Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the Azande

E. E. EVANS-PRITCHARD

ABRIDGED WITH AN INTRODUCTION

by Eva Gillies

CLARENDON PRESS • OXFORD 1976

Oxford University Press, Ely House, London W. i

GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE WELLINGTON

CAPE TOWN I3ADAN NAIROBI DAR ES SALAAM LUSAKA ADDIS
ABABA DELHI BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS KARACHI LAHORE
DACCA KUALA LUMPUR SINGAPORE HONG KONG TOKYO

ISBN O 19 874029 8

© Oxford University Press igy6

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Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd, Fronte and London

[Link]
Introduction

In presenting an abridged version of Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic

among the Azande, nearly forty years after its first publication, one cannot
help feeling a trifle uncomfortable about the use of the ethnographic
present. After all, the fieldwork this book refers to was done in the late
1920S: what is described here is a world long vanished. It will, I hope,
presently appear that it is a world still fresh and relevant to the modem
anthropologist, as well as to the philosopher and the historian of ideas. But
for the Azande themselves, living as they do in turbulent Central Africa, in
the watershed zone between the Nile and the Congo, time can hardly be
said to have stood still meanwhile (nor, as we shall see, was it doing so at
the period when EVANS-PRITCHARD lived among them).

The traditional Zande homeland today lies across the frontiers of three
modem African states : the Republic of the Sudan, Zaire, and the
République Centrafricaine. In EVANS-PRITCHARD's day, all these
territories were under colonial dominance : the Sudan was Anglo-Egyptian,
Zaire was the Belgian Congo, and the République Centrafricaine formed
part of the vast expanse of French Equatorial Africa. EVANS-
PRITCHARD, engaged in ethnographic survey work for the Government of
the AngloEgyptian Sudan, perforce concentrated his research on the
Sudanese Azande, though he did, on his first two expeditions, also visit the
Belgian Congo. Except where otherwise indicated, references to colonial
Government, European influence, etc., therefore allude to the Government
of the AngloEgyptian Sudan and its impact upon traditional Zande custom.

EVANS-PRITCHARD found the Sudanese Azande living in sparsely

wooded savannah country—a vast plain crossed by innumerable small tree-
fringed streams. The structure of the countryside was, indeed, revealed only
during the dry season— April to November—when the bush vegetation was
fired ; during the rains the whole land was covered with high, dense grass,
so that in walking it was difficult to leave the man-made paths.

[The rest of the introduction is missing from the scan I found. Sorry about
that. Ebooker's note]
[Link]
CHAPTER I

Witchcraft is an Organic and Hereditary Phenomenon

Azande believe that some people are witches and can injure them in
virtue of an inhèrent quality. A witch performs no rite, utters no spell, and
possesses no medicines. An act of witchcraft is a psychic act. They believe
also that sorcerers may do them ill by performing magic rites with bad
medicines. Azande distinguish clearly between witches and sorcerers.
Against both they employ diviners, oracles, and medicines. The relations
between these beliefs and rites are the subject of this book.

I describe witchcraft first because it is an indispensable background to

the other beliefs. When Azande consult oracles they consult them mainly
about witches. When they employ diviners it is for the same purpose. Their
leechcraft and closed associations are directed against the same foe.

I had no difficulty in discovering what Azande think about witchcraft, nor

in observing what they do to combat it. These ideas and actions are on the
surface of their life and are accessible to anyone who lives for a few weeks
in their homesteads. Every Zande is an authority on witchcraft. There is no
need to consult specialists. There is not even need to question Azande about
it, for information flows freely from recurrent situations in their social life,
and one has only to watch and listen. Mangu, witchcraft, was one of the
first words I heard in Zandeland, and I heard it uttered day by day
throughout the months.

Azande believe that witchcraft is a substance in the bodies of witches, a

belief which is found among many peoples in Central and West Africa.
Zandeland is the northeastern limit of its distribution. It is difficult to say
with what organ Azande associate witchcraft. I have never seen human
witchcraft-substance, but it has been described to me as an oval blackish
swelling or bag in which various small objects are sometimes found.

When Azande describe its shape they of ten point to the elbow of their
bent arm, and when they describe its location they point to just beneath the
xiphoid cartilage which is said to 'cover witchcraft-substance'. They say:

It is attached to the edge of the liver. When people cut open the belly they
have only to pierce it and witchcraft-substance bursts through with a pop.

I have heard people say that it is of a reddish colour and contains seeds of
pumpkins and sesame and other foodplants which have been devoured by a
witch in the cultivations of his neighbours. Azande know the position of
witchcraft-substance because in the past it was sometimes extracted by
autopsy. I believe it to be the small intestine in certain digestive periods.
This organ is suggested by Zande descriptions of autopsies and was that
shown to me as containing witchcraft-substance in the belly of one of my
goats.

A witch shows no certain external symptoms of his condition though

people say: 'One knows a witch by his red eyes.'

ii

Witchcraft is not only a physical trait but is also inherited. It is

transmitted by unilinear descent from parent to child. The sons of a male
witch are all witches but his daughters are not, while the daughters of a
female witch are all witches but her sons are not. Biological transmission of
witchcraft from one parent to all children of the same sex is complementary
to Zande opinions about procreation and to their eschatological beliefs.
Conception is thought to be due to a unison of psychical properties in man
and woman. When the soul of the man is stronger a boy will be born ; when
the soul of the woman is stronger a girl will be born. Thus a child partakes
of the psychical qualities of both parents, though a girl is thought to partake
more of the soul of her mother and a boy of the soul of his father.
Nevertheless in certain respects a child takes after one or other parent
according to its sex, namely, in the inheritance of sexual characters, of a
bodysoul, and of witchcraft-substance. There is a vague belief, hardly
precise enough to be described as a doctrine, that man possesses two souls,
a bodysoul and a spiritsoul. At death the bodysoul becomes a totem animal
of the clan while its fellow soul becomes a ghost and leads a shadowy
existence at the heads of streams. Many people say that the bodysoul of a
man becomes the totem animal of his father's clan while the bodysoul of a
woman becomes the totem animal of her mother's clan.

At first sight it seems strange to find a mode of matrilineal transmission

in a society which is characterized by its strong patrilinear bias, but
witchcraft like the bodysoul is part of the body and might be expected to
accompany inheritance of male or female characters from father or mother.

To our minds it appears evident that if a man is proven a witch the whole
of his clan are ipso facto witches, since the Zande clan is a group of persons
related biologically to one another through the male line. Azande see the
sense of this argument but they do not accept its conclusions, and it would
involve the whole notion of witchcraft in contradiction were they to do so.
In practice they regard only dose paternal kinsmen of a known witch as
witches. It is only in theory that they extend the imputation to all a witch's
clansmen. If in the eyes of the world payment for homicide by witchcraft
stamps the kin of a guilty man as witches, a postmortem in which no
witchcraft-substance is discovered in a man clears his paternal kin of
suspicion. Here again we might reason that if a man be found by
postmortem immune from witchcraft-substance all his clan must also be
immune, but Azande do not act as though they were of this opinion.

Further elaborations of belief free Azande from having to admit what

appear to us to be the logical consequences of belief in biological
transmission of witchcraft. If a man is proven a witch beyond all doubt his
kin, to establish their innocence, may use the very biological principle
which would seem to involve them in disrepute. They admit that the man is
a witch but deny that he is a member of their clan. They say he was a
bastard, for among Azande a man is always of the clan of his genitor and
not of his pater, and I was told that they may compel his mother if she is
still allve to say who was her lover, beating her and asking her, 'What do
you mean by going to the bush to get witchcraft in adultery?' More of ten
they simply make the declaration that the witch must have been a bastard
since they have no witchcraft in their bodies and that he could not therefore
be one of their kinsmen, and they may support this contention by quoting
cases where members of their kin have been shown by autopsy to have been
free from witchcraft. It is unlikely that other people will accept this plea,
but they are not asked either to accept it or reject it.
 Also Zande doctrine includes the notion that even if a man is the son of a
witch and has witchcraft-substance in his body he may not use it. It may
remain inoperative, 'cool' as the Azande say, throughout his lifetime, and a
man can hardly be classed as a witch if his witchcraft never functions. In
point of fact, therefore, Azande generally regard witchcraft as an individual
trait and it is treated as such in spite of its association with kinship. At the
same time certain clans had a reputation for witchcraft in the reign of King
Gbudwe. No one thinks any worse of a man if he is a member of one of
these clans.

Azande do not perceive the contradiction as we perceive it because they

have no theoretical interest in the subject, and those situations in which they
express their beliefs in witchcraft do not force the problem upon them. A
man never asks the oracles, which alone are capable of disclosing the
location of witchcraft-substance in the living, whether a certain man is a
witch. He asks whether at the moment this man is bewitching him. One
attempts to discover whether a man is bewitching someone in particular
circumstances and not whether he is born a witch. If the oracles say that a
certain man is injuring you at the moment you then know that he is a witch,
whereas if they say that at the moment he is not injuring you you do not
know whether he is a witch or not and have no interest to inquire into the
matter. If he is a witch it is of no significance to you so long as you are not
his victim. A Zande is interested in witchcraft only as an agent on definite
occasions and in relation to his own interests, and not as a permanent
condition of individuals. When he is sick he does not normally say: 'Now
let us consider who are wellknown witches of the neighbourhood and place
their names before the poison oracle.' He does not consider the question in
this light but asks himself who among his neighbours have grudges against
him and then seeks to know from the poisón oracle whether one of them is
on this particular occasion bewitching him. Azande are interested solely in
the dynamics of witchcraft in particular situations.

Lesser misfortunes are soon forgotten and those who caused them are
looked upon by the sufferer and his kin as having bewitched someone on
this occasion rather than as confirmed witches, for only persons who are
constantly exposed by the oracles as responsible for sickness or loss are
regarded as confirmed witches, and in the old days it was only when a witch
had killed someone that he became a marked man in the community.

iii

Death is due to witchcraft and must be avenged. Ali other practices

connected with witchcraft are epitomized in the action of vengeance. In our
present context it will be sufficient to point out that in preEuropean days
vengeance was either executed directly, sometimes by the slaughter of a
witch, and sometimes by acceptance of compensation, or by means of lethal
magic. Witches were very seldom slain, for it was only when a man
committed a second or third murder, or murdered an important person, that
a prince permitted his execution. Under British rule the magical method
alone is employed.

Vengeance seems to have been less a result of anger and hatred than the
fulfilment of a pious duty and a source of prof it. I have never heard that
today the kin of a dead man, once they have exacted vengeance, show any
rancour towards the family of the man whom their magic has struck down,
nor that in the past there was any prolonged hostility between the kin of the
dead and the kin of the witch who had paid compensa-) tion for his murder.
Today if a man kills a person by witchcraft the crime is his sole
responsibility and his kin are not associated with his guilt. In the past they
assisted him to pay compensation, not in virtue of collective responsibility,
but in virtue of social obligations to a kinsman. His relatives -in-law and his
bloodbrothers also contributed towards the payment. As soon as a witch is
today slain by magic, or in the past had been speared to death or had paid
compensation, the affair is closed. Moreover, it is an issue between the kin
of the dead and the "in of the witch and other people are not concerned with
it. hey have the same social links with both parties. It is extremely difficult
today to obtain information about 'ctims of vengeancemagic. Azande
themselves do not know about them unless they are members of a murdered
man's closest kin. One notices that his kinsmen are no longer observing
taboos of mourning and one knows by this that their magic has performed
its task, but it is useless to inquire from them who was its victim because
they will not tell you. It is their private affair and is a secret between them
and their prince who must be informed of the action of their magic since it
is necessary for his poison oracle to confirm their poison oracle before they
are permitted to end their mourning. Besides, it is a verdict of the poison
oracle and one must not disclose its revelations about such matters.

If other people were acquainted with the names of those who have fallen
victims to avenging magic the whole procedure of vengeance would be
exposed as futile. If it were known that the death of a man X had been
avenged upon a witch Y then the whole procedure would be reduced to an
absurdity because the death of Y is also avenged by his kinsmen upon a
witch Z. Some Azande have indeed explained to me their doubts about the
honesty of the princes who control the oracles, and a few have seen that the
presentday system is fallacious. At any rate, its fallaciousness is veiled so
long as everybody concerned keeps silence about the victims of their
vengeancemagic. In the past things were different, for then a person
accused by the prince's oracles of having killed another by witchcraft either
paid immediate compensation or was killed. In either case the matter was
closed because the man who had paid compensation had no means of
proving that he was not a witch, and if he were killed at the prince's orders
his death could not be avenged. Nor was an autopsy permitted on his corpse
to discover whether it contained witchcraft-substance.

When I have challenged Azande to defend their system of vengeance

they have generally said that a prince whose oracles declare that Y has died
from the magic of X's kinsmen will not place the name of Z before his
oracles to discover whether he died from the magic of Y's kinsmen. When
Y's kinsmen ask their prince to place Z's name before his poison oracle he
will decline to do so and will tell them that he knows Y to have died in
expiation of a crime and that his death cannot therefore be avenged. A few
Azande explained the present system by saying that perhaps
vengeancemagic and witchcraft participate in causing death. The part of the
vengeancemagic explains the termination of mourning of one family and
the part of witchcraft explains the initiation of vengeance by another family,
i.e. they seek to explain a contradiction in their beliefs in the mysticalidiom
of the beliefs themselves. But I have only been of fered this explanation as a
general and theoretical possibility in reply to my objections. Since the
names of victims of vengeance are kept secret the contradiction is not
apparent, for it would only be evident if all deaths were taken into
consideration and not any one particular death. So long therefore as they are
able to conform to custom and maintain family honour Azande are not
interested in the broader aspects of vengeance in general. They saw the
objection when I raised it but they were not incommoded by it.

Princes must be aware of the contradiction because they know the

outcome of every death in their provinces. When I asked Prince Gangura
how he accepted the death of a man both as the action of vengeancemagic
and of witchcraft he smiled and admitted that all was not well with the
presentday system. Some princes said that they did not allow a man to be
avenged if they knew he had died from vengeancemagic, but I think they
were lying. One cannot know for certain, for even if a prince were to tell the
kin of a dead man that he had died from vengeancemagic and might not be
avenged he would tell them in secret and they would keep his words a
secret. They would pretend to their neighbours that they were avenging
their kinsmen and after some months would hang up the barkcloth of
mourning as a sign that vengeance was accomplished, for they would not
wish people to know that their kinsman was a witch.

Consequently if the kinsmen of A avenge his death by magic on B and

then learn that B's kinsmen have ceased mourning in sign of having
accomplished vengeance also, they believe that this second vengeance is a
pretence. Contradiction is thereby avoided.

iv

Being part of the body, witchcraft-substance grows as the body grows.

The older a witch the more potent his witchcraft and the more unscrupulous
its use. This is one of the reasons why

Azande of ten express apprehension of old persons. The witchcraft-

substance of a child is so small that it can do little injury to others.
Therefore a child is never accused of murder, and even grown boys and
girls are not suspected of serious witchcraft though they may cause minor
misfortunes to persons of their own age. We shall see later how witchcraft
operates when there is illfeeling between witch and victim, and illfeeling is
unlikely to arise frequently between children and adults. Only adults can
consult the poison oracle and they do not normally put the names of
children before it when asking it about witchcraft. Children cannot express
their enmities and minor misfortunes in terms of oracular revelations about
witchcraft because they cannot consult the poison oracle.

Nevertheless, rare cases have been known in which, after asking the
oracle in vain about all suspected adults, a child's name has been put before
it and he has been declared a witch. But I was told that if this happens an
old man will point out that there must be an error. He will say: 'A witch has
taken the child and placed him in front of himself as a screen to protect
himself.'

Children soon know about witchcraft, and I have found in talking to little
boys and girls, even as young as six years of age, that they apprehend what
is meant when their elders speak of it. I was told that in a quarrel one child
may bring up the bad reputation of the father of another. However, people
do not comprehend the nature of witchcraft till they are used to operating
oracles, to acting in situations of misfortune in accordance with oracular
revelations, and to making magic. The concept grows with the social
experience of each individual.

Men and women are equally witches. Men may be bewitched by other
men or by women, but women are generally bewitched only by members of
their own sex. A sick man usually asks the oracles about his male
neighbours, while if he is Consulting them about a sick wife or kinswoman
he normally asks about other - women. This is because illfeeling is more
likely to arise between man and man and between woman and woman than
between man and woman. A man comes in contact only with his wives and
kinswomen and has therefore little opportunity to incur the hatred of other
women. It would, in fact, be suspicious if he consulted the oracles about
another man's wife on his own behalf, and her husband might surmise
adultery. He would wonder what contact his wife had had with her accuser
that had led to disagreement between them. Nevertheless, a man frequently
consults the oracles about his own wives, because he is sure to displease
them from time to time, and of ten they hate him. I have never heard of
cases in which a man has been accused of bewitching his wife. Azande say
that no man would do such a thing as no one wishes to kill his wife or cause
her sickness since he would himself be the chief loser. Kuagbiaru told me
that he had never known a man to pay compensation for the death of his
wife. Another reason why one does not hear of fowls' wings being presented
1
to husbands in accusation of witchcraft on account of the illnesses of their
wives is that a woman cannot herself consult the poison oracle and usually
entrusts this task to her husband. She may ask her brother to consult the
oracle on her behalf, but he is not likely to place his brother-in-law's name
before it because a husband does not desire the death of his wife.

I have never known a case in which a man has been bewitched by a

kinswoman or in which a woman has been bewitched by a kinsman.
Moreover, I have heard of only one case in which a man was bewitched by
a kinsman. A kinsman may do a man wrong in other ways but he would not
bewitch him. It is evident that a sick man would not care to ask the oracles
about his brothers and paternal cousins, because if the poison oracle
declared them to have bewitched him, by the same declaration he would
himself be a witch, since witchcraft is inherited in the male line.

Members of the princely class, the Avongara, are not accused of

witchcraft, for if a man were to say that the oracles had declared the son of
a prince to have bewitched him he would be asserting that the king and
princes were also witches. However much a prince may detest members of
his lineage he never allows them to be brought into disrepute by a
commoner. Hence, although Azande will tell one privately that they believe
some members of the noble class may be witches, they seldom consult the
oracles about them, so that they are not accused of witchcraft. In the past
they never consulted the oracles about them. There is an established fiction
that Avongara are not witches, and it is maintained by the overwhelming
power and prestige of the ruling princes.

Governors of provinces, deputies of districts, men of the court, leaders of

military companies, and other commoners of position and wealth are not
likely to be accused of witchcraft unless by a prince himself on account of
his own hunting or on account of the death of some equally influential
commoner. Generally lesser people do not dare to consult the oracles about
influential persons because their lives would be a misery if they insulted the
most important men in their neighbourhood. So we may say that the
incidence of witchcraft in a Zande community falls equally upon both sexes
in the commoner class while nobles are entirely, and powerful commoners
largely, immune from accusations. Ali children are normally free from
suspicion.

The relations of ruling princes to witchcraft are peculiar. Though immune

from accusations they believe in witches as fìrmly as other people, and they
constantly consult the poison oracle to find out who is bewitching them.
They especially consult it about their wives. A prince's oracle is also the
final authority which decides on all witchcraft cases involving homicide,
and in the past it was also used to protect his subjects from witchcraft
during warfare. When a lesser noble dies his death is attributed to a witch
and is avenged in the same way as deaths of commoners, but the death of a
king or ruling prince is not so avenged and is generally attributed to sorcery
or other evil agents of a mystical nature.

While witchcraft itself is part of the human organism its action is

psychic. What Azande call mbisimo mangu, the soul of witchcraft, is a
concept that bridges over the distance between the person of the witch and
the person of his victim. Some such explanation is necessary to account for
the fact that a witch was in his hut at the time when he is supposed to have
injured someone. The soul of witchcraft may leave its corporeal home at
any time during the day or night, but Azande generally think of a witch
sending his soul on errands by night when his victim is asleep. It sails
through the air emitting a bright light. During the daytime this light can
only be seen by witches, and by witchdoctors when they are primed with
medicines, but anyone may have the rare misfortune to observe it at night.
Azande say that the light of witchcraft is like the gleam of firefly beetles,
only it is ever so much larger and brighter than they. They also say that a
man may see witchcraft as it goes to rest on brandies for 'Witchcraft is like
fire, it lights a light'. If a man sees the light of witchcraft he picks up a piece
of charcoal and throws it under his bed so that he may not suffer misfortune
from the sight.

I have only once seen witchcraft on its path. I had been sitting late in my
hut writing notes. About midnight, before retiring, I took a spear and went
for my usual nocturnal stroll. I was walking in the garden at the back of my
hut, amongst banana trees, when I noticed a bright light passing at the back
of my servants' huts towards the homestead of a man called Tupoi. As this
seemed worth investigation I followed its passage until a grass screen
obscured the view. I ran quickly through my hut to the other side in order to
see where the light was going to, but did not regain sight of it. I knew that
only one man, a member of my household, had a lamp that might have
given of f so bright a light, but next morning he told me that he had neither
been out late at night nor had he used his lamp. There •did not lack ready
informants to tell me that what I had seen was witchcraft. Shortly
afterwards, on the same morning, an . old relative of Tupoi and an inmate of
his homestead died. This event fully explained the light I had seen. I never
discovered its real origin, which was possibly a handful of grass lit by
someone on his way to defecate, but the coincidence of the direction along
which the light moved and the subsequent death accorded well with Zande
ideas.

This light is not the witch in person stalking his prey but is an emanation
from his body. On this point Zande opinion is quite decided. The witch is on
his bed, but he has dispatched the soul of his witchcraft to remove the
psychical part of his victim's organs, his mbisimo pasio, the soul of his
flesh, which he and his fellow witches will devour. The whole act of
vampirism is an incorporeal one : the soul of witchcraft removes the soul of
the organ. I have not been able to obtain a precise explanation of what is
meant by the soul of witchcraft and the soul of an organ. Azande know that
people are killed in this way, but only a witch himself could give an exact
account of what happens in the process.

Azande use the same word in describing the psychical parts of

witchcraft-substance and other organs as they use for what we call the soul
of a man. Anything the action of which is not subject to the senses may
likewise be explained by the existence of a soul. Medicines act by means of
their soul, an explanation which covers the void between a magical rite and
the achievement of its purpose. The poison oracle also has a soul, which
accounts for its power to see what a man cannot see.

The action of witchcraft is therefore not subject to the ordinary

conditions which limit most objects of daily use, but its activity is thought
to be limited to some extent by conditions of space. Witchcraft does not
strike a man at a great distance, but only injures people in the vicinity. If a
man leaves the district in which he is living when attacked by witchcraft it
will not follow him far. Witchcraft needs, moreover, conscious direction.
The witch cannot send out his witchcraft and leave it to fìnd its victim for
itself, but he must define its objective and determine its route. Hence a sick
man can of ten elude its further ravages by withdrawing to the shelter of a
grass hut in the bush unknown to all but his wife and children. The witch
will dispatch his witchcraft after his victim and it will search his homestead
in vain and return to its owner.

Likewise, a man will leave a homestead before dawn in order to escape

witchcraft, because then witches are asleep and will not observe his
departure. When they become aware that he has left he will already be out
of range of their witchcraft. If, on the other hand, they see him starting they
may bewitch him and some misfortune will befall him on his journey or
after his return home. It is because witchcraft is believed to act only at a
short range that if a wife falls sick on a visit to her parents' home they
search for the responsible witch there and not at her husband's home, and if
she dies in her parents' home her husband may hold them responsible
because they have not protected her by consulting the oracles about her
welfare.

The farther removed a man's homestead from his neighbours the safer he
is from witchcraft. When Azande of the Anglo-

Egyptian Sudan were compelled to live in roadside settlements they did

so with prof ound misgivings, and many fled to the Belgian Congo rather
than face close contact with their neighbours. Azande say that their dislike
of living in close proximity to others is partly due to a desire to place a
stretch of country between their wives and possible lovers and partly to
their belief that a witch can injure the more severely the nearer he is to his
victim.

The Zande verb 'to bewitch' is no, and in its only other uses we translate
this word 'to shoot'. It is used for shooting with bow and arrow or with a
gun. By ajerk of a leg witchdoctors will shoot (no) pieces of bone into one
another at a distance. We may notice the analogy between these different
shootings and their common factor, the act of causing injury at a distance.
vi

In speaking of witches and witchcraft it is necessary to explain that

Azande normally think of witchcraft quite impersonally and apart from any
particular witch or witches. When a man says he cannot live in a certain
place because of witchcraft he means that he has been warned against this
spot by the oracles: The oracles have told him that if he lives there he will
be attacked by witches, and he thinks of this danger as a general danger
from witchcraft. Hence he speaks always of mangu, witchcraft. This force
does not exist outside individuate ; it is, in fact, an organic part of them, but
when particular individuate are not specified and no effort is made to
identify them, then it must be thought of as a generalized force. Witchcraft
means, therefore, some or any witches. When a Zande says about a mishap,
'It is witchcraft', he means that it is due to a witch but he does not know to
which particular one. In the same way he will say in a magic spell, 'Let
witchcraft die', meaning whoever may attempt to bewitch him. The concept
of witchcraft is not that of an impersonal force that may become attached to
persons but of a personal force that is generalized in speech, for if Azande
do not particularize they are bound to generalize.

vii

A witch does not immediately destroy his victim. On the contrary, if a

man becomes suddenly and acutely ill he may be sure that he is a victim of
sorcery and not of witchcraft. The effects of witchcraft lead to death by
slow stages, for it is only when a witch has eaten all the soul of a vital organ
that death ensues. This takes time, because he makes frequent visits over a
long period and consumes only a littie of the soul of the organ on each visit,
or, if he removes a large portion, he hides it in the thatch of his hut or in a
hole of a tree and eats it bit by bit. A slow wasting disease is the type of
sickness caused by witchcraft. It may be asked whether Azande consider the
consumption of the soul of an organ leads at the same time to its physical
deterioration. They are certainly sometimes of this opinion. Witches also
shoot objects, called ahu mangu, things of witchcraft, into the bodies of
those whom they wish to injure. This leads to pain in the place where the
missile is lodged, and a witchdoctor, in his role of leech, will be summoned
to extract the of fending objects, which may be material objects or worms
and grubs.
 Witches usually combine in their destructive activities and subsequent
ghoulish feasts. They assist each other in their crimes and arrange their
nefarious schemes in concert. They possess a special kind of ointment,
which, rubbed into their skins, renders them invisible on nocturnal
expeditions, a statement which suggests that witches are sometimes thought
to move in the body to attack their enemies. They also possess small drums
which are beaten to summon them to congress where their discussions are
presided over by old and experienced members of the brotherhood, for there
are status and leadership among witches. Experience must be obtained
under tuition of elder witches before a man is qualified to kill his
neighbours. Growth in experience goes hand in hand with growth of
witchcraft-substance. It is also said that a witch may not kill a man entirely
on his own initiative but must present his proposals to a meeting of his
fellows presided aver by a witchleader. The question is thrashed out among
them.

Sooner or later a witch falls a victim to vengeance or, if he is clever

enough to avoid retribution, is killed by another witch or by a sorcerer. We
may ask whether the distinction between witches, aboro mangu, and those
who are not witches, amokundu, is maintained beyond the grave? I have
never been given a spontaneous statement to this effect, but in answer to
direct and leading questions I have on one or two occasions been told that
when witches die they become evil ghosts (agirisa). A toro, the ordinary
ghosts, are benevolent beings, at least as benevolent as a Zande father of a
family, and their occasionai participation in the world they have left behind
them is on the whole orderly and conducive to the welfare of their children.
The agirisa, on the other hand, show a venomous hatred of humanity. They
bedevil travellers in the bush and cause passing states of dissociation.

viii

The existence of witchcraft-substance in a living person is known by

oracular verdicts. In the dead it is discovered by opening up the belly, and it
is this second method of identification that interests us in our account of the
physical basis of witchcraft. I have already suggested that the organ in
which witchcraft-substance is found is the small intestine.
 The conditions in which an autopsy took place in preEuropean days are
obscure. According to one informant, Gbaru, autopsies were an ancient
Mbomu custom, and difficulties only began to arise in Gbudwe's time.
Possibly the practice was an old one which disappeared as political control
of the Avongara increased and reappeared with its old vigour after European
conquest. King Gbudwe, as I have been told by all informants, discouraged
the practice.

However, autopsies were sometimes made when a witch was executed

without royal authority. Occasionally kinsmen of a dead man acted on the
verdict of their own poison oracle and avenged themselves on a witch
without waiting for confirmation from the king's poison oracle. In such a
case their action was ultra vires, and if the relatives of the victim of
vengeance could show that there was no witchcraft-substance in his belly
they could claim compensation in the king's court from the kin who had
taken the law into their own hands. On the other hand, autopsies to clear the
good name of a lineage, a member of which had been accused of minor acts
of witchcraft not involving payment of damages, may have been fairly
frequent even before European conquest, and they were certainly common
after it.

A man who had frequently been accused of witchcraft, even though he

were never accused of homicide, would feel that he had been insulted
without cause and that the name of his kin had been brought into ill repute.
He would therefore sometimes instruct his sons to open his abdomen before
burial to ascertain whether these reflections on the honour of his lineage
were justified, or he might have the operation performed on a son who had
died prematurely. For the Zande mind is logical and inquiring within the
framework of its culture and insists on the coherence of its own idiom. If
witchcraft is an organic substance its presence can be ascertained by
postmortem search. If it is hereditary it can be discovered in the belly of a
dose male kinsman of a witch as surely as in the belly of the witch himself.

An autopsy is performed in public at the edge of the grave. Those who

attend are relatives of the dead, his relatives-in-law, his friends, his
bloodbrothers, and old men of standing in the neighbourhood who
commonly attend funerals and sit watching the gravediggers at their labour
and other preparations for burial. Many of these old men have been present
on similar occasions in the past, and it is they who will decide upon the
presence or absence of witchcraft-substance. They can tell its presence by
the way the intestines come out of the belly.

Two lateral gashes are made in the belly and one end of the intestines is
placed in a cleft branch and they are wound round it. After the other end has
been severed from the body another man takes it and unwinds the intestines
as he walks away from the man holding the cleft branch. The old men walk
alongside the entrails as they are stretched in the air and examine them for
witchcraft-substance. The intestines are usually replaced in the belly when
the examination is finished and the corpse is buried. I have been told that if
no witchcraft-substance were discovered in a man's belly his kinsmen might
strike his accusers in the face with his intestines or might dry them in the
sun and afterwards take them to court and there boast of their victory. I have
also heard that if witchcraft-substance were discovered the accusers might
take the entrails and hang them on a tree bordering one of the main paths
leading to a prince's court.

The cutting and the burial must be performed by a bloodbrother, for this
is one of the duties of bloodbrotherhood. One informant told me that if a
man who had not made bloodbrotherhood with the kin of the dead person
performed the ceremony he would by so doing become their bloodbrother.
If witchcraft-substance is found the cutter will have to be paid heavily for
his services. Whether there is witchcraft-substance or not he must be
ritually cleansed after the operation. He is carried round on the shoulders of
a relative of the dead and greeted with ceremonial cries and pelted with
earth and red groundfruits of the nonga plant (Amomumkorarìma) 'to take
coldness from him'. He is carried to a stream and the relatives of the dead
wash his hands and give him an infusion, made from various trees, to drink.
Before he has been cleansed he may neither eat nor drink, for he is polluted
like a woman whose husband has died. Finally, if there was no witchcraft-
substance, a feast is prepared at which the cutter and a kinsman of the dead
pulì a gourd containing beer into halves and the kinsmen of the dead and
the kinsmen of the cutter exchange gifts, a man from each party advancing
in turn to the other party and throwing his gift on the ground before them.

[Link]
CHAPTER II

The Notion of Witchcraft explains Unfortunate Events

Witches, as the Azande conceive them, clearly cannot exist. None the
less, the concept of witchcraft provides them with a natural philosophy by
which the relations between men and unfortunate events are explained and a
ready and stereotyped means of reacting to such events. Witchcraft beliefs
also embrace a system of values which regulate human conduct.

Witchcraft is ubiquitous. It plays its part in every activity of Zande life;

in agricultural, fishing, and hunting pursuits; in domestic life of homesteads
as well as in communal life of district and court ; it is an important theme of
mental life in which it forms the background of a vast panorama of oracles
and magic ; its influence is plainly stamped on law and morals, etiquette
and religion ; it is prominent in technology and language ; there is no niche
or corner of Zande culture into which it does not twist itself. If blight seizes
the groundnut crop it is witchcraft; if the bush is vainly scoured for game it
is witchcraft; if women laboriously baie water out of a pool and are
rewarded by but a few small fish it is witchcraft; if termites do not rise
when their swarming is due and a cold useless night is spent in waiting for
their flight it is witchcraft ; if a wife is sulky and unresponsive to her
husband it is witchcraft ; if a prince is cold and distant with his subject it is
witchcraft ; if a magi cai rite fails to achieve its purpose it is witchcraft ; if,
in fact, any failure or misfortune falls upon anyone at any time and in
relation to any of the manifold activities of his life it may be due to
witchcraft. The Zande attributes all these misfortunes to witchcraft unless
there is strong evidence, and subsequent oracular confirmation, that sorcery
or some other evil agent has been at work, or unless they are_clearly to be
attributed to incompetence, breach of a taboo, or failure to observe a moral
rule.

To say that witchcraft has blighted the groundnut crop, that witchcraft has
scared away game, and that witchcraft has made so and-so ill is equivalent
to saying in terms of our own culture that the groundnut crop has failed
owing to blight, that game is scarce this season, and that so-and-so has
caught influenza. Witchcraft participates in all misfortunes and is the idiom
in which Azande speak about them and in which they explain them. To us
witchcraft is something which haunted and disgusted our credulous
forefathers. But the Zande expects to come across witchcraft at any time of
the day or night. He would be just as surprised if he were not brought into
daily contact with it as we would be if confronted by its appearance. To him
there is nothing miraculous about it. It is expected that a man's hunting will
be injured by witches, and he has at his disposal means of dealing with
them. When misfortunes occur he does not become awestruck at the play of
supernatural forces. He is not terrified at the presence of an occult enemy.
He is, on the other hand, extremely annoyed. Someone, out of spite, has
ruined his groundnuts or spoilt his hunting or given his wife a chill, and
surely this is cause for anger ! He has done noone harm, so what right has
anyone to interfere in his affairs ? It is an impertinence, an insult, a dirty, of
fensive trick! It is the aggressiveness and not the eerieness of these actions
which Azande emphasize when speaking of them, and it is anger and not
awe which we observe in their response to them.

Witchcraft is not less anticipated than adultery. It is so intertwined with

everyday happenings that it is part of a Zande's ordinary world. There is
nothing remarkable about a witch— you may be one yourself, and certainly
many of your closest neighbours are witches. Nor is there anything
aweinspiring about witchcraft. We do not become psychologically
transformed when we hear that someone is ill—we expect people to be ill—
and it is the same with Zande. They expect people to be ill, i.e. to be
bewitched, and it is not a matter for surprise or wonderment.

I found it strange at first to live among Azande and listen to naive

explanations of misfortunes which, to our minds, have apparent causes, but
after a while I learnt the idiom of their thought and applied notions of
witchcraft as spontaneously as themselves in situations where the concept
was relevant. A boy knocked his foot against a small stump of wood in the
centre of a bush path, a frequent happening in Africa, and suffered pain and
inconvenience in consequence. Owing to its position on his toe it was
impossible to keep the cut free from dirt and it began to fester. He declared
that witchcraft had made him knock his foot against thè stump. I always
argued with Azande and criticized their statements, and I did so on this
occasion. I told the boy that he had knocked his foot against the stump of
wood because he had been careless, and that witchcraft had not placed it in
the path, for it had grown there naturally. He agreed that witchcraft had
nothing to do with the stump of wood being in his path but added that he
had kept his eyes open for stumps, as indeed every Zande does most
carefully, and that if he had not been bewitched he would have seen the
stump. As a conclusive argument for his view he remarked that all cuts do
not take days to heal but, on the contrary, dose quickly, for that is the nature
of cuts. Why, then, had his sore festered and remained open if there were no
witchcraft behind it? This, as I discovered before long, was to be regarded
as the Zande explanation of sickness.

Shortly after my arrivai in Zandeland we were passing through a

government settlement and noticed that a hut had been burnt to the ground
on the previous night. Its owner was overcome with griefas it had contained
the beer he was preparing for a mortuary feast. He told us that he had gone
the previous night to examine his beer. He had lit a handful of Straw and
raised it above his head so that light would be cast on the pots, and in so
doing he had ignited the thatch. He, and my companions also, were
convinced that the disaster was caused by witchcraft.

One of my chief informants, Kisanga, was a skilled woodcarver, one of

the finest carvers in the whole kingdom of Gbudwe. Occasionally the bowls
and stools which he carved split during the work, as one may well imagine
in such a climate. Though the hardest woods be selected they sometimes
split in process of carving or on completion of the utensil even if the
craftsman is careful and well acquainted with the technical rules of his craft.
When this happened to the bowls and stools of this particular craftsman he
attributed the misfortune to witchcraft and used to harangue me about the
spite and jealousy of his neighbours. When I used to reply that I thought he
was mistaken and that people were well disposed towards him he used to
hold the split bowl or stool towards me as concrete evidence of his
assertions. If people were not bewitching his work, how would I account for
that? Likewise a potter will attribute the cracking of his pots during firing to
witchcraft. An experienced potter need have no fear that his pots will crack
as a result of error. He selects the proper clay, kneads it thoroughly till he
has extracted all grit and pebbles, and builds it up slowly and carefully. On
the night before digging out his clay he abstains from sexual intercourse. So
he should have nothing to fear. Yet pots sometimes break, even when they
are the handiwork of expert potters, and this can only be accounted for by
witchcraft. 'It is broken—there is witchcraft,' says the potter simply. Many
similar situations in which witchcraft is cited as an agent are instanced
throughout this and following chapters.

ii

In speaking to Azande about witchcraft and in observing their reactions

to situations of misfortune it was obvious that they did not attempt to
account for the existence of phenomena, or even the action of phenomena,
by mystical causation alone. What they explained by witchcraft were the
particular conditions in a chain of causation which related an individual to
natural happenings in such a way that he sustained injury. The^-boy who
knocked his foot against a stump of wood did not account for the stump by
reference to witchcraft, nor did he suggest that whenever anybody knocks
his foot against a stump it is necessarily due to witchcraft, nor yet again did
he account for the cut by saying that it was caused by witchcraft, for he —
knew quite well that it was caused by the stump of wood. What he
attributed to witchcraft was that on this particular occasion, when exercising
his usual care, he struck his foot against a stump of wood, whereas on a
hundred other occasions he did not do so, and that on this particular
occasion the cut, which he expected to result from the knock, festered
whereas he had had dozens of cuts which had not festered. Surely these
peculiar conditions demand an explanation. Again, every year hundreds of
Azande go and inspect their beer by night and they always take with them a
handful of Straw in order to illuminate the hut in which it is fermenting.
Why then should this particular man on this single occasion have ignited
the thatch of his hut? Again, my friend the woodcarver had made scores of
bowls and stools without mishap and he knew all there was to know
abouttheselectionof wood, use of tools, and conditions of carving. His
bowls and stools did not split like the products of craftsmen who were
unskilled in their work, so why on rare occasions should his bowls and
stools split when they did not split usually and when he had exercised all
his usual knowledge and care? He knew the answer well enough and so, in
his opinion, did his envious, backbiting neighbours. In the same way, a
potter wants to know why his pots should break on an occasion when he
uses the same material and technique as on other occasions ; or rather he
already knows, for the reason is known in advance, as it were. If the pots
break it is due to witchcraft.

We shall give a false account of Zande philosophy if we say that they

believe witchcraft to be the sole cause of phenomena. This proposition is
not contained in Zande patterns of thought, which only assert that
witchcraft brings a man into relation with events in such a way that he
sustains injury.

In Zandeland sometimes an old granary collapses.i There is nothing

remarkable in this. 'Every Zande knows that termites eat the supports in
course of time/and that even the hard est woods decay after years of
service/lNow a granary is the summerhouse of a Zande homestead and
people sit beneath it in the heat of the day and chat or playfthe African
holegame or work at some craftJConsequently it may happen that there are
people sitting beneath the granary when it collapses and they are injurecty
for it is a heavy structure made of beams and clay and may be stored with
eleusine as well. Now why should these particular people have been sitting
under this particular granary at the particular moment when it collapsed?
That it should collapse is easily intelligible, but why should it have
collapsed at the particular moment when these particular people _were
sitting beneath it? Through years it might have collapsed, so why should it
fall just when certain people sought its kindly shelter? We say that the
granary collapsed because its supports were eaten away by termites; that is
the cause that explains the collapse of the granary. We also say that people
were sitting under it at the time because it was in the heat of the day and
they thought that it would be a comfortable place to talk and work. This is
the cause of people being under the granary at the time it collapsed. To our
minds the only relationship between these two independently caused facts is
their coincidence in time andTspace. We have no explanation of why the
ìwó~cjhains of causation intersected at a certain time and in a certain place,
for there is no interdependence between them.
 Zande philosophy can supply the missing link. The Zande knows that the
supports were undermined by termites and thaC people were sitting beneath
the granary in order to escape the heat and giare of the sun. But he knows
besides why these two ( events occurred at a precisely similar moment in
time and space. It was due to the action of witchcraft. If there had been no
witchcraft people would have been sitting under the granary / and it would
not have fallen on them, or it would have collapsed1 but the people would
not have been sheltering under it at the time. Witchcraft explains the
coincidence of these two happenings.

iii

I hope I am not expected to point out that the Zande cannot analyse his
doctrines as I have done for him. It is no use saying to a Zande 'Now tell me
what you Azande think about witchcraft' because the subject is too general
and indeterminate, both too vague and too immense, to be described
concisely. But it is possible to extract the principles of their thought from
dozens — of situations in which witchcraft is called upon to explain
happenings and from dozens of other situations in which failure is attributed
to some other cause. Their philosophy is explicit, but is not formally stated
as a doctrine. A Zande would not say 'I believe in natural causation but I do
not think that that fully explains coincidences, and it seems to me that the
theory of witchcraft of fers a satisfactory explanation to them', but he
expresses his thought in terms of actual and particular situations. He says 'a
buffalo charges', 'a tree falls', 'termites are not making their seasonal flight
when they are expected to do so', and so on. Herein he is stating empirically
ascertained facts. But he also says 'a buffalo charged and wounded so-and-
so', 'a tree fell on so-and-so and killed him', 'my termites refuse to make
their flight in numbers worth collecting but other people are collecting
theirs all right', and so on. He tells you that these things are due to
witchcraft, saying in each instance, 'so-and-so has been bewitched.' The
facts do not explain themselves or only partly explain themselves. They can
only be explained fully if one takes witchcraft into consideration.

