997. Ritual. Perspectives and dimensions. Oxford University Press. Oxford; Douglas, M. 1993. Implicit Meanings. Routledge. London; Douglas, M. 1994. Purity and Danger. Routledge. London; Geertz, C. 1980. Negara. The Theatre State in Nineteenth-Century Bali. Princeton University Press. New Jersey; Hocart, A. M. 1950. Caste. A Comparative Study. Methuen. London; Hocart, A. M. 1954. Social Origins. Watts . London; Hocart, A. M. 1969. Kingship. Oxford University Press. Oxford; Hocart, A. M. 1970a. Kings and Concillors. An Essay in the Comparative Anatomy of Human Society. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago; Hocart, A. M. 1970b. The Life-Giving Myth and Other Essays. Methuen. London; Humphrey, C. and Laidlaw, J. 1994. The Archetypal Actions of Ritual. Clarendon Press. Oxford. 618 The above mention literature also includes this topic, and for more specific discussions, see for instance Carrasco, D. 1999. City of Sacrifice. The Aztec Empire and the Role of Violence in Civilization. Beacon Press. Boston; Hubert, H. and Mauss, M. 1964. Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago; Parry, J. 1994. Death in Banaras. The Lewis Henry Morgan Lectures 1988. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge; Read, K. A. 1998. Time and sacrifice in the Aztec Cosmos. Indiana University Press. Bloomington; Valeri, V. 1985. Kingship and sacrifice. Ritual and Society in Ancient Hawaii. The University Press of Chicago. Chicago. 619 Trigger, B. 2003. Understanding Early Civilizations. A Comparative Study. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, p. 473. 620 Long, C. 1993. Cosmogony. In Eliade, M. (ed.). The Encyclopedia of Religion. Vol. 3: 94-100. Macmillian Publishing Company. New York, p. 94. 621 Trigger 2003: 473. 622 Faherty, R. L. 1974. Sacrifice. The New Encyclopaedia Britannica. 15th ed. Macropaedia. Vol. 16: 128- 135. 623 Howell, S. 1996. Introduction. In Howell, S. (ed.). For the sake of Our Future: Sacrificing in Eastern Indonesia: CNWS. Leiden, p. 2-4. 624 Modéus, M. 2005. Sacrifice and symbol. Biblical Šelamîm in a ritual perspective. Coniectanea Biblica Old Testament Series 52, Stockholm: Almquist and Wiksell International, p. 27-33. 625 Modéus 2005: 35. 626 Modéus 2005: 37. 627 Modéus 2005: 37. 628 Modéus 2005: 38, original emphasis.

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Modéus 2005: 38. Modéus 2005: 39. 631 Modéus 2005: 39-42. 632 Modéus 2005: 43-44. 633 Modéus 2005: 43. 634 Modéus 2005: 47-55. 635 Modéus 2005: 50. 636 Bell 1997: 103. 637 e.g. van Gennep, A. 1960. The Rites of Passage. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago; Turner, V. 1991. The Forest of Symbols. Cornell University Press. Cornell Paperbacks, Ninth printing. New York. 638 Modéus 2005: 52. 639 Modéus 2005: 52. 640 Modéus 2005: 55. 641 Modéus 2005: 66. 642 Modéus 2005: 66-67. 643 Tanner 1959: 116. 644 Tanner 1959: 116. 645 Tanner 1959: 120. 646 Tanner 1959: 123. 647 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 95. 648 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 23. 649 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 21. 650 Cory 1953b: 11. 651 Cory 1953b: 13-16. 652 Cory 1953b: 46. 653 Cory 1953b: 18. 654 Cory 1953b: 17-18. 655 Barth 1987: 7. 656 Barth 1987: 78. 657 Barth, F. 1990. The Guru and the Conjurer: Transactions in Knowledge and the Shaping of Culture in Southeast Asia and Melanesia. Man Vol. 25: 640-53. 658 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 50. 659 Wijsen and Tanner 2000: 14, 123. 660 See for instance Bachelard, G. 1994. Water and Dreams. An Essay on the Imagination of Matter. The Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. Dallas; Bord, C. and Bord, J. 1985. Sacred Waters. Holy Wells and Water Lore in Britain and Ireland. Granada. London; Dundes, A. (ed.). 1988. The Flood Myth. University of California Press. Berkeley; Oestigaard, T. 2005a. Death and Lifegiving Waters – Cremation, Caste, and Cosmogony in Karmic Traditions. BAR International Series 1353. Oxford; Oestigaard, T. 2005b. Water and World Religions. An Introduction. SFU and SMR. Bergen; Oestigaard, T. 2011a. Horus’ Eye and Osiris’ Efflux: The Egyptian Civilisation of Inundation ca.3000-2000 BCE. Archaeopress. Oxford; Oestigaard, 2011b. Water. In Insoll, T. (ed.). The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion: 38-50. Oxford 630