One can only obtain the full range of a Zande's ideas about causation by
allowing him to fill in the gaps himself, otherwise one will be led astray by
linguistic conventions. He tells you 'so-and-so was bewitched and killed
himself or even simply that 'so-and-so was ki,led by witchcraft'. But he is
telling you the ultimate cause of his death and not the secondary causes.
You can ask him 'How did he kill himself?' and he will tell you that he
committed suicide by hanging himself from the branch of a tree. You can
also ask 'Why did he kill himself?' and he will tell you that it was because
he was angry with his brothers. The cause of his death was hanging from a
tree, and the cause of his hanging from a tree was his anger with his
brothers. If you then ask a Zande why he should say that the man was
bewitched if he committed suicide on account of his anger with his
brothers, he will tell you that only crazy people commit suicide, and that if
everyone who was angry with his brothers committed suicide there would
soon be no people left in the world, and that if this man had not been
bewitched he would not have done what he did do. If you persevere and ask
why witchcraft caused the man to kill himself the Zande will reply that he
supposes someone hated him, and if you ask him why someone hated him
your informant will tell you that such is the nature of men.

For if Azande cannot enunciate a theory of causation in terms acceptable

to us they describe happenings in an idiom that is explanatory. They are
aware that it is particular circumstances of events in their relation to man,
their harmfulness to a particular person, that constitutes evidence of
witchcraft. Witchcraft explains why events are harmful to man and not how
they happen. A Zande perceives how they happen just as we do. He does
not see a witch charge a man, but an elephant. He does not see a witch push
over a granary, but termites gnawing away its supports. He does not see a
psychical flame igniting thatch, but an ordinary lighted bundle of Straw. His
perception of how events occur is as clear as our own.

iv

Zande belief in witchcraft in no way contradicts empirical knowledge of

cause and effect. The world known to the senses is just as real to them as it
is to us. We must not be deceived by their way of expressing causation and
imagine that because they say a man was killed by witchcraft they entirely
neglect the secondary causes that, as we judge them, were the true causes of
his death. They are foreshortening the chain of events, and in a particular
social situation are selecting the cause that is socially relevant and
neglecting the rest. If a man is killed by a spear in war, or by a wild beast in
hunting, or by the bite of a snake, or from sickness, witchcraft is the
socially relevant cause, since it is the only one which allows mtervention
and determines social behaviour.

Belief in death from natural causes and belief in death from witchcraft
are not mutually exclusive. On the contrary, they supplement one another,
the one accounting for what the other does not account for. Besides, death is
not only a natural fact but also a social act. It is not simply that the heart
ceases to beat and the lungs to pump air in an organism, but it is also the
destruction of a member of a family and kin, of a community and tribe.
Death leads to consultation of oracles, magic rites, and revenge. Among the
causes of death witchcraft is the only one that has any significance for
social behaviour. The attribution of misfortune to witchcraft does not
exclude what we call its real causes but is superimposed on them and gives
to social events their moral value.

Zande thought expresses the notion of natural and mystical causation

quite clearly by using a hunting metaphor to define their relations. Azande
always say of witchcraft that it is the umbaga or_second spear. When
Azande kill game there is a division of meat between the man who first
speared the animal and the man who plunged a second spear into it. These
two are considered to have killed the beast and the owner of the second
spear is called the umbaga. Hence if a man is killed by an elephant Azande
say that the elephant is the first spear and that witchcraft is the second spear
and that together they killed

the man. If a man spears another in war the slayer is the first spear and
witchcraft is the second spear and together they killed him.

Since Azande recognize plurality of causes, and it is the social situation

that indicates the relevant one, we can understand why the doctrine of
witchcraft is not used to explain every failure and misfortune. It sometimes
happens that the social situation demands a commonsense, and not a
mystical, judgement of cause. Thus, if you tell a lie, or commit adultery, or
steal, or deceive your prince, and are found out, you cannot elude
punishment by saying that you were bewitched. Zande doctrine declares
emphatically 'Witchcraft does not make a person tell lies' ; 'Witchcraft does
not make a person commit adultery'; 'Witchcraft does not put adultery into a
man. "Witchcraft" is in yourself (you alone are responsible), that is, your
penis becomes erect. It sees the hair of a man's wife and it rises and
becomes erect because the only "witchcraft" is, itself ("witchcraft" is here
used metaphorically) ; 'Witchcraft does not make a person steal' ;
'Witchcraft does not make a person disloyal.' Only on one occasion have I
heard a Zande plead that he was bewitched when he had committed an of
fence and this was when he lied to me, and even on this occasion everybody
present laughed at him and told him that witchcraft does not make people
tell lies.

If a man murders another tribesman with knife or spear he is put to death.

It is not necessary in such a case to seek a witch, for an objective towards
which vengeance may be directed is already present. If, on the other hand, it
is a member of another tribe who has speared a man his relatives, or his
prince, will take steps to discover the witch responsible for the event.

It would be treason to say that a man put to death on the orders of his
king for an of fence against authority was killed by witchcraft. If a man
were to consult the oracles to discover the witch responsible for the death of
a relative who had been put to death at the orders of his king he would run
the risk of being put to death himself. For here the social situation excludes
the notion of witchcraft as on other occasions it pays mo attention to natural
agents and emphasizes only witchcraft. Also, if a man were killed in
vengeance because the oracles said that he was a witch and had murdered
another man with his witchcraft then his relatives could not say that he had
been killed by witchcraft. Zande doctrine lays it down that he died at the
hand of avengers because he was a homicide. If a man were to have
expressed the view that his kinsman had been killed by witchcraft and to
have acted upon his opinion by consulting the poison oracle, he might have
been punished for ridiculing the king's poison oracle, for it was the poison
oracle of the king that had given of ficiai confirmation of the man's guilt,
and it was the king himself who had permitted vengeance to take its course.

In these situations witchcraft is irrelevant and, if not totally excluded, is

not indicated as the principal factor in causation. As in our own society a
scientific theory of causation, if not excluded, is deemed irrelevant in
questions of moral and legai responsibility, so in Zande society the doctrine
of witchcraft, if not excluded, is deemed irrelevant in the same situations.
We accept scientific explanations of the causes of disease, and even of the
causes of insanity, but we deny them in crime and sin because her e they
militate against law and morals which are axiomatic. The Zande accepts a
mystical explanation of the causes of misfortune, sickness, and death, but
he does not allow this explanation if it conflicts with social exigencies
expressed in law and morals.

For witchcraft is not indicated as a cause for failure when a taboo has
been broken. If a child becomes sick, and it is known that its father and
mother have had sexual relations before it was weaned, the cause of death is
already indicated by breach of a ritual prohibition and the question of
witchcraft does not arise. If a man develops leprosy and there is a history of
incest in his case then incest is the cause of leprosy and not witchcraft. In
these cases, however, a curious situation arises because when the child or
the leper dies it is necessary to avenge their deaths and the Zande sees no
difficulty in explaining what appears to us to be most illogical behaviour.
He does so on the same principles as when a man has been killed by a wild
beast, and he invokes the same metaphor of 'second spear'. In the cases
mentioned above there are really three causes of a person's death. There is
the illness from which he dies, leprosy in the case of the man, perhaps some
fever in the case of the child. These sicknesses are not in themselves
products of witchcraft, for they exist in their own right just as a buffalo or a
granary exist in their own right. Then there is the breach of a taboo, in the
one case of weaning, in the other case of incest. The child, and the man,
developed fever, and leprosy, because a taboo was broken. The breach of a
taboo was the cause of their sickness, but the sickness would not have killed
them it witchcraft had not also been operative. If witchcraft had not been
present as 'second spear' they would have developed fever and leprosy just
the same, but they would not have died from them. In these instances there
are two socially significant causes, breach of taboo and witchcraft, both of
which are relative to different social processes and each is emphasized by
different people.

But where there has been a breach of taboo and death is not involved
witchcraft will not be evoked as a cause of failure. If a man eats a forbidden
food after he has made powerful punitive magic he may die, and in this case
the cause of his death is known beforehand, since it is contained in the
conditions of the situation in which he died even if witchcraft was also
operative. But it does not follow that he will die. What does inevitably
follow is that the medicine he has made will cease to operate against the
person for whom it is intended and will have to be destroyed lest it turn
against the magician who sent it forth. The failure of the medicine to
achieve its purpose is due to breach of a taboo and not to witchcraft. If a
man has had sexual relations with his wife and on the next day approaches
the poison oracle it will not reveal the truth and its oracular efficacy will be
permanently undermined. If he had not broken a taboo it would have been
said that witchcraft had caused the oracle to lie, but the condition of the
person who had attended the seance provides a reason for its failure to
speak the truth without having to bring in the notion of witchcraft as an
agent. No one will admit that he has broken a taboo before Consulting the
poison oracle, but when an oracle lies everyone is prepared to admit that a
taboo may have been broken by someone.

Similarly, when a potter's creations break in firing witchcraft is not the

only possible cause of the calamity. Inexperience and bad workmanship
may also be reasons for failure, or the potter may himself have had sexual
relations on the preceding night. The potter himself will attribute his failure
to witchcraft, but others may not be of the same opinion.

Not even all deaths are invariably and unanimously attributed to

witchcraft or to the breach of some taboo. The deaths of babies from certain
diseases are attributed vaguely to the Supreme Being. Also, if a man falls
suddenly and violently sick and dies, his relatives may be sure that a
sorcerer has made magic against him and that it is not a witch who has
killed him. A breach of the obligations of bloodbrotherhood may sweep
away whole groups of kin, and when one after another of brothers and
cousins die it is the blood and not witchcraft to which their deaths are
attributed by outsiders, though the relatives of the dead will seek to avenge
them on witches. When a very old man dies unrelated people say that he has
died of old age, but they do not say this in the presence of kinsmen, who
declare that witchcraft is responsible for his death.

It is also thought that adultery may cause misfortune, though it is only

one participating factor, and witchcraft is also believed to be present. Thus
is it said that a man may be killed in warfare or in a hunting accident as a
result of his wife's infidelities. Therefore, before going to war or on a
largescale hunting expedition a man might ask his wife to divulge the
names of her lovers.

Even where breaches of law and morals do not occur witchcraft is not the
only reason givqn for failure. Incompetence, laziness, and ignorance may be
selected as causes. When a girl -smashes her waterpot or a boy forgets to
close the door of the henhouse at night they will be admonished severely by
their parents for stupidity. The mistakes of children are due to carelessness
or ignorance and they are taught to avoid them while they are still young.
People do not say that they are effects of witchcraft, or if they are prepared
to concede the possibility of witchcraft they consider stupidity the main
cause. Moreover, the Zande is not so naive that he holds witchcraft
responsible for the cracking of a pot during firing if subsequent examination
shows that a pebble was left in the clay, or for an animal escaping his net if
someone frightened it away by a move or a sound. People do not blame
witchcraft if a woman burns her porridge nor if she presents it undercooked
to her husband. And when an inexperienced craftsman makes a stool which
lacks polish or which splits, this is put down to his inexperience.

In all these cases the man who suffers the misfortune is likely to say that
it is due to witchcraft, but others will not say so.

We must bear in mind nevertheless that a serious misfortune, especially if

it results in death, is normally attributed by everyone to the action of
witchcraft, especially by the sufferer and his kin, however much it may
have been due to a man's incompetence or absence of selfcontrol. If a man
falls into a fìre and is seriously burnt, or falls into a gamepit and breaks his
neck or his leg, it would undoubtedly be attributed to witchcraft. Thus when
six or seven of the sons of Prince Rikita were entrapped in a ring of fire and
burnt to death when hunting canerats their death was undoubtedly due to
witchcraft.

Hence we see that witchcraft has its own legic, its own rules of thought,
and that these do not exclude natural causation. Belief in witchcraft is quite
consistent with human responsibility and a rational appreciation of nature.
First of all a man must carry out an activity according to traditional rules of
technique, which consist of knowledge checked by trial and error in each
generation. It is only if he fails in spite of adherence to these ; rules that
people will impute his lack of success to witchcraft.

It is of ten asked whether primitive peoples distinguish between the

natural and thè supernatural, and the query may be here answered in a
preliminary manner in respect to the Azande. The question as it stands may
mean, do primitive peoples distinguish between the natural and the
supernatural in the abstract? We have a notion of an ordered world
conforming to what we call natural laws, but some people in our society
believe that mysterious things can happen which cannot be accounted for by
reference to natural laws and which therefore are held to transcend them,
and we call these happenings supernatural. To us supernatural means very
much the same as abnormal or extraordinary. Azande certainly have no such
notions of reality. They have no conceptions of 'natural' as we understand it,
and therefore neither of the 'supernatural' as we understand it. Witchcraft is
to Azande an ordinary and not an extraordinary, even though it may in some
circumstances be an infrequent, event. It is a normal, and not an abnormal,
happening. But if they do not give to the natural and supernatural the
meanings which educated Europeans give to them they nevertheless
distinguish between them. For our question may be formulated, and should
be formulated, in a different manner. We ought rather to ask whether
primitive peoples perceive any difference between the happenings which
we, the observers of their culture, class as natural and the happenings which
we class as mystical. Azande undoubtedly perceive a difference between
what we consider the workings of nature on the one hand and the workings
of magic and ghosts and witchcraft on the other hand, though in the absence
of a formulated doctrine of natural law they do not, and cannot, express the
difference as we express it.

The Zande notion of witchcraft is incompatible with our ways of thought.

But even to the Azande there is something peculiar about the action of
witchcraft. Normally it can be perceived only in dreams. It is not an evident
notion but transcends sensory experience. They do not prof ess to
understand witchcraft entirely. They know that it exists and works evil, but
they have to guess at the manner in which it works. Indeed, I have
frequently been struck when discussing witchcraft with Azande by the
doubt they express about the subject, not only in what they say, but even
more in their manner of saying it, both of which contrast with their ready
knowledge, fluently imparted, j about social events and economic
techniques. They feel out of their depth in trying to describe the way in
which witchcraft accomplishes its ends. That it kills people is obvious, but
how it kills them cannot be known precisely. They tell you that perhaps if
you were to ask an older man or a witchdoctor he might give you more
information. But the older men and the witchdoctors can tell you little more
than youth and laymen. They 1 only know what the others know : that the
soul of witchcraft goes by night and devours the soul of its victim. Only
witches themselves understand these matters fully. In truth Azande
experience feelings about witchcraft rather than ideas, for their intellectual
concepts of it are weak and they know better what to do when attacked by it
than how to explain it. Their response j is action and not analysis. '

There is no elaborate and consistent representation of witchcraft that will

account in detail for its workings, nor of nature which expounds its
conformity to sequences and functional interrelations. The Zande actualizes
these beliefs rather than intellectualizes them, and their tenets are expressed
in socially controlled behaviour rather than in doctrines. Hence the
difficulty of discussing the subject of witchcraft with Azande, for their ideas
are imprisoned in action and cannot be cited to explain and justify action.

[Link]
CHAPTER III

Sufferers from Misfortune seek for Witches among their Enemies

We must now view witchcraft in a more objective manner, for it is a

mode of behaviour as well as a mode of thought. The reader will rightly ask
what a Zande does when he is bewitched, how he discovers who is
bewitching him, how he expresses his resentment and ensures his
protection, and what system of control inhibits violent retaliation.

Only when the misfortune is death can vengeance or compensation be

exacted for injury from witchcraft. In a lesser loss all that can be done is to
expose the witch responsible and to persuade him to withdraw his baneful
influence. When a man suffers an irreparable loss it is therefore useless for
him to pursue the matter further, since no compensation can be obtained for
the loss, and a witch cannot undo what he has already done. In such
circumstances a Zande laments his misfortune and blames witchcraft in
general, but is unlikely to take steps to identify any particular witch since
the man will either deny his responsibility or will say that he is not
conscious of having caused anyone an injury, and that if he has done so
unwittingly he is sorry, and in either case the sufferer will be no better of f.

But if a misfortune is incipient there is sound reason for immediate

identification of the witch responsible since he can be persuaded to
withdraw his witchcraft before matters take a serious turn. If game is scarce
at the end of the hunting season it is useless to seek out the witches who
have scared it away, but at the height of the season discovery of the witches
may result in a good bag. If a man is bitten by a poisonous snake he either
gets well soon or he dies. Should he recover, no good can come of asking
the oracles for the name of the witch responsible for the bite. But if a man
falls sick and his sickness is likely to be serious and of some duration, then
his relatives approach the witch responsible in order to turn the scales
between recovery and death'.
 The manner in which oracles are operated will be explained later. Here
we shall refer simply to their verdicts as part of the social mechanism for
dealing with witchcraft. It is apparent that when a witch is exposed by the
oracles a situation fraught with danger is created, since the injured man and
his kinsmen are angry at an affront to their dignity and an attack on their
welfare by a neighbour. No one accepts lightly that another shall ruin his
hunting or undermine his health out of spite and jealousy, and Azande
would certainly assault witches who are proved to be injuring them if their
resentment were not directed into customary channels backed by political
authority.

I must again stress that we are not here concerned with crime that can be
brought before the courts and penalized, nor with civil of fences for which
compensation can be exacted by legal suits. Unless a witch actually kills a
man it is impossible to take legal steps against him in a prince's court; and I
have recorded no cases of witches being punished for causing other losses.
Old men, however, have told me that very occasionally in the old days a
man in favour at court persuaded a prince to grant him damages for loss of
his entire eleusine crop by fire or disease.

Hence the procedure described in this chapter is customary procedure in

which the question of retaliation does not arise. So long as injured party and
witch observe the correct forms of behaviour the incident will be closed
without any hard words, far less blows, passing between them, and even
without relations becoming embittered. You have a right to ask a witch to
leave you in peace, and you may even go so far as to warn him that if your
kinsman dies he will be accused of murder, but you must not insult him or
cause him an injury. For a witch is also a tribesman, and so long as he does
not kill people he has a right to live his life free from molestation. However,
a witch must adhere to custom by recalling his witchcraft when requested to
do so by those whom it is injuring. If a man were to assault a witch he
would lose prestige, he would render himself liable for damagés at court,
and he would only incur additional hatred of the witch, whereas the object
of the whole procedure is to allay it and get him to withdraw his witchcraft
by a polite request that he will cease from troubling his victim further. On
the other hand, if a witch refuses to comply with a request couched in the
usual form he will lose social prestige, he will have openly admitted his
guilt, and he will be running a grave risk lest he bring death upon his
victims and inevitable retribution on himself.

ii

It must not be thought that Azande consult the poison oracle, or even
cheaper and more easily obtainable oracles, about every doubt and
misfortune. Life is too short to be always consulting oracles, and, moreover,
to what purpose? There is always witchcraft about, and you cannot possibly
eradicate it from your life. You are sure to make enemies, and you cannot
always be exposing them for witchcraft. Some risk has to be taken. So when
a Zande says that a loss is due to witchcraft he is merely expressing his
disappointment in the usual phrases that such situations evoke, but we must
not suppose that his emotions are deeply stirred, or that he immediately
rushes of f to discover who are the witches responsible for his misfortune.
Nine times out of ten he does nothing. He is a philosopher and knows that
in life the ill must be taken with the good.

It is only in matters affecting his health and in his more serious social and
economic ventures that he consults oracles and witchdoctors about
witchcraft. Generally he consults them about possible misfortunes in the
future, for he is mainly worried to know whether undertakings may be
commenced with confidence or whether there is already witchcraft hanging
over them in advance, even before they have been begun and while still
only propositions. For example : a man wishes to send his son to be brought
up as a page at the king's court, or to make a journey to the Bongo people to
the north of Gbudwe's kingdom to collect meat and buttertree oil, and either
of these undertakings may end in disaster if witchcraft interferes with them.
He therefore consults the oracles about them, and if the oracles tell him that
they are inauspicious, that witchcraft hangs over them, he gives up his
plans. No one will blame him for not proceeding with his intentions, since it
would be suicidal to do so if the poison oracle has given adverse verdicts. In
these examples he either gives up his projects altogether or waits a month or
two and then consults the oracles again, when perhaps they will give a
different verdict, since witchcraft may then no longer threaten his ventures.
Or a man wishes to change his homestead or to sow his staple crop of
eleusine or to dig a gamepit and consults the oracles about suitable sites. He
asks : Shall I build my homestead in this place? Shall I prepare this piece of
ground for my eleusine crop? Shall I dig a gamepit in this spot? If the
poison oracle decides against one site he can always ask it about other sites
until it announces that one of them is auspicious and that there is no danger
to the health of his family or to their economic success. For it is useless to
perform the great labour of building a new homestead, of clearing bush for
gardens, of digging a wide and deep elephant pit, if the undertaking is
known to be unsuccessful before it is even started. If witchcraft has ensured
failure in advance, why not choose another site where labour will reap its
just reward? A man wishes to marry a girl and consults the poison oracle to
find out if his marriage is going to be a success or if his wife will die in his
homestead during the first few years of their married life. Here an
inauspicious verdict of the oracles involves a more complicated procedure,
since a girl is not like an eleusine plot or homestead site, for one cannot ask
the oracles about a series of girls as one can about parts of the bush. The
Zande must now find out what particular witches are threatening his future
marriage and then try to persuade them to withdraw their illwill. When he
has approached the witches he will let things lie fallow for a while and will
then consult the oracles a second time to find out if there is still danger
ahead or if the road to marriage is now clear. For it is useless to marry a girl
about whom it is known in advance that she will die if she marries you.

It is advisable to point out that when a Zande says a venture is bewitched

he is occasionally lying. Since no one can be expected to fulfil an obligation
if its fulfilment entails disaster, the easiest way of eluding an undertaking is
to say that the oracles have informed you that if you were to embark upon it
you would die. No one can expect you to court disaster. Good faith is
therefore sometimes abused. If you merely do not wish to send your son to
act as a page at the king's court, or to accompany your friend to Bongo
country, or to give your daughter in marriage to the man to whom you have
pledged her, or to allow your wife to visit her parents, you have only to
plead that the oracles prophesy death as the outcome of these ventures.
However, by these circumlocutions you may delay but not permanently
avoid carrying out your obligations; for the persons to whom you are
pledged, your king, your friend, your future son -in-law, your parents -in-
law will also consult their oracles to check your oracles, and even if the
declaràtions of their oracles agree with what you have untruthfully stated to
be the declarations of your oracles they will only release you for a while
from your obligations. Efforts will at once be made by those concerned to
find the witch whose influente threatens your future, and when they have
persuaded him to withdraw his influence you will have to think of a new
excuse if you do not wish to carry out your obligations. Thus oracles are
used as a means of compelling behaviour, and their authority may also be
used improperly to avoid duties. Nevertheless, no Zande would state the
declaration of an oracle other than it was given. If he wishes to lie he fakes
an oracular declaration without Consulting the oracles at all.

iii

- Generally it is about his health that a Zande consults oracles and

approaches witches by traditional steps. The kinsmen or family of a sick
man will find out who is bewitching him and will request the witch to desist
from his actions. But many Azande who are in perfect health will consult
one of the oracles at the commencement of each month about their health
during the coming month, and I have noticed that at any consultation of the
rubbing-board oracle a man will almost invariably ask the oracle whether he
will die in the near future. Should the oracle inform such a man that
someone is threatening his health, and that he will die in the near future, he
will return home depressed, for Azande do not disguise their anxiety in
these circumstances. The most cheerful of my Zande friends would be
downcast until they had annulled the verdict of the oracle by getting the
witch who threatened them to quiet his witchcraft. Nevertheless, I doubt
whether any Zande ever died from, or was for long seriously discomforted
by, knowledge that he was bewitched, and I have never come across a case
of death from suggestion of this kind.

A Zande who is ill, or who has been informed by the oracles that he is
about to fall sick, has always at his hand means of dealing with the
situation. Let us consider the position of a man who is quite well but knows
in advance that he will fall sick unless he counteracts witchcraft. He does
not summon a leech or eat drugs, but otherwise his ritual behaviour is the
same as if he were actually ill. He goes to a kinsman or friend who
possesses some oracle poison and asks him to consult the poison oracle on
his behalf. He obtains a few fowls, and he and his friend slip away in the
early morning to a quiet spot in the bush where they conduct an oracular
seance. The man whose health is being threatened brings with him a wing
of the fowl that died in inauspicious prognosis for the coming month, and
he places this wing on the ground in front of the poison oracle to show it
concretely the nature of the questions they are about to put to it. They tell
the poison oracle that they want a more detailed account of the future than it
has already vouchsafed them, that they have come to put some names of
persons before it, and that they wish to know who of these persons intends
to injure the health of the inquirer. They take a chicken to the name of one
person and pour poison down its throat, and ask the poison oracle whether
this man is the witch or not. If the oracle says that this particular person has
nothing to do with the health of the inquirer then they take another chicken
to the name of a second person and repeat ther test. When the oracle kills a
fowl to a man's name, i.e. says that it is he who will cause the incjuirer
sickness_during the coming month, they then ask it whether this is the only
witch who threatens his welfare or whether there are also others in the of
fing. If the oracle says that there are others, then they must seek them out
till the oracle says that there is no need to inquire further since they now
possess the names of all the witches who will cause the inquirer ill-health.
There may therefore be a whole series of consulta tions on several
consecutive days, and they will take up hours of a man's time in preparation
and performance, but a Zande does not consider time wasted when he is
thwarting otherwise inevitable pain and misfortune, perhaps even death.

A man who is actually sick and not merely apprehensive of the future of
ten retires to a grass hut in the bush where he can remain hidden from
witchcraft, and from its secret shelter he organizes his defence. He asks a
close kinsman or a son-in-law or some other person upon whom he can rely
to consult the poison oracle on his behalf, and it will be asked the same
questions as those I have recorded above, save that they now ask it who is
actually injuring the sick man instead of who is about to injure him in the
future.

I have said that they consult the poison oracle but they are more likely to
commence inquiries with the rubbing-board oracle, which will select from a
large number of names several witches who may be responsible for the
sickness. If a man is poor he will then place the names selected by the
rubbing-board oracle before the termites oracles, but if he is able to obtain
oracle poison and chicken he will place them before the poison oracle.
 I do not want to enter here into the complicated technicalities of oracles,
but will suppose that the rubbing-board oracle has chosen the name of the
responsible witch and that the poison oracle has confirmed its verdict, and
that both have declared that this man alone is causing the sickness about
which they have sought information. There are now two lines of action
open to the sick man and his kinsmen, and I will describe the less usual
course first. We must remember that they must avoid an open quarrel with
the witch, since this will only aggravate him and perhaps cause him to kill
his victim outright, and will in any case involve the aggressors in serious
social, and possibly legal, difficulties.

They may de kuba, make a public oration, in which they declare that they
know the name of the witch who is injuring their relative but that they do
not wish to disclose it and thus shame him, and that since they are
honouring him they expect him to return their courtesy by leaving their
kinsman in peace. This procedure is especially suitable when the witch is a
person of social standing whom they do not wish to affront, or someone
enjoying the esteem and respect of his fellows whom they do not wish to
humiliate. The witch will understand from the oration that they are speaking
about him, while others will remain ignorant of his identity. The oration is
made dramatically, shortly after sunset or at dawn. I have heard these
orations on three occasions. The orator mounts a termite mound or stands
on the branch of a tree and utters a shrill cry 'Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! Hi !' to attract
the attention of his neighbours. Ali give immediate attention to this cry, for
it is uttered when some animal is sighted or when an armed man is
discovered lurking in the undergrowth. He repeats this cry several times and
then tells his listeners that it is not an animal about which he is calling
them, but that he wishes to speak to them about witchcraft. The following
text tells what happens :

Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! It is not an animal O ! It is not an animal O ! I went

today to consult the rubbing-board oracle, and it said to me that those men
who are killing my kinsman are not far of f, that they are right here nearby,
and that it is those neighbours of mine who are killing my kinsman. It is
thus I honour you uy telling you that I will not speak his name (the name of
the witch). I will not choose him out by himself. If he has ears he will hear
what I am saying. Were my kinsman to die I would make magic and then
someone would die and my name would be tarnished because I have kept
silence. This is why I am telling you that, if my kinsman continues to be
sick unto death, I will surely reveal that man so that everyone will know
him. Since I have been your neighbour I have not acted greedily in any
man's homestead; against no man have I borne ill will; I have not
committed adultery with any man's wife; no man's child have I killed ; I
have not stolen the goods of other men ; I have done none of these things
that a man should bear a grudge against me. O subjects of Gbudwe, indeed
you are men of ill will! Why are you killing my kinsman? If he has done
any evil you should have told me, saying, 'Your kinsman has brought
vengeance on himself.' Do not slay my kinsman. It is thus that I have
spoken. I have spoken much. That man that has ears, one speaks but a few
words and he can hear them. After what I have spoken to you I will not
burden my mouth again, but I will choose out the man by himself and
expose him before his face. Ali of you hear well my words. It is finished.

If a witch is not persuaded to cease his activities by an oration of this

kind the kinsmen of a sick man resort to procedure which is generally
employed immediately after the poison oracle has identified him without
being preceded by a public oration, for a public oration is not of ten made,
and only if it appears more convenientand is authorized by the rubbing-
board oracle. The normal procedure is to put the names of all suspeets
before the rubbing-board oracle and let it select those guilty of causing
sickness. If a man is dangerously ill they at once make known the verdict of
the rubbing-board oracle, but otherwise they place the names of witches it
has chosen before the poison oracle, for the poison oracle is considered the
more reliable, and usually exposure of witches should come from its
declarations alone. The poison oracle finds perhaps several witches, perhaps
only one, responsible for the sickness, but the procedure is the same for
many as for one. They cut of f a wing of the fowl that has died to the name
of a witch and thrust it on the end of a small pointed stick, spreading out the
feathers in the shape of a fan, and they take it home with them at the end of
the seance. One of the sick man's kinsmen then takes it to a prince's deputy,
since a prince is not always accessible and, in any case, does not wish to be
troubled with every little affair of this kind. A deputy does not mind being
troubled now and again with these requests. He receives no fee, but the
requests are a tribute to his importance, so he is pleased to grant them.
 The messenger lays the wing at the deputy's feet and squats down to
inform him of its meaning. In the Zande way he begins at the beginning and
tells the deputy how his kinsman fell sick, about the declarations of the
rubbing-board oracle, and finally about the verdict of the poison oracle, and
he requests the deputy to send someone with the wing to notify the witch
that the poison oracle has denounced him and to ask him to desist from
persecuting their kinsman. It is possible that they may approach the witch
directly and not through the intermediary of a prince's deputy, but if they do
this they will ask the rubbing-board oracle to choose a suitable messenger
to send to the witch from among the names of several men presented to it ;
it is wiser to act through the prince's deputy, whose of ficiai position gives
added support to their action. The deputy then sends a man to deliver the
chicken's wing to the witch and to report the witch's behaviour when it is
presented to him. But before taking this step the deputy probably consults
the rubbing-board oracle to find out who is the most suitable man to send. It
is well not to take any steps in such matters without a statement from an
oracle that they will prove successful. When the deputy has been assured by
the rubbing-board oracle that a certain man is an auspicious messenger, he
dispatches him with the chicken's wing to the homestead of the witch. On
his arrival the messenger lays the wing on the ground in front of the witch
and says simply that the deputy has sent him with it on account of the
illness of so-and-so. He treats the witch with respect, for such is the custom,
and anyhow it is none of his business. Almost invariably the witch replies
courteously that he is unconscious of injuring anyone, that if it is true that
he has injured the man in question he is very sorry, and that if it is he alone
who is troubling him then he will surely recover, because from the bottom
of his heart he wishes him health and happiness, in sign of which he will
blow out water. He calls for a gourdful of water, and when his wife brings it
he takes a draught, swills it round in his mouth, and blows it out in a thin
spray over the chicken's wing lying before him on the ground. He says
aloud, so that the messenger may hear, and later report his words, that if he
is a witch he is unaware of his state and that he is not causing the sick man
injury with intent. He says that he addresses the witchcraft in his belly,
beseeching it to become cool (inactive), and that he makes this appeal from
his heart and not merely with his lips.
 The messenger now returns to the deputy to report what he has done and
what he has seen, and the deputy informs the kinsman of the sick man that
he has carried out the task he - undertook. A messenger does not receive a
fee. His service is an act of courtesy to the deputy and to the kin of the sick
man. The sick man and his friends wait anxiously for a few clays to
discover what is going to be the effect of having delivered the chicken's
wing to the witch. If the sick man shows signs of recovery they praise the
poison oracle for having so quickly revealed the witch and thus opened up a
road to recovery. On the other hand, if sickness continues, they start a fresh
round of oracle consultations to discover wlièther the witch was only
pretending repentance and was in reality as hostile as ever, or whether some
new witch has meanwhile started to trouble their kinsman and to aggravate
his sickness. In either case the formai presentation of chickens' wings is
continued through the intermediary of a prince's deputy.

Though, in the past, princes may sometimes have taken more drastic
steps to ensure their safety, the procedures described above are the everyday
usages of every section of Zande society in situations of sickness. The
chances of violent action on the part of relatives of the sick man and his kin
are lessened by the routine character of the proceedings, for since they are
established and normative modes of action people do not think, save in rare
cases, of acting in any other way.

iv

Apart from the fact that good behaviour on both sides is habitual and has
therefore all the compulsory nature of habitual action, other factors assist in
eliminating friction: the great authority of the poison oracle, for it is useless
to prò test against its declarations ; the employment of intermediaries
between the parties which obviates the necessity of their meeting during the
whole affair ; the social standing of a prince's deputy, for an insult to his
messenger is an insult to the prince himself; and Zande notions of
witchcraft which make the procedure of advantage to both parties.

But if the verdict of the poison oracle by itself suffices to eliminate in

advance all denial and opposition it is necessary to be able to produce a
valid oracular declaration. If a man were to accuse another of witchcraft
without basing his declaration on a verdict of the poison oracle, or at least
the termites' oracle, he would be laughed at for his pains, if not beaten into
the bargain. Therefore relatives of a sick man generally invite someone who
is not of their kin to be present when they consult the poison oracle about
the illness of their kinsman so that he can vouch that the oracle has really
been consulted and has been consulted in the correct manner.

It is, moreover, to the interest of both parties that they should not become
estranged through the incident. They have to live together as neighbours
afterwards and to cooperate in the life of the community. It is also to their
mutual advantage to avoid all appearance of anger or resentment for a more
direct and immediate reason. The whole point of the procedure is to put the
witch in a good temper by being polite to him. The witch on his part ought
to feel grateful to the people who have warned him so politely of the danger
in which he stands. We must remember that since witchcraft has no real
existence a man does not know that he has bewitched another, even if he is
aware that he bears him ill will. But, at the same time, he believes firmly in
the existence of witchcraft and in the accuracy of the poison oracle, so that
when the oracle says that he is killing a man by his witchcraft he is
probably thankful for having been warned in time, for if he had been
allowed to murder the man, all the while ignorant of his action, he would
inevitably have fallen a victim to vengeance. By the polite indication of an
oracular verdict from the relatives of a sick man to the witch who has made
him sick both the life of the sick man and the life of the witch are saved.
Hence the Zande aphorism, 'The blower of water does not die.'

By this maxim they refer to the action of a witch when he blows from his
mouth a spray of water on the fowl's wing which has been placed at his feet
by the messenger of a deputy. When the witch blows water on the wing he
'cools' his witchcraft. By performing this simple rite he ensures that the sick
man will recover and also that he will himself escape vengeance.
Nevertheless, Azande hold very decidedly that the mere action of blowing
water is valueless in itself if the witch does not sincerely hope for the
recovery of the sick man. They assert the moral and volitional character of
witchcraft. They say 'A man must blow water from his heart and not merely
from his lips,' and that 'The blowing of water from the mouth alone does not
finish the matter ; but the blowing of water from the belly cools the heart, it
is that which is true blowing of water.'
 The procedure to counteract witchcraft which I have described is
normally utilized in situations of illness or when the oracles have predicted
illness for a man who may be at the time in perfect health. It is also used
when hunting, or some other economic activity, is unsuccessful ; or when
the oracles have predicted its failure, though it has not yet commenced, but
is only anticipated. Beyond doubt the great majority of fowls' wings are
presented to witches about sickness. So long as the sick man lives, every
polite effort is made by his relatives to persuade the witches who are
sapping his strength tò desist from their nocturnal predations. So far no
injury recognized in law has been committed. But once the sick man is dead
the whole situation changes, for then his kinsmen are compelled to
vengeance. Ali negotiations with the witch are broken of f and steps are
taken at once to execute vengeance.

I was aided in my understanding of the feelings of bewitched Azande by

sharing, at least to some extent, like experiences.

I tried to adapt myself to their culture by living the life of my hosts, as far
as convenient, and by sharing their hopes and joys, apathy and sorrows. In
many respects my life was like theirs: I suffered their illnesses ; exploited
the same food supplies ; and adopted as far as possible their own patterns of
behaviour with resultant enmities as well as friendships. In no department
of their life was I more successful in 'thinking black', or as it should more
correctly be said 'feeling black', than in the sphere of witchcraft. I, too, used
to react to misfortunes in the idiom of witchcraft, and it was of ten an effort
to check this lapse into unreason.

We saw earlier how witchcraft is a participant in all misfortunes.

Misfortune and witchcraft are much the same to a Zande, for it is only in
situations of misfortune or of anticipation of it that the notion of witchcraft
is evoked. In a sense we may say that witchcraft is misfortune, the
procedure of oracle consultations and presentation of fowls' wings being the
socially prescribed channel of response to misfortune, and notions of
Witchcraft-activity giving the requisite ideological background to make the
response logical and coherent.
 A witch attacks a man when motivated by hatred, envy, jealousy, and
greed. Usually if he has no enmity towards a man he will not attack him.
Therefore a Zande in misfortune at once considers who is likely to hate
him. He is well aware that others take pleasure in his troubles and pain and
are displeased at his good fortune. He knows that if he becomes rich the
poor will hate him, that if he rises in social position his inferiors will be
jealous of his authority, that if he is handsome the less favoured will envy
his looks, that if he is talented as a hunter, a singer, a fighter, or a
rhetorician, he will earn the malice of those less gifted, and that if he enjoys
the regard of his prince and of his neighbours he will be detested for his
prestige and popularity.

In the daily tasks of life there is ampie scope for friction. In the
household there is frequent occasion for illfeeling between husband and
wife and between wife and cowife arising from division of labour and
sexual jealousies. Among his neighbours a man is sure to have both secret
and open enemies. There may have been quarrels about cultivations and
hunting areas. There may have been suspicions about designs on a wife.
There may have been rivalry at dances. One may have uttered unguarded
words which have been repeated to another. A man may have thought that a
song referred to himself. He may have been insulted or struck at court. He
may be a rival for a prince's favour. Ali unkind words and malicious actions
and innuendoes are stored in the memory for retaliation. A prince has only
to show favour to one of his courtiers, a husband to one of his wives, and
the others will detest him. I found again and again that I had only to be
generous to, even very friendly with, one of my neighbours and he would at
once be apprehensive of witchcraft, and any ill-luck which befell him
would be attributed to the jealousy my friendship had aroused in the breasts
of his neighbours.

Usually, however, a man who believes that others are jealous of him will
do nothing. He continues to be polite to them and tries to remain on friendly
terms. But when he suffers a misfortune he will at once believe that it is one
of these men who has bewitched him, and will place their names before the
poison oracle to ascertain who among them is responsible. Oracle
consultations therefore express histories of personal relationships, for, as a
rule, a man only places before an oracle names of those who might have
injured him on account of some definite events which he believes to have
occasioned their enmity. It is of ten possible by adroit questioning to trace
back the placing of a name before the oracle to its source in some past
incident.

vi

Since accusations of witchcraft arise from personal enmities it will at

once be seen why certain people are left out of consideration when a sick
man casts around him in his mind to select those who might be injuring him
in order to place their names before the oracle. People do not accuse nobles
and seldom accuse influential commoners of witchcraft, not merely because
it would be inadvisable to insult them but also because their social contact
with these people is limited to situations in which their behaviour is
determined by notions of status. A man quarrels with and is jealous of his
social equals. A noble is socially so separated from commoners that were a
commoner to quarrel with him it would be treason. Commoners bear ill-will
against commoners and princes hate princes. Likewise a wealthy commoner
will be patron to a poorer commoner and there will seldom be malice
between them because the incentive to malice and the opportunity for
creating it do not easily arise. A rich commoner will envy another rich
commoner and a poor man will be jealous of another poor man. Offence is
more easily taken at the words or actions of an equal than of a superior or
inferior. In the same way, women come into contact with other women and
not with men, save their husbands and kinsmen, so it is about other women
that their friends consult the oracles, for since there is no social intercourse
between men and unrelated women it is difficult for enmities to grow up
between them. Likewise, as we have seen, children do not bewitch adults.
This means that a child does not usually have relations with adults, other
than with parents and kinsmen, that could breed hatred towards them in his
heart. When an adult bewitches a child it is generally out of hatred for his
father. It is among householders of roughly equal status who come into
close daily relations with one another that there is the greatest Opportunity
for squabbles, and it is these people who most frequently place one
another's names before the oracles when they or members of their families
are sick.
 Nevertheless, notions of witchcraft are evoked primarily by misfortune
and are not entirely dependent on enmities. Thus a man who suffers a
misfortune knows that he has been bewitched, and only then does he seek in
his mind to find out who wishes him ill and might have bewitched him. If
he cannot recall any incidents that might have caused a man to hate him,
and if he has no particular enemies, he must still consult the oracles to
discover a witch. Hence, even a prince will sometimes accuse commoners
of witchcraft, for his misfortunes must be accounted for and checked, even
though those whom he accuses of witchcraft are not his enemies.

It has been noted that witches only injure people in the vicinity, and that
the closer they are to their victims the more serious are their attacks. We
may suggest that the reason for this belief is that people living at a distance
from one another have insufficient social contacts to produce mutual hatred,
whereas there is ample opportunity for friction among those whose
homesteads and cultivations are in close proximity. People are most likely
to quarrel with those with whom they come into closest contact when the
contact is not softened by sentiments of kinship or is not buffered by
distinctions of age, sex, and class.

In a study of Zande witchcraft we must bear in mind, firstly, that the

notion is a function of situations of misfortune, and, secondly, that it is a
function of personal relations.

vii

The notion of witchcraft is not only a function of misfortune and of

personal relations but also comprises moral judgement. Indeed, Zande
morality is so closely related to their notions of witchcraft that it may be
said to embrace them. The Zande phrase 'It is witchcraft' may of ten be
translated simply as 'It is bad'. For, as we have seen, witchcraft does not act
haphazardly or without intent but is a planned assault by one man on
another whom he hates. Azande say that hatred, jealousy, envy, backbiting,
slander, and so forth go ahead and'witchcraft follows after. A man must first
hate his enemy and will then bewitch him, and unless the witch be contrite
of heart when he blows out water his action will be without effect. Now
since Zande interest is not in witches as such—that is to say, the sta tic
condition of being a possessor of witchcraft—but only in witchactivity,
there are two consequences. Firstly, witchcraft tends to become
synonymous with the sentiments which are supposed to cause it, so that
Azande think of hatred and envy and greed in terms of witchcraft and
likewise think of witchcraft in terms of the sentiments it discloses.
Secondly, a person who has bewitched a man is not viewed by him ever
afterwards as a witch but only at the time of the misfortune he has caused
and in relation to these special conditions. There is no fixed attitude towards
witches as there is, for instance, towards nobles. A noble is always a noble
and is treated as such in every situation, but there is no like sharpness or
constancy about the social personality of a witch, for he is only regarded as
a witch in certain situations. Zande notions of witchcraft express a dynamic
relationship of persons to other persons in inauspicious situations. Their
meaning is so dependent on passing situations that a man is scarcely
regarded as a witch when the situation that evoked an accusation against
him has disappeared.

Azande will not allow one to say that anybody who hates another is a
witch, or that witchcraft and hatred are synonymous. Ali men are liable to
develop sentiments against their neighbours, but unless they are actually
born with witchcraft in their bellies they cannot do their enemies an injury
by merely disliking them.

It is true that an old man may say that a youth may become ill from ima
abakumba, the consequence of an elder being angry with him, but Azande
do not believe that the anger of an old man can by itself do much harm, and
if an old man speaks in this vein they say that he is telling them by
innuendo that he will bewitch them if they vex him. For unless an old man
is a witch or sorcerer no harm can befall an unrelated person against whom
he speaks in anger. His illwill might cause some slight inconvenience, and
the oracles may become confused between hatred and possession of
witchcraft unless they are warned to consider only the question of actual
witchcraft.

Mere feeling against a man and uttering of words against him cannot by
itself seriously harm him unless there is some definite social tie between
them. The causes of an unrelated man can do you no harm, but nothing is
more dreadful than the curses (motiwa) of father and mother and uncles and
aunts. Even without ritually uttering a curse a father may bring misfortune
on his son simply by anger and complaint. It is also said that if a prince is
continuously angered and sorrowful at the departure of a subject it will not
go well with him (motiwa gbia). One informant told me also that if a
woman goes on a journey against her husband's wishes and he sulks and
pines after her it may be ill with her on her journey.

If you have any doubts whether a man who dislikes you is merely hating
you or is actually bewitching you, you can ask the poison oracle, or one of
the lesser oracles, to quiet them. You caution the oracle not to pay attention
to spitefulness, but to concentrate upon the single issue of witchcraft. You
tell it you do not wish to know whether the man hates you, but whether he
is bewitching you. For instance, you say to the rubbing-board oracle, 'You
observe slander and put it aside, you observe hatred and put it aside, you
observe jealousy and put it aside. Real witchcraft, consider that alone. If it
is going to kill me, rubbing-board oracle stick (answer "Yes").'

Moreover, according to Zande ideas, it does not follow that a witch must
injure people merely because he is a witch. A man may be born a witch but
his witchcraft-substance may remain 'cool'. As Azande conceive witchcraft
this means that, al though the man is a witch, he is a decent fellow who is
not embittered against his neighbours or jealous of their happiness. Such a
man is a good citizen, and to a Zande good citizenship consists in carrying
out your obligations cheerfully and living all times charitably with your
neighbours. A good man is good tempered and generous, a good son,
husband, and father, loyal to his prince, just in his dealings with his
fellowmen, true to his bargains, a law-abiding man and a peacemaker, one
who abhors adultery, one who speaks well of his neighbours, and one who
is generally good natured and courteous. It is not expected of him to love
his enemies or to show forbearance to those who injure his family and
kinsmen or commit adultery with his wives. But if a man has suffered no
wrong he ought not to show enmity to others. Similarly, jealousy is evil
unless it is culturally approved as is rivalry between princes, between
witchdoctors, and between singers.

Behaviour which conflicts with Zande ideas of what is right and proper,
though not in itself witchcraft, nevertheless is the drive behind it, and
persons who of fend against rules of conduct are the most frequently
exposed as witches. When we consider the situations that evoke notions of
witchcraft and the method adopted by men to identify witches, it will at
once be seen that the volitional and moral character of witchcraft is
contained in them. Moral condemnation is predetermined, because when a
man suffers a misfortune he meditates upon his grievance and ponders in
his mind who among his neighbours has shown him unmerited hostility or
who bears unjustly a grudge against him. These people have wronged him
and wish him evil, and he therefore considers that they have bewitched him,
for a man would not bewitch him if he did not hate him.

Now Zande moral notions are not very different from our own in their
division of conduct into good and bad, but since they are not expressed in
theistic terms their kinship with the codes of behaviour expounded in
famous religions is not at once apparent. The ghosts of the dead cannot be
appealed to as arbiters of morals and sanctions of conduct, because the
ghosts are members of kinship groups and only exercise authority within
these groups among the same people over whom they exercised authority
when they were allve. The Supreme Being is a very vague influence and is
not cited by Azande as the guardian of moral law which must be obeyed
simply because he is its author. It is in the idiom of witchcraft that Azande
express moral rules which mostly lie outside criminal and civil law.
'Jealousy is not good because of witchcraft, a jealous man may kill
someone,' they say, and they speak likewise of other antisocial sentiments.

viii

Azande say, 'Death has always a cause, and no man dies without a
reason,' meaning that death results always from some enmity. It is
witchcraft which kills a man, but it is uncharitableness that drives a witch to
murder. Likewise greed may be the starting-point for murder, and men fear
to refuse requests for gifts lest a sponger bewitches them and they say that
'a man who is always asking for gifts is a witch'.

Those who always speak in a roundabout manner and are not

straightforward in their conversation are suspected of witchcraft. Azande
are very sensitive and usually on the lookout for unpleasant allusions to
themselves in apparently harmless conversation. This is a frequent occasion
of quarrels, and there is no means of determining whether the speaker has
meant the allusions or whether his hearer has supplied them. For example, a
man sits with some of his neighbours and says, 'No man remains for ever in
the. world.' One of the old men sitting nearby gives a disapproving grunt at
this remark, hearing which the speaker explains that he was talking of an
old man who has just died ; but others may think that he meant that he
wished the death of one of those with whom he was sitting.

A man who threatens others with misfortune is certain to be suspected of

witchcraft should the misfortunes befall them. A man threatens another in
anger and says to him, 'You will not walk this year,' and then some short
while afterwards the man may fall sick or have an accident and he will
remember the words which were spoken to him in passion and will at once
consult the oracles, placing before them the name of the speaker as the first
on his list of suspects.

A spiteful disposition arouses suspicions of witchcraft. Glum and ill-

tempered people, those who suffer from some physical deformity, and those
who have been mutilated are suspected on account of their spitefulness.
Men whose habits are dirty, such as those who defecate in the gardens of
others and urinate in public, or who eat without washing their hands, and
eat bad food like tortoise, toad, and houserat, are the kind of people who
might well bewitch others. The same is thought of unmannerly persons who
enter into a man's hut without first asking his permission; who cannot
disguise their greed in the presence of food or beer ; who make of fensive
remarks to their wives and neighbours and fling insults and curses after
them; and so on.

Not everyone who displays these unpleasant traits is necessarily regarded

as a witch, but it is these sentiments and modes of behaviour which make
people suspicious of witchcraft, so that Azande know that those who
display them have the desire to bewitch, even if they do not possess the
power to do so. Since itis these traits which antagonize neighbours against
those who show them it is their names which are most frequently placed
before the oracles when the neighbours fall sick, and they are therefore
likely to be accused frequently of witchcraft and to acquire a reputation as
witches. Witches tend to be those whose behaviour is least in accordance
with social demands. For though Azande do not consistently think of
neighbours who have once or twice bewitched them as witches, some
people are so frequently exposed by oracles that they gain a sustained repu-
-tation for witchcraft and are regarded as witches outside specific situations
of misfortune. Those whom we would call good citizens—and, of course,
the richer and more powerful members of society are such—are seldom
accused of witchcraft, while those who make themselves a nuisance to their
neighbours and those who are weak are most likely to be accused of
witchcraft.

Indeed, it is desirable to state that weakness, as well as hatred and

jealousy, invites accusations of witchcraft, for there can be no doubt in the
mind of anyone who has lived for long among Azande that they are averse
from consulting oracles about influential persons and prefer to inquire about
men without influence at court and about women—that is to say, about
persons who cannot easily retaliate later for the insult contained in an

accusation of witchcraft. This is more evident in the oracular disclosures

of witchdoctors than in the revelations of oracles. A Zande would not agree
to my statement. Certainly influential men are sometimes accused of
witchcraft, and of ten poor men are not, or very seldom, accused. I describe
only a general impression of a tendency which qualifies what I have said
about accusations of witchcraft being a function of equal status, for it is
only a wide division of status that excludes enmities likely to lead to
accusations of witchcraft.

Where Zande moral notions differ profoundly from our own is in the
range of events they consider to have a moral significance. For to a Zande
almost every happening which is harmful to him is due to the evil
disposition of someone else. What is bad for him is morally bad, that is to
say, it derives from an evil man. Any misfortune evokes the notion of injury
and desire for retaliation. For all loss is deemed by Azande to be due to
witches. To them death, whatever its occasion, is murder and cries out for
vengeance, for the event or situation of death is to them the important thing
and not the instrument by which it was occasioned, be it disease, or a wild
beast, or the spear of an enemy.

In our society only certain misfortunes are believed to be due to the

wickedness of other people, and it is only in these limited situations of
misfortune that we can retaliate through prescribed channels upon the
authors of them. Disease or failure in economic pursuits are not thought by
us to be injuries inflicted on us by other people. If a man is sick or his
enterprises fail he cannot retaliate upon anyone, as he can if his watch has
been stolen or he has been assaulted. But in Zandeland all misfortunes are
due to witchcraft, and all allow the person who has suffered loss to retaliate
along prescribed channels in every situation because the loss is attributed to
a person. In situations such as theft or adultery or murder by violence there
is already in play a person who invites retaliation. If he is known he is sued
in the courts, if unknown he is pursued by punitive magic. When this person
is absent notions of witchcraft provide an alternative objective. Every
misfortune supposes witchcraft, and every enmity suggests its author.

Looked at from this aspect it is easier to understand how Azande fail to

observe and define the fact that not only may anybody be a witch, which
they readily admit, but that most commoners are witches. Azande at once
challenge your statement if you say that most people are witches.
Notwithstanding, in my experience all except the noble class and
commoners of influential position at court are at one time or another
exposed by oracles as having bewitched their neighbours and therefore as
witches. This must necessarily be the case, since all men suffer misfortunes
and every man is someone's enemy. But it is generally only those who make
themselves disliked by many of their neighbours who are of ten accused of
witchcraft and earn a reputation as witches.

Keeping our eyes fixed on the dynamic meaning of witchcraft, and

recognizing therefore its universality, we shall better understand how it
comes about that witches are not ostracized and persecuted ; for what is a
function of passing states and is common to most men cannot be treated
with severity. The position of a witch is in no way analogous to that of a
criminal in our own society, and he is certainly not an outcast living in the
shadow of disgrace and shunned by his neighbours. On the contrary,
confirmed witches, known for miles around as such, live like ordinary
citizens. Often they are respected fathers and husbands, welcome visitors to
homesteads and guests at feasts, and sometimes influential members of the
innercouncil at a prince's court. Some of my acquaintances were notorious
witches.

A witch may enjoy a certain amount of prestige on account of his powers,

for everyone is careful not to of fend him, since no one deliberately courts
disaster. This is why a householder who kills an animal sends presents of
meat to the old men who occupy neighbouring homesteads. For if an old
witch receives no meat he will prevent the hunter from killing any more
beasts, whereas if he receives his portion he will hope that more beasts are
killed and will refrain from interference. Likewise a man will be careful not
to anger his wives gratuitously, for if one of them is a witch he may bring
misfortune on his head by a fit of bad temper. A man distributes meat fairly
among his wives lest one of them, of fended at receiving a smaller portion
than the others, should prevent him from killing more game.

Belief in witchcraft is a valuable corrective to uncharitable impulses,

because a show of spleen or meanness or hostility may bring serious
consequences in its train. Since Azande do not know who are and who are
not witches, they assume that all their neighbours may be witches, and are
therefore careful not to of fend any of them without good cause. The notion
works in two ways. A jealous man, for instance, will be suspected of
witchcraft by those of whom he is jealous and will seek to avoid suspicion
by curbing his jealousy. In the second place, those of whom he is jealous
may be witches and may seek to injure him in return for his enmity, so that
he will curb his jealousy from fear of being bewitched.

Azande say that you can never be certain that anyone is free from
witchcraft. Hence they say, 'In consulting oracles about witchcraft no one is
left out,' meaning that it is best to ask the oracles about everyone and to
make no exceptions, and hence their aphorism 'One cannot see into a man
as into an openwove basket,' meaning that it is impossible to see witchcraft
inside a man. It is therefore better to earn no man's enmity, since hatred is
the motive in every act of witchcraft.

[Link]
CHAPTER IV

Are Witches Conscious Agents?

One of the most remarkable features of European witchcraft was the

readiness with which witches sometimes, not under duress, confessed their
guilt and gave lengthy accounts of their crimes and their organization. It
seems that, to some degree at any rate, people living in a community in
which the facts of witchcraft are never doubted may convince themselves
that they possess the power with which others credit them. However this
may be, it is of interest to ask whether Azande ever confess that they are
witches.

To Azande the question of guilt does not present itself as it would to us.
As I have already explained, their interest in witchcraft is aroused only in
specific cases of misfortune and persists only while the misfortune lasts.
The only witch they pay attention to is the witch who is actually causing
them misfortune. When their mishap is ended they cease to regard the man
as a witch, for, as we have seen, anyone may be a witch, but a Zande is only
concerned with a witch whose witchcraft is signifìcant to himself. Also,
witchcraft is something they react to and against in misfortune, this being
the main meaning it has for them. It is a response to certain situations and
not an intricate intellectual concept. Hence a Zande accused of witchcraft is
astonished. He has not conceived of witchcraft from this angle. To him it
has always been a reaction against others in his own misfortunes, so that it
is difficult for him to apprehend the notion when he himself is its objective
in the misfortunes of other people.

This problem is exceedingly difficult. Some African peoples appear to

bridge over the difficulty which arises between a proven a et of witchcraft
and the witch's avowed ignorance of the act by asserting that a witch may
act without volition. But Zande notions do not readily permit this thesis.
Ask any Zande the straightforward question whether a man knows that he is
a witch and bewitches in full consciousness of his action, and he will reply
that it is impossible that a witch should be ignorant of his condition and of
his assaults upon others. Neither in reply to such a question, nor on the
many occasions upon which I have witnessed oracular consultations about
witchcraft and seen fowls' wings being taken to those exposed by the poison
oracle, have I ever heard it suggested that a man might be ignorant of being
a witch or might have used his powers unconsciously. For Azande think that
witches lead a secret life and share their confidences with other witches
laughing about their misdeeds and boasting of their exploits against those
whom they hate.

Yet Azande are inconsistent in this matter. Although they assert the moral
guilt of others, nevertheless, when accused of witchcraft themselves they
plead innocence, if not of the act— for they cannot well do that in public—
at least of intention. To an outsider it appears that there is a contradiction
between denial of volition in one's own case and insistence upon volition in
the cases of others. But the situation in which a Zande is placed determines
which of a number of beliefs Comes into play, and the fact that this belief
contradicts his usual ideas does not trouble him. He assumes that witches
are responsible for their actions just as we assume that the criminal is
responsible for his crimes. When he is himself accused of witchcraft this is
a peculiar and special case.

We must remember that a Zande has only his own individual experience
to judge by, for one does not discuss matters of this kind with one's friends.
Public opinion accepts that a witch is a conscious agent, but on a particular
occasion when the poison oracle denounces a certain man for having
performed an act of witchcraft he is aware of his lack of intention. So far as
he knows he has never visited the home of the. sick man whom he is said to
have injured, and he is forced to conclude that either there must have been
an error or that he has acted unconsciously. But he believes his own case to
be exceptional and that others are responsible for their actions. People have
always been of the opinion that witches plan their assaults, and the fact that
he himself has not acted with intent is no reason to suppose that others do
not act consciously. Indeed, a man in these circumstances must feel that if it
is true that he is a witch he is certainly not an ordinary witch, for witches
recognize each other and cooperate in their undertakings, whereas no one
has a secret understanding with him nor seeks his aid.
 I have frequently observed that the attitude of my Zande friends, as
shown in their behaviour rather than in their statements, was different when
someone was accused of injuring them by witchcraft from their attitude
when they themselves were accused of injuring others. Again, their
response to a direct question whether a witch knows his own condition and
injures others of his own free will (that is when I evoked a statement of
accepted opinion) was different to the information they sometimes
volunteered when the question was not explicitly raised. The particular
situation in which they found themselves pointed their statements and
coloured their opinions.

In the course of discussions upon other subjects I have sometimes found

that informants will admit that it is possible that some witches may
sometimes, in certain circumstances, be ignorant of their condition, and that
their ignorance is generally admitted in the cases of witch-children and of
adult witches who have been accused of witchcraft on one or two occasions
only. Also, when a man's witchcraft is 'cool', as Azande say, or as we should
say when it is inoperative, he may well be ignorant of his condition.

I think, in fact, that it would not be reading too much into the ideas
Azande sometimes express on this subject to describe them as follows : A
man cannot help being a witch ; it is not his fault that he is born with
witchcraft in his belly. He may be quite ignorant that he is a witch and quite
innocent of acts of witchcraft. In this state of innocence he might do
someone an injury unwittingly, but when he has on several occasions been
exposed by the poison oracle he is then conscious of his powers and begins
to use them, with malice.

When a man or one of his family or kin is sick he is very annoyed. To

understand his feelings about the moral responsibility of the man whose
name the oracle discloses as responsible for the sickness, it must be
recollected that he places before it the names of those people whom he
dislikes most, so that the witch is likely to be someone with whom he has
been for some time on bad terms. Old animosity is reinforced by new
resentment. It is therefore useless to suggest to him that the witch is
unaware of his witchcraft, for he is disinclined to consider such a possibility
when he has long known of the man's hatred and desire to do him an injury.
In such a situation as this, moral responsibility of witches is assumed
without qualifications. It is contained in the processes of selection and
accusation and has no need to be stated.

But the same persons who have so strongly asserted the malice and
volition of others when they are the injured party will speak in a different
manner when they are recipients of fowls' wings. I have of ten had an
opportunity to observe the same persons in both situations. Having
considered what are the usual opinions held by Azande about responsibility
of witches, and how their reaction to injury brings out the notion of
responsibility in its most uncompromising form, we may now observe how
the witch responds to an accusation.

If he is short-tempered he may make a scene when a fowl's wing is

placed before him. He may tell the messenger to take it away and may curse
the people who sent it, and say that they are simply trying to humiliate him
out of malice. Such scenes are rare, but I have either witnessed or had good
knowledge of several, and men have been known to injure a messenger. A
man who behaves in this manner is acting contrary to custom and is
insulting the chief's deputy who ordered the wing to be laid before him. He
will be laughed at as a provincial who is ignorant of the manners of polite
society, and may gain the reputation of a hardened witch who admits his
witchcraft by the anger he displays when it is found out. What he ought to
do is to blow out water and say: 'If I possess witchcraft in my belly I am
unaware of it; may it cool. It is thus that I blow out water.'

It is difficult to judge from a man's public behaviour his real feelings

when presented with a fowl's wing, for even if he is certain of his innocence
he will perform this simple ceremony, since it is the proper thing for a
gentleman to do ; for it is not only laid down by custom that he must blow
out water, but the phrases in which he is expected to express his regret are
more or less stereotyped, and even the earnest and apologetic tone of voice
in which he utters them is determined by tradition.

When I have had the opportunity I have spoken to the accused man as
shortly as possible after the presentation of a fowl's wing to him in order to
discover his views. Often enough the accused was one of my servants,
informants, or personal friends, so that I was able to do so in private and
without shyness. I found that they either declared that the accusation was
silly, even malicious, or they accepted it with resignation. Those who
resented the accusation would say that their accusers had not consulted the
oracles at all, but had just killed fowls and stuck their wings on a stick, or
that if they consulted the poison oracle it must have made a mistake owing
to witchcraft having influenced its verdict or a taboo having been broken.
These suggestions would not be made in public. A man may add in private
that he has never been accused of witchcraft before, and that it is therefore
unlikely that he would start bewitching people now. A man who is able to
point to several of his close kinsmen who have been subject to postmortem
examination and have been found to lack witchcraft-substance in their
bellies will instance these cases to show that it is well-nigh impossible for
him to be a witch. However, such a man will blow on the wing in order to
end the matter and avoid unpleasantness. He would say to me afterwards: 'If
I am a witch I know nothing about it. Why should I wish to injure anyone?
But since they gave me the fowl's wing I blew on it to show that I bear no
one ill-will.'

Judging from these private conversations with Azande after they have
received fowls' wings I would say that it is mainly difference of
temperament which decides the emotional reaction to an accusation of
witchcraft. In public everybody reacts in a like manner for, however of
fended a man may be, he ought to act with standardized meekness.

I once heard a man give his son sound advice on this matter. From time
to time the youth had been presented with fowls' wings by a neighbour and
had vigorously protested against what he considered insults and nothing
more. His father told him that the accusations were, of course, absurd, as
several of his kinsmen had been examined post mortem and no witchcraft-
substance had been found in their abdomens. Nevertheless, it did no harm
to blow water. He said that it was not only polite to do so when requested
but also showed an absence of ill-feeling which ought to characterize all
good citizens. It is better for an innocent man to comply with good grace.

But though many men declare in private that they are not witches and
that there must have been a mistake, my experience of Azande when
presented with hens' wings has convinced me that some think, for a short
time at any rate, that perhaps after all they are witches. Tradition about
witchcraft, so definite about what cannot normally be tested—e.g. the
concrete nature of witchcraft-substance—is vague and indeterminate about
what might be proved or disproved, namely, the operation of witchcraft.
The manner in which witches carry out their exploits is a mystery to
Azande, and since in waking life they have no evidence upon which to base
a theory of action, they fall back upon the transcendental notion of soul.
Dreams are largely perceptions of witchcraft and in dreams a man may see
and talk to witches, yet to a Zande dream life is a world of shadowy doubts.
It is possible to understand, therefore, that a man accused of bewitching
another may hesitate to deny the accusation and even convince himself for a
short while of its evident untruth. He knows that of ten witches are asleep
when the soul of their witchcraft-substance flits on its errand of destruction.
Perhaps when he was asleep and unaware something of the kind happened
and his witchcraft led its independent life. In these circumstances a man
might well be a witch and yet not know that he is one. Yet I have never
known a Zande admit his witchcraft.

But a man will be very lucky if he escapes occasional accusations, and

after the poison oracle has declared on several occasions that a man has
bewitched others he may doubt his immunity. 'The poison oracle does not
err' is every Zande's credo. Its authority is backed by the political power of
the princes and by tradition. Moreover, the fact that a man has publicly to
enact a confession of guilt by blowing on a fowl's wing must render him at
least doubtful about the existence of witchcraft in his belly.

ii

I sometimes asked a man, if I knew him very well, 'Are you a witch?' I
expected a prompt unqualified denial couched in of fended tone, but
received of ten a humble reply, 'Ai, master, if there is witchcraft in my belly
I know nothing of it. I am no witch because people have not seen witchcraft
in the bellies of our kin.' However, it was less the replies I received than the
tone and manner in which they were given that gave me an impression of
doubt. Had I asked them whether they were thieves the tone and manner of
their reply would have been decided and angry.

In one of my texts an old man prays to Mbori, the Supreme Being, at

dawn before making his early morning ablutions, saying that he has stolen
no man's possession, that he has not committed adultery with any man's
wife, that he bears no man ill-will, but desires to live in charity with his
neighbours; and he adds, 'Even if I possess witchcraft in my belly may I not
harm the gardens of any man. May the mouth of my witchcraft cool ; let it
rather vent its spleen on those animals in the bush that daily dance on the
gràves of my kinsmen.'

Itis usual, and considered polite and friendly, for a man who visits a sick
friend to pause near his Iriend's hut and ask his wife to bring water in a
gourd. He takes a draught of this water and, after swilling his mouth with it,
blows it in spray to the ground and says, 'O Mbori, this man who is sick, if
it is I who am killing him with my witchcraft let him recover.' It must be
remembered, however, that this speech is a mere formality, and whilst it
suggests a cultural recognition of the possibility of a man injuring another
unawares, it would be wrong to assume that the man who spoke the words
had any doubts about his own immunity from witchcraft at the time.
According to Zànde notions, a witch would almost certainly not visit a man
whom he had bewitched.

When consulting the rubbing-board oracle about a sick kinsman or wife a

man may ask it about his neighbours to discover who is bewitching the sick
person. Sometimes before placing the names of these people before the
oracle one will hear him ask, 'Is it I who am to blame?' Here again the
question shows a recognition of the possibility of unawareness of
witchcraft, but there is no reason to suppose that the man who asks it
considers for a moment that he might be responsible. His question is a pure
formality. It looks well to show himself openminded in his inquiry, and he
may do so without fear of the rubbing-board oracle accusing him, since
either he or a friend is the operator. A man would not ask this question of
the poison oracle.

It is said that when a man goes to war his wives take a draught of water
and blow it out on the foot of the ghost-shrine in the centre of his
homestead, and say : 'May nothing happen to him. May my witchcraft cool
towards him. O fellow-wives, may nothing happen to our husband. Be cool
towards him.'

It will be remembered also that before making an. autopsy on a dead

kinsman his relatives will first ask the poison oracle for an assurance that
his belly does not contain witchcraft-substance.

iii

One would imagine that if witchcraft is hereditary, then a man must

surely have a good idea whether he is a witch or not from the records of his
father, his paternal uncles, and his grandfather. He must know whether they
have ever paid compensation for murder, received fowls' wings, and
undergone unsuccessful postmortem examination. But, whilst a man will
certainly bring up cases in which the corpses of his kinsmen were examined
for witchcraft and found to contain none in order to boasthis own immunity,
the fact that a man's forebears were witches is not stressed. It is generally
not even known, for it has no significance either to their sons or to other
people since no one is interested in the question whether a man is a witch or
not. To a Zande his appears an entirely theoretical question and one about
which he has not informed himself. What he wants to know is whether a
certain man is injuring him in a particular situation at a particular time.
Hence the doctrine of hereditary witchcraft probably has little influence
towards indicating to a man his possession of witchcraft.

This lack of precision in identification of witchcraft is rendered even

more obvious by British rule, which does not permit direct vengeance upon
a witch, nor accept the legality of his paying compensation for an imaginary
crime. In the old days when witchcraft became a criminal charge—that is to
say, when murder had been committed—there was no doubt who were
witches. If a man was executed or paid compensation for murder he was a
witch, and he must have felt assured of his own guilt and his kinsmen must
have accepted the stigma that attached itself, at any rate for a time, to their
name on account of this enaction of justice. But today a witch is never
accused of a crime. At the worst he can be told that his witchcraft is injuring
someone, but he will not be told that he has killed him, and there is no
reason to suppose that a man who has been exposed by the poison oracle as
having caused a man sickness was also the man who actually killed him,
although he died from the same sickness. Hence a witch and his kinsmen
will remain in complete ignorance that he has committed murder. The
relatives of a dead man will eventually kill someone with vengeancemagic,
but the general public and the relatives of the slain witch will remain
ignorant of the cause of his death. His kinsmen will suppose that he has also
died from witchcraft, and they in their turn will try and avenge themselves
on a witch. No man or woman today has to face an accusation of murder by
witchcraft, that is to say, an accusation by a prince's oracle, so that this
factor in the creation of selfknowledge of witchcraft is now absent.

At the present time there are no longer means of bringing a witch to the
fore by an act of public vengeance. Ali is vagueness and confusion. Each
small group of kinsmen act in private slaying witches by their magic
unknown to the rest of the world. Only the prince knows what is happening,
and he is silent. The same death is considered by neighbours as death and
little more, by kinsmen as an act of witchcraft, by the kinsmen of other dead
men as an act of their magic. In matters other than death it is possible for
one set of people to say that their oracle has exposed a man for bewitching
one of their kinsmen, while the friends and relatives of the accused may
easily deny the imputation and say that he blew out water as a mere matter
of form because there is no certainty that the oracle has spoken the truth or
even has ever been consulted at all, for it is not a prince's oracle. Hence it is,
perhaps, not extraordinary that I should never have heard a confession of
witchcraft.

[Link]
CHAPTER V

Witchdoctors

It may have occurred to many readers that there is an analogy between

the Zande concept of witchcraft and our own concept of luck. When, in
spite of human knowledge, forethought, and technical efficiency, a man
suffers a mishap, we say that it is his bad luck, whereas Azande say that he
has been bewitched. The situations which give rise to these two notions are
similar. If the misfortune has already taken place and is concluded Azande
content themselves with the thought that their failure has been due to
witchcraft, just as we content ourselves with the reflection that our failure is
due to our hard luck. In such situations there is not a great difference
between our reactions and theirs. But when a misfortune is in process of
falling upon a man, as in sickness, or is anticipated, our responses are
different to theirs. We make every effort to rid ourselves of , or elude, a
misfortune by our knowledge of the objective conditions which cause it.
The Zande acts in a like manner, but since 1 in his beliefs the chief cause of
any misfortune is witchcraft, he concentrates his attention upon this factor
of supreme importance. They and we use rational means for controlling the
conditions that produce misfortune, but we conceive of these i conditions
differently from them.

Since^Azande believe that witches may at any time bring sickness and,
death upon them they are anxious to establish and maintain contact with
these evil powers and by counteracting them control their own destiny.
Although they may at any moment be struck down by witchcraft they do
not despair. Far from being gloomy, all observers have described Azande as
a cheerful people who are always laughing and joking. For Azande need not
live in continual dread of witchcraft, since they can enter into relations with
it and thereby control it by means of oracles and magic. By oracles they can
foresee future dispositions of witchcraft and change them before they
develop.

By magic they can guard themselves against witchcraft and destroy it.
 The Zande witchdoctor is both diviner and magician. As diviner he
exposes witches ; as magician he thwarts them. But chiefly he is a diviner.
In this capacity he is of ten known as ira avure, possessor of avure, the
word avure being contained also in the expression do avure, 'to dance
avure', which describes the dance of witchdoctors and in a more general
sense the whole seance at which they perform. When he acts as a leech he is
known as a binza, but this word and ira avure are interchangeable in
reference to his divinatory functions, though binza is alone used in
reference to his leechcraft. In both roles his task is the same—to counteract
witchcraft. As a diviner he discovers the location of witchcraft, and as a
leech he repairs its ravages.

Azande regard witchdoctors as one of their many oracles though they do

not normally speak of them as oracles: They consider their prophecies and
revelations to have equal value with the disclosures of the rubbing-board
oracles but to be less reliable than the poison oracle and the termites oracle.
I have already described how a sick man, or kinsmen acting on his behalf,
consults various oracles, ending with the poison oracle, to determine who
among his enemies is bewitching him. But instead of commencing
therapeutic operations with the rubbing-board oracle they may summon one
or several witchdoctors to divine on behalf of a sick man, or about
economic failure. Though great attention is paid to the declarations of
witchdoctors their revelations have no legal value, and it is even considered
inadvisable to approach a witch by the customary procedure on the strength
of a witch-doctor's statement unsupported by a corroborative verdict of the
poison oracle.

ii

The Zande corporation of witchdoctors is a specialized profession with

vested interests in knowledge of medicines, so that many of their activities
are not easily observed. Therefore I preface my description of witchdoctors
with a short statement of the way in which I collected my information.

In studying the Zande corporation of witchdoctors it was necessary to

divide the field of inquiry into two sections and to employ different
methods in the investigation of each. One section comprised their activities
in relation to the rest of Zande society, the part they play in communal life,
their place in national tradition, their contacts with the princes, and the
current beliefs and stories associated with them in the public mind. It was
easy to record this part of their life, for there was no difficulty about
witnessing public performances which are open to all comers. It was
likewise easy to obtain a commentary on what is abstruse in the ritual from
regular informants and casual bystanders allke. In this section it was, in
fact, possible to employ the usual methods of fieldwork investigation—
direct and repeated observation of behaviour, cross-questioning of natives,
both in the situation of ritual when their attention is directed to the
performance about which information is sought and in more leisurely
conversations in tent, or hut, collection of texts, and even mild participation
in native activities by the ethnographer himself.

On the other hand, the corporation has an esoteric life from which the
uninitiated are excluded, and this forms the second section of our study. Not
only are knowledge of medicines and tricks of the trade hidden from
outsiders, but much of the inner social life of the corporation and many of
its beliefs are unknown to them. The usual methods of inquiry were here
largely ineffective and the ordinary system of controls inoperative. I could
have observed directly only by becoming myself a witchdoctor, and while
this would have been possible among the Azande, I doubt whether it would
have proved advantageous. Previous experience of participation in activities
of this kind had led me to the conclusion that an anthropologist gains little
by obtruding himself into ceremonies as an actor, for a European is never
seriously regarded as a member of an esoteric group and has little
opportunity of checking to what extent a performance is changed for his
benefit, by design, or by the psychological responses of the participants to
the rites being affected by his presence. It is, moreover, difficult to use the
ordinary methods of criticai investigation when one is actually engaged in
ceremonial and is supposed to be an eager member of an institution. The
many practical difficulties of a European being actively engaged in the
trade of ah African witchdoctor were also weighty enough to act as a
deterrent to this mode of inquiry, especially as members of the noble class
(Avongara) do not become witchdoctors.

The course of inquiry which immediately suggested itself was to try to

win the goodwill of one or two practitioners and to persuade them to
divulge their secrets in strict confidence. This I attempted and made some
headway in my inquiries before it became evident that I was not likely to
proceed very far. My informants were prepared to give information which
they knew could be obtained without great difficulty from other sources, but
were reticent about their principal secrets to the point of refusai to discuss
them. It would, I believe, have been possible by using every artifice to have
eventually wormed out all their secrets, but this would have meant bringing
undue pressure on people to divulge what they wished to hide, so I dropped
inquiry into this part of Zande life altogether for several months.
Subsequently I adopted the only alternative course, of using a substitute, to
learn all about the technique of witchdoctors. My personal servant,
Kamanga, was initiated into the corporation and became a practising
witchdoctor. He gave me full accounts of procedure from the
commencement of his career step by step as it developed.

This might not be thought a very good method of inquiry, and I had
doubts about its fertility when I began to employ it, but it proved, in event,
to be fruitful. While Kamanga was slowly being initiated by one
practitioner, it was possible for me to utilize his information to draw out of
their shells rival practitioners by playing on their jealousy and vanity.
Kamanga could be trusted to tell me everything he had learnt in the course
of his tuition, but I felt sure that, while he would be told much more than I
would obtain from my own inquiries, part of his training would be cut out
by his teacher since we acted straightforwardly in telling him that his pupil
would pass on all information to me. It was difficult for him to lie directly
to Kamanga, since he was aware that his statements would be tested with
rival witchdoctors in the locality and with practitioners from other districts,
but he could, on the other hand, keep information from him with fair
success, and this is what he did do. In the long run, however, an
ethnographer is bound to triumph. Armed with preliminary knowledge
nothing can prevent him from driving deeper and deeper the wedge if he is
interested and persistent.

This is the kind of inquiry which needs leisurely pursuit.

Results can only be obtained by a patient approach and a long wait upon
favourable conditions. I never intruded upon private conversations between
Kamanga and Badobo, his teacher, however dilatory their conduct. The
astuteness of the teacher would have surprised me more had it not been that
I was well acquainted with the extreme credulity of his pupil, whose deep
faith in magicians never ceased to astonish me, though I had daily evidence
of it. Subtle procrastination might well have persuaded me to jettison my
inquiry into the technique of witchdoctors in favour of other
anthropological cargo had it not been for the arrivai of a noted witchdoctor
on a professional tour from a distant district. This man, named Bògwòzu,
was arrogant towards the local practitioners, whom he treated with
alternating contempt and condescension. Badobo bore his conceit less
easily than the other witchdoctors since he was used to the deference now
paid to his rival.

Here was an opportunity to be seized at once, since it might not recur. I

flattered Bògwòzu's selfesteem, suggested that he should take over the
tuition of Kamanga, and of Fered to pay him munificently so long as he
taught his pupil all he knew I explained to him that I was tired of Badobo's
wiliness anc extortion, and that I expected my generosity to be reciprocatec
by the equipment of Kamanga with something more than exoteric
knowledge of a witch-doctor's technique. To Badobo I excused myself on
the grounds that this new practitioner was distinguished in his prof ession
and had qualifìed among the neighbouring Baka people, who are renowned
for their magic, as well as among Azande, so that he could teach Kamanga
the medicines of two cultures. At the same time Badobo was to continue his
instruction and receive remuneration for his services.

When informants fall out anthropologists come into their own. The
rivalry between these two practitioners grew into bitter and ill-concealed
hostility. Bògwòzu gave me information about medicines and magical rites
to prove that his rival was ignorant of the one or incapable in the
performance of the other. Badobo became alert and showed himself no less
eager to demonstrate his knowledge of magic both to Kamanga and to
myself. They vied with each other to gain ascendancy among the local
practitioners. Kamanga and I reaped a full harvest in this quarrel, not only
from the protagonists themselves but also from other witchdoctors in the
neighbourhood, and even from interested laymen.

But, in spite of their rivalry and my persistence, the two practitioners

mentioned above did not divulge to Kamanga the method by which they
extracted objects from the bodies of their patients, a surgical operation
performed by witchdoctors all over Africa, for they well understood that he
was a sponge out of which I squeezed all the moisture of information which
they put into it. I mention this fact because, although I caught them out and
compelled them through force of awkward circumstances to divulge their
exact mode of trickery, it shows that in spite of the methods of investigation
which I employed, my informants did not communicate their entire
knowledge to me, even indirectly, and suggests that there were other
departments of their knowledge which they did not disclose. This may have
been the case. It was inevitable that I should learn sooner or later how
objects are removed from the bodies of sick persons by Zande witchdoctors,
since I knew beforehand what happens among other African peoples, but it
is possible that in other matters where there was not the same basis for
inquiry the witchdoctors, if they wished to hide anything, concealed it with
greater success. I have only to add that Kamanga's sustained interest and
industry enabled me to take down the gist of his experiences in a large
number of native texts, given week after week for many months, and that
my Constant association with him enabled us to discuss these texts
informally and at leisure. A single informant known intimately is of ten a
more reliable source of information than the pooled statements of many
informants less well known.

iii

A European in Zandeland is likely to come across witchdoctors for the

first time at a seance, at which they dance and divine, because seances are
held in public and heralded and accompanied by drums. These public
performances are local events of some importance, and those who live in
the neighbourhood regard them as interesting spectacles well worth a short
walk. It may be supposed, indeed, that attendance at them has an important
formative influence on the growth of witchcraftbeliefs in the minds of
children, for children make a point of attending them and taking part in
them as spectators and chorus. This is the first occasion on which they
demonstrate tiieir belief, and it is more dramatically and more publicly
affirmed at these seances than in any other situations.

Seances are held on a variety of occasions, but generally at the request of

a householder who is suffering, or fears, a misfortune. Perhaps he or his
wife is ill or he fears his children will sicken. Perhaps his hunting is
consistently unsuccessful or he wants to know where in the bush he is likely
to find animals. Perhaps blight has begun to mar his groundnuts or he is
merely uncertain where to sow his eleusine. Perhaps his wife has not given
him a child or he feels that someone is about to speak ill of him to his father
-in-law.

One meets witchdoctors as they proceed by ones or twos towards a

troubled homestead, each wearing his hat decorated with feathers and
carrying his large hide bag containing skins, horns, magic whistles, belts,
leglets and armlets made from various wild fruits, and seeds. In olden days
before European administration only two or three witchdoctors would
attend a meeting in any one district, but today most government settlements
can muster half a dozen, while occasionally at popular seances, as when a
new magician is being initiated into the corporation, as many as a dozen
will assist.

When they meet at their destination they exchange greetings and discuss
in low tones among themselves the affairs of the seance while preparing the
ground for dancing. In these conversations and preparations the lead is
taken by an experienced magician who has generally been a witchdoctor for
a longer perlod than the others, and who may have initiated many of the
other performers into the craft. His authority is not great.

Members of the ruling class never, to my knowledge, become

practitioners. A noble would at once lose prestige by associating with
commoners at their joint meals of medicine and public dances. I have even
heard contemptuous remarks about a commoner headman who occasionally
took part in these proceedings, as it was considered beneath the dignity of a
man holding a political position from his prince to demean himself in this
manner. It was thought more fitting that he should restrict himself to
political life and remain a spectator of these activities, participation in
which must lessen the social distance which divided him from those who
owed him allegiance as the representative of his prince. Consequently the
political pattern of Zande social life has left no imprint upon the institution
of their witchdoctors, for had princes entered into the corporation they must
necessarily have done so as leaders.
 It is very seldom that women become witchdoctors. A few are qualified
to act as leeches, and occasionally a woman gains a considerable reputation
among her patients, usually persons of herown sex, and is appointed
practitioner to a prince's harem. Men also visit women leeches to be treated
for ailments. It is very rare, however, for a woman to take part in dances of
witchdoctors. They do not take part in the communal meals of witchdoctors,
nor are they initiated into the craft through ritual burial. Women
witchdoctors and leeches are always past their youth and are of ten widows.

iv

Preparations for a dance consist in marking out an area of operations and,

when that has been done, of robing. Starting from the drums, a Iarge circle
is drawn on the ground, and this is generally made more conspicuous by
white ashes being sprinkled along it. No layman is supposed to enter into
this circle reserved for the witchdoctors' dance, and were he to do so he
would risk having a blackbeetle or piece of bone shot into his body by an
outraged magician. Each practitioner, having unslung from his shoulder his
leather bag, produces from it a number of horns of waterbuck, bushbuck,
dikdik, bongo, and other animals, and thrusts these in the earth along the
circular ashline. On one of these straightened horns of ten rests a pot of
water into which witchdoctors gaze in order to see witchcraft. Interspersed
among the horns are gnarled pieces of magical wood, and from both these
and the horns magical whistles sometimes dangle. The place where his
horns are stuck in the earth a:nd the space in front of them are regarded by a
witchdoctor as his own particular field of operations upon which he will
resent encroachment by any other witchdoctor.

The horns, straightened out by being heated in the fire and bent, while
hot, on the ground, are filled with a paste, made from ashes and juices of
various herbs and shrubs mixed with oil, and they are replenished from time
to time when the supply is running short of becoming dry. These medicines
have great importance, for knowledge of the medicines means knowledge
of the art of a witchdoctor. It is not magic words nor ritual sequences which
are stressed in initiation into the corporation of witchdoctors, but trees and
herbs. A Zande witchdoctor is essentially a man who knows what plants and
trees compose the medicines which, if eaten, will give him power to see
witchcraft with his own eyes, to know where it resides, and to drive it away
from its intended victims. The Zande witchdoctor exercises supernatural
powers solely because he knows the right medicines and has eaten them in
the right manner. His prophecies are derived fròm the magic inside him. His
inspiration does not spring from the Supreme Being nor from the ghosts of
the dead.

The prof essional robes with which witchdoctors adorn themselves while
the dancing ground is being marked out consist of Straw hats topped with
large bunches of feathers of geese and parrots and other marsh and bush
birds. Strings of magic whistles made from peculiar trees are strung across
their chests and ti ed round their arms. Skins of wild cats, civet cats, genets,
servals, and other carnivora and small rodents, as well as of monkeys
(especially the colobus), are tucked under their waiststrings so that they
form a fringe which entirely covers the barkcloth worn by all male Azande.
Over the skins they tie a string of fruits of the doleib palm (Borassus
flabellifer). A wooden tongue has been inserted into each of these fruits
making of them dullsounding bells which rattle together from the waist on
the least movement. They tie round their legs and ankles, and sometimes
round their arms also, bundles of orangecoloured seeds. In their hands they
hold rattles, iron bells attached to wooden handles, and they shake these up
and down in the performance. As he dances each witchdoctor is in himself a
complete orchestra, which rattles and rings and bangs to the rhythm of the
drums.