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University Press. Oxford; Oestigaard, 2011c. Cosmogony. In Insoll, T. (ed.). The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and Religion: 76-88. Oxford University Press. Oxford; Strang, V. 2004. The meaning of water. Berg. Oxford; Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). 2006b. A History of Water Vol. 3. The World of Water. I.B.Tauris. London; Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). 2010b. A History of Water. Series 2, Vol. 1. Ideas of Water from Antiquity to Modern Times. I.B. Tauris. London; Tuan, Y. 1968. The Hydrological Cycle and the Wisdom of God: a Theme in Geoteleology. University of Toronto Press. Toronto. 661 Châtel, F. 2010. Bathing in Divine Waters: Water and Purity in Judaism and Islam. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). A History of Water. Series 2, Vol. 1. Ideas of Water from Antiquity to Modern Times: 273-297. I.B. Tauris. London. 662 Oestigaard, T. 2006. River and Rain: Life-giving Waters in Nepalese Death Rituals. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). A History of Water Vol. 3. The World of Water: 430-448. I.B.Tauris. London. 663 Oestigaard, T. 2013. Water, Christianity and the Rise of Capitalism. I.B. Tauris. London. 664 For an introduction to the Deluge and Noah’s flood, see Allen, D. C. 1963. The Legend of Noah. Renaissance, Rationalism in Art, Science, and Letters. University of Illinois Press. Urbana, Cohn, N. 1996. Noah’s Flood. The Genesis Story in Western Thought. Yale University Press. New Haven and London. 665 Tvedt, T. 1997. En reise i vannets historie – fra regnkysten til Muscat. Cappelens Forlag AS. Oslo, p. 85, Tvedt 1997:85, Tvedt and Oestigaard 2010a. 666 See Oestigaard 2013. 667 Tanner 1967: 68. 668 Tanner 1967: 120. 669 Tanner 1967: 62. 670 Wilkens 2011: 1. 671 Meyer, B. 2004. Christianity in Africa: From African Independent to Pentecostal-Charismatic Churches. Annual Review of Anthropology, Vol. 33: 447474, p. 455. 672 op. cit. Van Dijk 2004: 178-179. 673 Meyer 2004: 461. 674 Meyer 2004: 455. 675 Green, M. and Mesaki, S. 2005. The birth of the ‘salon’: Poverty, ‘modernization’, and dealing with witchcraft in southern Tanzania. American Ethnologist, Vol. 32, No. 3: 371-388, p. 372, see also Marsland, R. 2007. The Modern Traditional Healer: Locating ‘Hybridity’ in Modern Traditional Medicine, Southern Tanzania. Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 33, No. 4: 751-765. 676 Green, M. 1997. Witchcraft Suppression and Movements: Public Politics and the Logic of Purification. Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 39, No. 2: 319-345, p. 341. 677 Firth 1959:139. 678 Oestigaard, T. 2003. An Archaeology of Hell: Fire, Water and Sin in Christianity. Bricoleur Press. Lindome; Oestigaard, T. 2004. Death and World Religions. Human responses to the inevitable. BRIC Press. Bergen; Oestigaard, T.