Besides the witchdoctors there are many other people present at a seance,
and we may refer to them according to their functions as spectators,
drummers, and chorus of boys. Men and boys sit under a tree or granary
near the drums. Women sit in another part of the homestead a long way
removed from the men, for men and women never sit together in public.
Seances are generally well attended by the neighbourhood, some people
coming with questions to be put to the witchdoctors, others coming to hear
local scandal and to look at the dancing. To a woman especially it is a relief
from the monotony of the family life to which she is tied by her duties, and
from the drab routine of the househ'old to which the jealousy of her
husband confìnes her. As a rule the owner of the homestead will throw it
open to all comers,. since a large audience flatters the perfòrmers and their
host allke.

Those who wish to put questions to the witchdoctors bring small presents
with them in order to place them before the man of whose oracular powers
they desire to make use. These presents include small knives, rings, piastres
and halfpiastres, but consist most commonly of small heaps of eleusine and
bundles of maizeheads and bowls of sweet potatoes.

The host has to provide gong and dTums, and since it is only here and
there that one finds a household possessing these instruments he will almost
certainly have to spend a part of the morning borrowing them from
neighbours and carrying them to his own residence. He has also to
supervise the various household arrangements consequent upon a visit of
witchdoctors. If there are only one or two magicians a generous
householder will entertain them to a meal and will probably ask a few of the
more influenzai spectators as well. He must prepare a few small presents for
the witchdoctors as a reward for their services when the afternoon's work is
over. He spends most of the afternoon sitting with his guests.

Drummers are not specially summoned, but are recruited among youths
and boyson the spot. They are chosen, if selected at all, for their ability in
the art, but generally there is no choice of drummers, and he who can first
get possession of an instrument plays it. Thereis of ten much competition
among boys and youths to act the partof drummer, so that squabbles
sometimes result. Only if a drummer tires or proves inefficient will
someone else take his place, unless, as of ten happens, he is prepared to let
a friend take turns at the drums with himself. In exchange for their services
witchdoctors will sometimes give the drummers one or two inspired
revelations without demanding a fee.

Before commencing to dance and sing witchdoctors of ten order out of

the crowd of spectators all the small boys and range them on the ground
near the drums to back up their songs. Everyone in the crowd to some
extent backs up the songs of the perfórmers, but these boys may be
considered as constituting a special chorus as they are placed for this
purpose where they can easily be seen by the witchdoctors and admonished
if they are not singing lustily enough. If a magician is annoyed with them he
will shoot a bone or blackbeetle into one of the boys and then extract it to
show what he can do if he is really exas-

I^erated by their slackness.

vi

A seance consists of a witchdoctor ór witchdoctors dancing and singing

in accompaniment to drums and gong and answering questions put to them
by spectators. It takes some time before the performers are warmed up.
They commence slowly with sedate hops and then gather momentum,
leaping and whirling with remarkable agility and force. Weighted down
with excessive clothing and exposed to the full giare of the sun perspiration
pours of f them. After a short dance one of them rushes up to the drums and
shakes his handbells at them to stop. When they cease he lectures the
drummers and tells them that they must beat the drums better than that.
They commence again. Drums and gong resound, handbells go wia wia,
wooden bells strung round waists clatter, and anklets click in a confusion of
sound but with a rhythmic pattern since the dancers move hands, legs, and
trunks to the beat of gong and drums. One of the~ witchdoctors goes over to
the drummers and orders them to cease beating. He faces the crowd and
harangues them, especially the chorus of boys : 'Why are you not backing
up my songs properly, everyone must sing the chorus; if I see anyone
slacking I will injure him with my magic ; I will seize him as a witch. Now,
does everyone hear what I am saying?' Always there are such preliminaries
before the witchdoctors commence to reveal hidden things.

They begin to sing and dance again.'One magician performs at a time in

front of the drums, leaping and turning with his full vigour, while the others
keep their positions in a row behind him, dancing with less violence and
supporting his songs. Sometimes two or three of them will advance together
up to the drums and give a joint performance. When a member of the
audience wishes to put a question he or she puts it to a particular
witchdoctor who responds by dancing alone up to the drums and there
giving a spirited solo performance. When he is so out of breath that he can
dance no longer he shakes his handbells at the drummers for them to cease
beating, and he doubles up his body to regain breath, or stumbles about the
place as though intoxicated. This is the moment for giving an oracular reply
to the question put to him. Usually he commences to do this in a farof f
voice and with faltering speech. It appears as thougMr~ the words come to
him from without and that he has difficulty in hearing and transmitting
them. As he proceeds with his utterances the witchdoctor begins to throw of
f his air of semiconsciousness and to give forth his revelations with
assurance, and eventually with truculence. When he has finished what he
has to say he dances again to obtain further knowledge of the matter about
which he is being questioned, since full information may not have come to
him during his first dance, or he may dance to another question if he
considers that he has satisfactorily dealt with the first one.

Sometimes at these meetings the performers dance themselves into a

state of fury and gash their tongues and chests with knives. I have witnessed
scenes which remind one of the priests of Baal who 'cried aloud, and cut
themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed
out upon them'. I have seen men in a state of wild excitement, drunk with
the intoxicating orchestrai music of drums and gong, bells and rattles, throw
back their heads and gash their chests with knives, till blood poured in
streams down their bodies. Others cut their tongues and blood mixed with
saliva foamed at the corners of their lips and trickled down their chins
where it was carried away in a flow of sweat. When they have cut their
tongues they dance with them hanging out of their mouths to show their art.
They put on ferocious airs, enlarge the whites of their eyes, and open their
mouths into grimaces as though contortions, due to great physical tension
and exhaustion, were not gruesome enough.

What is the meaning of all this fury and grotesque expression? This we
shall only discover by dissecting it and making a careful analysis of its
parts.

vii

Seances are held when a householder has suffered some misfortune. It

may be asked why in these circumstances he does not consult one of the
oracles in private rather than go to the trouble of summoningseveral
practitioners to a more expensive public performance, especially, as we
shall see later, since other oracles are generally considered to be more
reliable as sources of revelation than witchdoctors, and since he will in any
case have to ask them for a confìrmation of a witchdoctor's utterances
before he can act upon them. The reason may be that public seances
increase the social prestige of a householder who initiates them, and that
revelations of witchdoctors have a peculiar social value in that, although
considered more liable to error than several other oracles, they have the
special advantage which an open investigation gives in delicate personal
matters. Moreover, the witchdoctor functions at these seances not only as an
oracular agent but also as a. fighter against witchcraft, so that he can not
only tell a person in which direction he must look for the witch who is
injuring him and what steps he may take to counteract the influence of
witchcraft, but also by his dances he wages immediate war on witches and
may succeed in driving them from his patient, so that, by showing them he
is aware of their identity they are scared for ever from his homestead. But I
believe that the first of these reasons, the desire to enhance one's reputation
by giving a public entertainment, is the most important. To those present a
seance is a very good show which is amusing to watch, now and again
exciting, and always provides material for comment and gossip for a long
time afterwards. To the master of the homestead it is a means of finding out
who is troubling his welfare ; of warning the witch, who is probably present
in person at the seance, that he is on his tracks; and of gaining public
support and recognition in his difficulties, and esteem and publicity by
throwing open his house to the countryside and by employing performers.

An account of a seance which I wrote myself on returning home in the

evening after witnessing it will amplify the preceding text and tell what
happened from a European's point of view.

One of the witchdoctors steps forward after a short dance and demands
sii eneeHe calls out the name of one òf those present—'Zingbondo,
Zingbondo, that death of your father-in-law, listen, that death of your father-
in-law, Mugadi, Mugadi is dead, it is true Mugadi is dead, you hear?' He
speaks as though in a trance, his speech laborious and disconnected.
'Mugadi is dead, his daughter (your wife) is in your homestead, her mother
has come to live with you. Listen, they must not go and weep near the grave
of Mugadi. If they continue to do this then one among you will die, do you
heàlr?' Zingbondo replies meekly, 'Yes, master, I hear, it is indéed as you
have spoken, you have spoken the truth:' (Zingbondo is very pleased at this
announcement as he resents his wife having an excuse, which cannot be
denied, for frequent absence from his household.)

Another witchdoctor steps forward smiling with confidence—he is an old

hand—and turns to the local headman, named Banvuru, and addresses him
thus, 'Chief, your companions are slandering you, they are speaking evil of
you and wish to injure you ; be careful to consult the rubbing-board oracle
about them frequently.' The headman does not reply, but someone who
wishes to curry favour with him and to show that it is not he who is playing
traitor calls out, 'Teli us the names of these men.' (This is more difficult, for
the witchdoctor wishes to avoid making enemies by personal accusations.)
He retires, saying that he will dance to the question. He signals to the
drummers to commence beating the drums, to which he dances and leaps
about wildly; his bells go wia wia wia, the doleib fruits knock together
around his waist; sweat pours from his body, he and his companions utter
wild yells. He pants for breath and, exhausted, stumbles towards the drums
which he silences by a downward stroke of his bells. In sudden silence he
stands for a long while in front of the headman. He does not speak. In a
moment he falls helplessly to the ground as though in a faint, and for
several minutes he writhes there, face to the earth, with the movements of
one who suffers great pain. Then he makes a dramatic recovery, bounds to
his feet, and utters a revelation. 'Those men', he says, 'who are injuring you
with witchcraft, who are slandering you, they are so-and-so' (he mentions
the name of the headman who preceded the present holder of the of fice),
'and so-and-so' (he gives the name of a man from whom the headman has
lately taken away his daughter to give in marriage to someone else). The
witchdoctor hesitates. He utters 'and ...', thenpauses, looking fixedly at the
ground beneath his feet as though searching' for something there, while
everyone awaits another disclosure. One of his companions Comes forward
to his assistance and says in an assured voice '... and so-and-so, he also is
injuring you, there are three of them.' He mentions the two persons whose
names had previously been disclosed and the one which he has just added to
his list. Another witchdoctor interrupts him. 'No,' he says, 'there are four of
them, so-and-so is also bewitching you' (he mentions the name of one of his
personal enemies whom he wishes to place out of favour with the headman
for his own purposes. The other practitioners understand his motives, but
witchdoctors never contradict one another at a public seance; they present a
united front to the uninitiated.)

The headman on his part listens to what he has been told, but he does not
speak a word. Later he will place these four names before the poison oracle
and learn the [Link] thinks— a Zande told me—that after all the
witchdoctors oughtto be correct in what they say, for they are witches
themselves and ought to know their own mothers' sons.

Oracles having been delivered for the benefit of the chief person present
the dance is resumed and continued for hour after hour. An old man calls
out the name of a witchdoctor and gives him some maizeheads. He wants to
know whether his eleusine crop will succeed this year. The witchdoctor runs
to look into his medicinepot. He gazes for a little while into the medicated
water and then springs forward into a dance. He dances because it is in the
dance that medicines of the witchdoctors work and cause them to see
hidden things. It stirs up and makes active the medicines within them, so
that when they are asked a question they will always dance it rather than
ponder it to find the answer. He concludes his dance, silences the drums,
and walks over to where his interlocutor sits. 'You ask me about your
eleusine, whether it will succeéd this year; where have you planted it?' 'Sir,'
he replies, 'I have planted it beyond the little stream Bagomoro.' The
witchdoctor soliloquizes. 'You have planted it beyond the little stream
Bagomoro, hm ! hm ! How many wives have you got?' 'Three.' 'I see
witchcraft ahead, witchcraft ahead, witchcraft ahead: be cautious, for your
wives are going to bewitch your eleusine crop. The chief wife, it is not she,
eh! No it is not the chief wife. Do you hear what I say? It is not the chief
wife. I can see it in my belly, for I have great medicine. It is not the chief
wife, not the chief wife, not the chief wife. D<j£you hear it? Not the chief
wife.' The witchdoctor is now entering into a trancelike condition and has
diffìculty in speaking, save in single words and clipped sentences. 'The
chief wife, it is not she. Malice. Malice. Malice. The other two wives are
jealous of her. Malice. Do you hear, malice? You must guard
yourselfagainst them. They must blow water on tò your eleusine. Do you
hear? Let them blow water to cool their witchcraft. Do you hear? Jealousy
is a bad thing. Jealousy is a bad thing, it is hunger. Your eleusine crop will
fail. You will be troubled by hunger; you hear what I say, hunger?'

I have reconstructed a seance from an account which I wrote when I had

just witnessed it, but I have not attempted to give all the questions asked
and answered during the afternoon. They are too numerous to record and,
moreover, it is not possible to note every statement made by witchdoctors at
a meeting where of ten two of them are functioning at the same time, for it
is not easy to keep pace with more than one inquiry. Also, even when there
is only one witchdoctor present it is difficult to understand whai he is
talking about unless one is aware of the exact nature of the question asked
because his replies are not concise and straightforward, but longwinded,
rambling, broken discourses. It is common for witchdoctors to give
revelations to members of their audience without being requested to do so.
They of ten volunteer gratuitous information about pending misfortunes.

A performance at court is somewhat different from a performance in a

commoner's homestead. Generally the prince sits by himself, with perhaps a
few small sons and pages on the ground beside him, while deputies, leaders
of companies, and other men of good social position, who happen to be at
court, sit opposite him at a good distance away. Women are not present.
There is no special chorus of boys, and though the spectators, with the
exception of the prince himself, may sometimes back up the songs in low
voices, generally the witchdoctor sings solo. I have never seen more than
one witchdoctor performing at a court. A prince has one or two practitioners
among his subjects whom he always summons when he requires the prof
essional services of witchdoctors. The seance is a command performance
and the demeanour of everyone present is characterized by the quietness
and good form exacted at court. The witchdoctor dances about the prince's
business alone and when he has discovered a witch or traitor he walks up to
the prince and whispers the name in his ear. There is none of the boasting
and display which I have described at performances at commoner
homesteads, and a witchdoctor never uses the bullying tones he so of ten
adopts when speaking to commoners. As far as I have observed courtiers do
not ask questions of the witchdoctor about their private affairs though they
may shout encouragement to him, and, to show their loyalty to their prince,
are of ten loud in their demands that he shall disclose the names of any
persons whom he may discover to be threatening the prince's welfare. It is a
great honour to be summoned to divine at court and witchdoctors who have
performed there are esteemed in the whole province as persons whose
revelations may be trusted.

However, the descriptions given in this chapter are of seances at

homesteads of commoners and the analysis which follows refers to the
behaviour of witchdoctors and their audiences away from court.

vili

I wish to direct attention to the mode and content of a witchdoctor's

revelations. Special notice should be taken of the manner in which a
witchdoctor makes his declarations, since I shall have to refer back to it
later when considering the whole field of belief in connexion with their
activities. They have two main modes of utterance, and both differ from the
speech forms of everyday life. The first is one of truculence. They are
overbearing with their audiences, taking liberties with them which would at
once be resented in ordinary life. They assert themselves in an overweening
manner, browbeating drummers, chorus of boys, and spectators allke,
telling them to stop talking, ordering them to sit down, admonishing them
sharply to pay attention, and so on. Ali this is taken in good part by those
present and no one takes of fence at what would, on other occasions, be
considered uripardonable rudeness. The same blatant confidence envelops
their oracular utterances, which they accompany with all sorts of dramatic
gestures and extravagant poses, abandoning ordinary speech for the
braggart tones of a diviner imbued with powerful magic from which are
derived words which cannot be doubted. They impress their revelations on
their hearers with assurance and much repetition.

When they drop their overbearing attitude they Iapse into tones even
more abnormal. After a spirited dance they disclose secrets or prophesy in
the voice of a medium who sees and hears something from without. They
deliver these psychic messages in disconnected sentences, of ten a string of
separate words not strung together grammatically, in a dreamy, faraway
voice. They speak with difficulty, like men talking in a trance, or like men
talking in their sleep. This, as we shall see later, is only partly a pose, for it
is also in part a product of physical exhaustion and of faith in their
medicines.

How does this mode of delivery affect the content of their utterances?
Their revelations and prophecies are based on a knowledge of local scandal.
It must be repeated that in Zande belief the possession of witchcraft gives a
man power to harm his fellows but is not the motive of crime. We have seen
how the drive behind all acts of witchcraft is to be looked for in emotions
and sentiments common to all men—malice, jealousy, greed, envy,
backbiting, slander, and so on. Now the scandal of native society is largely
common property, and witchdoctors, being recruited from the
neighbourhood, are well informed about local enmities and squabbles. A
witchdoctor who is on a visit from a distant province will take advice on
these matters from local witchdoctors before and during a seance.
Therefore, when a man asks them to account for some sickness or
misfortune which has befallen him they will produce as the cause of the
trouble the name of someone who bears their questioner illwill, or whom
their questioner imagines to bear him illwill. A witchdoctor divines
successfully because he says what his listener wishes him to say, and
because he uses tact.

It is fairly easy for the witchdoctor, because there are a •number of stock
enmities in Zande culture; between neighbours, because they have a greater
number of contacts and hence more opportunities for quarrelling than those
whose homesteads are separated by considerable distances ; between wives,
because it is a commonplace among Azande that the polygamous family
spells friction among its members; and between courtiers, whose political
ambitions are bound to clash. A witchdoctor asks his client for the names of
his neighbours, wives, or fellowcourtiers as the case may be. He then
dances with the names of these people in mind and discloses one of them, if
possible by implication rather than directly, as a witch. It is erroneous to
suppose that a witchdoctor guesses at random the name of a witch. This
would be absurd from the Zande viewpoint, since a grudge of some kind is
an essential motive of an act of witchcraft. On the contrary, he takes the
names of a number of people who wish his client ill or who have reason for
wishing him ill, and decides by means of his magic who of these have the
power to injure him and are exercising it; that is, those who have
witchcraft-substance in their bellies. witchdoctors do not merely exercise
cunning to find out those who are on bad terms with their clients and
produce these names as witches to please those who pay them and cannot
see through their subtlety. Everyone is fully aware of the manner in which
they discover witches, and their procedure is a necessary outcome of ideas
about witchcraft current in their culture.

It is important to note how a witchdoctor produces his revelations. First

of all he crossexamines his client. He may want to know the names of his
neighbours or wives or of those who took part in some activity with him.
Now, it should be noticed that these names are put forward by the client and
not by the witchdoctor himself and therefore involve selection on his
client's part.

The witchdoctor also gets his listeners into a suitable frame of mind for
receiving his revelations by lavish use of prof essional dogmatism. Having
obtained from his client a number of names, he says he will dance to them.
After his first two or three dances he repeats, rather than answers, the
question put to him, assuring his client that he will discover everything
before long. He struts about telling his audience that they will hear the truth
today because he has powerful magic which cannot fail him, and he will
remind them of earlier prophecies which have been fulfilled. After another
bout of dancing he gives a partial answer couched in a negative form. If it is
a question about sickness of a child he will tell the father that two of his
wives are not responsible and that he will dance to the others. If it is a
question about a bad crop of some food plant he will assure the owner of
the gardens that those neighbours of his who live in a certain direction from
his homestead are not responsible, but that he will now dance to the other
directions. Thus I have witnessed witchdoctòrs dance for half a day about a
question of unsuccessful hunting. After dancing for a long time they
informed the owner of the hunting area (myself) that they had discovered
that it was neither the women nor the young men who were spoiling the
sport, and that they would surely ferret out the real culprit before sunset.
They danced again, and at the end of the dance they gave the information
that those responsible were certainly married men. Later in the day they
said that the same witchcraft which had ruined hunting the year before still
hung over the hunting area, so that those married men who had entered the
district since could at once be exonerated. After further dancing they
stopped the drums and announced, without giving their names, that they had
discovered three men responsible for the bad hunting. They danced again
and told their audience that they had discovered a fourth culprit and that
they had ascertained that there were no others besides these four men.
Towards evening they divulged that the reason for these four men using
witchcraft to injure hunting was that the year before they had not been
asked to take part in the activity. It was this which had first occasioned their
envy. Although the question about who was injuring the hunting area was
put to the witchdoctors in the morning, it was not till after the sun had gone
down that they whispered the names of those responsible to their client, this
being the usual procedure at court.

Often witchdoctors avoid even whispering names and convey their

revelations by innuendo, by sanza, as the Azande call it. This conveyance of
meaning by hints was extremely difficult for me to follow since I always
stood to some extent outside the inner life of the community. It was a form
of speech which my knowledge of ordinary linguistic usage enabled me to
understand only in part. Even native listeners sometimes miss the full
meaning of a witchdoctor's words though it is understood by the man who
is asking about his troubles. Words which convey no meaning to the
ethnologist and doubtful meaning to other bystanders receive ready
interpretation by the questioner, who alone has a full understanding of the
situation. A man asks the practitioner who is causing blight on his
groundnuts, and is informed that it is no one outside his household, nor the
chief wife in the household, who is responsible, but one of the other wives,
who bears the chief wife malice. The witchdoctor may not give an opinion
about which of the other wives it is, but the householder himself will have
his own ideas about the matter, as he has full knowledge of the feelings of
members of his homestead towards one another, of the whole history of
their mutuai contacts, and of any recent events which have disturbed the
cairn of his household life. When he knows that it is not an outsider who is
doing him injury, but oné of his wives, he guesses which of them it is, and
can check his surmise by consulting the poison oracle, while strangers
without the same knowledge of conditions are left in the dark. This is a very
simple illustration, but it will serve. Often a witchdoctor's innuendo and its
interpretation in the mind of his client are much more involved.
 Hence we see how at both ends of an inquiry the layman goesfar to meet
the witchdoctor. At the beginning he selects to some extent the names of
those persons about whom the witchdoctor is to dance, and at the end he
supplies in part an interpretation of the witchdoctor's utterances from his
own peculiar social circumstances and mental content. I think also that as a
witchdoctor brings out his revelations bit by bit, at first, almost as
suggestions, even inquiries, he watches carefully his interlocutor to observe
whether his answer is in accordance with the questionerà own suspicions.
He becomes more definite when he is assured on this point.

A witchdoctor very seldom accuses a member of the aristocracy of

witchcraft, just as a commoner does not consult oracles about them. He may
give an important prince information about attempts to use sorcery against
him by members of his family or clan, but he does not suggest that they are
witches.

Princes, however jealous of each other they may be, always maintain
class solidarity in opposition to their subjects and do not allow commoners
to bring contempt upon any of their relatives. I do not think a witchdoctor
would ever have disclosed the name of a noble as a witch in the past, but
today I have on rare occasions observed nobles accused of witchcraft,
though they have not been closely related to ruling princes.

Discretion is also advisable in revealing names of commoners as witches

since Azande do not always take an accusation qtóetly. I have seen a man
rise from his place in the audience arld threaten to knife a witchdoctor who
was rash enough to accuse him of witchcraft, and so forcibly did he make
his protest that the witchdoctor danced again and admitted an error. He said
privately that he did not really make a mistake but merely withdrew his
statement to save a scene. The man was a witch and proved his guilt by his
behaviour.

witchdoctors of ten divulge names of witches to ordinary clients in

privacy after the seance has ended and the spectators have returned to their
homesteads. In public they try to avoid direct statements and, above all, ,to
keep ciear of names. It is only when denouncing women and weak people
that they are less scrupulous about mentioning names in public. It must be
remembered that, apart from the possibility of an immediate scene, a
witchdoctor is on other occasions an ordinary citizen and has to live in close
daily contact with his neighbours, and therefore has no desire to allenate
them by a public insult. Also, we must not forget that witchdoctors believe
in witches quite' as firmly as a layman. It is true that while dancing at a
seance they are safe, since they are well primed with medicines and are on
the alert against attack, but when they are unprotected and of f their guard
they may easily succumb to a witch who desires to avenge public exposure.
On the other hand, if they whisper the names of witches to their clients it
need never be known whom they have denounced, for their clients do not
immedia tely disclose them, but first place them one by one before the
poison oracle for corroboration, so that it is as a verdict of the poison oracle
and not of a witchdoctor that the name is fìnally made public. Éven when a
man's name is mentioned in public by a witchdoctor it is seldom directly
stated that he is a witch. The witchdoctor says only that this man wishes
someone ill or is speaking ill of him. Everyone knows that he is accusing
the man of witchcraft, but he does not say so.

It is not difficult to see that a witchdoctor's revelations are largely based

on local scandal, and that to some extent he thinks out his answers to
questions while dancing and strutting about. Azande are aware of this fact.
Nevertheless, I feel strongly that we must allow the Zande witchdoctor a
measure of intuition and not attribute his utterances solely to his reason.
The witchdoctor and his client consciously select between them a number
of persons likely to have caused sickness or loss. The witchdoctor then
commences to dance with the names of these persons in his memory until
he is able to decide who of them are injuring his client, and I believe that in
this secondary process of selection he is very little influenced by logie. If
you ask a Zande, layman or practitioner, he will tell you that the
witchdoctor begins to dance with the names of three or four likely persons
in his mind, and that he dances to these people and goes on dancing until
the medicines which he has previously eaten produce in him a realization of
witchcraft in one of them. It is indeed almost impossible to be more
explicit, but I am convinced that they select one of the names through what
is largely unconscious mental activity. In the first place, they dance
themselves into a condition bordering on dissociation. They are intoxicated
with music created by themselves and others and are physically prostrated.
As far as I can gather from what witchdoctors have told me, they keep the
names in their memory and repeat them now and again, but otherwise allow
their minds to become a complete blank. Suddenly one of the persons to
whom he is dancing obtrudes himself upon the witchdoctor's consciousness,
sometimes as a visual image, but generally by an association of the idea and
name of the witch with a physiological disturbance, chiefly in a sudden
quickening of the heartbeats.

IX

A witchdoctor does not only divine with his lips, but with his whole
body. He dances the questions which are put to him. A witchdoctor's dance
contrasts strikingly with the usual ceremonial dance of Azande. The one_ is
spirited, violent, ecstatic, the other slow, calm, restrained. The one is an
individual performance organized only by traditional movements and
rhythm, the other a collective performance. It is true that several
practitioners may perform together, and when they do so they generally
conform to a rough common movement, i.e. they keep in line and make
similar steps to rhythm of gong and drums. But in this case they of ten form
themselves into a prof essional chorus which backs up the songs of an
individual performer and gives him a supporting background. Usually only
one, or two at the most, will be actually 'dancing questions' put to them at
the same time. Very of ten there is only one witchdoctor present at a seance.

These dances provide an additional reason why no aristocrat could

become a witchdoctor, since what is a proper ritual expression in others
would be for him an undignified display. On those rare occasions when a
woman witchdoctor takes part in a seance she keeps in the background and
performs a sedate dance of her own. She does not attempt to imitate the
violent dancing of the men, as this would be regarded as unseemly conduct.

It is important to notice that witchdoctors not only dance but make their
own music with handbells and rattles, so that the effect in conjunction with
gong and drums is intoxicating, not only to the performers themselves, but
also to their audience ; and that this intoxication is an appropriate condition
for divination. Music, rhythmic movements, facial grimaces, grotesque
dress, all lend their aid in creating a proper atmosphere for the
manifestation of esoteric powers. The audience follow the display eagerly
and move their heads to the music and even repeat the songs in a low voice
when they are pleasing themselves rather than adding to the volume of
chorus. It would be a great mistake to suppose that there is an atmosphere
of awe during the ceremony. On the contrary, everyone is jovial and
amused, talking to each other and making jokes. Nevertheless, there is no
doubt that the success of the witchdoctor's prof ession is largely due to the
fact that he does not rely entirely upon the settled faith of his audience, but
makes belief easier by compelling their surrender to sensory stimuli.

We have to remember, moreover, that the audience is not observing

simply a rhythmic performance, but also a ritual enactment of magic. It is
something more than a dance, it is a fight, partly direct and partly symbolic,
against the powers of evil. The full meaning of a seance as a parade against
witchcraft can only be grasped when this dancing is understood. An
observer who recorded only questions put to the witchdoctors and the
replies which they gave would leave out the whole mechanism by which the
answers are obtained, and even the answers themselves. A witchdoctor
'dances the questions'.

Before the commencement of a seance the performers eat some of their

medicines which give them power to see the unseen and to enable them to
resist great fatigue. I have been told by witchdoctors that it would not be
possible to stand so much exertion had they not previously eaten medicines.
Medicines prime them with power to resist witchcraft. It goes into their
stomachs and dancing shakes it up and sends it all over their bodies, where
it becomes an active agent, enabling them to prophesy. In this active state it
tells them who are witches and even enables them to see spiritual
emanations of witchcraft floating about as little lights. Against these evil
powers they wage a tremendous fight. They rush backwards and forwards,
stopping suddenly and listening intently for some sound or searching
eagerly for some sight. Suddenly one of them sees witchcraft in a
neighbouring garden, though it is invisible to the uninitiated, and rushes
towards it with gestures of resolution and disgust. He quickly runs back to
get some medicine from his horn and dashes away again to smear it on a
plant or tree where he has seen the witchcraft settle. They frequently make
dashes into the bush in this way and eagerly search for witchcraft along a
path in the grass, or from the top of a termitehill.
 Every movement in the dance is as full of meaning as speech. Ali this
jumping and leaping embodies a world of innuendo. A witchdoctor dances
in front of one spectator or gazes intently at another, and when people see
this they think that he has spotted a witch, and the object of their attention
feels uncomfortable. Spectators can never be quite certain about the
meaning of a witchdoctor's behaviour, but they can interpret in a general
way from his actions what he is feeling and seeing. Every movement, every
gesture, every grimace, expresses the fight they are waging against
witchcraft, and it is necessary for the meaning of a dance to be explained by
witchdoctors as well as by laymen to appreciate its full symbolism.

CHAPTER VI

Training of a Novice in the Art of a witchdoctor

As far as I have [Link] to observe, it is usual for a youth to express his

desire to beeome a witchdoctor to a senior member of the corporation in his
district and ask him to act as his sponsor. Therefore, in speaking of the
manner in which novices are taught, I shall have in mind this usual
transference of magic from a witchdoctor to his youthful apprentice. I have,
however, sometimes seen boys of under sixteen years of age, and even quite
small children of four or five, being given medicines to eat. In these cases it
is generally a father or maternal uncle who wishes his son or nephew to
enter the prof ession and commences to train him from his earliest years in
its technique, and to make his spirit strong with medicines. Thus I have seen
small children dancing the witchdoctors' dance and eating their medicines,
in which actions they copy the movements which they have seen their
elders make at seances and communal magic meals. Their elders encourage
them in a jovial way and the children regard the whole affair as a piece of
fun. Such children become gradually accustomed to performing in this
manner, and when they are about fìfteen years of age their father will
occasionally take them with him when he visits a homestead to dance there,
and will let them take part in the proceedings, though they will not wear any
of the ordinary ceremonial decorations of a witchdoctor. Knowledge of
medicines and ritual behaviour is handed over in this way from father to
son, bit by bit, over a long period of years.
 When a youth applies to a witchdoctor for tuition the transference is
much shorter and is complicated by payments, and by the formation of
personal attitudes, which have to be built up outside family and household.
The young man is asked by his future teacher whether he is quite certain
that he wishes to be initiated and is exhorted to consider the dangers which
may beset his relations and himself if he attempts to acquire the magic
halfheartedly. He will also be reminded that the magic is rare and
expensive, and, that his teacher will require frequent and substantial gifts. If
he persists in his desire to become a practitioner the older man will consent
to teach him the art. His relatives are unlikely to object if their poison oracle
foresees no unfortunate outcome for the youth or themselves.

A novice begins to eat medicines with other witchdoctors to strengthen

his soul and give him powers of prophesy; he is initiated into the
corporation by public burial; he is given witchcraftphlegm to swallow; and
he is taken to a streamsource and shown the various herbs and shrubs and
trees from which the medicines are derived. However, there is no fixed
sequence in these rites.

ii

I have of ten observed three or four witchdoctors, and sometimes as

many as seven or eight, gather in the homestead of an experienced
colleague, who knows all the medicinal herbs and trees from which a magic
stew is made, and there partake of a communal meal. This senior
witchdoctor, who is also generally the owner of the homestead at which the
ceremony takes place, has already dug up in the bush a number of roots,
and scraped and washed them preparatory to cooking. He places them with
water in a pot and he and his colleagues gather round the fire to watch them
boil. They chat and joke among themselves about a variety of secular
subjects, though the affairs of their prof ession are also sometimes
discussed. They display no outward manifestations of awe and reverence.
After the water has boiled for some time and become coloured from the
juices of the plants, the witchdoctor who has gathered them and is cooking
them, and whom I shall refer to as their owner, takes the pot of f the fire and
pours out the liquid into a second pot, which he places on the fire for further
boiling. The roots from which the juices have been extracted are removed to
a nearby hut, where they are stored for another occasion.
 At this point the witchdoctors commence to rivet their attention upon the
business in hand, drop their secular conversation, and develop a noticeable
degree of concentration on the medicinal juices now boiling on the fìre.
This is the first sign in their behaviour that they are dealing with magical
forces. Spells from this point accompany various phases of the cooking and
continue seriatim till the end of the ceremony. When the owner is pouring
out his medicinal juices into a second pot for their further boiling he
generally addresses them in a few words, asking for the welfare of
witchdoctors as a whole and for the success of their prof essional interests.
He then divides up a ball of paste, made from oilbearing seeds ground down
with a magic root, into several small round balls, one for each witchdoctor
present. The owner places these along the periphery of the pot and first he
and then each witchdoctor in order of seniority flicks his ball into the pot.
The owner now takes a little wooden stirrer and slowly stirs the oil in the
juices, addressing the medicines as he does so, partly on his own behalf and
partly on behalf of the novice whom he is initiating :

May no evil fall upon me, but let me rest in peace. May I not die. May I
acquire wealth through my prof essional skill. May no relative of mine die
from the illluck of my medicines; may my wife not die; my relatives are
animals, my relative is eleusine, may my eleusine be fruitful.

(About his pupil.) When you dance in the witchdoctors' dance may you
not die. May your home be prosperous and may no witchcraft come to
injure your friends. May none of your relatives die. Your relatives are
animals, your father is an elephant, your father's elder brother is a red pig,
your wives are canerats, your mother is a bushbuck, your maternal uncles
are duikers, your grandfather is a rhinoceros.

(About himself.) If witchcraft comes here to my home let it return

whence it carne. If a man makes sorcery against me let him die. If a man
bears illwill towards my home let him keep away, and may disgruntled
fellows who come to show their spite in my home receive a nasty surprise.
Let my home be prosperous.

(About his pupil.) Let evil go over there, over there; let medicine make
things prosperous for you. If anyone refuses you payment for your services
may he not recover from his sickness. When you go to dance with
witchdoctors and they gaze into your face may they not be angry with you,
but let them be contented so that people may give you presents. When you
go to a seance may many presents be given you. When you dance may you
not make an error in locating witchcraft. When you blow your whistle
against wild cats1 may you
1
Cf. pp. 237-8.

not die. When you blow your zunga whistle let the soul of a man come
back to him so that he may not die.

The senior witchdoctor now hands the stirrer to his pupil, who utters a
few words over the medicine as he stirs it:

You medicine which I am cooking, mind you always speak the truth to
me. Do not let anyone injure me with his witchcraft, but let me recognize
all witches. Do not trouble my relatives, because I have no relatives. My
relatives live in the bush and are elephants and waterbuck; my grandparents
are buffaloes and all birds. When I dance with senior witchdoctors do not
let them shoot me with their shafts. Let me be expert at the witchdoctor's
craft so that people will give me many spears on account of my magic.

Another witchdoctor now takes the stick from his hand and commences
to stir and address the medicines :

May no misfortune come upon me. May none of my relatives die; my

relatives are all animals, warthog, antelope, elephant, and hartebeeste ; my
domestic fowls are partridges. If anyone eomes to injure me with
witchcraft, may he die. If anyone comes with envy and malice to my home
may that envy and malice return to their owner. May I live long with the
medicine of witchdoctors to dance five years, ten years, twenty years, for
years and years and years. May I grow old in dancing the dance of
divination. May the other witchdoctors not hate me nor think evil of me to
injure me with their medicines. Let all men come to hear my prophecies.
When I dance with medicine inside me may they come with spears and
knives, with rings and piastres, with eleusine and maize and groundnuts that
I may eat them, and beer that I may drink it. May I dance in the east in the
kingdom of Mange and in the west in the kingdom of Tembura. May men
hear my renown in the kingdom of Renzi to the south and in the far north
among the foreigners at Wau. (He lets the stirrer fall on the side of the pot
which lies in the direction which he mentions as he speaks of east, west,
south, and north.)

Each witchdoctor who wishes to stir and address the medicines on the
fire in this manner does so and the owner adds salt to the mixture. After a
while the oil boils to the edge of the pot, and when he perceives this he
removes the pot from the fire and decants the oil into a gourd and
afterwards replaces the pot, which still contains a thick, oily paste. This is
again addressed and stirred by those witchdoctors who care to do so. When
there are only two or three fully qualified witchdoctors and no novices
present, each stirs and addresses the medicines and eats of them without
necessarily making a preliminary payment to their owner, but when there
are a large number of witchdoctors, including several novices, present, it is
customary for the owner not to allow them free spells, but to demand a fee
from each person who partakes of the communal meal. He tells them that he
will not take the pot of f the fire until everyone has made a payment.
Whereupon each witchdoctor produces half a piastre, or a small knife, or a
ring, and places it on the ground in front of the fire or even in the pot itself.
These payments must be placed in the sight of the medicines, which
normally must be bought or they will not be potent. Purchase is a part of the
ritual conditioning of the magic which gives it potency. I have even seen a
witchdoctor who was treating a patient for nothing place a piastre of his
own on the ground, and when I asked him what he was doing he explained
that it would be a bad thing if the medicine did not observe a fee, for it
might lose its potency. If anyone fails to produce a gift the owner may
threaten to leave the medicine on the fire and let it burn, or, it is said, he
may sometimes remove it from the fire, but not let any of his colleagues eat
it till they have made sufficient payments. The medicines are his. He
gathered them in the bush and prepared them and cooked them in his own
utensils. He is their owner and they must be purchased from him. It must be
remembered that since magic which is not purchased in this manner is of
doubtful potency it is to the advantage of the eater to pay a small fee, as
well as to the advantage of the owner to receive it, for not only does
payment of a fee form an integrai part of the magic ritual, but also in
Zandeland it is thought essential that when magical powers are transmitted
from one person to another their seller should be satisfied with the deal,
since otherwise they will lose their powers in the transference. The goodwill
of the owner is also a relevant condition in the sale of magic, and his
goodwill can be assured by a small payment.

When presents have been made to him the owner removes the pot from
the fire and decants the oil which has exuded from the paste during its
second boiling, and then places the pot on one side for the residuum to cool.
If there is a novice present on whose special behalf they are cooking
medicines, the pot is placed in front of him and he puts his face in the
steam, taking care to keep his eyes open meanwhile so that it enters into
them. Other witchdoctors do the same, and some of them utter a few words
to the magic as they hold their faces in the mouth of the pot.

When the paste has cooled its owner serves it, usually helping the novice
before the others. The method of serving is a regular feature of magic meals
among Azande. The server scrapes some medicine with a stick from the
bottom of the pot and directs it to the mouth of one man, but when this man
is about to eat it he quickly removes it and places it in the mouth of another.
He feeds each practitioner in turn in this manner, and when each has been
served they all crowd round the pot itself and eat the residue of the
medicated paste with their hands as they would eat any other food.

When it is finished, the owner takes the oil which he has earlier decanted
and adds to part of it some ashes of burnt ngbimi zawa (a parasite of
Lophira alata) and stirs it into a black fluid. He hands round the rest of the
oil to the witchdoctors to drink. He then takes a knife and makes incisions
on their chests and above their shoulderblades and on their wrists and faces,
and rubs some of the black fluid into the cuts. As he rubs it into a man's
wrist he says :

Let this man treat his patients successfully and do not let objects of
witchcraft elude him.

As he rubs it into a man's breast he says :

If this man sees a witch let his heart shake in cognizance of witchcraft.
 As he rubs it into his back above the shoulderblades he says :

Don't let anyone shoot this man with magic shafts from behind, and if
anyone does shoot him from behind, may the assailant perish. May anyone
who sheds his blood die at once. If a witch comes to injure him in the night,
even though he approaches from behind, may this man see him, let not the
witch conceal his face.

They also drink some of this black fluid, and if there is a quantity of it
they pour some of it into their horns, where they keep a permanent store of
medicine.

After a senior witchdoctor has treated his colleagues in this way he

impresses on them the desirability of making him frequent payments, and
admonishes them not to play the fool with their magic or it will not remain
steadfast in their bodies, but will lose its power.

in

A novice begins to take part in these communal meals, generally held on

the morning of a seance, early in his apprenticeship, since the primary
object of his career is to become imbued with medicine which will enable
him to identify witchcraft. It is well to emphasize again that this is a simple
magical process. The man eats medicines and becomes physically strong so
that he is able to resist fatigue at a seance, and spiritually strong so that he is
able to resist the onslaught of witches. The medicines in themselves
produce results without the consumer of them being fully initiated and
while he is still ignorant of their composition. When a little child eats them,
for instance, they are supposed to move him to prance in the manner of a
witchdoctor, and an adult who has such medicines in his body will
sometimes shake and jump and belch violently as he is sitting in his
homestead. I have sometimes seen witchdoctors twitch spasmodically and
belch in this way, but I have little doubt that they do it to show of f before
laymen, though there may be a genuine psychophysical disturbance induced
by suggestion and by the action of the medicines. Exactly the same
medicines are also used to treat the sick.
 Nevertheless, a man who has eaten medicines only a few ' times is not
qualified to take a prominent part in the activities of a seance, or to
prophesy at it. Occasionally witchdoctors practise dancing in the homestead
of one of them in order to train a novice in the art.

As soon as a youth has eaten medicine he begins to dance, so that I of ten

saw one or two novices dancing at a seance, though they made no attempt
to divine. They were not sufficiently experienced, for they had only eaten a
small quantity of medicine, had not yet been initiated, and had not learnt the
roots from which the medicines are extracted. Every novice hopes sooneror
later toreacha position in the corporation when he will be able to initiate
pupils of his own, and he can only acquire this status when he has learnt the
proper herbs and trees.

There is no chance of recognizing these plants from observing their roots

at a communal meal, and consequently there is no objection to laymen
being present at these meals as well as specialists, and I have of ten seen lay
friends of the magicians sitting beside them as they eat their paste, though I
have never observed them partaking of the meal.

witchdoctors are said to be very careful lest anyone should find out what
plants they dig up for magical use. They remove their stalks and leaves and
hide them in the bush some way from where they have dug them up lest
anyone should follow in their tracks and learn their medicines. A plant is
known by its stalk and leaves and not by its roots.

iv

Magic must be bought like any other property, and the really significant
part of initiation is the slow transference of knowledge about plants from
teacher to pupil in exchange for a long string of fees. A teacher may show
them casually to his pupil at any time when they are both out in the bush
together, as on a hunting trip, or he may specially take him out for the
purpose. Unless the medicines are bought with adequate fees there is a
danger that they will lose their potency for the recipient during the
transference, since their owner is dissatisfied and bears the purchaser illwill.
Also, it is always possible for a teacher, if he does not think that he has
received sufficient payment for his medicines, to make magic to cancel
them so that they will no longer function in the body of their purchaser.
This can be done either by a witchdoctor cooking medicines and uttering a
spell over them to deprive a novice of the power of the magic which he has
consumed, or by the performance of a special rite to the same effect. He
takes a forest creeper, called ngbanza, and attaches one end of it to the top
of a flexible withy stuck in the earth, and fastens the other end in the ground
so that it is like the string of a bow. He then brings magic of thunder and
drops some of it on the lower end of the creeper in order that thunder may
roar and strike the creeper and cut it in two, the top part flying up on high
and the lower part remaining in the earth. As the top part flies on high so
does the medicine fly out of the man who has consumed it.