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2009b. The materiality of hell: The Christian hell in a world religion context. Material religion, Vol. 5, No. 3: 312-331; Oestigaard, T. 2010. Purification, Purgation and Penalty: Christian Concepts of Water and Fire in Heaven and Hell. In Tvedt, T. and Oestigaard, T. (eds.). A History of Water. Series 2, Vol. 1. The Ideas of Water from Antiquity to Modern Times: 298-322. I.B. Tauris. London. 679 Wilby, E. 2005. Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits. Shamanistic Visionary Traditions in early Modern British Witchcraft and Magic. Sussex Academic Press. Brighton, p. 42. 680 Walker, D. P. 1981. Unclean Spirits. Possession and exorcism in France and England in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. University of Pennsylvania Press. Philadelphia, p. 10. 681 Reis, E. 1995. The Devil, the Body, and the Feminine Soul in Puritan New England. The Journal of American History, Vol. 82. No. 1: 15-36, p. 29. 682 Parkin, D. 2005. Evil. In Barfield, T. (ed.). The Dictionary of Anthropology: 171-172. Blackwell. Oxford, p. 171. 683 Evans, G. R. 1982. John Donne and the Augustinian Paradox of Sin. The Review of English Studies, New Series, Vol. 33, No. 129: 1-22, p. 8. 684 Johnstone, N. 2004. The Protestant Devil: The Experience of Temptation in Early Modern England. Journal of British Studies, Vol. 43: 173-205; Johnstone, N. 2006. The Devil and Demonism in Early Modern England. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge. 685 Duffy, E. 1993. Cranmer and Popular Religion. In Ayris, P. and Selwyn, D. (eds.). Thomas Cranmer. Churchman and Scholar: 199-215. The Boydell Press. Woodbridge, p. 213. 686 Behringer 2004 :88. 687 Thomas, K. 1971. Religion and the Decline of Magic. Studies in popular beliefs in sixteenth and seventeenth century in England. Weidenfeld and Nicolson. London, p. 83-87. 688 Weber, M. 2006[1930]. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Routledge. London. 689 Thomas 1971: 89. 690 Guazzo, M. F. 1628. In Rodker, J. 1929. Compendium Maleficarum. Collected in 3 Books from many Sources by Brother Franceso Maria Guazzo. Redwood Press Limited. London. 1929[1628]: 19-20. 691 Zguta, R. 1977. The Ordeal by Water (Swimming of Witches) in the East Slavic World. Slavic Review Vol. 36, No. 2: 220-230. 692 Malinowski, B. 1926. Magic, Science and Religion. In Needham, J. (ed.). Science, Religion and Reality: 19-84. The Sheldon Press. New York. 693 Malinowski 1926. 694 Thomas 1971: 647. 695 Benedict, R. 1937. Magic. In Johnson, A.S. and Seligman, E.R.A. (eds.). The Encyclopedia of Social Sciences, Vol. 5: 39-44. Macmillian Company. New York, p. 40. 696 Mauss 2001: 114. 697 Mauss 2001: 114.

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Mauss 2001: 94. Mauss 2001: 28-29. 700 Mauss 2001: 30, original emphasis. 701 Mauss 2001: 113. 702 Mauss 2001: 110. 703 Mauss 2001: 175. 704 Stroeken 2010: 201. 705 Stroeken 2010: 202-203. 706 Obeyesekere 1990: 221-222. 707 Humphrey and Laidlaw 1994: 128. 708 Schutz, A. 1971. Collected Papers I. The Problem of Social Reality. Martinus Nijhoff. Hague, p. 53. 709 Schutz, A. 1970. On phenomenology and social relations. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago, p. 273, my emphasis. 710 Otto 1959. 711 See Messerschmidt, D.1982. Muktinath: Himalayan Pilgrimage, A Cultural and Historical Guide. Sahayogi Press. Kathmandu. Nepal; Mumford, S. R. 1989. Himalayan Dialogue. Tibetan Lamas and Gurung Shamans in Nepal. The University of Wisconsin Press. Wisconsin. 712 Gellner, D. N. 1993. Monk, Householder and Tantric Priest. Cambridge University Press. New Delhi. India. 713 Snellgrove, D. 1979. Place of Pilgrimage in Thag (Thakkhola). Kailash Vol. VII, No. 2: 75-170, p. 81-82. 714 See Oestigaard 2005a. 715 Gordon, S. 1996. The Book of Miracles: from Lazarus to Lourdes. Headline Book Publishing. London; Harris, R. 1999. Lourdes: Body and Spirit in the Secular Age. Viking. New York. 716 In March and April the ‘Loliondo’ priest and his magical cure was discussed in almost every newspaper on a daily basis. This phenomenon is evident worldwide and not restricted to Africa or the developing world. In many cases people diagnosed with terminal cancer, for instance, seek alternative medicines while being treated with the best scientific medicines possible. When the end is closing in and when all other options are used and tested, the last resort is often alternative medicines. This is not because people do not have faith in the most scholarly medicines, but when it fails or cannot deliver the results, the underlying logic is the same: it does not hurt to try in case it works. 717 Bryceson et al. 2010. 718 Valeri 1985: 49. 719 See for instance Frankfort, H. 1948. Kingship and the Gods. A Study of Ancient Near Eastern Religion as the Integration of Society and Nature. The University of Chicago Press. Chicago; Petrie, W. M. F. 1925. Tombs of the Courtiers and Oxyrhynkhos. British School of Archaeology in Egypt. London; Trigger, B. 2003. Understanding Early Civilizations. A Comparative Study. Cambridge University Press. Cambridge, Soustelle, J. 2002. Daily Life of the Aztecs. Dover Publications, Inc. New York. 699