In the case of Kamanga, the payment of fees was not quite normal, since
I made presents of spears to his teacher, though he supplemented these gifts
from his own property. A man is supposed to give his teacher twenty baso.
Baso is the Zande word for spears, but it is of ten used, as in this connexion,
for any kind of wealth. Actually a pupil, being generally a young man, has
very little property of his own, so that he will pay by instalments over a
number of years, and he and his teacher will keep a record in their heads of
what he has paid. He may raise one or two spears, but for the most part his
baso consist of rings, knives, piastres, pots of beer, baskets of food, meat,
and other objects of small value. Some of these gifts come into his hands by
ritual exchange or gift on ceremonial occasions, others he begs from his
relatives, and yet others he may earn by performing Government labour,
such as porterage. Most of them are presented to his teacher at his
initiation.

If a novice is keen and clever he is soon able to start practising on his

own account, though he is expected to give his first fees to his teacher, and
to make him occasionai presents afterwards.

A man does not learn from his teacher all the medicines which it is
possible to learn, for no man knows all of them. Different persons know
different medicines, and when a man meets someone who knows a plant of
which he is ignorant he may try to buy the knowledge. If the man who
knows the plant is a friend and the plant is not an important one he may
show it to him for nothing, but otherwise he will expect a small payment.
As the years go on, and a witchdoctor comes into wider contact with other
members of his prof ession, he gradually adds to his store of medicines.
This fact enables us to understand how keen to discover each other's
medicines were the two rival witchdoctors Badobo and Bògwòzu, and why
each of them asked Kamanga to show him the plants which the other had
taught him. The plants mentioned in the succeeding paragraphs are the
betterknown and more essential medicines, and most of them are taught to a
novice shortly before or after his initiation ceremony.

Badobo and Kamanga used to show me plants which are employed by

witchdoctors when I was hunting with them in the bush, but I did not collect
them for identifìcation. I have only once been out with Badobo when he
was showing Kamanga some of these plants, on which occasion he told him
in a few words the purposes and names of a few plants. I shall therefore rely
almost entirely on Kamanga's account of his expedition to the source of a
stream to learn medicines of witchdoctors.

Zandeland is covered with a network of streams which flow along either

side of the NileCongo Divide. These streams rise in springs which have
eaten out of the earth dark chasms, shaded by talltrees and obscured with
dense brushwood. Sometimes this erosion has burrowed short tunnels into
the earth, which lead of f from the main cavern, buttressed with roots of
gigantic trees and roof ed with thick foliage of shrub and creeper. Azande
fear these caverns, which house snakes and are the homes of ghosts and of
the Supreme Being.

Before Kamanga set out he told me that the party would consist of
Badobo, Alenvo, and himself. He and Badobo would creep along the
ground on all fours and the ghosts would come and show them the plants
for which they were looking. He said they might have to enter into several
of these dark tunnels in their search for plants, but that the ghosts would
eventually reveal them. They would then both catch hold of them and drag
them out of the soil and retire backwards with them. Badobo would show
them to Kamanga, so that he in his turn would one day be able to show
them to his pupils. Meanwhile Alenvo would stand outside the cavern,
ringing his handbells, and they would make their way towards the sound in
the darkness. If it were not for these bells they would be lost.
 Kamanga was in some doubt about the exact nature of the ghosts which
haunt these dark, damp regions. He knew that they were ordinary ghosts of
dead persons, but he believed also that they were ghosts of dead
witchdoctors.

I give Kamanga's description of what happened:

We walked a long way to the source of a stream along a tiny path which
led to it. We went on for about as far as that tree over there and then they2
stopped and said to me that they were about to go with me into the earth to
the place where live the ghosts of medicine and the Supreme Being, so what
about giving them a present? It was not likely that they would accompany
me there emptyhanded. I 2 i.e. his teacher Badobo and the other witchdoctor,
Alenvo.

stopped at this and thought for a while, and then I took a piastre and gave
it to them. Badobo then said that they would contìnue and show me
medicines. We continued for some time until we reached the mouth of a
cavern, ever such a big cavern, where they said : 'Let us enter.'

Badobo told me to straddle his back as he proceeded on all fours, so I sat

astride his back, and clasped him with my hands. He told me that he was
about to take me ahead and that I was not to be afraid. We entered into this
cavern. Suddenly he placed his head to the ground, resting it on the back of
his hands. Ali this time I was on his back. We went on farther, and Badobo
again rested his face on the back of his hands. The whole floor of the cavern
vibrated, 'li li li li ir. We continued and approached another entrance to the
cavern, where he performed his final crouchings to the ground. He said to
me: 'When I make a sudden spring and seize a plant, you seize hold of it as
well.' I assented.

He crouched down thus, then suddenly leapt up, suddenly started of f,

and seized a plant in the middle of the cavern, and I seized it too. He said to
me : 'This is the plant which I was going to show you.' He told me that if it
was anybody else, he would most certainly ask him for a payment,
especially as the ghosts had not done us any harm on the floor of the cavern
and we had heard no wailing while he was showing me this medicine, so
that it appeared that my initiation prospered; for if my initiation had not
prospered, then the ghosts would have been angry and we should have
heard them wailing: 'Bazogare oooo.'3 Doubtless I would also have seen a
snake in the cavern. But since I had accompanied him, and he had taken me
with him, into the place of the Supreme Being, I had not heard wailing. I
had not heard the speech of ghosts. A great serpent had not attacked us.
Then he said to me: 'This plant which I am showing to you is a very
powerful medicine of witchdoctors.' He then told me to bend down my head
and look towards the earth into a deep pool which 4, was there.

I asked him : 'What is the name of this medicine which you have pulled
up?' and he answered : 'It is called bagu because it does not sleep stili, but
its leaves murmur all the night "guuuuuu".' He told me that there is another
powerful medicine called nderoko at the edge of streams, and that I would
see its tentacled roots spread out at the entrance of this cavern, and he told
Alenvo to cut one of them with * » his knife. Alenvo cut it and broke it of f
and cried : 'Spears ! spears ! spears! spears!' For whenever we dug up a
plant together at this stream they always said when they pulled it up:
'Spears! spears!
3
The wailing song of women mourners.

spears !'4 They spoke in this way about all the medicines of the
witchdoctors.

(Badobo shows Kamanga other medicines.)

We then went and stood in the middle of the stream where Badobo said to
me : 'I want you to show me, while we are both here together, what plants
among all these plants Bògwòzu taught you as those in use among Baka
witchdoctors.'

I told him the names of these plants which Bògwòzu had taught me and,
when I reached this point, Badobo said to me: 'Yes. He taught you much.
Ali our medicines are the same. Those medicines which he taught you are
also my medicines, but there are still three medicines which he did not
teach you.' Badobo then began to teach me further medicines, namely: the
ziga5 of witchdoctors which is zerengbondo. He said to me that he was
showing me the ziga of witchdoctors so that when I began to cook
medicines of ten, and became animportant witchdoctor, I would know its
leaf among other plants. He told me not to scrape its wood towards the east,
but only towards the west. When I cooked it and uttered a spell over it I
should say : 'May no one kill me as a result of my prof essional activities.
May my wives not leave my homestead. May my wife not die as a result of
the practice of my craft.' He told me that I should utter a spell in this
manner, and that when I had cooked the medicines I should take their
residue (i.e. the woods which had been boiled to extràct their juices) and
bury it in the threshold of my hut and in the place where my household fire
burns. He said that I should then eat the medicinal paste and anoint my
wives and children with its oil. He said that whenever I went to dance the
dance of divination might no evil happen to me and might my wife not die
on account of my prof essional activities, because it is for this reason that
they cook the ziga lest the illluck of the medicines should fall upon their
wives, so that no wife of a witchdoctor would live long. He then fìnished
his talk about medicines with what he had said about the ziga.

I have not recorded the events of Kamanga's initiation in the order in

which they occurred, for he was ritually buried before he swallowed
witchcraftphlegm and he swallowed witchcraftphlegm before he paid his
visit to streamsources, but the order in which I have given them is more
suitable to
4
In reference to payments made to a teacher by his pupil.
5
Many Zande medicines have a ziga or antidote. In this caie the antidote
is eaten in order to prevent misfortune falling on the family of the novice,
since, as explained in an earlier footnote, it is considered that the
acquisition of a powerful magic may cause the death of one of his family or
kin. It is hoped that the object of their illluck, if anyone, will be a distant
relative.

the texture of my account, and their exact chronology is not a matter of

importance. Each rite is a selfcontained investment of magic powers which,
in their totality, compose the full equipment of a witchdoctor.

vi
 Kamanga's tuition advanced by graduai stages. He learnt one medicine
today and another perhaps a month or two later, and as Badobo generally
managed to extract a small fee from him in exchange for each piece of
knowledge he taught him as slowly as possible. A youth may spend years
before his teacher has exhausted his stock of information about herbs and
trees, part of which he hands over long after public initiation, though in
Kamanga's case I exercised pressure to get his tuition compieteli within a
couple of years, since otherwise I would not have been able to follow its
course. Besides teaching his pupil medicines, a witchdoctor is expected to
give him a few skins and rattles to start his prof essional outfit.

I believe that the teachings of Badobo and Bògwòzu in respect to

medicines were perfectly genuine, and usually it was possible to check from
other sources the information they supplied to Kamanga. Moreover,
Kamanga himself was anxious to check their statements by reference to
other witchdoctors, since he did not feel certain that they were teaching him
all the medicines they knew. He had opportunities for comparing notes with
independent practitioners, a large number of whom he met after he had
begun to eat magical meals and to take part in seances.

Nevertheless, our inquiry stuck firmly at one point. Neither Badobo nor
Bògwòzu would teach him how to remove objects of witchcraft from his
patients. They told him of medicines which would enable him to perform
operations, and they left him with the impression that, having partaken of
these medicines, he had only to make an incision on a patient's body, place
a poultice over it, and massageitfor objects of witchcraft to appear.

Doubtless the witchdoctors would have completed Kamanga's training

after I had left the country, for it is obvious that something must have been
done or he would have sufFered a series of ignominious failures in his
attempts to produce objects from the bodies of his patients, an exposure
surely without precedent. By this time, however, I was tired of Badobo's
chicanery and Bògwòzu's bluff. I had already ceased to give Badobo
presents, but there was still an outstanding account to settle with Bògwòzu
since I had promised him the princely gift of ten spears if he trained
Kamanga fully. He now wanted to return to his home, which was a day and
a halfs journey away, and asked for his present and dismissal. When I urged
that Kamanga was not properly trained he informed me that his pupil knew
everything there was to be known.

As a boy of my household was slightly sick at the time, I suggested that

Kamanga should operate on him that evening, and I told Bògwòzu that ifhis
pupil were able to perform the operation successfully I would gladly give
him his ten spears and let him return home on the following morning.
Bògwòzu prepared a poultice of kpoyo bark, and while Kamanga was
making an incision on the sick boy's abdomen, he inserted a small piece of
charcoal into it. I was sitting between Bògwòzu and Kamanga. When the
teacher handed over the poultice to his pupil I took it from him to pass it to
Kamanga, but in doing so I felt for the object which it contained and
removed it between my finger and thumb while pr etending to make a
casual examination of the kind of stuff a poultice consisted of and
commenting on the material. I am not certain whether Bògwòzu saw what I
had done, but I think that he suspected my motive in handling the poultice,
for he certainly looked suspicious. It was a disagreeable surprise for
Kamanga when, after massaging his patient's abdomen through the poultice,
in the usual manner of witchdoctors, and after then removing the poultice,
he could not find any object of witchcraft in it. While Kamanga was still
searching and hoping to identify every little piece of hard vegetable matter
in the poultice with an object of witchcraft, I observed out of the corner of
my eye Bògwòzu moving the palm of his hand over the ground, seeking for
another piece of charcoal to make up for the deficiency. I considered that
the time had now come to stop proceedings and I asked Kamanga and his
teacher to come to my hut a few yards away, where I told them that I had
removed the charcoal from the poultice, and asked Bògwòzu to explain how
it had got there. For a few moments he pretended incredulity and asked to
see the object, since he said that such a thing was impossible, but he was
clever enough to see that further pretence would be useless, and, as we were
in private, he made no further difficulty about admitting the imposture. He
received two spears for his trouble and returned home next day without the
other eight, which he forfeited for not fulfilling his part of the bargain.

The effect of these disclosures on Kamanga was devastating. When he

had recovered from his astonishment he was in serious doubt whether he
ought to continue his initiation. He could not at first believe his eyes and
ears, but in a day or two he had completely recovered his poise and
developed a marked degree of selfassurance which, if I was not mistaken,
he had not shown before this incident. In future he, like his colleagues,
excused to me their sleight of hand on the grounds that it is not the
pretended extraction of bones, pieces of charcoal, spiders, blackbeetles, and
other supposed objects of witchcraft from the bodies of their patients which
cures them of their diseases, but the mbiro medicine which they administer
internally and externally at the same time. If their surgery is fake, their
physic is sound.

vii

After this episode Bògwòzu left us and we fell back on Badobo again. As
there was no longer any point in concealing his sharp practices, he readily
taught them to Kamanga. I give his teaching in the latter's own words :

Badobo told me that before I commence to treat a patient I must cut a

piece Of togoro ranga and shape it with a knife until it is like an obj ect of
witchcraft. I must conceal this between my fingers, or, alternatively, put it
under my nail. He said I must sit still and do nothing, and let a layman
prepare the poultice. When he hands it to me I must take it from him
quickly and squeeze it between my fingers so as cunningly to insert into it
the little obj ect from under my fingernail. I must see that it is well set in the
poultice, and place it on the affected part of my patient.

First I ought to rub some mbiro medicine across the mouth of my patient
and afterwards to take a mouthful of water, gargle it, and blow it out. I
ought then to massage the patient, to remove the poultice, and, holding it in
my hand, to search it until I discover an object of witchcraft in it. When I
find an object I must show it to the onlookers so that they may see it and
say: 'Heu! Well I never! So that's the thing from which he was dying.'

A man performs this act of surgery with one object about three times.
When he has removed it from the poultice he places it on the stump of a
nearby tree and warns everyone not to touch it because it is a thing
connected with witchcraft. Then he takes it again and hides it once more
under his nail, and for a second time performs a surgical operation with it. A
man who is good at cheating makes use of the same object about three
times.

Thus they said to me about it, 'witchdoctors treat a sick man and deceive
him, saying that they have taken an object of witchcraft from his body
whereas they have not taken it at all ; but, on the other hand, they have put
medicine into the sick man's mouth and cut his skin at the part of the body
where he is in pain and have rubbed their medicine across the cut.' When
the man has recovered people say that indeed witchdoctors are skilful
healers, whereas it is the medicine which really cures people, and it is on
account of medicine that people recover when they are treated by
witchdoctors. The people think that healing is brought about by the
extraction of objects, and only witchdoctors know that it is the medicine
which heals people. The people themselves do not learn the truth because
only witchdoctors know it, and they keep it a secret. They do not spread
their knowledge abroad, but tell it only to those who have first eaten their
medicines, because their treatment is very deceitful.

I felt rather sorry for Kamanga at this time. He had always shown
sublime faith in witchdoctors; no arguments of mine had made any lasting
impression on him since he countered them by answering that there was
nothing new in the suggestion of fraud, but that it covered only part of the
phenomena and not all of them. Moreover, he was never really convinced
that any witchdoctors cheat till he became a witchdoctor himself. Yet I do
not think that even this experience convinced him thoroughly that all
witchdoctors are frauds. He now knew that those with whom he came into
contact cheated their patients, but he still thought that witchdoctors exist
who have strong enough magic genuinely to discover and extract objects of
witchcraft.

But it must be realized that there are wide differences of meritai approach
between different laymen; and, indeed, differences of attitude of the same
man in different situations. By way of illustration I ci te a text spoken by
another informant, Kisanga :

When a man becomes sick they send for a witchdoctor. Before the
witchdoctor Comes to the sick man he scrapes down an animal's bone and
hammers it till it is qui te small and then drops it into the medicines in his
horn. He later arrives at the homestead of the sick man and takes a mouthful
of water and swills his mouth round with it and opens his mouth so that
people can look into it. He also spreads out his hands to them so that
everyone can see them, and speaks thus to them: 'Observe me well, I am not
a cheat, since I have no desire to take anything from anyone fraudulently.'

He gets up and takes his medicine in its horn and puts it down beside
him, shoves a little stick into it, and licks the stick, at the same time taking a
little bone into his mouth. He applies his mouth to the affected part of the
sick man's body, sucks it for a long time, and then takes his mouth away and
spits out the little bone into the palm of his hand and shows it to everyone,
saying: 'This is the thing which is causing him sickness.' He goes on doing
this in the same manner until all the bones which he has taken into his
mouth are used up.

But those witchdoctors who are themselves witches know who is injuring
the sick man. Before he goes to see the sick man such a witchdoctor first of
all visits the witch and pleads with him, saying : 'Will you do me the favour
of leaving that man alone so that he may get well from his sickness, and
everyone may speak well of me and say that truly I am a trustworthy
witchdoctor.'

The witch says to him: 'Ali right, I will be generous on your account. If it
were any other witchdoctor I would certainly refuse the request. But when
you go to the sick man remember that you must bring back all the presents
you receive so that we can share them.' The witchdoctor replies: 'I will
bring all the presents here to you and we will share them. I only want to
increase my reputation among the people, and that is why I have come to
ask you to do me a favour so that when I have treated the sick man he may
get completely well.'

The witch consents to the witchdoctor's proposai and the witchdoctor

goes of f with his faked objects to the sick man, deceives him, and goes
home. The sick man at once recovers, because the witch has already
released his hold of him. The witchdoctor hears that the sick man has
recovered and sends a messenger for his present, since he cured him. The
relatives of the sick man will certainly not refuse to give him a present,
because they think that it is he who has saved their relative. They give him
his present as he desires: even if it is two spears they give them to him.
witchdoctors always cheat with witches in order to get presents from
people. But a witchdoctor who is not himself a witch knows nothing, and
people will always call him a cheat.

This account was given by a man of unusual brilliance, but at the same
time it represents popular opinion. Two points emerge clearly from it. The
first is that people not only know that witchdoctors can produce objects
from the bodies of their patients by fraud, but also that they are aware of the
kind of fraud they employ. The second point is that this knowledge does not
conflict with great faith in witchdoctors, because it is believed that a
considerable number of them do actually produce remarkable cures through
their traffic with witches. The skill of a witchdoctor depends on the quality
of the medicines he has eaten and on his possession of mangu. If he is not
himself a 'witch' nor has eaten powerful enough medicines he will be a
witchdoctor only in name. Hence, if you criticize their witchdoctors,
Azande will agree with you.

It is important to note that scepticism about witchdoctors is not socially

repressed. Absence of formai and coercive doctrines permit Azande to state
that many, even most, witchdoctors are frauds. No opposition being of fered
to such statements they leave the main belief in the prophetic and
therapeutic powers of witchdoctors unimpaired. Indeed, scepticism is
included in the pattern of belief in witchdoctors. Faith and scepticism are
allke traditional. Scepticism explains failures of witchdoctors, and being
directed towards particular witchdoctors even tends to support faith in
others.

Azande have to state their doubts of the mystical powers of witchdoctors

in mystical terms. A witchdoctor is a cheat because his medicines are poor.
He is a liar because he possesses no 'witchcraft'. Their idiom is so much of a
mystical order that criticism of one belief can only be made in terms of
another that equally lacks foundation in fact. Thus Kisanga told us in the
text cited above how witchdoctors cheat. He not only explained precisely
and accurately how they cheat but even explained how it comes about that a
sick man believes himself to have been cured by a cheating leech. He
knows that he was sick, was treated, and is well, and assumes that the
treatment cured him. Whereas he was cured, not by the therapeutic
treatment of the witchdoctor, but by a bargain struck between the
witchdoctor and the witch.

vili

We have seen that Azande are aware of deception practised by their

witchdoctors in the role of leeches and of their inefficiency in the role of
diviners. As in many other of their customs, welìnd a mingling of common
sense and mystical thought, and we may ask why common sense does not
triumph over superstition.

A partial explanation must, no doubt, be sought in the training in trickery

Kamanga has described. Some such training is essential, for two reasons. In
the first place, the Zande has a broad streak of scepticism in his attitude
towards his leeches, who have therefore to be careful that their sleightof -
hand is not observed. In the second place, if the treatment is to be effective
it must be performed in a traditional manner, which is thought to obviate
any possibility of trickery and which alone, in consequence, can stimulate a
patient's faith in his doctor. We have seen that the Zande does not believe in
the therapeutic powers of witchdoctors through a special ability to believe
in things supernatural, but that he always refers your scepticism to the test
of experience. If the treatment is carried out in a certain manner, as when
bingba grass is used as a poultice, he will be frankly suspicious. But if the
witchdoctor sits down on a stool and calls upon a third person to cut kpoyo
bast and make a poultice of it, rinses his mouth with water, and holds his
hands for inspection, suspicions will be allayed. The Zande answers further
scepticism in a rational and experimental way by giving you a corpus of
cases which have come within his social horizon in which cures have been
effected.

If you accompany a witchdoctor on one of his visits you will -be

convinced, if not of the validity of his cures, at least of his skill. As far as
you can observe, everything which he does appears to be aboveboard, and
you will notice nothing which might help you to detect a fraud. When you
have lived for some time in Zandeland you will also have ampie evidence
of the therapeutic value of the kind of treatment which witchdoctors
employ. Every native can give you from his own experience convincing
accounts of how he and his relatives and friends have been cured by the
extraction of bones or worms from their bodies. If one witchdoctor fails to
cure a Zande he goes to another in the same way as we go to another doctor
if we are dissatisfied with the treatment of the first one whom we have
consulted. Similarly, Azande whom I have treated for a number of illnesses
have of ten thrown over my treatment and visited their own practitioners, in
whose medicines they have had greater faith. I have on several occasions
dosed my friends for stomachache without diminishing their pain, and have
afterwards seen them visit their own witchdoctors and return home greatly
relieved, if not altogether freed, from pain. So we have to bear in mind that,
in spite of the trickery of witchdoctors, their methods are, within a limited
compass, successful.

There are, however, other ways in which faith is supported. Rhythm,

mode of utterance, content of prophecies, all assist in creating faith in
witchdoctors ; yet even they do not entirely explain belief. Weight of
tradition can alone do that. witchdoctors have always been part of Zande
culture. They figure in the oldest traditions of their nation. Their seances
occasion one of the few types of social gatherings outside family life, and
from an early age children have taken part in them as spectators, chorus,
and drummers. Azande do not consider what their world would be like
without witchdoctors any more than we consider what it would be like
without physicians. Since there is witchcraft there are naturally
witchdoctors. There is no incentive to agnosticism. Ali their beliefs hang
together, and were a Zande to give up faith in witchdoctorhood he would
have to surrender equally his belief in witchcraft and oracles. A seance of
witchdoctors is a public affirmation of the existence of witchcraft. It is one
of the ways in which belief in witchcraft is inculcated and expressed. Also,
witchdoctors are part of the oraclesystem. Together with the rubbing-board
oracle they provide questions for the poison oracle which corroborates their
revelations. In this web of belief every strand depends upon every other
strand, and a Zande cannot get out of its meshes because this is the only
world he knows. The web is not an external structure in which he is
enclosed. It is the texture of his thought and he cannot think that his thought
is wrong. Nevertheless, his beliefs are not absolutely set but are variable
and fluctuating to allow for different situations and to permit empirical
observation and even doubts.
 ix

The last section of a witchdoctor's initiation which I have to describe is

his ritual burial. I have witnessed this ceremony on two occasions, once
when Kamanga was initiated, and once on a previous occasion.

The first time I witnessed an initiation the witchdoctors, after dancing for
some hours, dug a hole in the centre of the homestead where the ceremony
was being held. The owner of the homestead advanced to the hole with his
wives and the initiate's father. There each took a draught of beer and blew it
out to the ground to bless the novice's prof essional path. The witchdoctors
then danced. Later they poured medicine from a small leaf filter on to the
novice's fingers and toes. They squpezed some of the same liquid up his
nostrils and he leant forward to let it run out of them. Finally, they squeezed
medicine into his eyes. Afterwards he lay on his belly with the upper half of
his body bent into the hole and covered over with a mat on which earth was
heaped, and with the lower half of his body sticking out above the ground.
He remained in this position for about half an hour, while witchdoctors
jumped and danced over his body. One of them occasionally put his head
under the mat to speak to the buried novice and then withdrew it. At the end
of this time he was raised in an exhausted condition and supported to a seat
of leaves near the dancingground. Kamanga's initiation was conducted in a
similar manner.

This ceremony bears the imprint of a typical initiation ceremony. The

neophyte is in a tabooed state for two or three days before the rites take
place. He wears a cord made from the bast of the dakpa tree round his waist
and he abstains from sexual intercourse and from various foods. He then
goes through aritual enactment of death and burial and resurrection, though
a Zande would not describe it in this way.

When a witchdoctor has been initiated he takes a new name which he

only uses prof essionally when engaged in divining and leechcraft. Thus
Badobo, like his rival, was called Bògwòzu; Kamanga, like our settlement
headman, took the name Bòwe; Ngbaranda, another of our local
witchdoctors, took the name Semene; and so on.

CHAPTER VII
 The Place of witchdoctors in Zande Society

A c le ver witchdoctor is an important person in Zande society. He can

locate and combat witchcraft which to the Zande is an everpresent menace.
He can cure the sick and warn all over whom hang impending dangers. He
is one of the means by which hoeculture and hunting may yield their fruits
to human labour, since through his magic they are freed from witchcraft
which blasts all endeavour. Magic gives him power to see into the hearts of
men and to reveal their evil intentions. Also a practitioner may be himself a
witch. In this case he possesses mangu and ngua, witchcraft and magic. He
can harm or protect, kill or cure. He is therefore a man who commands
respect, and we have seen how respect is demanded during seances, when
he compels people to give him their attention and acquires for the time
being authoritative status. I think that no Zande is absolutely certain that he
is not a witch and, if this is so, no one can be sure that his name will not be
revealed during the seance, a condition that undoubtedly enhances a
witchdoctor's prestige. Having on many occasions observed the behaviour
of people at seances, I am sure that they are to some extent thrilled by the
display. Witchcraft is hovering near them, for it is seen by the witchdoctors
who attack it with their medicines; magic is operative all round them, and
magical shafts are flying from point to point ; the dancers are in a state of
frenzied exaltation, which produces a sympathetic reaction in the behaviour
of their audience ; a battle of two spiritual powers is enacted before their
eyes, magic versus witchcraft. In such situations the witchdoctor enjoys his
greatest influence. When he is no longer functioning as a magician his
social position cannot be said to be above that of an ordinary citizen.

His prestige does not depend so much on the practice of his craft as on
his personal reputation in it. Today there are many practitioners, but few
attain eminence. Fame is not, moreover, based solely on restricted prof
essional knowledge of the witchdoctor's art, in its aspects of divination and
leechcraft, but also on the fact that a noted witchdoctor is generally also a
noted magician in other respects. Many of those who practise as
witchdoctors also possess powerful magic of other kinds, such as
bagbuduma, vengeancemagic, and iwa, the rubbing-board oracle. People
may possess all kinds of magic without at the same time being
witchdoctors, but the witchdoctor is essentially the magician of Zande
society, the repository of all sorts of medicines.

ii

Many people say that the great majority of witchdoctors are liars whose
sole concern is to acquire wealth. I found that it was quite a normal belief
among Azande that many of the practitioners are charlatans who make up
any reply which they think will please their questioner, and whose sole
inspiration is love of gain. It is indeed probable that Zande faith in their
witchdoctors has declined since European conquest of their country, on
account of the large increase in membership of the corporation. In the old
days only two or three men in a province used to function as witchdoctors,
whereas today they number scores. I have noticed again and again in other
departments of Zande1 magic that faith tends to lessen as ownership spreads.
Today a witchdoctor has little scruple about teaching as many pupils as he
can obtain and charging them ridiculously small fees in comparison with
oldtime standards. Moreover, the same risk does not now attach to the prof
ession as used to be the case, when an error of judgement might entail
serious consequences. In the general cultural disequilibrium due to the
social changes consequent on conquests and administration, belief in magic
and witchcraft has ceased to function adequately, and a witchdoctorhood
tends to become more a pastime than a serious prof ession. Nevertheless,
there are many evidences which show decisively that scepticism is not a
new phenomenon.

I particularly do not wish to give the impression that there is anyone who
disbelieves in witchdoctorhood. Most of my acquaintances believed that
there are a few entirely reliable practitioners, but that the majority are
quacks. Hence in the case of any particular withdoctor they are never quite
certain whether reliance can be placed on his statements or not. They know
that some witchdoctors lie and that others tell the truth, but they cannot at
once tell from his behaviour into which category any witchdoctor falls.
They reserve judgement, and temper faith with scepticism.

It is always possible to check the statements of a witchdoctor by putting

them before the poison oracle, which, not being under human control, may
contradict them, so that it is not surprising that Azande have developed
doubts. I have heard even witchdoctors themselves admit that not all
members of their corporation are reliable and honest, but only those who
have received proper medicines from persons qualified to initiate them.

Zande doctrine holds that one witch can see another witch and observe
what he is doing in the world of witchcraft, whilst laymen can only unearth
witch activity through their oracles. Hence, a witchdoctor who is also a
witch may be relied upon to give correct information about his companions.
Surely, say Azande, they ought to know all about their own mother's sons.
witchdoctors naturally do not admit this interpretation of their powers,
which they attribute solely to their magic. They admit that members of their
corporation have mangu in their bellies, but it is mangu generated by magic
and of quite a different nature to mangu of witches, which is a biological
inheritance. The layman is not entirely convinced by this subtle distinction
and prefers to state plainly that it is ordinary mangu in their own bellies
which enables successful practitioners to see it in the bellies of others.

I have many times heard people openly say that successful witchdoctors
are witches. A man would not deliberately of fend a practitioner by casting
this opinion in his teeth, but I have heard Azande, especially princes,
chaffing witchdoctors about their witchcraft. It is one of the traditional ideas
associated with the corporation. Everyone knows it.

Another way in which we can measure popular belief in witchdoctors is

by ranging them alongside other oracular agencies. Nobody would suggest
that revelations of witchdoctors are as reliable as those of the poison oracle.
The high est compliment which you can pay a witchdoctor is to tell him that
he is prophesying 'just like benge', i.e. with complete accuracy. Nor can
witchdoctors be considered on the same level as the termites oracle. Rather
Azande compare them with the rubbing-board oracle which is manipulated
by man and is known to make many mistakes. Thus we again find
scepticism about witchdoctors expressed in this gradation of oracles. The
Zande shows his supicions of the human element in oracles by placing
greater reliance on the poison oracle and the termites oracle, which work
through natural agencies, than on the rubbing-board oracle or witchdoctors,
the one manipulated by human direction, the other in itself a human
agency.
 It must be remembered that rivalry among witchdoctors also plays a part;
thus, the prof essional jealousy between Badobo and the intruder Bògwòzu
runs through the whole account of Kamanga's training and initiation. In any
such training, a large number of the medicines taught to a novice have as
their function the equipment of defensive and aggressive powers against
prof essional rivals. There is little jealousy between junior witchdoctors; but
when a man has gained a prof essional reputation it is certain to clash with
the interests of others who have been longer established in the district.
These doctors try to build up for themselves practices among laymen, and
as they derive both wealth and reputation from them they ' are envious of
the encroachment of others. The jealousy of witchdoctors is, indeed,
proverbiai among Azande. A witchdoctor tries to defeat his rivals, not only
by equipping himself with special medicines and magically ."shooting"
small objects into his colleagues when dancing with them, but also by
slander and denigration. Thus, thejealousies which lead witchdoctors to cast
aspersions on one another must also lessen their prestige among laymen.

in

In any case, the reputation of witchdoctors, as of all other Zande

magicians, is completely overshadowed by the political power of the royal
Vongara house and nobles abstain from witchdoctors' activities which are
entirely a commoner practice and mainly a commoner interest. witchdoctors
have no political power, and commoners with political power and ambitions
do not become witchdoctors. It can easily be understood that in these
circumstances the witchdoctor's social position is never an exalted one.

At the same time, princes respect witchdoctors and give them patronage.
Princes, like everyone else, have their interests to protect from witchcraft.
They have, indeed, a wider range of interests, since political interests are
added to those of householder, husband, and producer. It is one of the
special cares of a witchdoctor summoned to court to inform his master of
any unrest in his kingdom or principality. A prince, owing to his large
harem, is also more susceptible than a commoner to attacks by women
witches,,since he has a greater range of contacts with women and has
consequently greater opportunity for arousing feminine illwill.
 Nobles patronize witchdoctors because their magic is good magic. It
causes no one an injury and protects many from harm. It is not an ally of
jealousy or spite, but their enemy. Ali Azande are agreed that the
witchdoctor is harmless, and everyone praises his medicines. witchdoctors
may, it is true, fight among themselves, but that is their affair. They do not
injure others so that people are not hostile to them. Their squabbles and
magic combats among themselves are a source of great amusement to
Azande.

But, though knowledge of medicines brings Zande witchdoctors no

political power and no great social influence, nevertheless, witchdoctorhood
shows a degree of social specialization. This has its economic side, for a
firstclass witchdoctor is constantly being summoned to court or to the
homes of affluent commoners or to those of friends or relatives, and in
consequence he is not able to give the same attention to economic pursuits
as laymen can give to them. He makes up for his loss by his earnings as
leech and diviner, which are either paid to him in food and tools or in metal
wealth which can be exchanged for the one or converted into the other.

This social differentiation has its ritual side also, for the witchdoctor
performs for a large number of people at a seance what each would
otherwise have to do himself by means of oracles and various forms of
protective magic. On these occasions the community trusts to him to look
after their interests by keeping an eye on witches, exposing their intentions,
and frustrating them.

Division of social labour has its psychological side, for it is clear that in
some respects a witchdoctor's mentality differs from that of laymen. He has
a wider range of general knowledge in the first place. Thus his prof ession
introduces him to a large number of plants and trees, of which laymen do
not know the full uses. He has, moreover, a wider range of behaviourforms
than laymen have. It will have been clear from the account I have given of a
seance that he acts and feels in a way in which laymen never act and feel.
To the behaviourforms which are imposed upon him equally with every
other member of Zande society are added new ones, which are novel both
in their content and in the manner of their acquisition. His social contacts
are also more varied. He travels more and farther than most members of his
locality, and he enters society not only as an ordinary visitor, but also
sometimes as a leech and at other times as a diviner. When he goes to dance
at the court of a prince or at the home of a rich commoner his prof essional
position gives him privilege which makes his relations with his patrons less
crude than those existing between them and laymen of lower social
position. Their relations become more varied and hence more complicated
and delicate. Finally, the witchdoctor is cut of f from the rest of the
community in which he lives by his secret knowledge of the way in which
objects are produced from the bodies of the sick, and it is possible that the
scepticism which I have described is to be attributed largely to a spreadover
of disbelief from prof essionals to laymen, for, however well witchdoctors
may keep their secrets, they live their lives in daily intimacy with their
uninitiated fellows, who cannot fail to be influenced by their contact.

Since we know that witchdoctors are aware of one piece of reality which
is unknown to the rest of their society we may wonder whether they have
not a wider appreciation of the nature of other things in the world around
them. I did not reach this conclusion. Nevertheless, I was impressed with
their ability, and believe that when one knows Azande well one can of ten
detect the expert magician, especially the successful witchdoctor. My
evidence is not full enough to demonstrate with assurance, but I consider it
probable, that as a rule men who show a strong desire to become
witchdoctors have a higher degree of intellectual curiosity and greater
social ambition than the ordinary Zande possesses. Their personality is
certainly developed by new modes of social behaviour which demand tact,
courage, foresight, knowledge of human feelings, and a very considerable
degree of mental agility if their prof essional activities are to be
successfully carried out. I have no doubt, judging from the few
witchdoctors whom I have known personally, that they show greater ability
than most laymen, and this can be observed not only in their ritual
functions, in which they display great cleverness, but also in their allround
competence in social intercourse, in their quick grasp of new situations, in
their knowledge of custom, in their econ omic knowledge, and in their
power to impress and manage men.

Yet the Zande witchdoctor, in spite of his extra knowledge, is as deep a

believer in magic as his slightly lessinformed fellows. He knows that he
cheats laymen but does not know how he is cheated by his own ignorance.
Just as laymen express their scepticism in a mystical idiom so witchdoctors
express their knowledge in mystical terms. They know that their extraction
of objects from the bodies of their patients is a fake, but they believe that
they cure them by the medicines they administer. They know that the
objects they are supposed to shoot into people are hidden in their hands, yet
they think that they somehow, nevertheless, injure their rivals by assailing
them with psychical ammunition. Here, as everywhere, we are confronted
with the same tangle of knowledge and error. It is especially evident in the
manner of divination employed by witchdoctors : they seem to reason so
acutely, to weigh probabilities of enmity so evenly. Yet they believe as
firmly in witchcraft as their clients and believe as steadfastly that the
medicines they have eaten enable them to identify witches. They display an
intellectual acuteness which might have expressed itself in scepticism and
disillusionment were they not enclosed in the same network of thought, the
same web of witchcraft, oracles, and magic, as are laymen. Within the
limited situations of their prof essional practice they are able to think
differently from laymen, but their thought is limited by the same cultural
conditions outside these special situations.

It is difficult to know what mainly influences a youth in choosing to

become a witchdoctor. Azande who are inclined to be cynical about such
matters of ten declare that it is love of gain, but it is difficult to treat this
opinion seriously because even noted witchdoctors, apart from selling their
knowledge to novices, gain very little wealth by their divination and
leechcraft, and it must be many years before a man recuperates from the
expenses of his initiation. It was my impression that the most important
incentives are desire to obtain medicines and desire to display oneself.

Many Azande show a great desire for medicines and take every
opportunity to acquire new ones because they give security against witches
and sorcerers and because they give a sense of power and ownership.
witchdoctors like to feel that they possess medicines denied to the rest of
the community.

Those who are not attracted to court and .political life have little means
of displaying themselves in public before an attentive audience other than
that of fered by the prof ession of witchdoctor. A seance gives a witchdoctor
opportunity to draw attention to himself in a role that allows him to assert
his superiority and to dramatize his behaviour. Most Azande would be far
too shy to dance and sing as witchdoctors do at seances, and some
witchdoctors are quiet and shy on other occasions when people dance and
sing. The opportunity to display themselves in a situation when display is
socially applauded is a great incentive to some youths to take up the career
of a witchdoctor.

Many men have simply taken over the art from their fathers and
occasionally from their maternal uncles. But a father only teaches one of his
sons the medicines, and I have noticed that he selects the son who, in his
opinion, is the most suitable to practise as a witchdoctor and who shows
that he is keen to become one.

I have never known a youth fail to qualify as a witchdoctor because he

was too stupid to learn and practise the art. It is perhaps signifìcant that a
witchdoctor does not at once accept a youth as pupil but inquires from him
with stress whether he is quite certain that he wishes to learn the art.
Consequently only those who are keen and serious persist in their request to
be initiated.

CRAPTER Vili

The Poison Oracle in Daily Life

Oracles are a more satisfactory means of ascertaining the future, and

hidden things of the present, than are witchdoctors. witchdoctors are useful
as sleuths for seeking out the many affairs of a group of homesteads, and
their chief value is that they generally clear the atmosphere of witchcraft.
On this account they are of ten asked to dance before a big hunt because
this is a joint undertaking, many persons are involved, and the interests of a
distri et are at stake. A public attack by witchdoctors, who act as ritual
skirmishers to report on and to counter the mystical forces in opposition, is
appropriate. When the seance is over people feel that witches have been
scared from their undertaking.
 But as diviners witchdoctors are not regarded as furnishing more than
preliminary evidence, and in all matters of moment a man takes a
witchdoctor's statement and places it before one of the greater oracles for
corroboration. This is, moreover, necessary if a man wishes to take any
public action. He cannot try to exact vengeance for homicide on the
evidence of a witchdoctor alone. A witchdoctor would never be consulted
on such a matter. A man would be very illadvised even to present a fowl's
wing to a witch accused solely by witchdoctors. The accused might mock
the bearer of the wing and would not lose esteem for doing so. Hence
Azande say that witchdoctors, like the rubbing-board oracle, are useful
because they can answer quickly many questions and sort out suspeets in a
preliminary manner before men approach the poison oracle, but that they
are not dependable.

ii

The method of revealihg what is hidden by administering poison to fowls

has a wide extension in Africa; but just as the Azande are the most
northeasterly people who have the notion of witchcraft as a material
substance in the belly, so also is their culture the northeasterly limit of the
distribution of this type of oracle. They are the only people in the
AngloEgyptian Suddan who employ it.

The poison used is a red powder manufactured from a forest creeper and
mixed with water to a paste. The liquid is squeezed out of the paste into the
beaks of small domestic fowls which are compelled to swallow it.
Generally violent spasms follow. The doses sometimes prove fatai, but as of
ten the fowls recover. Sometimes they are even unaffected by the poison.
From the behaviour of fowls under this ordeal, especially by their death or
survival, Azande receive answers to the questions they place before the
oracle.

The botanical nature of the poison has not been determined, but its
chemical nature has been roughly analysed. Some of the oracle poison
which I brought back to England was examined by Prof essor R. Robinson
who informs me that:
 The quantity of benge was insufficient to enable me to establish with
certainly the nature of the active principle. Ali that can be said about it is
that the toxìc substance is alkaloidal in character and appears to be related
chemically to strychnine. It is almost certainly not homogeneous, and this
accounts for the difficulty of isolation in a pure condition. Thus, all I can
say is that it is strychninelike in many of its reactions, and that probably two
or more bases are present.

iii

The poison oracle, benge, is by far the most important of the Zande
oracles. Zande rely completely on its decisions, which have the force of law
when obtained on the orders of a prince. A visitor to Zandeland hears as
much of the poison oracle as he hears of witchcraft, for whenever a
question arises about the facts of a case or about a man's well-being they at
once seek to know the opinion of the poison oracle on the matter. In many
situations where we seek to base a verdict upon evidence or try to regulate
our conduct by weighing of probabilities the Zande consults, without
hesitation, the poison oracle and follows its directions with implicit trust.

No important venture is undertaken without authorization of the poison

oracle! In important collective undertakings, in all crises of life, in all
serious legal disputes, in all matters strongly affecting individual welfare, in
short, on all occasions regarded by Azande as dangerous or socially
important, the activity is preceded by consultation of the poison oracle.

I do not wish to catalogue all situations in which the oracle may be

consulted since this would mean a list of social situations in every sphere of
Zande life, and when each sphere is described the part played by oracles is
more fitly recorded than in the present place. Notwithstanding, it is
desirable to list some of the occasions on which the oracle must be
consulted in order to give the reader a clear idea of its significance to
Azande. When I say that the poison oracle, or some other oracle, must be
consulted on the occasions listed below, I mean that if a Zande were not to
consult it he would be acting contrary to custom and might suffer in social
prestige. He might even incur legai penalties. The following situations are
typical occasions of consultation :
 To discover why a wife has not conceived.

During pregnancy of wife, about place of delivery, about her safety in

childbirth, and about the safety of her child.

Before circumcision of son.

Before marriage of daughter.

Before sending son to act as page at court.

In sickness of any member of family. Will he die? Who is the witch

responsible? etc.

To discover the agent responsible for any misfortune.

At death of kinsman in the old days. Who killed him? Who will execute
the witch? etc.

Before exacting vengeance by magic. Who will keep the taboos? Who
will make the magic? etc.

In cases of sorcery.

In cases of adultery.

Before gathering oracle poison.

Before making bloodbrotherhood.

Before long journeys.

A man before marrying a wife.

Before presenting a prince with beer.

Before large-scale hunting.

A commoner in choosing a new homestead site.

 Before accepting, or allowing a dependant to accept, European
employment.

Before becoming a witchdoctor.

Before joining a closed association.

A man before he and his adult sons go to war.

In cases of disloyalty to a prince.

A prince before making war.

To determine disposition of warriors, place and time of attack, and all

other matters pertaining to warfare.

A prince before appointing governors, deputies, or any other of ficials.

A prince before moving his court.

A prince to discover whether a communal ceremony will terminate

drought.

A prince to determine the actions of the British District Commissioner.

A prince before accepting presents and tribute.

iv

It is not only about what we would consider the more important social
activities that Azande consult their oracles, but also about their smaller
everyday affairs. If time and opportunity permitted many Azande would
wish to consult one or other of the oracles about every step in their lives.
This is clearly impossible, but old men who know how to use the rubbing-
board oracle usually carry one about with them so that if any doubt arises
they can quiet it by immediate consultation.

A typical occasion on which a man consults his rubbing-board oracle is

when he is on a visit to a friend's homestead. When his visit is concluded he
asks the oracle whether he had better leave openly during the daytime or
depart secretly at night so that any witch who may wish to dispatch his
witchcraft after him, to cause him some misfortune on the journey, may be
ignorant that he has left. If the oracle advises him to depart at night he tells
his host and leaves before dawn. Other members of the homestead
understand what has happened and are not angry that he has not bid them
farewell. Or the rubbing-board oracle may tell a man that he can depart in
the daytime but must be careful about witchcraft on the way. In this case he
strolls away from his host's homestead as though he were taking a short
walk and throws a spear-shaft aimlessly in front of him so that people who
observe him on the path think that he is playing and will shortly return from
his stroll, since people departing on a journey do not meander at the start.
When he is well out of sight he quickens his steps and hastens on his way.
Sometimes he does not even inform his host of his departure, but the host
understands the reason for his silence.

I found that when a Zande acted towards me in a manner that we would

call rude and untrustworthy his actions were of ten to be accounted for by
obedience to his oracles. Usually I have found Azande courteous and
reliable according to English standards, but sometimes their behaviour is
unintelligible till their mystical notions are taken into account. Often
Azande are tortuous in their dealings with one another, but they do not
consider a man blameworthy for being secretive or acting contrary to his
declared intentions. On the contrary, they praise his prudence for taking
account of witchcraft at each step and for regulating his conduct after the
direction of his oracles. Hence it is not necessary for one Zande to explain
to another his waywardness, for everybody understands the motives of his
conduct.

Not all Azande are equally prone to consult oracles. I have frequently
observed that some men are more keenly aware of danger from witchcraft
than others and rely far more than others upon magic and oracles to
counteract its influence. Thus while some men like to consult oracles and to
blow magic whistles or perform some other magic rite before embarking
upon even small adventures, other men only consult oracles about important
legal issues and at real crises, such as marriage, serious sickness, and death.
When they are socially compelled to consult oracles they do so, but not
otherwise. In legal procedure everyone must make use of the poison oracle.
 To understand Zande legai procedure one must know exactly how the
poison oracle is operated, because in the old days it was in itself the greater
part of what we know as rules of evidence, judge, jury, and witnesses. In the
past the two main types of cases were witchcraft and adultery. Witchcraft
cases were settled entirely through the oracles since there was no possibility
of discovering mystical action except through the mystical power of the
poison oracle. Ali a prince had to do was to confirm the names of witches
discovered by the kinsmen of dead persons by placing their names before
his own oracle. The compensation which a witch had to pay for his crime
was fixed by custom.

Ali death to Azande is murder and was the starting-point of the most
important legai process in Zande culture. Azande therefore find it difficult
to see how Europeans can refuse to take cognizance of what is so manifest
and so shocking to them.

In a case of adultery there might be circumstantial evidence, but in fact

simple cases of this kind were rare. The chance discovery of lovers during a
few minutes' congress in the bush or during the absence of a husband from
his homestead was small. The only certain evidence upon which a
suspicious husband could act was that provided by the poison oracle, for
even if a wife repented of her infidelity and told her husband the name of
her lover he might deny the accusation. The husband might, it is true, urge
before the prince some other grounds for suspicion, but he would base his
charge of adultery mainly upon the evidence of the oracle, and no further
proof than this was required. The accused man would defend himself less
by urging absence of circumstantial evidence than by offering to give a
ngbu or test. He was asked to choose a man of substance among the regular
attendants at court and to give him the test, telling him to place the question
of adultery before his oracle. This man acted on behalf of his prince and the
declaration of his oracle settled the case. To Zande eyes this is the perfect
procedure in adultery cases and they do not approve of European methods,
for in their opinion the only sure evidence of guilt or innocence is not
allowed.

Accusing husbands and men accused share this opinion, the husbands
because they of ten cannot produce evidence acceptable to government
courts of adulteries for which they possess conclusive proof in the
declaration of the poison oracle ; accused persons, because they are
condemned on the declaration of a woman without appeal to the one really
reliable authority, the poison oracle.

Special care is taken to protect a prince's oracle poison from witchcraft

and pollution because a prince's oracles reveal matters of tribal importance,
judge criminal and civil cases, and determine whether vengeance has been
exacted for death. A prince has two or three official operators who supervise
his poison oracle. These men must be thoroughly reliable since the fate of
their master and the purity of law are in their hands. If they break a taboo
the whole legai system may become

corrupted and the innocent be judged guilty and the guilty be judged
innocent. An official consulter of a prince's oracles must also be a man of
impeccable honesty since he is given sole charge of many legal cases and
tests of vengeance. He can ruin subjects of his master by fabricating
oracular statements. Finally, the consulter of a prince's oracle must know
how tó maintain silence about his master's affairs. There is no of fence more
serious in the eyes of a Zande prince than 'revealing the speech of the king's
poison oracle'.

We who do not believe in the poison oracle think that the courts we have
established are just because they recognize only evidence which we regard
as such, and we flatter ourselves that they are native courts of justice
because we allow natives to preside over them. But Azande think that they
do not admit the only evidence which is really relevant to the cases which
come before them, and the princes who have to administer justice do so
with mechanical application of imported European rules of procedure, and
without conviction, since the rules are not according to custom.

I never found great difficulty in observing oracle consultations. I found

that in such matters the best way of gaining confidence was to enact the
same procedure as Azande and to take oracular verdicts as seriously as they
take them. I always kept a supply of poison for the use of my household and
neighbours and we rejulated our affairs in accordance with the oracles'
decisions. I may remark that I found this as satisfactory a way of running
my home and affairs as any other I know of . Among Azande it is the only
satisfactory way of life because it is the only way of life they understand,
and it furnishes the only arguments by which they are wholly convinced and
silenced. Friends and neighbours would from time to time ask me to let
them bring fowls to consult my oracles about their troubles. I was always
pleased at this sign of their trust. Also, I had opportunity on a number of
occasions to observe other people's oracles at work. In the course of many
months I made repeated observations of oracular consultations and had
ample opportunity to acquaint myself with details of technique and
interpretation. An investigation into the use of the poison oracle, like an
investigation into beliefs about witchcraft, does not require special
informants. I could rely upon direct observation and could elicit
commentary from any adult Zande when a point was not wholly clear to
me. I can say the same about the rubbing-board oracle and, to a lesser
degree, of the termites oracle.

For information on the following points, however, I had to rely mainly, or

entirely, on verbal information : the process of collecting oracle poison ; the
administration of poison to human beings; and the use of the poison oracle
in judicial procedure at the king's court. Poison is not administered to
human beings at the present time. The poison oracle has no longer a
primary role in court procedure, though it is still to some extent employed.
It had been my ambition to observe oracle poison being gathered and I
made an expedition into the Belgian Congo with this end in view but was
defeated by combined dysentery and malaria, and was carried home again
in extreme weakness.

vi

The usual place for a consultation is on the edge of cultivations far

removed from homesteads. Any place in the bush screened by high grasses
and brushwood is suitable. Or they may choose the corner of a clearing at
the edge of the bush where crops will later be sown, since this is not so
damp as in the bush itself. The object in going so far is to ensure secrecy, to
avoid pollution by people who have not observed the taboos, and to escape
witchcraft which is less likely to corrupt the oracle in the bush than in a
homestead.
 One does not consult the poison oracle during the heat of the day since
strong sunlight is bad both for the poison and for the chickens. If the oracle
is consulted late in the morning the basket of chickens is placed in the shade
of a nearby shrub or covered with grass. When the poison has been for
some time in strong sunlight it becomes very potent and they say then that,
'If a man gives one dose to a small fowl he has given it quite enough.' The
normal time for consultations is from about eight to nine o'clock in the
morning, because by this time the dew has evaporated and itis possible to
sit down in the bush without great discomfort. Very occasionally elders who
frequently consult the oracles and conduct long seances hold them at night.

The consultation may then take place in the centre of the homestead after
the womenfolk have retired to bed. Consultations may take place on any
day except the day after a new moon.

Oracle poison is useless unless a man possesses fowls upon which to test
it, for the oracle speaks through fowls. In every Zande household there is a
fowlhouse, and fowls are kept mainly with the object of subjecting them to
oracular tests. As a rule they are only killed for food (and then only cocks or
old hens) when an important visitor comes to the homestead, perhaps a
prince's son or perhaps a father-in-law. Eggs are not eaten but are left to
hens to hatch out. Clay receptacles may be fashioned or baskets placed in
one of the huts to encourage hens to nest in them, but of ten they lay their
eggs in the bush and if they are fortunate will one day strut back to the
homestead accompanied by their broods. Generally a Zande, unless he is a
wealthy man, will not possess more than half a dozen grown fowls at the
most, and many people possess none at all or perhaps a single hen which
someone has given to them.

Small chickens, only two or three days old, may be used for the poison
oracle, but Azande prefer them older. However, one sees fowls of all sizes
at oracle consultations, from tiny chickens to halfgrown cockerels and
pullets. When it is possible to tell the sex of fowls Azande use only
cockerels, unless they have none and a consultation is necessary at once.
The hens are spared for breeding purposes. Generally a man tells one of his
younger sons to catch the fowls the night before a seance. Otherwise they
catch them when the door of the fowlhouse is opened shortly after sunrise,
but it is better to catch them and put them in a basket at night when they are
roosting. For if the fowls elude capture in the morning and run away into
nearby gardens it is much trouble to catch them. Two or three boys have to
run them down, all the womenfolk know what is going on, the neighbours
hear the noise, and a witch among them may follow the owner of the fowls
to prevent the oracle from giving him the information he desires. When
chickens are used this difficulty does not arise because they sleep in one of
the huts, where they are immune from attacks by wild cats, and they are
easily caught on the morning of a seance.

Old men say that fully grown birds ought not to be used in oracle
consultations because they are too susceptible to the poison and have a
habit of dying straight away before the poison has had time to consider the
matter placed before it or even to hear a full statement of the problem. On
the other hand, a chicken remains for a long time under the influence of the
poison before it recovers or expires, so that the oracle has time to hear all
the relevant details concerning the problem placed before it and to give a
well-considered judgement.

vii

Any male may take part in the proceedings. However, the oracle is costly,
and the questions put to it concern adult occupations. Therefore boys are
only present when they operate the oracle. Normally these are boys who are
observing taboos of mourning for the death of a relative. Adults also
consider that it would be very unwise to allow any boys other than these to
come near their poison because boys cannot be relied upon to observe the
taboos on meats and vegetables.

An unmarried man will seldom be present at a seance. If he has any

problems his father or uncle can act on his behalf. Moreover, only a married
householder is wealthy enough to possess fowls and to acquire poison and
has the experience to conduct a seance properly. Senior men also say that
youths are generally engaged in some illicit love affair and would probably
pollute the poison if they came near it.

It is particularly the province of married men with households of their

own to consult the poison oracle and no occupation gives them greater
pleasure. It is not merely that they are able to solve their personal problems;
but also they are dealing with matters of public importance, witchcraft,
sorcery, and adultery, in which their names will be associated as witnesses
of the oracle's decisions. A middle-aged Zande is happy when he has some
poison and a few fowls and the company of one or two trusted friends of his
own age, and he can sit down to a long seance to discover all about the
infidelities of his wives, his health and the health of his children, his
marriage plans, his hunting and agricultural prospects, the advisability of
changing his homestead, and so forth.

Poor men who do not possess poison or fowls but who are compelled for
one reason or another to consult the oracle will persuade a kinsman, blood-
brother, relative-in-law, or prince's deputy to consult it on their behalf. This
is one of the main duties of social relationships.

Control over the poison oracle by the older men gives them great power
over their juniors and is one of the main sources of their prestige. It is
possible for the older men to place the names of the youths before the
poison oracle and on its declarations to bring accusations of adultery against
them. Moreover, a man who is not able to afford poison is not a fully
independent householder, since he js unable to initiate any important
undertaking and is dependent on the goodwill of others to inform him about
everything that concerns his health and welfare.

Women are debarred not only from operating the poison oracle but from
having anything to do with it. They are not expected even to speak of it, and
a man who mentions the oracle in the presence of women uses some
circumlocutory expression. When a man is going to consult the poison
oracle he says to his wife that he is going to look at his cultivations or
makes a similar excuse. She understands well enough what he is going to
do but says nothing. Occasionally very old women of good social position
have been known to operate the poison oracle, or at least to consult it, but
such. persons are rare exceptions and are always august persons.

The poison oracle is a male prerogative and is one of the principal

mechanisms of male control and an expression of sex antagonism. For men
say that women are capable of any deceit to defy a husband and please a
lover, but men at least have the advantage that their oracle poison will
reveal secret embraces. Ifit were not for the oracle it would be of little use
to pay bride-wealth, for the most jealous watch will not prevent a woman
from committing adultery if she has a mind to do so. And what woman has
not? The only thing which women fear is the poison oracle ; for if they can
escape the eyes of men they cannot escape the eyes of the oracle. Hence it
is said that women hate the oracle, and that if a woman finds some of the
poison in the bush she will destroy its power by urinating on it. I once asked
a Zande why he so carefully collected the leaves used in operating the
oracle and threw them some distance away into the bush, and he replied that
it was to prevent women from finding them and polluting them, for if they
pollute the leaves then the poison which has been removed to its hiding-
place will lose its power.

When we consider to what extent social life is regulated by the poison

oracle we shall at once appreciate how great an advantage men have over
women in their ability to use it, and how being cut of f from the main means
of establishing contact with the mystical forces that so deeply affect human
welfare degrades woman's position in Zande society.

Great experience is necessary to conduct a seance in the correct manner

and to know how to interpret the fìndings of the oracle. One must know
how many doses of poison to administer, whether the oracle is working
properly, in what order to take the questions, whether to put them in a
positive or negative form, how long a fowl is to be held between the toes or
in the hand while a question is being put to the oracle, when it ought to be
jerked to stir up the poison, and when it is time to throw it on the ground for
final inspection. One must know how to observe not only whether the fowl
lives or dies, but also the exact manner in which the poison affects it, for
while it is under the influence of the oracle its every movement is
significant to the experienced eye. Also one must know the phraseology of
address in order to put questions clearly to the oracle without error or
ambiguity, and this is no easy task when a single question may be asked in a
harangue lasting as long as five or ten minutes. Not every man is proficient
in the art, though most adults can prepare and question the oracle if
necessary. Those who as boys have of ten prepared the poison for their
fathers and uncles, and who are members of families which frequent the
court and constantly consult the oracle, are the most competent. Some men
are very expert at questioning the oracle, and those who wish to consult it
like to be accompanied by such a man.

viii

Any man who is invited by the owner of the oracle poison may attend the
seance, but he will be expected to keep clear of the oracle if he has had
relations with his wife or eaten any of thè prohibited foods within the last
few days. It is imperative that the man who actually prepares the poison
shall have observed these taboos, and for this reason the owner of the
poison, referred to in this account as the owner, generally asks a boy or man
who is under taboos of mourning to operate the oracle, since there can be no
doubt that he has kept the taboos, because they are the same for mourning
as for oracles. Such a man is always employed when, as in a case of sudden
sickness, it is necessary to consult the oracle without warning so that there
is no time for a man to prepare himself by observation of taboos. I shall
refer to the man or boy who actually prepares the poison and administers it
to fowls as the operator. When I speak of the questioner I refer to the man
who sits opposite to the oracle and addresses it and calls upon it for
judgements. As he sits a few feet from the oracle he ought also to have
observed all the taboos. It is possible for a man to be owner, operator, and
questioner at the same time by conducting the consultation of the oracle by
himself, but this rarely, if ever, occurs. Usually there is no difficulty in
obtaining the services of an operator since a man knows which of his
neighbours are observing the taboos associated with death and vengeance.
One of his companions who has not eaten tabooed food or had sexual
relations with women for a day or two before the consultation acts as
questioner. If a man is unclean he can address the oracle from a distance. It
is better to take these precautions because contact of an unclean person with
the oracle is certain to destroy its potency, and even the dose proximity of
an unclean person may have this result.

"The taboos which have invariably to be kept by persons who come into
contact with oracle poison are on:

Sexual relations with women.

Eating elephant's flesh.

 Eating fish.

Eating mboyo vegetable (Hibiscus esculentus).

Eating morombida vegetable ( Corchorus tridens).

Smoking hemp.

Some men avoid eating animals of a light colour, and such would seem to
be the rule imposed on those who come into contact with a prince's oracles.
Elephant's flesh and fish are forbidden on account of the powerful smell
emitted by a man who has eaten them. I think that it is their slimy nature
that has brought mboyo and morombida under a ritual ban. They are
glutinous, and when the edible parts are plucked they do not break of f
cleanly but are attached to the stem by glutinous fibres which have to be
drawn out. When cooked they form a sticky mess which can be stretched
like toffee. Before he Comes into contact with oracle poison, or even into
close proximity to it, a man ought to have refrained from sexual intercourse
for five or sixdays and to have abstained from the forbidden meats and
vegetables for three or four days. However, the length of time during which
a man ought to observe these taboos prior to operating the oracle is not
fixed, and different men give different estimates. Many are content to
refrain from sexual intercourse for five or even four days. If a man who has
had sexual relations is asked to operate the oracle he will say, 'I have eaten
mboyo,' and everyone will understand that he is employing a euphemism for
sexual intercourse. He may excuse himself in similar terms if he simply
does not wish to be bothered with the work.

The owner does not pay the operator and questioner for their services.
The questioner is almost invariably either the owner himself or one of his
friends who also wishes to put questions to the oracle and has brought fowls
with him for the purpose. It is usual to reward the operator, if he is an adult,
by giving him a fowl during the seance so that he can place one of his own
problems before the oracle. Since he is generally a man who wears a girdle
of mourning and vengeance he will of ten ask the oracle when the
vengeance-magic is going to strike its victim.
 To guard against pollution a man generally hides his poison in the
thatched roof of a hut, on the inner side, if possible, in a hut which women
do not use, but this is not essential, for a woman does not know that there is
poison hidden in the roof and is unlikely to come into contact with it. The
owner of the poison must have kept the taboos if he wishes to take it down
from the roof himself, and if he is unclean he will bring the man or boy who
is to operate the oracle into the hut and indicate to him at a distance where
the poison is hidden in the thatch. So good a hiding-place is the thatched
roof of a hut for a small packet of poison that it is of ten difficult for its
owner himself to find it. No one may smoke hemp in a hut which lodges
oracle poison. However, there is always a danger of pollution and of
witchcraft if the poison is kept in a homestead, and some men prefer to hide
it in a hole in a tree in the bush, or even to build a small shelter and to lay it
on the ground beneath.

This shelter is far removed from human dwellings, and were a man to
come across it in the bush he would not disturb it lest it cover some kind of
lethal medicine. It is very improbable that witchcraft will discover oracle
poison hidden in the bush. I have never seen oracle poison under a shelter in
the bush, but I was told that it is frequently housed in this manner.

Oracle poison when not in use is kept wrapped in leaves, and at the end
of a seance used poison is placed in a separate leaf-wrapping to unused
poison. The poison may be used two or three times and sometimes fresh
poison is added to it to make it more potent. When its action shows that it
has lost its strength they throw it away.

Ali good oracle poison is the same, whoever owns, operates, and consults
it. But its goodness depends on the care and virtue of owner, operator, and
consulter. As the greatest precautions are taken with a prince's poison, it is
considered more reliable than the poison of commoners. All benge is the
same material, but people speak of 'my benge' or of 'so-and-so's benge', and
they say that the poison of one prince is absolutely reliable while that of
another prince is not so reliable. They make these judgements partly on the
evidence of subsequent events which prove oracles right or wrong in their
statements, and partly on the verdicts of the king's oracle, which is the final
authority. For in the past cases would occasionally go from a provincial
governor's oracles to Gbudwe's oracle which might declare them to be in
error.

ix

I will now describe the manner in which poison is administered to fowls.

The operator goes ahead of the rest of the party in order to prepare for the
test. He takes with him a small gourdful of water. He clears a space by
treading down the grasses. Afterwards he scrapes a hole in the earth into
which he places a large leaf as a basin for the oracle poison. From bingba
grass he fashions a small brush to administer the poison, and from leaves he
makes a filter to pour the liquid poison into the beaks of the fowls ; and
from other leaves he makes a cup to transfer water from the gourd to the
poison when it needs to be moistened. Finally, he tears of f some branches
of nearby shrubs and extracts their bast to be used as cord for attaching to
the legs of fowls which have survived the test so that they can be easily
retrieved from the grass when the business of the day is finished. The
operator does not moisten the poison till the rest of the party arrive.

There may be only one man or there may be several who have questions
to put to the oracle. Each brings his fowls with him in an openwove basket.
As it has been agreed beforehand where the oracle consultation is to take
place they know where to foregather. As each person arrives he hands over
his basket of fowls to the operator who places it on the ground near him. A
man who is used to acting as questioner sits opposite to it, a few feet away
if he has observed the taboos, but several yards away if he has not observed
them. Other men who have not kept the taboos remain at a greater distance.

When everyone is seated they discuss in low tones whose fowl they will
take first and how the question shall be framed. Meanwhile the operator
pours some water from the gourd at his side into his leaf cup and from the
cup on to the poison, which then effervesces. He mixes the poison and
water with his fingertips into a paste of the right consistency and, when
instructed by the questioner, takes one of the fowls and draws down its
wings over its legs and pins them between and under his toes. He takes his
grass brush, twirls it round in the poison, and folds it in the leaf filter. He
holds open the beak of the fowl and tips the end of the filter into it and
squeezes the filter so that the liquid runs out of the paste into the throat of
the fowl. He bobs the head of the fowl up and down to compel it to swallow
the poison.

At this point the questioner, having previously been instructed by the

owner of the fowl on the facts which he is to put before the oracle,
commences to address the poison inside the fowl. He continues to address it
for about a couple of minutes, when a second dose of poison is usually
administered. If it is a very small chicken two doses will suffìce, but a
larger fowl will receive three doses, and I have known a fowl receive a
fourth dose, but never more than four. The questioner does not cease his
address to the oracle, but puts his questions again and again in different
forms, though always with the same refrain, 'If such is the case, poison
oracle kill the fowl,' or 'If such is the case, poison oracle spare the fowl.'
From time to time he interrupts his flow of oratory to give a technical order
to the operator. He may tell him to give the fowl another dose of poison or
to jerk it between his [Link] by raising and lowering his foot (this stirs up the
poison inside the fowl). When the last dose of poison has been administered
and he has further addressed it, he tells the operator to raise the fowl. The
operator takes it in his hand and, holding its legs between his fingers so that
it faces him, gives it an occasional jerk backwards and forwards. The
questioner redoubles his oratory as though the verdict depended upon his
forensic efforts, and if the fowl is not already dead he then, after a further
bout of oratory, tells the operator to put it on the ground. He continues to
address the poison inside the fowl while they watch its movements on the
ground.

The poison affects fowls in many ways. Occasionally it kills them

immediately after the first dose, while they are still on the ground. This
seldom happens, for normally a fowl is not seriously affected till it is
removed from the ground and jerked backwards and forwards in the hand.
Then, if it is going to die, it goes through spasmodic stretchings of the body
and closing of the wings and vomits. After several such spasms it vomits
and expires in a final seizure. Some fowls appear quite unaffected by the
poison, and when, after being jerked backwards and forwards for a while,
they are flung to the ground peck about unconcernedly. Those fowls which
are unaffected by the poison generally excrete as soon as they are put to
earth. Some fowls appear little affected by the poison till put to earth, when
they suddenly collapse and die. It is very seldom that a fowl seriously
affected by the poison finally recovers.

One generally knows what the verdict is going to be after the fowl has
been held in the hand for a couple of minutes. If it appears certain to
recover the operator ties bast to its leg and throws it to the ground. If it
appears certain to die he does not trouble to tie bast to its leg, but lays it on
the earth to die. Often when a fowl has died they draw its corpse in a
semicircle round the poison to show it to the poison. They then cut of f a
wing to use as evidence and cover the body with grass. Those fowls which
survive are taken home and let loose. A fowl is never used twice on the
same day.

There is no stereotyped speech—no formula—in which the oracle must

be addressed. Nevertheless, there are traditional refrains, pieces of imagery,
compliments to the oracle, ways of formulating a question, and so forth
which occur in every consultation.

The main duty of the questioner is to see that the oracle fully understands
the question put to it and is acquainted with all facts relevant to the problem
it is asked to solve. They address it with all the care for detail that one
observes in court cases before a prince. This means beginning a long way
back and noting over a considerable period of time every detail which
might elucidate the case, linking up facts into a consistent picture of events,
and the marshalling of arguments into a logical and closely knit web of
sequences and interrelations of fact and inference. Also the questioner is
careful to mention to the oracle again and again the name of the man who is
consulting it, and he points him out to the oracle with his outstretched arm.
He mentions also the name of his father, perhaps the name of his clan, and
the name of the place where he resides, and he gives similar details of other
people mentioned in the address.

An address consists usually of alternate directions. The first sentences

outline the question in terms demanding an affirmative answer and end with
the command, 'Poison oracle kill the fowl.' The next sentences outline the
question in terms demanding a negative answer and end with the command,
'Poison oracle spare the fowl.' The consulter then takes up the question
again in terms asking an affirmative answer; and so on. If a bystander
considers that a relevant point has been left out he interrupts the questioner,
who then makes this point.

The questioner has a switch in his hand, and while questioning the oracle
beats the ground, as he sits cross-legged, in front of it. He continues to beat
the ground till the end of his address. Often he will gesticulate as he makes
his points, in the same manner as a man making a case in court. He
sometimes plucks grass and shows it to the poison and, after explaining that
there is something he does not wish it to consider, throws it behind him.
Thus he tells the oracle that he does not wish it to consider the question of
witchcraft but only of sorcery. Witchcraft is ivingi, something irrelevant,
and he casts it behind him. The imagery used is specially noteworthy. It is
seldom that the oracle is addressed without analogies and circumlocutions.

Thus in asking whether a man has committed adultery one frames the
question in some such manner as follows :

Poison oracle, poison oracle, you are in the throat of the fowl. That man
his navel joined her navel; they pressed together; he knew her as woman
and she knew him as man. She has drawn badiabe (a leaf used as a towel)
and water to his side (for ablutions after intercourse) ; poison oracle hear it,
kill the fowl.

While the fowl is undergoing its ordeal men are attentive to their
behaviour. A man must tighten and spread out his bark cloth loin-covering
lest he expose his genitals, as when he is sitting in the presence of a prince
or parent -in-law. Men speak in a low voice as they do in the presence of
superiors. Indeed, all conversation is avoided unless it directly concerns the
procedure of consultation. If anyone desires to leave before the proceedings
are finished he takes a leaf and spits on it and places it where he has been
sitting. I have seen a man who rose for a few moments only to catch a fowl
which had escaped from its basket place a blade of grass on the stone upon
which he had been sitting. Spears must be laid on the ground and not
planted upright in the presence of the poison oracle. Azande are very
serious during a seance, for they are asking questions of vital importance to
their lives and happiness.

x
 Basically, the system of question and answer in oracle Consultations is
simple. There are two tests, the bambata sima, or first test, and the gingo, or
second test. If a fowl dies in the first test then another fowl must survive the
second test, and if a fowl survives the first test another fowl must die in the
second test for the judgement to be accepted as valid. Generally the
question is so framed that the oracle will have to kill a fowl in the first test
and spare another fowl in the corroborative test to give an affirmative reply,
and to spare a fowl in the first test and kill another fowl in the corroborative
test to give a negative reply; but this is not invariably the case, and
questions are sometimes framed in an opposite manner. The killing of a
fowl does not give in itself a positive or negative answer. That depends
upon the form of the question. I will illustrate the usual procedure by an
example:

A.

First Test. If X has committed adultery poison oracle kill the fowl. If X is
innocent poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl dies.

Second Test. The poison oracle has declared X guilty of adultery by

slaying the fowl. If its declaration is true let it spare this second fowl. The
fowl survives.

Result. A valid verdict. X is guilty.

B.

First Test. If X has committed adultery poison oracle kill the fowl. If X is
innocent poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl lives.

Second Test. The poison oracle has declared X innocent of adultery by

sparing the fowl. If its declaration is true let it slay the second fowl. The
fowl dies.

Result. A valid verdict. X is innocent.

C.
 First Test. If X has committed adultery poison oracle kill the fowl. If X is
innocent poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl dies.

Second Test. The poison oraclehas declared X guilty of adultery by

slaying the fowl. If its declaration is true let it spare the second fowl. The
fowl dies.

Result. The verdict is contradictory and therefore invalid.

D.

First Test. If X has committed adultery poison oracle kill the fowl. If X is
innocent poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl survives.

Second Test. The poison oracle has declared X innocent of adultery by

sparing the fowl. If its declaration is true let it slay the second fowl. The
fowl survives.

Result. The verdict is contradictory and therefore invalid.

In the two tests one fowl must die and the other must live if the verdict is
to be accepted as valid. If both live or both die the verdict is invalid and the
oracle must be consulted on the matter a second time on another occasion.
If the supply of oracle poison is sufficient the two tests may be made during
the same seance, especially when the matter is important and urgent. Very
of ten, however, a test is not completed at a single seance, as will be
observed in the tables that follow, for one of these reasons :

( i ) The other part of the test may have been carried out previously or
may be carried out at a future seance. Sometimes a long interval elapses
between two tests because the first one is considered sufficient justification
for commencing an undertaking, but a second test has to be made before the
undertaking is far advanced, e.g. a man is betrothed to a girl and begins to
pay bridespears to her father on the authority of a single test and leaves the
corroborative test till months later. But the girl will not come to live with
him permanently till both tests have been made. (2) One of the lesser
oracles may have been consulted earlier so that a single verdict of the
poison oracle is therefore regarded as an oracular confirmation. (3) Often
Azande consider a single test sufficient, especially if the oracle gives its
answer decisively by killing the fowl without hesitation. They are able to
economize their oracle poison by this means. (4) Many confirmations of
verdicts are contained in the oracle's answers to other questions, e.g. a man
asks whether a witch will die if a certain kinsman observes taboos of
vengeancemagic. The oracle says 'Yes'. He then asks whether the kinsman
will die during the period he is under taboos. If the oracle says 'No' it
confirms its previous verdict because the life of the kinsman is bound up
with the accomplishment of vengeance. (5) Sometimes a single fowl is used
to confirm different questions. If in answer to two different questions the
oracle killed two fowls it may then be asked to spare a third fowl to confirm
both its verdicts at the same time. (6) When a serious matter is not at stake
Azande are sometimes content merely to know that the oracle is functioning
correctly, and being assured of this, are prepared to accept its single
statements and to dispense with repetitions of judgement. Thus five
unconnected questions may be asked in a seance. The oracle spares fowls in
answer to the first four questions and then kills a fowl in answer to the fifth
question. This shows that the action of the particular bundle of poison is
discriminating and therefore its first four verdicts may be assumed to be
valid.

But two tests are essential in any question that concerns the relations
between two persons, especially when they involve legal issues.

xi

The following consultations of the poison oracle are given to show the
type of questions asked and the order of asking, and to enable the reader to
judge for himself the proportion of fowls that die, the number of doses of
poison they receive, and the order of deaths and survivals. I was present at
both the seances recorded, and many of the questions concern persons
connected with my household and their relatives.

Seance I

( 1 ) Should X take on the taboos of mourning and vengeance for the

death of Magadi till vengeance be accomplished? The fowl dies, giving the
answer 'Yes'.
 (2) If X takes on the taboos of mourning for Magadi will he die in
consequence (i.e. if, through carelessness in its use, the magical medicine
he has sent out against Magadi's murderer should turn back upon X
himself? This would also be a corroboration of the first question, since if X
were to die then vengeance would not be accomplished during his period of
mourning.) The fowl dies, giving the answer 'Yes'. (These two verdicts
contradicted one another and a short discussion followed. One man present
said that since Magadi died of leprosy his death ought not to be avenged,
and that for this reason the oracle had given contradictory verdicts. This
opinion was rejected by others.)

(3) If Adiyambio, who is suffering from a deepseated ulcer, remairis in

our government settlement, will he die? The fowl survives, giving the
answer 'No'.

(4) If Bamina lives in the new homestead which he has just, built for
himself will he die? The fowl dies, giving the answer 'Yes'.

(5) If Bamina remains in his old homestead will he die? The fowl dies,
giving the answer 'Yes'.

(6) If Bamina goes to live in the government settlement of Ndoruma will

he die? The fowl survives, giving the answer 'No'.

(7) (Corroboration of the last question.) Did the oracle speak truly when
it said that Bamina would not die if he went to live in the government
settlement of Ndoruma? The fowl survives, giving the answer 'No'. (The
answers to questions 6 and 7 therefore contradicted one another. Someone
suggested that the oracle was tired like a chief who has been sitting for
hours listening to cases in his court and is weary. Another man said that the
oracle saw some misfortune ahead, which was not death yet was a serious
misfortune, and had taken this way of warning Bamina. In any case, the
verdicts taken together were considered a bad augury and there was a short
discussion about who was threatening the welfare of Bamina. Mbira gave it
as his opinion that the danger was from sorcery and not from witchcraft
since witchcraft does not pursue a man from one place to another in this
manner but ceases to trouble him if he leaves his homestead and goes to
live elsewhere.)
 (8) They now ask the oracle about two men, one called Pilipili and the
other a man of the Bangombi clan who had once married Bamina's daughter
but whose bride-spears had been returned to him. Are either of these two
men threatening Bamina with witchcraft or with bad magic? The fowl dies,
giving the answer 'Yes'.

The seance had to be closed at this point as there was not enough poison
left to continue consultations.

Seance II

( 1 ) Since by an earlier consultation it has been determined that the

daughter of Mamenzi, the wife of Mekana, is in a bad 'condition', is the evil
influence that hangs over her from the homestead of Mekana or from the
homestead of her paternal grandfather (who had been given her bridespears
by her father as 'firstfruits') ? If it is from Mekana's homestead, poison
oracle spare the fowl. If it is from her grandfather's homestead, poison
oracle kill the fowl. (It may be remarked that this is a very unusual way of
putting a question to the oracle since it does not allow for a third
alternative: that the witch is a member of some household other than the
two mentioned. The procedure might even be regarded as incorrect.
However, the husband was so certain that the evil influence which
threatened his wife could only have arisen from jealousy in his own
household, or from displeasure in the household of his parents-in-law, that
the question appeared to him legitimate. Moreoever, it was always possible
for the oracle tò show that neither household was responsible by killing or
sparing both fowls in the doublé test, or even by the way in which it
affected the fowls during the tests.) The fowl dies, saying that the evil
influence is from the homestead of the girl's grandfather. (One dose of the
poison was administered.)

(2) The rubbing-board oracle has said that a man named Sueyo made the
magic which caused Kisanga such violent sickness. The question is now
asked, 'Is the statement of the rubbing-board correct? If so, poison oracle
kill the fowl !' The fowl survives, giving the answer 'No'. (Two doses
administered.)
 (3) X's mother lies seriously ill. Is her sickness due to Basa? If so, poison
oracle kill the fowl. If Basa is not responsible, poison oracle spare the fowl.
The fowl survives, giving the answer 'No'. (Two doses administered.)

(4) (Corroborative verdict to question No. (1).) If the evil influence that
threatens his wife is due to Mekana's household, then poison oracle kill the
fowl. If the evil influence emanates from the wives of his wife's
grandfather, then poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl survives,
confirming that evil influence is from the homestead of the girl's
grandfather. (Two doses administered.) (Mekana afterwards approached his
father-in-law so that the womenfolk of his household might all collect and
blow out water in sign of goodwill. He did not venture to single out any
particular 'mother -in-law'.)

(5) Since the oracle (test No. (3)) said that the sickness of X's mother is
not due to Basa, X now asks whether it is due to the wives of Y. If the wives
of Y are responsible, poison oracle kill the fowl. The fowl dies, giving the
answer 'Yes'. (One dose administered.)

(6) (We now return to question No. (2).) It having been determined that
Sueyo was not responsible for Kisanga's sickness, he asks whether the
sorcerer lives on our side of the new part of the government setdement? If
he lives there, poison oracle kill the fowl. The fowl survives, giving the
answer 'No'. (Two doses administered.) (This verdict, combined with three
previous verdicts on the matter, proved that the sorcerer did not live
anywhere in our setdement.)

(7) (We return to the subject of Mekana's wife already dealt with in
questions (1) and (4).) If there is anyone else besides the wives of his wife's
grandfather who threatens her health, or if after the fowl's wing has been
presented to them to blow water on to it they will still exercise an evil
influence over her, then poison oracle kill the fowl. If, on the other hand,
there is no one else to fear besides the wives of his wife's grandfather, and if
they will blow out water on to the fowl's wing with sincerity and withdraw
their evil influence, then poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl survives,
indicating that there will be nothing more to fear. (Two doses
administered.)
 (8) (We return to the question of X's mother already dealt with in tests
Nos. (3) and (5).) It having been determined that the wives of Y are
responsible for the sickness of his mother, X now asks whether they are
alone responsible or whether Y himself has encouraged and assisted them in
bewitching the old woman. If Y is guilty, then poison oracle kill the fowl. If
Y is innocent, then poison oracle spare the fowl. The fowl dies, saying that
Y is responsible. (One dose administered.)

This second seance provides an example of a wholly successful

consultation of the oracle. I would call attention to the manner in which an
assortment of questions is arranged. There are three problems to be solved,
and there are eight fowls by which to solve them. The questions concern the
welfare of Mekana's wife, the health of a woman referred to as X's mother,
and the identification of the sorcerer who has caused Kisanga such grievous
sickness. When several persons have questions to put before the oracle one
does not thrash out one problem and then turn to the next, but generally, as
on this occasion, each person is allowed to ask a question in turn. In the
second round each person tries to procure corroborative verdicts or asks
subsidiary questions. If one man has more fowls than the others he is able to
ask more questions, but he allows others to place their problems in between
his queries. This is not simply a matter of courtesy but also rests on a notion
that after a problem has been put to the oracle and it has given its answer it
should be granted time to turn the matter over at leisure before it
corroborates its first answer and gives a final verdict. The poison used at
this seance was at once seen to be discriminating. It killed the first fowl and
showed that it was not impotent because when benge is impotent all the
fowls survive. It spared the second fowl, showing that it was not stupid,
overpotent poison, for when it is such all the fowls die. It spared several
other fowls, but at the finish killed the last fowl, showing that it maintained
its potency. Azande look to these evidences in every test to establish that the
poison is good.

It remains to give an account of how human beings used to drink oracle

poison in the old days. Some care is necessary in taking account of the
Zande phrase mo mbiri benge, 'You drink oracle poison,' because this is a
usual expression of a prince when he means no more than, 'You must
submit your case to the poison oracle.' But in the past people sometimes,
though very rarely, actually drank. poison themselves. This might happen in
two ways. A man accused of some serious of fence might of fer to drink
poison after an oracular test with fowls had gone against him. Likewise, if a
woman accused a man of having committed adultery with her he could
demand that both he and the woman should drink poison.

Oracle poison was also occasionally administered to boy captives in

important cases involving princes. The address was made in the same idiom
as an address to fowls. The poison was mixed with water in a gourd. The
boy, seated on the ground and wearing a girdle of bingba grass, drank the
poison, and then the questioner shook handbells and addressed the poison
inside him. When he had fìnished his address he rubbed the gourd on the
boy's head and ordered him to rise. If the boy had reached the fowl's wing
and returned with it they would again have addressed the poison within him
and would then have told him to replace the fowl's wing. They would
afterwards have uttered a third and final address and told the lad to fetch the
wing again. The test would then have ended.

If the poison were going to kill a boy it would not kill him while he sat
still on the ground, though he would suffer spasms of pain that would make
him stretch his arms backwards, gasping for breath. When a boy fell to the
ground efforts were made, with the king's consent, to revive him by
administering a slimy mixture made from the mboyo plant, the kpoyo tree,
and salt. This made him vomit the poison. Afterwards they carried him to a
brookside and laid him in the shade and poured cold water over his face.

[Link]
CHAPTER IX

Problems arising from consultation of the Poison Oracle

I have described to many people in England the facts related in the last
chapter and they have been, in the main, incredulous or contemptuous. In
their questions to me they have sought to explain away Zande behaviour by
rationalizing it, that is to say, by interpreting it in terms of our culture. They
assume that Azande must understand the qualities of poisons as we
understand them; or that they attribute a personality to the oracle, a mind
that judges as men judge, but with higher prescience; or that the oracle is
manipulated by the operator whose cunning conserves the faith of laymen.
They ask what happens when the result of one test contradicts the other
which it ought to confirm if the verdict be valid; what happens when the
findings of oracles are belied by experience; and what happens when two
oracles give contrary answers to the same question.

These same, and other, problems, naturally occurred to me in Zandeland,

and I made inquiries into, and observations on, those points which struck
me as being important, and in the present section I record my conclusions.
Before setting them down I must warn the reader that we are trying to
analyse behaviour rather than belief. Azande have little theory about their
oracles and do not feel the need for doctrines.

I have translated the word benge as 'poison creeper', 'oracle poison', and
'poison oracle', in accordance with the context. But it is necessary to point
out that Zande ideas about benge are very different from notions about
poisons prevalent among the educated classes of Europe. To us it is a
poison, but not to them.