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Valeri 1985: 49. Levack 2006: 23. 722 Levack, B. P. 2008. Witch-hunting in Scotland. Law, politics and religion. Routledge. London, p. 44. 723 Kramer, H. and Sprenger, J. 1971. The Malleus Maleficarum. Translated with Introductions, Bibliography and Notes by Rev. Montague Summers. Dover Publications, Inc. New York. 724 Wijsen and Tanner 2000, 2002. 725 Obeyesekere, G. 2002. Imagining Karma. Ethical Transformation in amerindian, Buddhist, and Greek Rebirth. University of California Press. Berkeley, p.  726 Tvedt 2010a:146. 721

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INDEX Abrahamic 196 abolition of chiefdoms 25, 59, 60, 128, 213 acceleration 90 accumulate 5, 69, 168, 174 Acts 215 African Inland Church 114 Afrocentric 119 agriculture 8, 21-24, 60-65, 68-73, 89, 127, 133, 140, 150-155, 193, 198, 199, 245 agro-pastoralists 21, 184 AIDS 120, 155, 184, 236 albino 82, 159, 160, 161, 176, 182, 184-187, 189, 191, 193, 197, 237-239 Allah 82 allegations 63, 165, 201 Almighty God 33, 40, 140, 219, 244 ancestors 1, 10, 14, 15, 27, 28, 31, 34, 39-41, 43-52, 54, 56, 58, 59, 80, 92, 99, 100, 108, 111 ancestral propitiation 27, 47, 57, 64, 113, 119, 136, 142, 145, 201, 213 ancestral spirits 44-47, 51, 97, 162, 219 anthropology 10, 18, 29, 101, 132, 165, 222 anti-rainmaking 138 anti-social 168, 225 Appadurai, A. 105 Aquinas, T. 42 artisanal miners 184 Arusha Declaration 61, 62 Azande 161, 164 Baal-worshippers 215 bad omen 133, 184 Baktaman 56

Barth, F. 13, 14, 17, 33, 56, 211, 212 Bantu 52, 54 baptism 53, 120, 207, 221 Beck, U. 86-89 Beek, W.E.A 163 being in the world 4, 6, 98 Benedict, R. 225 Berry, S. 110 bewitchment 167 Bjerke, S. 161 black sheep 47 blacksmiths 111 body parts 169, 172, 176, 186, 187, 188, 190-193, 211, 231, 232, 239, 240 Bokero 195 Bonefeld, W. 92 Bourdieu, P. 21 Boxer rebels 196 Boyer, P. 34 Brahma 38 brain power 124 Brandström, P. 31 Braudel, F. 4 BRICS 90 bridewealth 94, 199 British 13, 16, 25, 59, 61, 99, 100, 109-113, 177 Bryceson, D. 61 Buddhism 38, 214, 235 Bujinga 22 Bujora Cultural Center 181 bukangala 126 Bukoba 110 Bukumbi 47, 52-56, 114, 146, 191 bull 126, 192 bulogi 161 burials 124-126, 143-146 Buyeye 210

302 Cameroon 170 cannibalism 222 capitalism 60, 63, 91, 93, 109-113, 171-172, 174, 223, 233, 242, 244 Caplan, P. 10, 155 cash-crop 69, 72, 76-78, 80, 93, 106, 110, 139, 153, 155, 170, 198199 cassava 23, 72, 75-77 catechetical period 116 Catholicism 26, 115, 118, 119, 121, 135, 201, 217, 219, 223 cattle 21, 47, 74, 78-80, 95, 109, 127, 137, 139, 144, 152, 155, 167, 173, 193, 197, 199 cattle kraal 184 cattle pastures 144-145 causa 206-209 causation 43, 44, 108, 161, 164, 229 cemetery 52-54, 126, 128, 139, 143146 Chabal, P. 102, 194 charlatans 130, 189, 190 Charles Kafipa 57-60, 124, 191-192 charms 185, 189, 190 chief 1, 14, 17, 24-27, 44, 48, 50,61, 85, 89, 99, 112-114, 123127, 128-129, 131, 170 Chief Francis 60 chiefdom 24, 25, 44, 52-57, 123127, 191, 192 childhood 6, 107 Christianisation 114, 163 climate change 9, 15, 24-28, 64-65, 72, 81, 82, 88, 90, 104, 106, 134, 138, 141, 150, 212, 230, 242 coffee 110 Cold War 2, 89, 213 colonial history 2, 110 colonisers 59, 61, 99, 104, 109-114 Comaroff, J. & Comaroff, J. 171 commodities 61, 103, 166, 171 Compendium Maleficarum 222 compensation 23, 138, 143