It is true that benge is derived from a wild forest creeper and that its
properties might be supposed to reside in the creeper, i.e. to be natural
properties, but in Zande eyes it only becomes the benge of oracle
consultations (and they have no interest in it outside this situation) when it
has been prepared subject to taboos and is employed in the traditional
manner. Properly speaking, it is only this manufactured benge which is
benge at all in Zande opinion. Hence Azande say that if it is deprived of its
potency for some reason or other it is 'just an ordinary thing, mere wood'.

Therefore, to ask Azande what would happen if they were to administer

oracle poison to a fowl without delivering an address or, if they were to
administer an extra portion of poison to a fowl which has recovered from
the usual doses, or, if they were to place some of the poison in a man's food,
is to ask silly questions. The Zande does not know what would happen, he
is not interested in what would happen, and no one has ever been fool
enough to waste good oracle poison in making such pointless experiments.
Proper benge is endowed with potency by man's abstinence and his
knowledge of tradition and will only function in the conditions of a seance.

When I asked a Zande what would happen if you went on administering

dose after dose of poison to a fowl during a consultation in which the oracle
ought to spare the fowl to give the right answer to the question placed
before it, he replied that he did not know exactly what would happen, but
that he supposed sooner or iater it would burst. He would not countenance
the suggestion that the extra poison would otherwise kill the fowl unless the
question were suddenly reversed so that the oracle ought to kill the fowl to
give a correct answer when, of course, it would at once die.

It is certain that Azande do not regard the reactions of fowls to benge and
the action of benge on fowls as a natural process, that is to say, a process
conditioned only by physical causes. The oracle is not to them a matter of
chance, like the spinning of a coin, by which they are agreed to abide.
Indeed, we may ask whether they have any notion that approximates to
what we mean when we speak of physical causes.

Yet it might still be possible for Azande to have a crude commonsense

notion of poisons. They might know that there are certain vegetable
products that will kill men and beasts, without attributing suprasensible
properties to them. Certainly

Europeans of ten attribute knowledge of poisons to Azande and to other

peoples of the Southern Sudan. No evidence for the homicidal use of poison
has yet been produced, nor is likely to be. If there is one product possessed
by Azande that is certainly poisonous it is benge, and daily its lethal
properties are demonstrated on fowls, and sometimes have been
demonstrated on men, yet they have no idea that it might be possible to kill
people by adding it to their food. Though men are frequently suspected of
using one kind or other of bad medicines to slay their neighbours, no one
has ever conceived of a man using benge as a means of murder, and if you
suggest it to him a Zande will tell you that benge would not be any good for
the purpose.

Yet it is not always easy to reconcile Zande doctrines with their

behaviour and with one another. They say that men will sometimes eat
fowls after having cleansed them of poison, and this action would imply a
knowledge of the natural properties of benge that they refuse to allow in
other situations. The owner of a dead fowl may have its stomach and neck
removed and the fowl prepared for food. My informants said that they try to
remove all the poison from the carcass. Probably the practice is rare, since
as a rule chickens are used which are too small for culinary purposes.
Generally the fowls are thrown away or placed in a tree for birds to devour
after their wings have been cut of f. Moreover, a young man would not eat
fowls killed by the oracle, so that the statement applies only to old men, and
perhaps only to those who are not very particular about their food. When I
protested against the statement that persons eat poisoned fowls I was asked,
'What harm can it do a man since no one addresses it?' Mekana once
remarked to me that it would be rather a joke to address the oracle poison in
the belly of an elder who had eaten a fowl which had died in an oracle test.
One might say, he suggested, 'If so-and-so (naming the elder) slept with his
wife last night, poison oracle kill him.' I think that Mekana was hardly
serious in this suggestion. Nevertheless, the very fact of cleansing fowls of
poison suggests that Azande are to some extent aware of its natural
properties.

Some Azande hold that the poison will deteriorate with age, and all are
aware that some poison is stronger than others and that it becomes more
potent when exposed to the sun and less potent when diluted in water. They
know that if a dog eats a fowl that has succumbed to the oracle it may die (it
is possible that they conceive of the oracle still working inside the dog and
answering the question put to it earlier, but I have no evidence that this is
the case. It may also be possible that when men cleanse fowls killed by the
oracle before eating them they are afraid lest the poison go on answering
the question inside them and kill them. I have no doubt that a Zande might
give so characteristically mystical a reason for his behaviour.)

ii

Without laboratory experiments it is impossible to see any uniformi ties

in the working of the oracle. Bare observation by itself is insufficient to
explain why some fowls die and others survive. As a matter of fact, Azande
act very much as we would act in like circumstances and they make the
same kind of observations as we would make. They recognize that some
poison is strong and other poison is weak and give more or fewer doses
according to the kind they are using. One of ten hears it said during a
seance, 'It is not strong enough,' 'You have given the fowl enough,' and like
expressions. But Azande are dominated by an overwhelming faith which
prevents them from making experiments, from generalizing contradictions
between tests, between verdicts of different oracles, and between all the
oracles and experience. To understand why it is that Azande do not draw
from their observations the conclusions we would draw from the same
evidence, we must realize that their attention is fixed on the mystical
properties of the poison oracle and that its natural properties are of so little
interest to them that they simply do not bother to consider them. To them
the creeper is something other than the final product of manufacture used in
ritual conditions, and the creeper scarcely enters into their notions about the
oracle. If a Zande's mind were not fixed on the mystical qualities of benge
and entirely absorbed by them he would perceive the significance of the
knowledge he already possesses. As it is the contradiction between his
beliefs and his observations only become a generalized and glaring
contradiction when they are recorded side by side in the pages of an
ethnographic treatise. But in real life these bits of knowledge do not form
part of an indivisible concept, so that when a man thinks of benge he must
think of all the details I have recorded here. They are functions of different
situations and are uncoordinated. Hence the contradictions so apparent to us
do not strike a Zande. If he is conscious of a contradiction it is a particular
one which he can easily explain in terms of his own beliefs.
 It is evident that the oracle system would be pointless if the possibility of
benge being a natural poison, as an educated European would regard it,
were not excluded. When I used at one time to question Zande faith in their
poison oracle I was met sometimes by pointblank assertions, sometimes by
one of the evasive secondary elaborations of belief that provide for any
particular situation provoking scepticism, sometimes by polite pity, but
always by an entanglement of linguistic obstacles, for one cannot well
express in its language objections not formulated by a culture.

Azande observe the action of the poison oracle as we observe it, but their
observations are always subordinated to their beliefs and are incorporated
into their beliefs and made to explain them and justify them. Let the reader
consider any argument that would utterly demolish all Zande claims for the
power of the oracle. If it were translated into Zande modes of thought it
would serve to support their entire structure of belief. For their mystical
notions are eminently coherent, being interrelated by a network of logical
ties, and are so ordered that they never too crudely contradict sensory
experience but, instead, experience seems to justify them. The Zande is
immersed in a sea of mystical notions, and if he speaks about his poison
oracle he must speak in a mystical idiom.

If we cannot account for Zande faith in their poison oracle by assuming

that they are aware that it is a poison and are willing to abide by the chance
of its action on different fowls we might seek to comprehend it by
supposing that they personify it. Given a mind, the Zande oracle is not
much more difficult to understand than the Delphic Oracle. But they do not
personify it. For, though it would seem to us that they must regard the
oracles as personal beings, since they address them directly ; in fact the
question appears absurd when framed in the Zande tongue. A boro, a
person, has two hands and two fèet, a head, a belly, and so on, and the
poison oracle has none of these things.

It is not alive, it does not breathe or move about. It is a thing. Azande

have no theory about it ; they do not know why it works, but only that it
does work. Oracles have always existed and have always worked as they
work now because such is their nature.
 If you press a Zande to explain how the poison oracle can see far off
things he will say that its mbisimo, its soul, sees them. It might be urged
that if the poison oracle has a soul it must be animate. Here we are up
against the difficulty that always arises when a native word is translated by
an English word. I have translated the Zande word mbisimo as 'soul'
because the notion this word expresses in our own culture is nearer to the
Zande notion of mbisimo of persons than any other English word. The
concepts are not identical, and when in each language the word is used in a
number of extended senses it is no longer possible to use the originai
expressions in translation without risk of confusion and gross distortion. In
saying that the poison oracle has a mbisimo Zande mean little more than 'it
does something' or, as we would say, 'it is dynamic'. You ask them how it
works and they reply, 'It has a soul.' If you were to ask them how they know
it has a 'soul', they would reply that they know because it works. They are
explaining mystical action by naming it. The word mbisimo describes and
explains all action of a mystical order.

It becomes quite evident that Azande do not regard oracles as persons

when we consider the rubbing-board oracle and the termites oracle. The
rubbing-board is an instrument made by man out of wood and it only
becomes an oracle when treated, and afterwards operated, in a certain
manner, and if a taboo is broken it becomes once again merely shapen wood
without power to see the future. Termites are certainly not corporeally or
psychically persons. They are simply termites and nothing more, but if they
are approached in the correct manner they are endowed with mystical
powers.

It is difficult for us to understand how poison, rubbing-board, termites,

and three sticks can be merely things and insects and yet hear what is said
to them and foresee the future and reveal the present and past, but when
used in ritual situations they cease to be mere things and mere insects and
become mystical agents. And, since oracles are endowed with their nowers
by man himself, through man they may lose those powers. If a taboo is
broken they become once again mere things, insects, and bits of wood.

iii
 It will at once occur to a European mind that a likely reason why one
fowl dies and another lives is because more or larger doses of poison are
administered to the one than to the other, and he is likely to jump to the
conclusion that the verdict depends on the skill of the operator. Indeed, a
European is prone to assume that the operator cheats, but I believe that he is
wrong in this assumption. It is true that the number and size of doses given
to fowls varies, and that even fowls of the same size do not always receive
the same number of doses. But to suppose that Azande cheat is entirely to
misunderstand their mentality. What would be the object in cheating? Today
the declarations of the poison oracle are no longer recognized as evidence
of murder or adultery, so that it can no longer be used as an instrument of
justice and prof ìt, and the usual questions placed before it concern the
health and welfare of the questioner and his family. He wants to know
always whether witchcraft is threatening his interests and, if so, who is the
witch who has doomed him to some ill fate. Cheating, far from helping him,
would destroy him, for instead of being able to approach the right witch and
thus be released from his doom, he will approach the wrong person, or no
person at all, and fall an inevitable victim to the fate that awaits him. It is
entirely against his interests that trickery be used. It would probably result
in his death. Even in questions of marriage where it might seem to the
advantage of a Zande to obtain a favourable verdict in order that he might
marry a certain girl, it would in fact be fatai to cheat, because were he to
obtain an inaccurate verdict it would merely mean that his wife would die
shortly after marriage.

It might, however, be urged that the consulter of the oracle is one person
and the operator another, and that the feelings and purpose of the consulter
are of less account than the cunning of the operator. This, as we shall see in
the next chapter, may be a fair comment on the working of the rubbing-
board oracle, but it is not apposite to the poison oracle for the following
reasons : (1 ) The operator performs in public. His audience, all parties
interested in the dispute or inquiry, sit a few feet away and can see what he
does, and they largely direct his actions. (2) It was evident to me on the
many occasions I witnessed consultations that the operator was just as little
aware of what the result of a test was going to be as I or any of the other
observers were. I judged from his actions, speech, and expression that he
regarded himself as a mechanical server to, and in no way a director of , the
oracle. (3) Sometimes the consulter of the oracle is the operator of it. A man
who believes what Azande believe about witchcraft and oracles and then
cheats would be a lunatic. (4) I have witnessed cases when it has been to the
interests of the operator that the fowls shall live and they have died, and
vice versa. (5) There is no special class of operators. They are not a
corporation or closed association. Most adult males know how to operate
the oracle, and anyone who wishes to operate it may do so. You cannot
deceive one who practises your particular brand of deception. (6) The
operators are generally boys of between 12 and 16, old enough to know and
keep food taboos and young enough to be able to refrain from sexual
intercourse. These innocents are the most unlikely people in Zandeland to
know how to cheat, and are besides unconcerned, as a rule, with the adult
problems that are presented to the oracle. (7) As of ten as not when there are
two tests about a question the oracle contradicts itself. (8) Azande do not
understand that benge is a natural poison and therefore do not know that
trickery of this kind would even be possible. They will say of the rubbing-
board oracle that a man has cheated with it, but one never hears it suggested
that a man might have unfairly manipulated the poison oracle.

The difference in the number of doses given to fowls is due to certain

technical rules in operating the oracle. There are a usual number of doses
for fowls of different sizes, but the oracle gives its answers through the
fowls, this being the only way in which it can speak ; so that it is convenient
that the fowl shall be seen to be affected by the poison, for then they know
that it has heard the question, has considered it, and is replying to it.
Therefore, if after two doses the fowl does not seem to be at all affected,
even though this is the usual number of doses for a fowl of that size, they
may give it a third dose. If the fowl is still unaffected they know that the
oracle is going to give a clear verdict by sparing it and has answered
without qualifications, for since it has killed other fowls on the same day it
is known to be good benge which can kill fowls if it wishes to do so.

I have observed that Azande sometimes give fewer doses in the second
test, the gingo, than in the first test. They are not trying to cheat but do not
want to waste valuable poison. The purpose of the second test is to ascertain
that the oracle was functioning correctly when it gave its first answer. It can
show this after one or two doses as clearly as after three or four doses, and
it is merely waste of good poison to give the extra doses.

Azande realize that in civil disputes, concerning witchcraft or adultery

for example, it is possible for the man chosen to consult the poison oracle
about the point at issue to cheat in another way. A man would not tamper
with the poison because he does not believe it possible to alter the verdict of
an oracle once the poison has been administered to a fowl, but he can
produce a hen's wing without ever consulting the poison oracle at all, for he
may merely kill a fowl and cut of f its wing. Azande say that this sometimes
happens, but that the danger of its occurrence is small because the elder
who makes the test normally takes two or three witnesses with him.
Moreover, it is possible for a man who is convinced that he has not been
given a fair test to appeal to the king, and if his poison oracle declares the
man to be innocent the king will send for the elder and tell him that he is a
cheat and a liar and may never again conduct official consultations.

iv

What explanation do Azande of fer when the oracle contradicts itself ?

Since Azande do not understand the natural properties of the poison they
cannot explain the contradiction scientifically ; since they do not attribute
personality to the oracle they cannot account for its contradictions by
volition ; and since they do not cheat they cannot manipulate the oracle to
avoid contradictions. The oracle seems so ordered to provide a maximum
number of evident contradictions for, as we have seen, in important issues a
single test is inacceptable and the oracle must slay one fowl and spare
another if it is to deliver a valid verdict. As we may well imagine, the oracle
frequently kills both fowls or spares both fowls, and this would prove to us
the futility of the whole proceeding. But it proves the opposite to Azande.
They are not surprised at contradictions ; they expect them. Paradox though
it be, the errors as well as the valid judgements of the oracle prove to them
its infallibility. The fact that the oracle is wrong when it is interfered with
by some mystical power shows how accurate are its judgements when these
powers are excluded.

The secondary elaborations of belief that explain the failure of the oracle
attribute its failure to ( 1 ) the wrong variety of poison having been
gathered,(2) breach of a taboo, (3) witchcraft, (4) anger of the owners of the
forest where the creeper grows, (5) ageof the poison, (6) anger of the
ghosts, (7) sorcery, (8). use.

If at its first seance the oracle kills fowls without discrimination, slaying
one after the other without sparing a single one, they say that it is 'foolish'
poison. More of ten it happens at seances that the poison fails to affect the
fowls and they say that itis 'weak poison' or 'dead poison'. If some four
medium-sized fowls are in succession unaffected by the poison they stop
the seance, and later the poison will be thrown away; since once it has lost
its potency there are no means of restoring it, whereas if it is overpotent it
may, after being kept for some time, become good, and by this Azande
mean discriminating. Sometimes when the fowls appear totally unaffected
by the poison they administer the usual doses to one of them while asking
the oracle the straightforward question, 'Ifyou are good oracle poison kill
this fowl. If you are worthless oracle poison spare it.' If the poison is 'good
poison' or 'strong poison' it can demonstrate its potency forthwith.

The poison may be overpotent because the gatherers collected it from the
wrong kind of creeper, for there are two varieties of poison creeper, that
called nawada and that called andegi. The andegi kills fowls without regard
to the questions put to it. It is unnecessary to seek a cause, for people know
at once by its action that it is andegi and they wrap it up in leaves and place
it in hiding and wait some months for it to 'cool'. If at the end of this time it
is still 'stupid' they either throw it away or seek to discover whether
witchcraft or some other cause is now responsible for its failure to give
correct judgements.

The explanation of why poison kills all the fowls by reference to andegi
is only adduced when the poison is freshly gathered and being tested to
determine its worth. If a packet of poison is passed as good nawada and at a
later seance kills all the fowls some other explanation must be sought, and
its behaviour is usually attributed to witchcraft.

If at its preliminary test or at any later test the poison is impotent and
does not kill a single fowl Azande generally attribute its behaviour to
breach of a taboo. Today when poison is of ten purchased from Azande of
the Congo there is grave danger of it having been polluted by someone
through whose hands it has passed, and once it has come into contact with
an unclean person it is permanently ruined.

Witchcraft is of ten cited as a cause for wrong verdicts. It also may render
the oracle impotent, though impotency is usually attributed to breach of
taboo. Generally speaking, the presence of witchcraft is shown by the oracle
killing two fowls in answer to the same question, or in sparing two fowls in
answer to the same question when it has killed a fowl at the same seance. In
such cases the poison is evidently potent and its failure to give correct
judgements may be due to a passing influence of witchcraft. For the time
being the seance may be stopped and resumed on another day when it is
hoped that witchcraft will no longer be operative. Nevertheless, unless the
oracle makes many consecutive errors Azande do not generally close the'
seance, because it of ten happens that witchcraft interferes with the working
of the poison in relation to a single and particular question, and in no way
influences it in relation to other questions. The witch is preventing the
oracle from giving an accurate reply to a certain question that concerns him
but is not seeking to interfere in questions that do not concern him nor to
destroy the poison completely.

Sometimes the poison refuses to function properly on a certain day

because the operator is in an unlucky state, 'his condition is bad', as Azande
say, and this means that there is witchcraft about him and by coming into
contact with the oracle poison he has transmitted the ill-luck to it, so that
the 'condition' of the oracle is bad likewise. Sometimes they interrupt their
questions to ask the oracle whether it is being troubled by witchcraft, and
people say that it may then kill a fowl, after having shown itself unable to
do so before, or spare a fowl, after having killed all the previous ones, in
order to inform the questioner that there is witchcraft present. A man does
not ask one packet of poison whether another packet is good.

If at its first testing after it has been gathered the oracle poison fails to
operate, and the man who gathered it is certain that he kept the taboos
required of him and that it did not come into contact with any polluting
influence, its impotency may be attributed to the anger of the owners of the
soil where it was dug up. Or it may be said that some foreigner must have
polluted the poison, unknown to the gatherer, while the party were on their
return journey. Such explanations are, however, seldom offered and would
seldom be accepted. The man who puts them forward wishes to excuse
himself from responsibility.

One sometimes hears it said that a packet of poison has lost its power
because it has been kept too long. Men have, however, denied to me that
this is possible, asserting that breach of taboo, or witchcraft, or some other
cause must be responsible for loss of strength.

It is said that occasionally the ghosts are held responsible. Men say that if
a man gathers oracle poison in the Congo and neglects to give part of it to
his father as first-fruits the ghosts may corrupt it.

Finally, any poison will lose its power with use. A man generally
prepares for a seance more poison than will be used in the tests. At the end
of the seance he gathers up what is left and stores it apart from unused
poison. Poison can be used at least twice and, if it is of good quality,
sometimes three or four times. Sometimes they prepare a mixture of fresh
and used poison. At length its strength is exhausted. Azande know this
happens and they merely say 'It is exhausted' without advancing any
mystical cause for its loss of potency.

Sometimes the poison acts in a peculiar manner inside the fowl and
experience is necessary to interpret correctly its reactions: It sometimes
happens that a fowl appears to have survived its ordeal but dies later when
it is running about in the grass, or even after its owner has brought it back to
his homestead. I have never observed a fowl revive after it has appeared to
fall lifeless to the ground, but I was told that this occasionally occurs.
Indeed, I have heard Mbira boast of having addressed an apparently lifeless
hen for a long time with such vehemence and good sense that it finally
survived. When such things happen young Azande do not always know how
to interpret them, but old and experienced men are seldom at a loss to
explain the fowl's behaviour. People do not care to act on a verdict of the
oracle unless it is given without ambiguity.

If a fowl collapses very slowly and then suddenly recovers this means
that there is some evil influence hanging over the operator. 'His condition is
bad.' Fowls may die slowly in a long series of spasms as though the poison
were uncertain whether to kill them or not, and this probably means that
witchcraft is trying to influence the oracle.

The oracle must reply to the question in either an affermative or a

negative, but sometimes it sees more than it is asked and wants to let the
people know what it has seen, e.g. they may ask it whether a man will be
bewitched if he goes a journey, and the oracle knows that although he will
not be bewitched his family will be bewitched during his absence or that he
himself will he attacked by sorcery. Or they may ask whether a certain man
will fall ill this month, and the oracle sees that although he will be in good
health this month he will fall sick next month. It tries to tell people these
facts and at the same time to answer the questions put to it.

It will have been noted that Azande act experimentally within the
framework of their mystical notions. They act as we would have to act if we
had no means of making chemical and physiological analyses and we
wanted to obtain the same results as they want to obtain. As soon as the
poison is brought back from its forest home it is tested to discover whether
some fowls will live and others die under its influence. It would be
unreasonable to use poison without first having ascertained that all fowls to
which it is administered do not die or do not live. The oracle would then be
a farce. Each seance must be in itself experimentally consistent. Thus if the
first three fowls survive Azande will always be apprehensive. They at once
suspect that the oracle is not working properly. But if then, afterwards, the
fourth fowl dies, they are content. They will say to you, 'You see the poison
is good, it has spared the first three fowls but it has killed this one.' Zande
behaviour, though ritual, is consistent, and the reasons they give for their
behaviour, though mystical, are intellectually coherent.

If their mystical notions allowed them to generalize their observations

they would perceive, as we do, that their faith is without foundations. They
themselves provide all the proof necessary. They say that they sometimes
test new poison or old poison which they fear has been corrupted by asking
it silly questions. At full moon they administer the poison to a fowl and
address it thus :
 Poison oracle, tell the chicken about those two spears over there. As I am
about to go up to the sky, if I will spear the moon today with my spears, kill
the fowl. If I will not spear the moon today, poison oracle spare the fowl.

If the oracle kills the fowl they know that it is corrupt.

And yet Azande do not see that their oracles tell them nothing ! Their
blindness is not due to stupidity : they reason excellently in the idiom of
their beliefs, but they cannot reason outside, or against, their beliefs because
they have no other idiom in which to express their thoughts.

The reader will naturally wonder what Azande say when subsequent
events prove the prophecies of the poison oracle to be wrong. Here again
Azande are not surprised at such an outcome, but it does not prove to them
that the oracle is futile. It rather proves how well founded are their beliefs in
witchcraft and sorcery and taboos. The contradiction between what the
oracle said would happen and what actually has happened is just as glaring
to Zande eyes as it is to ours, but they never for a moment question the
virtue of the oracle in general but seek only to account for the inaccuracy of
this particular poison.

Moreover, even if the oracle was not deflected from the straight path of
prophecy by witchcraft or bad magic there are other reasons which would
equally account for its failure. It may be that the particular venture about
the success of which a man was Consulting the oracle was not at the time of
consultation threatened by witchcraft, but that a witch intervened at some
time between the consultation and the commencement of the undertaking.

Azande see as well as we that the failure of their oracle to prophesy truly
calls for explanation, but so entangled are they in mystical notions that they
must make use of them to account for the failure. The contradiction
between experience and one mystical notion is explained by reference to
other mystical notions.

Normally there is little chance of the oracle being proved wrong, for it is
usually asked questions to which its answers cannot well be challenged by
subsequent experience, since the inquirer accepts the verdict and does not
seek to check it by experiment. Thus were a man to ask the oracle, 'If I
build my homestead in such-and-such a place will I die there?' or, 'If my son
is sponsored by so-and-so in the circumcision ceremonies will he die?' and
were the oracle to reply 'Yes' to either of these queries, he would not
construct his homestead in the ill-omened place nor allow his son to be
sponsored by the inauspicious man. Consequently he would never know
what would have happened it he had not taken the advice of the oracle.
Also, the verdict of the oracle is usually in accordance with the workings of
nature, and were a man to receive the reply that it is safe for him to marry a
certain girl because she will not die within the next few years, or that he is
assured of his harvest of eleusine if he sows it in a certain spot in the bush,
there would be little likelihood of the oracle being proved wrong, as the
chances of the girl dying or of the hardy eleusine being totally destroyed
would be small.

Furthermore, only certain types of question are regularly put to the oracle
: questions relating to witchcraft, sickness, death, lengthy journeys,
mourning and vengeance, changing of homestead sites, lengthy agricultural
and hunting enterprises, and so forth. One does not ask the poison oracle
about small matters or questions involving minute precision with regard to
time. A man would not ask such a question as : 'Will I kill a bush-buck if I
go hunting tomorrow?' and since men do not ask that sort of question they
do not receive immediate detailed instructions which might go amiss and
expose the falsity of the oracle.

Indeed, as a rule Azande do not ask questions to which answers are easily
tested by experience and they ask only those questions which embrace
contingencies. The answers either cannot be tested, or if proved by
subsequent events to be erroneous permit an explanation of the error. In the
last resort errors can always be explained by attributing them to mystical
interference. But there is no need to suppose that the Zande is conscious of
an evasion of clear issues. In restricting his questions to certain well-known
types he is conforming to tradition. It does not occur to him to test the
oracle experimentally unless he has grave suspicions about a particular
packet of poison.

Moreover, the main purpose of the oracle lies in its ability to reveal the
play of mystical forces. When Azande ask about health or marriage or
hunting they are seeking information about the movement of psychic forces
which might cause them misfortune. They do not attempt simply to discover
the objective conditions at a certain point of time in the future, nor the
objective results of a certain action, but the inclination of mystical powers,
for these conditions and result depend upon them. Azande envisage a future,
an individual's future that is to say, dependent upon mystical forces. Hence
when the oracle paints a black horizon for a man he is glad to have been
warned because now that he knows the dispositions of witchcraft he can get
into touch with it and have the future changed to be more favourable to
him.

By means of his oracles a Zande can discover the mystical forces which
hang over a man and doom him in advance, and having discovered them he
can counteract them or alter his plans to avoid the doom which awaits him
in any particular venture. Hence it is evident that the answers he receives do
not generally concern objective happenings and therefore cannot easily be
contrary to experience.

None the less, I have of ten noticed that Azande on being informed that
sickness lies ahead of them do not even proceed to discover the name of the
witch whose influence is going to cause them sickness and get him to blow
out water but merely wait for a few days and then consult the oracle again
to find out whether their health will be good for the coming month, hoping
that by the time of the second consultation the evil influence which hung
over their future at the time of the first consultation will no longer be there.

It follows that present and future have not entirely the same meaning for
Azande as they have for us. It is difficult to formulate the problem in our
language, but it would appear from their behaviour that the present and
future overlap in some way so that the present partakes of the future as it
were. Hence a man's future health and happiness depend on future
conditions that are already in existence and can be exposed by the oracles
and altered. The future depends on the disposition of mystical forces that
can be tackled here and now. Moreoever, when the oracles announce that a
man will fall sick, i.e. be bewitched in the near future, his 'condition' is
therefore already bad, his future is already part of him. Azande cannot
explain these matters, they content themselves with believing and enacting
them.
 By the same token, the oracle is protected by its position in the order of
events. When a Zande wishes to slay a witch who has killed one of his
kinsmen or a thief who has stolen his property he does not ask the oracle to
identify the witch or thief and then make magic against this known person,
but he first makes magic against an unknown criminal, and when people in
the neighbourhood die he asks the oracle whether one of them is the victim
of his punitive magic.

But in spite of the many ways in which belief in the poison oracle is
sustained it may be doubted whether it could have maintained prestige in a
democratic community. In Zandeland its verdicts derive an historic sanction
from the fact that its verdicts were traditionally backed by the full authority
of the king. The decisions of the king's oracle were final. Had there been
any appeal from this to private oracles there would have been' general
confusion, since everybody would have been able to produce oracular
verdicts to support his own point of view and there would have been no
way of deciding between them. In legai disputes, therefore, the authority of
the poison oracle was formerly the authority of the king, and this in itself
would tend to prevent any serious challenge to its veracity.

vi

There is a final problem to discuss. As I have recorded in earlier sections,

each situation demands the particular pattern of thought appropriate to it.
Hence an individual in one situation will employ a notion he excludes in a
different situation. The many beliefs I have recorded are so many different
tools of thought, and he selects the ones that are chiefly to his advantage. A
Zande does not readily accept an oracular verdict which conflicts seriously
with his interests. No one believes that the oracle is nonsense, but everyone
thinks that for some particular reason in this particular case the particular
poison used is in error in respect to himself. Azande are only sceptical of
particular oracles and not of oracles in general, and their scepticism is
always expressed in a mystical idiom that vouches for the validity of the
poison oracle as an institution.

Also, apart from criminal cases, there can be no doubt that a man takes
advantage of every loophole the oracle allows him to obtain what he wants
or to refrain from doing what he does not want to do. Moreover, he uses the
authority of the oracle to excuse his conduct or to compel others to accept
it. The oracle is of ten very useful in such a question as whether a man's
wife shall pay her parents a visit. It is difficult for the husband to forbid her
visit, but if he can say that the oracles advise against if he can both prevent
it and checkmate objections on the part of his parents-in-law.

In the actual operation of the oracle, Azande like to receive a favourable

prediction in the first test and to put of f the corroborative test that may
contradict it for as long as possible. Tradition allows them a certain latitude
in the order in which they arrange their questions to the oracle and also in
the number of doses that are administered to the fowls. There is an art in
questioning the oracle, for it must answer 'yes' or 'no' to a question and a
man can therefore define the terms of the answer by stating them in the
question. By close interpretations of the reactions of fowls to the poison it is
of ten possible to qualify the declaration oracles give by killing or sparing
them.

In all this Azande are not employing trickery. A man uses for his
individual needs in certain situations those notions that most favour his
desires. Azande cannot go beyond the limits set by their culture and invent
notions, but within these limits human behaviour is not rigidly determined
by custom and a man has some freedom of action and thought.

[Link]
CHAPTER X

Other Zande Oracles

Azande esteem dakpa, or the termites oracle, next to the poison oracle. A
man will not place a verdict of the termites oracle before the rubbing-board
oracle for confìrmation, and he will not place a verdict of the poison oracle
to the termites for confìrmation. If more than one oracle is consulted they
consult always the lesser before the greater in the order of : ( i ) rubbing-
board, (2) termites, (3) poison. Dakpa is the poor man's poison oracle.
There are no expenses involved, for a man has only to fìnd a termite mound
and insert two branches of different trees into one of their runs and return
next day to see which of the two the termites have eaten. The main
drawback to the oracle from the Zande point of view is that it is lengthy and
limited. It takes an entire night to answer a question, and very few questions
can be asked at the same time.

On all important matters the decisions of the termites oracle must be

corroborated by the poison oracle. Legal action cannot be taken without a
decision from the poison oracle. But poison is expensive and it is cheaper to
obtain preliminary verdicts from the termites and ask the poison oracle for a
final decision. Thus a man finds out which among half a dozen sites is a
suitable one for him to build his homestead in and can place the choice of
the termites before the poison oracle for confìrmation. Women can consult
the termites oracle as well as men, and children sometimes use it. It is
known to, and can be used by, everyone.

The oracle is regarded as very reliable, much more so than the rubbing-
board. Azande say that the termites do not listen to all the talk which is
going on outside in homesteads and only hear the questions put to them.
Older men try to consult the termites oracle at the beginning of each month
to discover whether they will continue in good health. A wealthy man asks
the same question of the poison oracle.
 The oracle is called after one of the trees, a branch of which is inserted
into a termite mound in its operation. Azande may address their questions to
these branches. Nevertheless, they ordinarily address the termites and in
their commentaries on the oracle it is clear that they think of the termites as
listening to their questions and giving answers to them. But the fact that
they address both shows that no general and independent intelligence is
attributed to either the termites or to the trees but only a specifìc
intelligence in the operation of the oracle, and that it is the oracle as a
whole, as something sui generis, which is the object of inquiry.

A man ought to observe the same taboos as for the poison oracle, but they
are less strict. The termites are always approached towards evening. A man
goes to one of his own termite mounds because people may object if he
disturbs their termites by thrusting branches into their runs. He does not
take branches [Link] and kpoyo from his homestead because these two
trees are found everywhere in the bush. With the haft of his spear he opens
up one of the great shafts that lead into the mound, or one of the runs at the
side of it, takes a branch of either tree in each hand, and, speaking to the
termites, which rush to the seat of disturbance, says sòme such words as : 'O
termites, I will die this year, eat dakpa. I will not die, eatkpoyo.' He may
address the branches as though they were eating: 'Dakpa I will die this year,
dakpa you eat; I will not die this year, kpoyo you eat.' The words vary
according to the question, but they are always spoken in one of the
traditional forms. While making this speech he thrusts the two branches into
the shaft, or run, and after placing a few of the lumps of earth he has
excavated around them he returns home.

Early next morning the questioner goes to the mound to receive an

answer. The termites may have eaten kpoyo and left dakpa, or they may
have eaten dakpa and left kpoyo. They may have eaten both, or left both
untouched. The answer depends therefore on the way in which the question
is phrased. When it concerns the welfare of the questioner or of his kin it is
asked in such a way that if the termites eat dakpa it is a prophecy of
misfortune, and if they eat kpoyo it is a prophecy of good fortune. Having
obtained a verdict, they can then either place it at once before the poison
oracle or, if they do not want to do that, they can obtain from termites a
giugo, or corroborative test, similar to that they demand from the poison
oracle. I believe, however, that this is not generally done, for cases which
demand such care are usually so important that they must go before the
poison oracle which will supply all the confirmation needed.

It sometimes happens that neither branch is eaten. Then Azande simply

say that the termites refuse an answer and they try another mound.
Frequently they eat both branches. This is not an invalid verdict as it is
when the poison kills or spares two fowls. The same unambiguous answer
is not expected from termites. Doubtless we would be right in relating this
acceptance of unprecise answers to the fact that the questions put to the
termites oracle have not the social importance of those put to the poison
oracle and do not settle legai issues. When both branches are eaten the
interpretation is not a complete answer to the question but a partial answer,
e.g if dakpa is the branch mainly eaten, the answer is a qualified verdict
leaning towards a negative or affirmative according to the terms of the
question.

If both branches are eaten about equally Azande may say that the ants
were merely hungry and ate to satisfy their appetites, or they may say that a
taboo has been broken or that witchcraft has interfered with the oracle. But
they do not evoke mystical entities to account for the failure of the termites
oracle to give unambiguous answers with the frequency and luxuriance of
those evoked to explain discrepancies in the verdicts of the poison oracle.

ii

Another Zande oracle is called mapingo. It can be used by everyone, but

except in choosing a site for a homestead adult men do not of ten employ it.
It is considered especially the oracle of women and children. It is by using
mapingo that children gain their first experience in oracular consultations.
Its operation is as simple as can be. Three small pieces of wood about half
an inch long and rounded are cut from branches of a tree or from the stalk
of the manioc. Three pieces of wood are required for each question to be
asked. The material always lies ready at hand. Two pieces of stick are
placed side by side on the ground and the third piece is placed on top of
them and parallel to them. These little pieces of stick are generally arranged
just before nightfall in a clearing at the edge of the garden where it borders
the homestead or at the back of a hut. When asking about a new homestead
they are arranged in a small clearing in the proposed site in the bush. The
oracle gives its answers by the three sticks remaining in position all night or
by the structure falling. Azande sometimes say that a person ought to
observe the usual taboos for a short time before using the three sticks
oracle, but I very much doubt whether anyone does so.

When the sticks have been set in position a man addresses them and tells
them what he wants enlightenment about, or perhaps, we might rather say,
he speaks a conditional clause over them.

When consulting about a homestead site a man usually erects two piles of
sticks, one for himself and one for his wife. He addresses his pile somewhat
as follows :

I will die, there is badness over this homestead site, if I build my

homestead on it I will die there. Mapingo you scatter to show that my
'condition' is bad. I will not die on it, let me come to examine you and find
you in position to show my good 'condition'.

Generally the question is so phrased that the displacement of the sticks

gives an inauspicious prognostication and their remaining in position gives
an auspicious prognostication.

The oracle is not considered important. Women and children ask it many
questions, but they are questions about their own affairs and have little
social significance. Men also use it on occasion. Its verdicts are not made
public and a man cannot approach a witch on its findings alone. It is
sometimes used as a preliminary to the termites or poison oracles.
Notwithstanding, it is considered very reliable, especially in reference to
homestead sites, and a man would not neglect its advice.

iii

The most used of all Zande oracles is iwa, the rubbing-board. The poison
oracle needs preparation. Often, especially today, it is difficult to obtain
oracle poison, and a man may have to wait many days until he learns that a
kinsman or blood-brother is about to consult the oracle and will allow him
to bring one or two fowls to solve his problems. But a man cannot wait
when he fears that he may be a victim of witchcraft or trickery. At any time
a sudden problem may confront him, a sudden suspicion assail him. If he
possesses a rubbing-board oracle and is qualified to use it he will carry it
with him wherever he goes in his little skin or grass plaited bag so that he
can take it out at a moment's notice and inquire from it what he is to do.
Otherwise he may easily find a kinsman or friend who will consult their
oracles on his behalf, for it is a small service and costs them nothing. And it
is not only in situations requiring immediate action that the rubbing-board is
more suitable an oracle than the poison, but also in dozens of situations
when the issues are of minor importance and hardly worthy of being
presented to the poison oracle. Azande do not place complete faith in its
statements and contrast its reliability unfavourably with that of the other
oracles which have been described. They put its revelations on a par with
those of witchdoctors. The rubbing-board is looked upon as an inferior
judge which sorts out a case so that it is reduced to preliminary issues that
can then go before the poison oracle. Thus a man is ill and a great many
persons occur to him as likely to be bewitching him. It would be a tedious
and expensive business to place six or seven names before the poison oracle
when, perhaps, the last on the list is the right one. But it will not take him
longer than ten minutes to place the names before his little wooden
instrument, and when it has chosen from among them the responsible witch
all that need be asked of the greater poison oracle is to confirm its choice.
The poison oracle is always the final authority, and if the matter is one
involving relations between two persons it" must be consulted. For this
reason, unless the matter is urgent, they bring all important social questions
directly before the poison oracle. It is only minor or preliminary questions
that are asked of the rubbing-board. Azande say it answers so many
questions that it is bound to be wrong sometimes. We may observe that this
admission can be made because situations of use are minor and do not
involve social interrelations.

The oracles consist of miniature table-like constructions. Smaller ones

are carried about in bags. Larger ones are kept in homesteads. They are
carved out of the wood of various trees. They have two parts, the Temale',
or the fiat surface of the table supported by two legs and its tail, and the
'male', or the piece which fits the surface of the table like a lid. The shape of
the table is round to ovai. When not in operation a barkcloth covering is tied
over the head of the instrument.

When fashioning a rubbing-board a man is subject to taboos. He must

abstain for two days from sexual relations and from the same foods
prohibited in connexion with the poison oracle before he commences to
manufacture it. He cuts it with an adze, fashioning the bottom part before
the upper part. He then blackens it by rubbing the surface with a red-hot
spear. The carving of the board is only part of the process of manufacture. It
is still nothing but two pieces of carved wood and has to be endowed with
mystical potency, i.e. the wood has to be transformed into an oracle. This is
done by two actions. In the first place the table is anointed with medicine
derived from roots which have been boiled, their juices then mixed with oil
and boiled again and, during this second boiling, stirred and addressed in
the pot. I was told that the owner says over the pot:

This is my rubbing-board oracle which I am going to doctor. When I

consult it on a man's behalf may it speak the truth, may it foretell the death
(threatened death) of a man. May it reveal things to me, may it not hide
things from me. May it not lose its potency. If a man eats tabooed food,
such as elephant (and comes near my oracle), may it not lose its potency.

He then takes the mixture of f the fire and, having made incisions on the
table of the oracle, he rubs some of it into them. The remainder of the oil
and juices he mixes with ashes of various plants and rubs them on to the
face of the table. The incisions may be partly the cause of the lid of the
oracle sticking or running smoothly on the table according to the direction
of pressure.

In the second place the oracle has to be buried. It has been doctored, but
the medicines have to be given time to sink in and there is still 'coldness'
about it which must be removed. It is wrapped up in new barkcloth or
perhaps in the skin of a small animal like a small bush-buck and is placed in
a hole dug in the centre of a path. The earth is well trodden down to
disguise the fact that something has been buried there, because if a man
notices that the earth has been disturbed he will go round the spot in fear of
sorcery, and this will spoil the preparation of the oracle, because it is
passersby who 'take away all "coldness" from the rubbing-board in the
centre of the path' as they pass over it. After two days the owner digs it up.

He now tests it by rubbing the wooden lid backwards and forwards on the
table. He says to it: 'rubbing-board, if you will speak the truth to people,
stick.' It sticks in declaration of its potency and powers of discrimination.
The owner then addresses the oracle, saying, 'rubbing-board, I take a little
wealth to redeem you with it. You speak the truth to me. I take ashes to hold
your legs with them. You speak the truth to me.' He then places a knife
before it as a payment. Since the knife is taken away again Azande say, 'He
deceives the rubbing-board with a knife.' He then binds barkcloth round it
and places it under his veranda. The rubbing-board is ready for use.

It is operated in the following manner. A man sits on the ground and

steadies the board by placing his right foot on its tail, while with his right
hand he jerks the lid backwards and forwards, towards and away from him,
between his thumb and first finger. Before operating the oracle he squeezes
juices of plants or grates wood of various trees on to the table. Generally
they use the fruit of the Kaffir appiè for this purpose. The operator dips the
lid into a gourd of water which he keeps at his side and applies its fiat
surface to the surface of the table. As soon as they touch, the juices or
gratings on the table become moistened and begin to froth and bubble. He
jerks the lid backwards and forwards a few times and then begins to
question the oracle. From time to time during the consultations he moistens
the lid in the gourd of water.

When the operator jerks the lid over the table it generally either moves
smoothly backwards and forwards or it sticks to the board so firmly that no
jerking will further move it, and it has to be pulled upwards with
considerable force to detach it from the table. These two actions—smooth
sliding and firm sticking—are the two ways in which the oracle answers
questions. They correspond to the slaying or sparing of fowls by the poison,
the eating or refusing of the branches by the termites, and the disturbance or
non-disturbance of the pile of sticks. Every question is therefore framed
thus : If such is the case, 'stick', and if such is not the case, 'run smoothly'.
In Consultations of the rubbing-board sticking of the lid almost always
gives an affirmative answer and smooth running of the lid almost always
gives a negative answer.
 Whatever other questions a man intends to place before the oracle he
generally asks as his first question, 'Shall I die this year?' and the oracle
runs smoothly, giving its answer 'No'. Sometimes instead of going smoothly
backwards and forwards or sticking fast the lid runs from side to side or
round and round. Sometimes it alternately sticks and runs. The oracle is
here refusing to give a verdict, and this generally means that it is doubtful
of the issue or sees something outside the terms of the question that would
seriously qualify the unequivocal answer given by either sticking or sliding.