Index congregation 120, 121, 146, 156, 211, 218, 226 conjunctures 5 conjurer 211-212 consumption 74, 76, 79, 91, 103, 171, 174, 186, 219, 240 conversion 25, 27, 34, 42, 53, 54, 113-116, 117, 120, 213, 218 Cory, H. 49, 85, 111, 112, 124, 127, 151, 190, 210 cosmogonic religions 206 cosmogony 206 cosmology, Sukuma 43-49 cotton 23, 70, 72, 75-78, 80-81, 110, 126, 139, 194 council of the elders 14, 125, 165, 201, 232 counter-medicines 160 cranium 124, 127 credit 93, 94 crop 48, 49, 62, 69-78, 89, 110, 126, 139 crop failure 72-83 crop rotation 72-83 crown land 61 cultural creativity 5, 28, 147 cultural symbols 18 cultural village 90 culture, definitions 16-17 customary law 62, 94, 97 customary practice 97, 112, 146, 201, 213 custom 1, 12, 16, 91, 97, 98, 100, 106, 110, 156, 199, 211 Cuvelai floodplain 38 Daloz, J-P. 102, 164 day labourer 73 dealers 188-190 death, see burials, cemetery, funerals, grave, witch killings debts 93, 143 deceased 24, 46, 58, 99, 125, 143, 146, 192 deforestation 82 demography 107, 212, 213

Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions descendants 41, 43, 46, 47, 58, 99, 124, 145, 155, 167, 235, 242 descriptive evil 222 devil 39, 119, 173, 184, 217, 219224, 227, 241 diabolic 42, 113, 169, 217, 219 diabolical evil 222 diamonds 185 Deuteronomy 215 Dijk, R. 119 disembedding 90 dismembered 187 diversifying 72 divination 123, 125, 165, 232 diviner 48, 82, 116, 124, 126, 137, 148, 161, 162, 168, 174, 192, 197, 210 doctors, medical 117, 120 Drangert, O. 152 dreams 150, 167 drought 14, 24, 25, 27, 31, 38, 40, 48, 64, 66, 70-76, 79, 80, 82, 87, 92, 124, 129, 138, 169, 175, 202, 203, 214, 240 dry season 44, 48 dry semi-arid 72 dry spell 72 Durkheim, E. 21, 66, 101, 103 economic 8, 36, 39, 60-62, 64, 75, 90-95, 109, 110, 113, 173, 197200, 219, 232 ecosystems 19, 67 education 26, 27, 59, 82, 137, 142, 149, 162 Eliade, M. 32, 234 Elijah 215 Elster, J. 21 emic 92 enchantment 160 epiphenomenon 32, 36 Eriksen, T.H. 90 eschatology 33, 40, 115, 143, 146, 217, 219, 221, 242, 244 ethnic groups 21, 77, 198 European Commission 91

303

Evans-Pritchard, E.E. 159, 161, 164 evil 15, 24, 44, 48, 82, 118, 119, 126, 127, 147, 148, 156, 159164, 166, 176, 188, 189, 194, 196, 200, 201, 205, 214, 215, 219, 222, 230, 231, 235, 239, 241, 243 ex nihilo 205, 220 ex opere operata 42, 237 external risk 86 faeces 193 famine 27, 31, 38, 48, 72, 80, 86, 92, 127, 136, 150, 153-155, 175, 194, 196, 208, 215, 220, 222224, 244 Father Clement 217 Feierman, S. 13, 18, 19, 20, 27 Fela 22, 52, 129, 186 female rain 50 fertiliser 77-79 fertility 8, 14, 43, 47, 48, 51, 120, 134, 155, 156, 161, 174, 186 Firth, R. 159 fish 136-138, 187-188, 215 fishermen 136-138, 155, 187-188 finance 93, 129 finance minister 71 food-crops 75-77 free market 63, 77, 91, 172, 210, 242, 245 funeral 35, 54, 94, 126, 143, 145 furnace 111 Ganda 53 Geertz, C. 6, 32 Geita 111, 137, 186, 190, 191, 237 generating wealth 95, 160, 220 Genesis 205, 206, 214 genitalia 172, 187 German East Africa 109 Geschiere, P. 170, 175 Ghana 170 Giddens, A. 21, 86, 87, 91 gift 48, 82, 94, 120, 129, 132, 139, 165, 166, 215, 225, 240

304 Girault, L. 52 global flux 104 globalisation, definition 89-93 globalised traditions 4, 8, 10-11, 13, 28, 100-108, 139 glocalisation 90 Godelier, M. 21 gold 94, 111, 185, 187, 191, 214 Gombrich, R. 34, 203 Goody, J. 1, 7 gospel 11, 37, 117, 217 grandchildren 2, 13, 46, 47, 129, 140 grandparents 2-6, 13, 98, 107, 108, 142, 155, 213 grave 47, 54, 126, 127, 131, 143146, 167, 168, 170, 191, 201 grave markers 143 Great Famine 38 great tradition 101 grinding stone 58 guru 211, 212 Gwassa, G.C.K 194 Haber, E. 195 hailstones 133 harming the land 8 harvest 68-83 harvest festival 127, 128, 139, 242 hazard 81, 88 head, severed 124, 126 healing the land 8, 148, 192, 241 heaven 36-38, 40-41, 146, 205, 214, 215, 218, 220, 227, 229, 230, 244 hell 37, 40, 41, 146, 218, 220, 227 heritage 97, 143, 217 Herskovits, M. 17 Hinduism 38, 214, 235 historical explanation 20 HIV 120, 155, 184, 236 Hodder, I. 20 holy 32, 42, 82, 234 holy water 223, 234 homicide 182, 239 Hongo 193, 194

Index hospitals 26, 63, 117-120, 217, 236 household 10, 15, 25, 61, 62, 64, 73, 74, 87, 93, 110, 139, 144, 146, 151-153, 155, 156, 166, 176, 193, 200, 231 Hubert, H. 56 human flesh 167 hunger 71-73, 155, 215 hybrid 42, 87, 102, 139 hydrological cycle 26, 27, 65, 66 identity 14-16, 33, 46, 90, 97, 110, 143 Idetemya 22 Iliffe, J. 194 imperialism 90 income 10, 23, 69, 73, 76-78, 80, 140, 156, 198, 200 independence 2, 13, 25, 26, 59-61, 85, 113, 129, 241 industrial 64, 77, 86-89, 93, 186 Ingold, T. 104 initiation 44, 56, 137, 192, 208-211, 233 insurance 86, 151, 153, 185, 237 International Monetary Fund 63 internet 27, 89 iron 111, 155 iron-making 154 Isaiah 215 Isela 22 Isesabudaga 22 Islam 10, 26, 37, 68, 131, 147, 196, 200, 206, 210, 214, 227, 230, 233, 235, 236, 242 installation 124, 125, 151, 192 jatropha 78 Jenkins, R. 14-15 Jews 3, 4, 215 Jewsiewicki, B. 171 Johnstone, N. 223 Judaism 206, 214 Judgement Day 218 Kagera 22, 180, 181

Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions Kendall, M. 88 Keohane, R.O. 92 Keudel, Herr 195 Kiernan, J. 164 Kigongo 52-54 Kibambawe 195 Kinjikitile 193 Kirby, P. 92 Kjekshus, H. 62 Kolelo 194 labourer 73, 168 Lake Victoria 1, 9, 21, 52, 115, 132, 136, 139, 187 lakes 8, 64, 65, 66, 67 lambo 152 Land and Village Land Acts 61 language 18-20, 44, 45, 90, 107, 140, 141, 198, 217 Latour, B. 102 leaves 58, 78, 173 life-giving waters 8, 9, 14, 24, 60, 82, 106, 214, 215, 217, 220 life-worlds 5, 6, 32, 57, 98, 100, 133, 174, 220, 243 Ligitire 195 Limpopo 186 Linnekin, J.S. 100 lion fat 124, 125 little tradition 101 livelihood 8, 65, 69, 72, 92, 93, 169 Loliondo 236-237 longue durée 5 Lourdel, S. 52 Lowassa, E. 236 Luo 94 Mafia Island 155 magic 42, 45, 97, 126, 127, 140, 159, 161-166, 168, 171, 184, 185, 187, 191, 193, 195, 197, 205, 210, 221-226, 232, 235, 237, 238 magical cup 236, 237 Magu town 136, 155

305

maize 23, 70, 72-77, 80, 126, 133, 139, 175 Maji Maji 193-197 majini 167 male rain 50 maleficium 222 malignance 41, 47, 120, 146, 155, 156, 201-201, 220 Malinowski, B. 224 Mamdani, M. 59 manufactured risk 86 Mara region 167 market economy 13, 63, 73, 90, 91, 172 Marx, K. 20, 33, 75, 101, 103 Masalu, M. 155 materialism 20 Mauss, M. 56, 94, 153, 165, 205, 225, 226 McKittrick, M. 37 medicine 43, 49, 54, 83, 96, 117, 118, 124, 126-128, 135, 137, 138, 160-162, 167-169, 172, 174-176, 185, 186-188, 190192, 194-196, 201, 202, 205, 211, 226, 231-233, 236 mercy killings 184 Mesaki, S. 178, 181, 191, 200 metallurgy 111 metaphysical evil 222 meteorology 26, 72 methodological collectivism 20, 245 methodological individualism 20, 245 Mexico Declaration 16 mganga 102, 189, 190, 194 Miguel, E. 183, 198-200 millennial 194 Miller, J.C. 100 mines 111, 185, 187, 191, 201 miracle 36, 41, 175, 215-217, 220, 225, 235, 236 miracle cure 236 miscarriage 45, 162 Mission Station 53, 114, 196

306 missionaries 13, 26, 27, 28, 37, 38, 40, 52-53, 104, 109, 113-120, 147, 196, 217, 218, 227-229 Misungwi district 22 Misungwi sub-village 22 Mnyaa 167 modernity 13, 25, 45, 88-89, 93, 95104, 106, 147-150, 171-175 Modéus, M. 206-209 monocrop 110 Moore, H. 172 Mongela Commission 178 moral evil 222 moral persons 94 mortgage 94, 143 Muktinath 235 Mupun 168 Musoma district 167 Mutesa 54 muti 186 Mwanza 9, 12, 21-23, 60, 70, 73, 77, 103, 116, 120, 136, 155, 178-182, 184, 198, 210, 212, 217 Mwasapila, A. 236 Mwinyi, A.H. 63 mysterious ways 36, 216, 220, 232 Nassa 26, 124 National Population and Housing Census 22 Nawanga 195 newspaper 82, 179, 181, 182 Ngarambe 193, 194 Ngorongoro 236 Ngubane, H. 186 Ngwira 195, 197 Nigerian 120, 185 non-ancestral spirits 44-46, 162 non-industrial 86 ntemi 125-127, 192 Nyahorongo 83 Nyalwigo 22 Nyamwezi 21, 197, 198 Nyanghomango 22 Nye, J.S. 92

Index Nyerere, J. 24, 59, 61, 63, 85, 93, 99, 113, 243 Obeyesekere, G. 18, 159, 233 occult economy 171 omnipotent 214, 227 Otabil, M. 218 ontological gap 28, 107 ontology 38, 45, 104, 108, 132, 148, 244 opus operatum 205, 226 organised irresponsibility 86 organs 160, 186, 188, 190 orgies 222 oscolum infame 222 Otto, R. 32, 234 Ovambo 37 Pan-Africanism 119 paganism 113, 224 paradise 37, 243 peasant intellectuals 14 Pentecostals 26, 27, 82, 114, 119121, 140, 146, 210, 217-220, 243 personal symbols 18 pests 75 pilgrims 236 Pinda, M. 161 plagues 14, 40, 75, 86, 87, 223, 224 Polanyi, K. 93 Popper, K. 85 potions 176, 184-186, 188, 189, 205, 233, 237, 239 poverty 45, 60, 63, 81, 86, 87, 89, 92, 93, 106, 107, 150-157, 168, 197, 215, 219, 220, 221, 222, 228, 230, 231, 238, 243 priests 48, 54, 98, 116-119, 121, 256 prophecy 194 Protestants 120, 163, 223 Psychopedis, K. 92 punishment 25, 82, 141, 176, 184 purification 67, 94, 208 python 193

Religion at Work in Globalised Traditions radio 10, 14, 26, 27, 82, 172, 212 rain, absence 8, 21, 40, 48, 49, 64, 74, 82, 83, 98, 106, 123, 138, 155, 220, 230 dance 50, 51 failing 9, 15, 24, 38, 79, 81, 88, 150, 154, 162, 205, 226, 231, 243 witch 83, 168-169 withhold 49, 50, 82 rainfall shock 199 rain-fed agriculture 21-24, 60-65, 68-83, 150-157 rainmaking 14, 24, 46-52, 53-56, 57-60, 126-132, 133-142, 200203, 227-230 rainy season 11, 64, 70-74, 76, 77, 83, 88, 128, 129, 138 rainwater tank 151 Rappaport, R. 19, 35 rationalisation 93, 95, 164 Redfield, R. 101 reembedding 90 re-traditionalising 102, 164 Reynolds, V. 33, 34 rice 23, 70, 72, 74-77, 175 risk management 74, 86, 88, 224 risk societies 86-89 ritual power 8, 26 ritual specialist 43, 56, 98, 132, 135, 138, 227, 230, 233, 241 river 8, 45, 52, 64-67, 151, 169, 186, 214, 215, 224 royal residence 125 Rufiji River 193 rumours 136, 149, 175-177, 184, 187, 190, 230, 236, 238, 241 Rwanda 4 sacrament 42 sacred forest 139 sacrifice, human 126, 127, 187, 238 sacrifice, theories 132 Sahlins, M. 171 salvation 34, 36, 37, 207, 227 Sanders, T. 31, 50, 169, 172, 173

307

Sanjo 21, 49, 111, 120, 124, 137 Satan’s Black Book 221 schools 4, 26, 62, 63, 74, 98, 117, 119, 217 second modernity 89 semi-arid 62, 70, 72 Seventh Day Adventist Church 114 Shambaa 8 Shanklin, E. 101 Shinyanga 114, 116, 124, 178-182, 185, 199 Shipton, P. 94 Shiva 38 Siha 124 silent holocaust 159, 182 Sirari-Mbeya 22 small-scale irrigation 76, 77 Smith, W.R. 132 Snow, C.P. 66 socialist ideology 13 Society of Missionaries 53 sociological tradition 21 sorcery 153, 160, 161, 169, 196, 210 sorghum 76, 77, 126, 139, 168 soul 46, 186, 170, 221 Spaulding, N. 100 standardisation 90 stillbirths 184 Stollowsky, O. 195 strangulation 186 striga 76 Stroeken, K. 95, 165, 182, 183 strokes of fate 88 structural functionalism 35 structural transformation 19 subsystems 19 Sukuma law 151-153 Sukumaland 52, 95, 123, 177, 178, 191, 210, 217 sungusungu 193, 197 Sunseri, T. 185 Supreme Being 37, 43, 44, 45 suspicion 126, 146, 156, 182, 225, 231 Swahili 93, 113, 140 Swaziland 186

308 TAMWA 179 Tanganyika 26, 52, 85, 109, 111 Tanner, R. 25, 33, 34, 35, 42, 44-47, 64, 113-116, 123, 124, 140, 151, 159, 162, 165, 177, 198, 199, 295, 209, 210, 212, 213, 217, 218, 242 Tanzania Human Rights Report 181, 182 Tanzania Witchcraft Act 160 television 27, 82, 149 temptation 223 ten-cell committee 146 theology 34, 37, 42, 143, 219, 241 thick description 6 Thomas, K. 225 tradition, definition 1, 5, 16-20, 95108 transcendental religions 206 Trigger, B. 206 Tvedt, T. 65, 68 Tylor, E. 16 Twining, Governor 113 twins 49, 51, 133 uchawi 153, 161 uganga 162 Ujamaa 61-64, 93, 113, 173-174, 210, 245 uncertainty 64, 65, 69, 78, 88, 199, 224, 226, 235, 237 uncultivated 72, 80 Usagara 9-12, 14, 19, 21-25, 50, 52, 70, 71, 73, 77, 78, 80, 82, 88, 114, 119, 127-131, 144, 146, 201, 212 Usukuma 43, 44, 62, 116, 198, 205 vagina 51 Vansina, J. 100

Index Vidunda 195, 197 vigilantism 197 villagisation 61-64, 128, 144, 146, 173, 198, 199, 210 Vishnu 38 visible world 39 vulnerability 69, 71, 72, 77, 87, 90, 92, 246 waganga 162, 185, 186 wall-painting 210, 211 Walters, S. 53 war medicines 191, 192 water, see life-giving water, rain water rights 151-153 water stress 72 water-systems perspective 68-83 Wax, R. & Wax, M. 164 Weber, M. 32, 33, 93, 95, 101, 103, 223 wells 65, 67, 74, 153 Western lifestyle 9, 15, 57 White Fathers 52-54, 110, 116 Williams, R. 16 Wijsen, F. 42, 64, 114, 123, 151, 162, 198, 199, 210, 212, 213, 242 witch 159-203, 221-224 witchcraft, definition 160-163 witchcraft of wealth 170-197 witch killing 177-183, 197-200, 232-233, 238-241 wizard 159, 198, 211 Wolof 94 zero-sum 61, 86, 168, 173, 174 zeruzeru 184 Zinza 161 zombie 168, 170