Strictly speaking, as with the poison and termites oracles, a second and
confirmatory test should be made. If the lid has stuck in the first test, then in
the second test it must slide backwards and forwards smoothly, and vice
versa, if the verdict is to be valid. In fact, however, they very seldom make
a second test. In important issues the question will be placed before the
poison oracle, which supplies all the confirmation needed. Also Azande
must be aware that the second test always confirms the first one. But they
do not trouble themselves to any great extent about such matters because in
serious questions a higher authority is consulted.

iv

Before Consulting the rubbing-board its owner is supposed to observe the

same prohibitions as those in force when using the poison oracle, though it
is not required that he shall observe them for so long a period before
operating it. Since the oracle may be consulted at a moment's notice the
taboos would prove irksome to its owner and to those who wish him to
operate it on their behalf if it were not that their observance can be rendered
unnecessary by a process known as 'spoiling the rubbing-board'. A piece of
an elephant's skin, or a fishbone, and perhaps of a piece of wood on which a
woman has sat (for a menstruating woman can destroy the potency of any
oracle if she goes near it), are burnt and the ashes are rubbed over the table
of the board. Instead of burning fish-bone they may sprinkle the table with a
few drops of water in which a fish has been cooked. It will not matter after
this has been done if a man eats elephant's flesh or fish or a menstruating
woman approaches the oracle.

That people, in fact, do not observe taboos is well known. Azande have
told me that whilst every oracle owner sleeps regularly with his wife, few
have been heard to refuse to operate the oracle on that account.
Nevertheless, they say that a sincere man who wished to keep his oracle
potent would not use it for two or three days after having had sexual
intercourse. They attribute much of the error in the oracle's judgements to
slackness in this respect. In the past only a few old men owned rubbing-
boards, and in those days taboos were more rigidly observed, for old men
are more careful than their juniors to avoid contamination. Even today not
many men own rubbing-boards.

Azande say that the accuracy of a rubbing-board depends upon its not
becoming 'cold'. They say that if a man's oracle makes many mistakes he
will realize that it has lost its potency. It can be rehabilitated by placing
medicine on its table and wrapping it in barkcloth and burying it again in a
path. I was told that they say to it as they place it in the hole, 'You are
rubbing-board, why do you lie? Speak the truth.' After two days the owner
digs it up and burns a little benge and rubs the soot on to the board, and
says to it, 'rubbing-board you speak the truth just as benge speaks it.' He
then puts a pinch of oracle poison on the table, wraps it up in backcloth, and
places it under his veranda to rest for a few days.

Operation of the rubbing-board differs from operation of the other oracles

in that only certain persons can operate it. With the exception of the one or
two peculiar women who have even been known to consult the poison
oracle and a few female ghost-diviners, these persons are all middle-aged or
old men. Women may occasionally watch the oracle being operated as it is
being consulted in homesteads, and of ten publicly, unlike the poison and
termites oracles which are consulted in the bush, but they are not
encouraged to approach near to it and cannot operate it. Children do not use
it, and I have never known a young man operate it. Moreover, its use is not
conditioned by age and sex alone, for it is necessary for a man to have
absorbed certain medicines before he can hope to operate the instrument.
The poison, termites, and three sticks oracles can be operated by any man
who has kept the taboos, but when the rubbing-board is operated the owner
as well as the instrument itself has to be doctored. He will get a magician to
doctor him. The potency of the oracle is due to the medicines which it
absorbs when the board is being made, the medicines applied to its table
before use, the medicines rubbed into the hand and foot of the operator and
eaten by him, and its operation subject to customary conditions.

Only the owner of a rubbing-board uses it. He will not let other people
operate it. He will consult it about the affairs of kinsmen and great friends
without exacting a fee, but from neighbours he expects a present of a knife,
or half-piastre, or ring, or some such small gift. He can courteously demand
payment by pointing out that the oracle will not work properly unless it sees
a gift laid on the ground before it. If you do not produce a fee when asking
him to consult his oracle on your behalf he may say that he is sorry but his
rubbing-board is broken or that he has not kept taboos the day before or that
he has not ritually cleansed himself after assisting at a burial.

Azande are well aware that people can cheat in operating the rubbing-
board oracle, and this is one of the reasons why they consider it inferior to
the other oracles. However, they do not think that people of ten cheat, and a
man only mentions that an operator may have cheated when the oracle has
spoken against him or he particularly dislikes the operator. No owner of a
good oracle cheats or fails to observe taboos lest it cease to be a good
oracle. Some men's oracles have a wide reputation for accuracy and enjoy
this reputation in contrast to others. Since the rubbing-board has no legal
status, there is no reason why tradition and authority should exclude, or
explain away by assertion and by the use of secondary elaborations, the
possibility of improper manipulation. A man must believe, or at any rate
express belief, in the poison oracle and submit to its declarations. But the
statements of the rubbing-board need not inconvenience anyone except its
consulter, and custom does not compel a man to use it or to submit to its
verdicts.

I have little doubt that the operator improperly manipulates the oracle in
most inquiries. Nevertheless, owners of rubbing-boards frequently consult
them about their own affairs, and it can scarcely be imagined that they
deliberately cheat on such occasions. It may also be asked why, if they
cheat, they should go to the trouble of burying the board and doctoring it
and themselves.

It must be difficult for a man who is considering a question to move his

hand quite haphazardly when the movement is supposed to provide an
answer to the question and when pressure makes all the difference between
'Yes' and 'No'. It may well be that Azande are not entirely aware that they
control the oracle in accordance with conclusions reached in their minds
and that between the thinking out of the questions and the movement of the
hand in answer the middle clause, 'I must make the lid stick (or go
smoothly)', is not consciously formulated. If this is the case 'cheating' is
perhaps too strong a word to use.

Azande speak of dreams as oracles, for they reveal hidden things

(soroka). In a sense all dreams foretell events, but some more clearly than
others. Those dreams in which a man actually experiences witchcraft
portend misfortune to the dreamer as a consequence of his having been
bewitched, and dreams about ghosts, not recorded in this book, inform
people about happenings among the dead. But many dreams are explained
solely in terms of prophecy without reference to witchcraft, though what
may at the time have appeared to have been a dream of one type may be
shown by events to have been a dream of another type and to have been
misinterpreted.

There are stereotyped explanations of dreams. These are generally

straightforward affirmations that what happened in the dream will later take
place in waking life, but sometimes dream images are regarded as symbols
which require interpretation. Nevertheless, in such cases the interpretation
is of ten traditional and it is merely necessary to find someone who knows
it. Azande do not always know how to interpret dreams, though an obscure
dream is always vaguely considered good or bad. On the whole, what we
would call bad dreams are evidence of witchcraft, and what we would call
pleasant dreams are oracular and the dreamer believes that they may happen
to him in the future.

Some men eat ngua musumo, dream-medicines, which enable them to

dream true dreams. When the dream is oracular it will then prophesy the
future truly and warn a man of impending danger and tell him of fortune to
come, e.g. if he goes hunting or pays a visit to his prince to ask for a gift of
spears he will kill animals or receive the gift. If the dream is a nightmare he
will then be able tosee the features of the witch who is attacking him so that
he will know his enemy.

Azande attach great importance to the prognostication of dreams. They

say that dreamprophecies are as true as those of the rubbing-board oracle.
However, dreams do not of ten lead directly to action. Azande like to place
their prognostications before one of the four main oracles, benge, dakpa,
mapingo, and iwa, to make certain that they have correctly interpreted
2
them.

[Link]
CHAPTER XI

Magic and Medicines

Already in the development of this book a large number of magic rites

have been described, but only incidentally, and in relation to witchcraft and
oracles. It is now time to consider Zande magic more closely, and in this
final part it is regarded as the important variable in the ritual complex of
witchcraft, oracles, and magic.

Witchcraft, oracles, and magic are like three sides to a triangle. Oracles
and magic are two different ways of combating witchcraft. Oracles
determine who has injured or who is about to injure another by witchcraft,
and whether witchcraft looms ahead. When the name of a witch is
discovered he is dealt with by the procedure described in Chapter III.
Where witchcraft lies in the path of a project it can be circumvented either
by abandoning the project till more favourable conditions ensue or by
discovering the witch whose ill-will threatens the endeavour and persuading
him to withdraw it.

Magic is the chief-foe of witchcraft, and it would be useless to describe

Zande magical rites and notions had their beliefs in witches not previously
been recorded. Having grasped the ideas Azande have of witchcraft, we
shall have no difficulty in understanding the main purpose of their magic.

The use of magic for socially approved ends, such as combating

witchcraft, is sharply distinguished by Azande from its evil and antisocial
use in sorcery. To them, the difference between a sorcerer and a witch is
that the former uses the technique of magic and derives his power from
medicines, while the latter acts without rites and spells and uses hereditary
psycho-physical powers to attain his ends. Both alike are enemies of men,
and Azande class them together. Witchcraft and sorcery are opposed to, and
opposed by, good magic.

Good magic and sorcery alike involve magical rites using objects
fashioned from trees and plants. These objects are what we have called
'medicines'. After more or less preparation they are used to attain certain
ends. A Zande rite is not a formalized affair. There are certain actions a man
must perform, but the sequence of these actions depends on the logie of the
rite and does not otherwise condition its efficacy. Hence it is seldom that
one observes a particular rite performed in exactly the same way on several
occasions. There are usually variations, of ten large variations, in what is
said and done and in the sequence of words and actions. The sequence of
ritual acts is determined solely by technical needs and common sense.

The homoeopathic element is so evident in many magical rites and in

much of the materia medica that there is no need to give examples. It is
recognized by the Azande themselves. They say, ' We use suchand-such a
plant because it is like such-and-such a thing,' naming the object towards
which the rite is directed. Nevertheless, there need be no similarity between
medicines and their purposes, or between the action of a rite and the action
it is supposed to produce. The whistles and bulbs which are so of ten the
source of magical power have no similarity to the objects they are believed
to affect, and the ordinary modes of eating medicines and rubbing them into
the body are rites which do not imitate the result aimed at.

Important magical rites are normally accompanied by spells.

The magician addresses (sima) the medicines and tells them what he
wants them to do. These spells are never formulae. The magician chooses
his words as he utters the spell. There is no power in the address itself. Ali
that is required is that the meaning shall be clear because the medicines
have a commission to carry out and they must know exactly what the
commission is. Needless to say, however, people who use the same
medicines for the same purposes tend to use the same phrases, and after
listening to a number of spells it is easy for anyone to construct them for
himself. The virtue of a magical rite lies principally in the medicines
themselves. If they are operated correctly, and the requisite taboos are
observed, they must obey the magician, and if they are potent they will do
as they are bid.

In asking a medicine to act on his behalf a man does not beseech it to do

so. He is not entreating it to grant a favour. He tells it what it is to do, just as
he would tell a boy were he dispatching him on an errand. Most spells are
spoken in normal, matter-of -fact voices and the medicines are addressed in
a casual manner that has of ten surprised me. However, more regard to them
is paid when they are dangerous and when their task is one of great social
importance, for example, when vengeance-magic is used great attention is
paid to the medicines, which are carefully instructed by name in each clause
about the action required of them.

Azande do not always address medicines. I have seen antidotes to

medicines—and these are countermedicines—administered without a word
being spoken to them. I have also witnessed a long rite cancelling
vengeance-magic after its purpose has been achieved and noticed that
throughout the cooking, stirring, and eating of the medicines they were not
addressed. When I remarked on this fact I was told that since they did not
wish the medicines to accomplish any task there was nothing about which
to instruct them.

Moreover, in minor magical acts, such as putting a stone in j a tree to

delay sunset, blowing a whistle to make rainclouds j pass over, spearing
leaves of pumpkins with bingba grass, and so forth, a spell is of ten omitted
in practice, though in giving me texts my informants usually insérted one.
Also Azande seldom address charms worn about their persons.

Before using potent medicines and the greater oracles a man ought to
observe a number of taboos. People do not inconvenience themselves by
observing taboos when performing unimportant rites and when consulting
the lesser oracles. There is no agreement about the length of time a taboo
must be observed before magic is made. Some magicians observe them for
longer periods than others, and one man observes a greater range of taboos
than another. When an owner of medicines, like those for theft and
vengeance, uses them on behalf of another, this other man performs the
rites, or part of them, and it is he, and not the owner, who has to observe the
taboos.

ii

The following list of situations in which Azande use medicines comprises

all the purposes of magic (other than its use in sorcery) of which I have
knowledge:
 Medicines connected with natural forces: to prevent rain from falling; to
delay sunset.

Medicines connected with hoe culture: to ensure the fruitfulness of

various food-plants.

Medicines connected with hunting, Jishing, and collecting: for wet-

season hunting in gamesquares ; for hunting by fìring grass in the dry
season ; to make a hunter invisible ; to prevent wounded animals from
escaping ; to doctor gamenets ; to doctor gamepits ; to doctor traps and
nooses ; for hunting dangerous beasts, elephant, lion, and leopard ; to doctor
spears ; to doctor bows and arrows ; to direct the aim of spearmen and
bowmen ; to give power of scent and fleetness to hunting dogs ; to kill fish
(fishpoison) ; for women's fishing ; to doctor guinea-fowl nets ; to ensure
flight and capture of all species of edible termites.

Medicines connected with arts and crafts: for smelting ; for iron-
working; for beer-brewing ; for warfare (to doctor body and shield and to
acquire enemy spears) ; for singing ; for dancing ; for drum-and-gong
beating.

Medicines connected with mystical powers: medicines against witches,

sorcerers, and other evil agencies ; to qualify as a witchdoctor ; to qualify as
an operator of the rubbing-board oracle; to produce true revelations in
dreams.

Medicines connected with social activities: to attract followers ; to ensure

successful exchange at feasts ; for sexual potency ; for success in love
affairs ; to obtain wives; for safety and success in journeys; to procure
return of stolen property; to protect widows and widowers from injury
through contamination by the dead ; to be at peace with all men ; to be in
wealth, health, and safety; to make babies grow strong; to procure abortion;
to ensure that a new wife will settle happily in her husband's home ; to
avenge homicide, adultery, and theft ; to protect oneself and family from all
dangers ; to protect wives and property; to make a prince favourable.

Medicines connected with sickness: every disease has special medicines

for treating it.
 I have constructed rough categories for Zande medicines by listing the
types of activity they are supposed to promote and also by noting their
purposes. The Zande himself tends to classify them also by their form and
their mode of use. Thus he sometimes says of a medicine that it is a ranga,
a bulb. One often sees bulbs growing in the centre of a Zande homestead,
usually at the foot of a ghost-shrine. They have many magical uses.

Either their leaves are eaten raw or they are boiled in water with sesame
and salt, and this mixture is eaten. The bulbs are transplanted from the bush.
A man who knows a bulb with special magical uses either shows it in the
bush to another man or points it out to him in his homestead. Once a man
knows the leaf of this particular bulb he can seek it himself in the bush.
Transmission of knowledge therefore does not consist in merely showing a
man the plant, for he can see it any day growing in the magician's
homestead. It consists rather in instructing him in its uses.

Another category is ngbimi. These are arboreal parasites and are the
material from which the most potent whistles and charms are manufactured.
Parasites of very many trees are used in one or other form as medicines. A
third category are creepers (gire) which figure frequently in magical rites,
particularly to enclose gardens and for winding round the wrist of a man as
a charm. Many of these plants are rare and cannot be found without diligent
search.

Azande also divide their medicines into classes based upon their modes
of preparation and use. Often the species of plant employed in a rite
indicates by its form its mode of use as explained in relation to ranga,
ngbimi, and gire. The principal modes of use are :

( i ) Whistles (kura). The wood of certain trees is fashioned in the shape

of a whistle. Though the cavity hollowed out at one end is shallow it emits a
shrill blast when blown. Magical whistles are used for many purposes.
Before making a whistle a man ought to observe taboos. Early in the
morning he leaves his homestead without washing his face or rinsing his
mouth and cuts the wood and fashions it. He utters spells when cutting the
wood and when boring the cavity at one end. Whistles are worn around the
neck, over the shoulder, at the waist, or on the wrist. Very powerful whistles
are hidden away from the owner's hut, of ten m the fowl-house or in a hole
in a tree.

(2) Bodymedicines (ngua kpoto). In doctoring babies a magician usually

chews up medicines and spits them on their bodies. He does this to protect
them from harm and to make them grow strong. In doctoring older persons
he makes a paste of burnt vegetable matter and oil and rubs it into incisions
made on chest and back and face.

(3) Medicines rubbed into incisions on hand and wrist (nzati). The
medicine is made of burnt vegetable matter mixed with oil. Such medicines
are those that give skill in spear-throwing and in operating the rubbing-
board oracle.

(4) Drops of an infusion (togo). Vegetable matter is burnt and the soot
mixed with water in a leaf funnel which, when squeezed, acts as a filter.

(5) Soot mixed with oil (mbiro). This is one of the most popular ways of
preparing medicine for consumption. It may then be eaten, or used as
described above in (2), (3), and (4).

(6) Cord, of ten a creeper, twisted as it is addressed in a spell by a

magician (kpira). This is sometimes done in hunting-magic, but is usually a
rite performed against an enemy.

Some Zande medicines actually do produce the effect aimed at, but so far
as I have been able to observe the Zande does not make any qualitative
distinction between these medicines and those that have no objective
consequences. To him they are all allke ngua, medicine, and all are operated
in magical rites in much the same manner. A Zande observes taboos and
addresses fish-poisons before throwing them into the water just as he
addresses a crocodile's tooth while he rubs the stems of his bananas with it
to make them grow. And the fishpoison really does paralyse the fish while,
truth to teli, the crocodile's tooth has no influence over bananas. Likewise
the milky sap of the Euphorbia candelabra is used as arrow poison. But
Azande do not merely tap the succulent. It must be given of ferings, and the
hunter addresses the sap in the same manner as he addresses some magic
unguent which he is rubbing into his wrist to ensure swiftness and sureness
in throwing his spear. Therefore, since Azande speak of , and use, medicines
which really are poisonous in the same way as medicines which are
harmless, I conclude that they do not distinguish between them.

iii

Witch-doctors eat medicines at a communal meal, as do members of

closed associations. War magic used to be made by a king in the presence of
his subjects, and other rites may sometimes be performed publicly. For
example, magic to prevent rain may be made in public at feasts when many
people are gathered together, or dose kinsmen of a dead person may witness
in company certain phases of vengeance through magical operations. But
generally magical actions concern only the welfare of an individual who
performs them in the privacy of his hut or alone in the bush. For example, a
man carries a whistle to protect himself against misfortunes, and normally
he blows it when he is alone, usually in the early morning before he makes
his ablutions.

Ali Zande ritual acts, even addresses to the ghosts, are performed with a
minimum of publicity. Good magic and bad magic alike are secretly
enacted. This is due in part to spatial distribution, for when a homestead is
far from its neighbours its owner necessarily performs most actions alone or
in the presenee of his family, unless he particularly wishes publicity.
Azande are, moreover, anxious that no one should see them making magic,
if it is for any important purpose, lest there be among those who witness the
lite a witch who will spoil the venture. Furthermore, a man does not like
others to know what medicines he possesses because they will pester him to
make magic on their behalf. Also they may recognize the root or leaves he
is using and thenceforth be able to perform magic independently. Life in
settlements has not made Azande more inclined to welcome publicity.

Secrecy in performance would not in itself have been a bar to observation

of magical rites, because I knew many Azande well enough to have been
invited to witness such activities. But rarity of performance was a more
serious obstacle. It is true that some people perform rites more of ten than
others, but the performance is never more than an occasional break in
routine activities of daily life.
 Medicines are an individual possession and, with a few exceptions, are
used at the discretion of their owner and for his own ends. The lack of
social compulsion behind magical rites, and of common interest in their
purposes, may be related to a difference of attitude towards them between
men brought up at a prince's court and men who have always led a
provincial life. Princes and courtiers use medicines far less than provincials
and are even contemptuous of much of the magic in Zande culture.

Furthermore, it is not advisable at court to know much about medicines,

other than a few old-established ones, because a man who is found to
possess a strange medicine may be suspected of sorcery.

The principal old-established medicines which are used by most

commoners of high standing at court, and even by princes themselves, are:
medicines to attract dependants; medicine of vengeance for homicide (it has
gained in prestige since direct vengeance has been prohibited by European
administrations) ; magic of lighting, principally employed to avenge theft ;
magic of invisibili ty, formerly used in prosecuting vengeance; medicines to
protect a homestead ; medicines to protect cultivations ; medicines to
protect the person against witches and sorcerers ; virili ty medicines; and a
few medicines for hunting, for doctoring gamenets, and for catching
termites. To these must be added the many medicines used in leechcraft.

Generally there is no necessity to use even these medicines, but a few

form links in social activities so that there is moral compulsion to use them.
A man must employ a magician to avenge the death of a kinsman. Also, the
use of some medicines, like certain hunting medicines, is so general and has
been customary for so long that they are compulsory in the sense of being
traditional, though not in the sense of involving social sanctions of any
weight.

Outside these principal medicines there is a vast range of lesser

medicines, many of recent introduction, which are employed for a variety of
purposes. Courtiers are suspicious of some of these, but they have little
interest in most of them.

I do not think any Zande would declare that these smaller medicines
entirely lack potency, but most men regard them as unimportant and one
sometimes sees a man trained at court, and now living in the provinces,
conducting his affairs without employing most of the medicines his
neighbours use in their pursuits.

Moreover, among men who have been brought up in similar

circumstances some are more, and some are less, superstitious about magic.
One does not have to live long among Azande before one is able to
distinguish men who are always more anxious to acquire medicines, use
them more frequently, perforai rites with greater intensity, and express
greater faith in magic than others. I have known many men who do not care
whether they possess medicines or not, and who only use them when it is
customary and then without enthusiasm.

Magicians have no great prestige in Zande society. I have not heard

people speak highly of a man because he possesses medicines. People envy
owners of vengeance-magic because this is magic that everyone must
employ, and the owners charge heavy fees for its use. But to Azande it is a
very small distinction to possess medicines to protect gardens, for hunting,
for making bananas and pumpkins fruitful, etc. Also in Zande society
political status overshadows all other distinctions.

Most magic is a male prerogative. Women sometimes act as witchdoctors

and leeches and take part in the ritual of closed associations, but most
magic is unknown to them and one does not see them wearing charms and
magic whistles like the men. This is partly because a great many medicines
are associated with male activities, e.g. hunting magic. But it is also due to
an opinion that women ought not to practise magic, which is a field
reserved for men. Magic gives power which is best in the hands of men. In
so far as women need magical protection against witchcraft and sorcery
they may rely on their husbands to perform rites for the welfare of the
family as a whole. Women are expected to use only those medicines which
are associated with purely feminine pursuits, fishing by ladling out water
from dry-season pools, salt-making, beer-brewing, etc., and with purely
feminine conditions, childbirth, abortion, menstruation, lactation, and
suchlike processes.

Owners of medicines are usually old or middle-aged men. Here again the
fact is partly to be accounted for by the greater range of social activities in
which older men engage. But there is also the opinion thàt youths, like
women, ought not to practise magic which is the privilege and concern of
their elders. Moreover, youths have no wealth with which to purchase
medicines, nor have they had the years in which to collect them.
Nevertheless, youths possess medicines which are specially employed in
youthful actions, dancing and singing, beating of drum and gong,
lovemaking, and so forth. In recent years age qualifications of status have
begun to count less and youths do not find it so difficult to acquire
medicines as before.

When a man builds a new homestead or plants his staple crop of eleusine
he may ask a friend to doctor the eleusine or the homestead for him. The
magician buries certain medicines in the homestead or cultivation.
Similarly, a man employs a magician for such purposes as exacting
vengeance, to retain stolen property, to cure sickness, and to punish
adultery. He pays for these services a small or large fee according to
custom. In such cases the owner of a medicine makes it for another and
performs himself the appropriate magical rite. He tells the medicine the
name of the man on whose behalf he is acting. He remains both owner and
operator. A prince would not make magic on behalf of others in this way,
and it is very unusual for any member of the noble class to do so.

A man may, however, obtain actual ownership of medicines and become

himself the magician who operates them. This is particularly the case with
charms and magic whistles. A man wants a whistle which he can blow to
protect himself against misfortunes, to enable him to drum well, to hunt
elephants successfully, or for some other purpose, and he asks a magician to
make him one. He pays his fee and obtains his whistle. He does not have to
inquire how it is used. Everyone knows how to blow magical whisdes and
utter spells. But he may not know the tree from which the whistle was made
; so that he becomes owner of a single whistle and not owner of the
medicine in a more complete sense.

Normally, however, when a man acquires medicines he learns their

botanical sources and thereby becomes a fully fledged magician in his own
right. Such are the magical plants which are grown in homesteads ; such are
many of the whistles and charms one sees people wearing; and such are
many bush plants and trees used for curing sickness, as safeguards against
witchcraft and sorcery, and for hunting and hoe-culture.

Very many medicines are known to all, and anyone who wishes to use
them may do so at his pleasure. Such are simple medicines used in
cultivation of food-plants, simple hunting medicines, and a number of
medicines for catching termites. Everyone knows that he can delay sunset
by placing a stone in the fork of a tree, and prevent rain from falling by a
number of simple rites. The vast majority of medicines, including the
simple drugs used in leechcraft, are widely known, since knowledge of
them is imparted without payment in virtue of parenthood, kinship, blood-
brotherhood, affinity, or friendship.

Men who possess medicines of a specialized activity, like witchdoctors

and those who practise the blacksmith's art, pass on their knowledge to one
of their sons when he learns the craft. Likewise, a man who knows valuable
medicine, like Vengeance-magic, teaches it bit by bit to a favourite son over
a long period of time, for several rare plants and other objects of ten furnish
different elements in the magical compound. Old men sometimes hand over
a treasured charm, like the whistle which gives invisibility, to a son as an
heirloom.

When a magical object changes hands a small payment is generally

made. This is more than a fee, for it is also the means of preserving the
potency of the medicine during transfer. It may lose its power unless its
owner is happy at handing it over to another man, and it will not work
unless it sees it has been paid for.

For full knowledge of a few medicines, or rather collections of

medicines, large payments must be made. These are medicines used in
vengeance-magic, medicines of witchdoctors, and medicines of closed
associations. Payment for them is usually stated by Azande to be twenty
'spears', by which is meant a few actual spears and a number of other
objects, hoes, knives, piastres, pots of beer, and baskets of eleusine. Before
a man acquirés these medicines he asks the poison oracle whether it is
advisable for him to do so.
 Purchase of the use of some medicines implies becoming a member of an
association, like the lodges of the closed associations, or of the loose
association of witchdoctors, or the still looser grouping of singers who act.
as chorus to their leader at dances. Purchase of these and of important
medicines unconnected with associations means the forging of a social link
between the purchaser and the seller. The purchaser places himself for the
time being under the tuition of the seller and each has a definite status in
relation to the other. The social link remains even after the medicines have
been finally paid for. The purchaser and pupil continues to respect the seller
and teacher and will hand him part of the proceeds of his first magical
activities. If the pupil wrongs the teacher it is said that his anger may cause
the medicine to lose its potency.

Some medicines are used only by princes and commoners of standing.

Only a prince or an important prince's deputy would use medicines to
attract followers, and only a householder would use bingiya medicine for
the general prosperity of his household, and eleusine medicine for the
welfare of his staple crop. Nevertheless, every Zande, except small
children, whether old or young, whether man or woman, is to some extent a
magician. At some time or other a mart is sure to use some or other
medicine. Throughout life men are constantly associated with medicines,
even if some do not use them much.

If a man wishes magic to be made on his behalf or to acquire possession

of medicines he has no difficulty in satisfying his desire. It is well known
who possess different medicines in a district, and these people are of ten
kinsmen of , or in some way socially linked with, the man who requires
their services.

Azande insist that magic must be proved efficacious if they are to employ
it. They say that some magicians have better magic than others, and when
they require a magician's services they choose one whose magic is known
to be efficacious. Thus the vengeance-medicines of some magicians have a
reputation for quick and decisive action, whereas the medicines of others
are said to be more dilatory in achieving vengeance.

Azande do not suppose that success in an empirical activity is due to use

of medicines, for they know that it is of ten attained without their
assistance. But they are inclined to attribute unusual success to magic.
Indeed, just as serious failure in an activity is ascribed to the influence of
witches, so great success is of ten ascribed to magic, though the notion of
success being due to magic is less emphasized because it is not expressed in
action as is the belief of failure being due to witchcraft. A man without
medicines may have great success. Then Azande say that he has had good
luck (tandu).

iv

In differentiating between good magic and sorcery, Azande do not

stigmatize the latter because it destroys the health and property of others,
brut because it flouts moral and legal rules. Good magic may be destructive,
even lethal, but it strikes only at persons who have committed a crime,
whereas bad magic is used out of spite against men who have not broken
any law or moral convention. Good medicines cannot be used for evil
purposes.

Certain medicines are classified as good, certain medicines as bad, while

about yet others there is no strong moral opinion or Azande are uncertain
whether to place them in the category of good or bad.

Any type of magic may be performed privately. Privacy is a characteristic

of all Zande magic, for Azande object to others witnessing their actions and
are always afraid lest sorcerers and witches get to know that they are
making magic and interfere with it. A man's friends and neighbours know,
or think they know, what magic he possesses. He does not try to conceal his
ownership. But sorcery is a secret rite in a very different sense. It is
performed at dead of night, for if the act is witnessed the sorcerer will
probably be slain. No one, except the fellow sorcerer who has sold him the
medicines, knows that he possesses them.

Neither by virtue of privacy in performance nor of destructive qualities is

good magic distinguished from sorcery. Indeed, bagbuduma, magic of
vengeance, is the most destructive and at the same time the most
honourable of all Zande medicines. Its purpose is typical of the purposes of
good magic in general. When a man dies Azande consider that he is a
victim of witchcraft or sorcery and they make vengeancemagic to slay the
slayer of the dead man. It is regarded as a judge which seeks out the person
who is responsible for the death, and as an executioner which slays him.
Azande say of it that 'it decides cases' and that it 'settles cases as judiciously
as princes'. Like all good magic, it acts impartially and according to the
merits of the case. Hence Azande say of a medicine either that 'it judges
equitably' (si nape zunga) or that 'it is evil medicine'.

Were a man to use a medicine like vengeancemedicine to kill out of spite

a man innocent of crime it would not only prove ineffectual but would turn
against the magician who employed it and destroy him. Azande speak of the
medicine as searching for the criminal and eventually, being unable to find
him, for he does not exist, returning to slay the man who sent it forth. At the
first stroke of sickness he will try to end its activity by throwing it into cold
water. Therefore before making vengeancemagic Azande are supposed to
seek from the poison oracle assurance that their kinsman di ed at the hands
of witch or sorcerer and not as a result of his own misdeeds through the
action of good magic. For vengeance-magic may seek in vain for a witch or
sorcerer responsible for the death and return pregnant with undelivered
judgement to destroy the magician who sent it forth and who wears the
girdle of mourning.

Good magic with destructive functions of this kind only acts against
criminals. When a crime is expiated, it is necessary to destroy the magic
quickly before it does injury to the magician. A man loses some article,
perhaps an axe, perhaps a bundle of marriage-spears. He hastens to erect a
little shelter under which he either buries medicines in the ground or hangs
them from the roof of the shelter. As he does so he utters a spell to cause
them to seek for his possessions and to punish the man who has stolen
them.

May misfortune come upon you, thunder roar, seize you, and kill you.
May a snake bite you so that you die. May death come upon you from
ulcers. May you die if you drink water. May every kmd of sickness trouble
you. May the magic hand you over to the Europeans so that they will
imprison you and you will perish in their prison. May you not survive this
year. May every kind of trouble fall upon you. If you eat cooked foods may
you die. When you stand in the centre of the net, hunting animals, may your
friend spear you in mistake.
 I wish to emphasize that to a Zande the whole idea of pe zunga is
equivalent to the carrying out of justice in the sense in which we use the
expression in our own society. Magic used against persons can only receive
the moral and legai sanction of the community if it acts regularly and
impartially.

Sorcery, on the other hand, does not give judgements (si na penga zunga
te). It is not only bad medicine but also stupid medicine, for it does not
judge an issue between persons but slays one of the parties to a dispute
without regard to the merits of the case. It is a personal weapon aimed at
some individual whom the sorcerer dislikes.

Good magic is moral because it is used against unknown persons. For if a

man knows who has committed adultery with his wife or stolen his spears
or killed his kinsman he takes the matter to court. There is no need to make
magic. It is only when he does not know who has committed a crime that he
uses good magic against unknown persons. Bad magic, on the other hand, is
made against definite persons, and for this reason it is evidently bad,
because if the person against whom it is used had injured the magician in
any way recognized by law the matter would have been taken to court and
damages claimed. It is only because the sorcerer has no legai case against a
man that he uses magic to destroy him.

It is very difficult to obtain information about sorcery, for Azande

consider possession of bad medicines to be a serious crime. You will never
meet a Zande who prof esses himself a sorcerer, and they do nòt like even
to discuss the subject lest it be thought that the knowledge they have of it
comes from practice. They may in strict privacy cast suspicion on someone,
but it is always the vaguest of hints, qualified at the same time by
expression of ignorance about the whole matter. A man can sometimes
show you in the bush a plant which some people say may be used by
sorcerers. He may tell you the way in which it is said that sorcerers work
their rites. He may be able to tell you how certain persons have been slain
by sorcery. The subject is very obscure, and the question arises whether
sorcerers exist any more than witches.
 The most feared of all bad medicine, and the one most of ten cited as
cause of sickness, is menzere. It is probably derived from an arboreal
parasite. The sorcerer goes by night, generally at full moon, to the
homestead of his victim and places the medicine on his threshold, in the
centre of his homestead, or in the path leading to it. As he does so he utters
a spell over it. It is said that if he succeeds in slaying his enemy he will
mourn for him by wearing a girdle of bingba grass for several days after his
death. If the sorcerer neglects this rite he may fall sick. The girdle would
not lead to his detection because men of ten mourn for a few days after the
death of distant relatives.

Menzere is so potent a medicine that should any man for whom it is not
intended step over it he will be ill for a while though he will not die. There
are many antidotes to menzere, and a man who knows these is sent for
immediately a man suspects he is attacked by it. Menzere is regarded with
abhorrence by all. Azande have always told me that in the past those who
killed men with witchcraft were generally allowed to pay compensation, but
that those who killed men by sorcery were invariably put to death, and
probably their kinsmen also.

Besides the various medicines that are eaten to counteract menzere an

informant described the following way of protecting oneself against it :

If sorcery is made against a man, namely, the menzere medicine, he goes

to a muchfrequented crossroads and there kneels and scratches up the earth
with his hand. He addresses the centre of the path, saying:

'You, menzere, inside me, which a man has made against me, I scratch the
centre of the path on your account. If it is menzere may it follow all paths ;
may it go as far as Wau, may it go as far as Tembura, may it go also as far
as Meridi. When the medicine has followed every path which I have trod
when I was small, then, when it has finished all the journeys, let it kill me.
If it does not follow me everywhere I have been may it not kill me. let me
live in spite of it.'

The soul (mbisimo) of a medicine cannot travel so long and so far and
therefore is prevented from killing the man'wbo utters this spell.
 There are a few bad medicines besides menzere. One that dates from the
time of Gbudwe is a parasi tic plant call ed mbimi gbarà. Today hairs of the
antbear are said to be used to kill people. They have a spell uttered over
them and are afterwards placed in a man's beer to slay him. They cause his
neck and tongue to swell, and if an antidote is not administered he will
quickly die.

Not only homicidal medicines are illegal but also medicines which
corrupt legai procedure and which destroy a man's happiness and interfere
with his family relations. Magic which influences the poison oracle in its
verdicts is sorcery. Azande also condemn medicines which are used to
break up a man's household, either out of malice or with the further object
of obtaining his wife in marriage. After the sorcerer has made this magic at
night in the homestead of his victim the contentment of its inmates is
destroyed and husband and wife begin to quarrel and divorce may result.

Even powerful krngs are frightened about sorcery, indeed, they more than
anyone. A prince does not expect that he will be killed by a commoner
witch. His enemies are other nobles, and it is not said that they bewitch one
another. But they may kill by sorcery, and nobles frequently accuse one
another of this intention.

Sometimes an important commoner will consult the oracle on behalf of

his prince about a gift from another prince, for Azande, especially princes,
are of ten suspicious about gifts, fearing that they may be the medium of
sorcery.

vi

It should be noted that Azande know of very few medicines which come
definitely under the heading of sorcery, whereas their good medicines àre
legion. The reason for this would seem to be that the vast majority of
situations in which the interests of men are injured or threatened are
associated with witchcraft and not with sorcery, and of ten an event
attributed to sorcery may equally be attributed to witchcraft, e.g. failure of
the poison oracle to function normally or family disruption. Indeed, the
concept of sorcery appears to be redundant, a fact that itself invites
historical explanation. We know that many of their magical techniques are
recently acquired from neighbouring peoples.

After weighing the evidence, I am still doubtful whether bad medicines—

or sorcerers—really exist. Notions of sorcery, like notions of witchcraft, are
evoked in special situations and only by certain persons. If a man falls
suddenly sick his friends may say that someone has made sorcery against
him, but other people think that he has probably committed some secret
crime and brought magic of vengeance on himself. A man falls suddenly ill
after a beerparty. He and his kinsmen are convinced that someone put a hair
of the antbear in his beer. The owner of the beer is convinced that the man
is a witch who came in the guise of a bat to destroy his eleusine. A man
starts to quarrel with his wife and thinks that it is due to gbarawasi
medicine. Other people say that it is due to his stupidity. The owner of bad
oracle poison may attribute its failure to sorcery. Others may think it more
likely that the owner has broken a taboo.

My reasons for thinking that such medicines as menzere are imaginary

are as follows: (i) No one has, to my knowledge, admitted ownership of
such medicines. I cannot therefore say more than that Azande allege the use
of such medicines by certain people. (2) Azande are unable to produce
many instances of persons being punished for sorcery and are unable in
these cases to adduce evidence of guilt other than that furnished by the
poison oracle. The verdict of oracles is usually the sole proof of sorcery. (3)
Sudden and violent sickness is diagnosed as sorcery and treated
accordingly. The sickness is the sorcery and the proof of it. Likewise, a sof t
chancre, household unrest, death after beer-drinking are diagnosed as moti,
gbarawasi, and garawa. No further proof is required, since the nature of
these misfortunes demonstrates their cause, and if further proof is produced
it is oracular revelation. (4) The technique of sorcery is so unlike the
techniques of other forms of magic that were an informant to describe rites
like those for menzere and gbarawasi as rites of good magic I would regard
them as aberrant forms and would hesitate before accepting them as
genuine. (5) Even when medicines are discovered, as in the case cited
above, I do not consider the evidence to be conclusive because there is no
means, other than by oracular verdicts, of determining their nature. Even
had a man placed medicines where they were discovered for innocent
purposes he would have been too frightened in such incriminating
circumstances to have admitted his ownership of them. (6) The use of good
magic against unknown persons makes it difficult for people to see that
magic has no direct effects, but it would be very obvious to a sorcerer that
his rites produced no result against a definite person, and I cannot imagine
that he would persevere in his practice.

Some bad medicines may exist, but I am not convinced of their existence.
I incline rather to the view that whereas subjectively there is a clear division
of magic into good and bad, objectively there are only medicines which
men use when they consider that they have good grounds for employing
them. If this view is correct the difference between witchcraft and sorcery is
the difference between an alleged act that is impossible and an alleged act
that is possible.

Another reason why the problem of sorcery is difficult is the existence of

a large body of magic about which opinion is divided and ill-defined. It is
thus possible for a magician to say that his magic is used only for legitimate
purposes, while others are sceptical about its morality.

The moral issue is also very confused, because in any quarrel both sides
are convinced that they are in the right. The man who has been left behind
on a hunting expedition, the man who has failed to obtain favourable
exchange, the man who has had his wife taken from him, all believe that
they have genuine grievances. The members of the hunting expedition, the
owner of the goods, the parents of the girl, are all convinced of their
rectitude. The man who has ulcers sees nothing wrong in getting rid of them
on someone else. The man who gets ulcers considers that he has been
improperly treated. A man getting a chancre says he has been made a
cuckold, but when his neighbour gets a chancre he says he is an adulterer.
Each twists the notions of his culture so that they will suit himself in a
particular situation. The notions do not bind everyone to identical beliefs in
a given situation, but each exploits them to his own advantage.

Besides these medicines which are regarded as criminal or legai

according to the purposefor which they are used, there are many less
important medicines which in no way concern moral opinion. Azande have
no moral feelings about the vast majority of their medicines. They are the
means of an individual obtaining success in a variety of economic and
social undertakings. If you ask a Zande about them he will say that they are
good medicines. Otherwise you will find that they are taken for granted,
and that among Azande themselves they are not explicitly pronounced good
or bad medicines, but merely medicines. This is true also of a number of
magical rites which would appear to us to injure others unfairly, but since
the damage they cause is slight they are not the object of social
condemnation. The Zande attitude towards them is non-moral.

A further difficulty arises today owing to the importation of new magic,

whose qualities are unknown. In the old days there appear to have been two
clearly distinguished categories, good medicines and bad medicines. Ali
major magic could be placed in one of these two categories. Public opinion
was only ill— defined about minor rites. But a great number of medicines
have been introduced into Zandeland in the last thirty years, and people
knowing nothing about them are afraid of them. The old Zande medicines
were culturally indicated as good or bad without ambiguity. But who can
say what the qualities of Baka, Bongo, Mundu and Madi medicines maybe?
The moral issue has become confused because Zande culturejdoes not
prescribe a definite attitude towards them.

It may also be noted that Azande fear sorcery far more than they fear
witchcraft which, as I have already pointed out, evokes anger rather than
fear. This may be due partly to the serious symptoms it produces in sickness
and partly to the absence of machinery for countering it as adequate as that
employed against witches. Indeed, today, apart from administering an
antidote or making counter-magic, nothing can be done to stop an act of
sorcery. It is possible to get a witch to blow out water in sign of goodwill,
interpreted as innocence by himself and as withdrawal of his influence by
the bewitched party ; but it would be necessary to get a sorcerer to cancel
his magic by further magical operations. No one would do this because to
show knowledge of the manner in which sorcery can be cancelled would be
to admit to the crime of sorcery. Accusations in the old days must have been
infrequent, and Azande say that sorcerers were rare.

vii
 Azande attribute nearly all sickness, whatever the nature, to witchcraft or
sorcery: it is these forces that must be worsted in order to cure a serious
illness. This does not mean that Azande entirely disregard secondary causes
but, in so far as they recognize these, they generally think of them as
associated with witchcraft and magic. Nor does their reference of sickness
to supernatural causes lead them to neglect treatment of symptoms any
more than their reference of death on the horns of a buffalo to witchcraft
causes them to await its onslaught. On the contrary, they possess an
enormous pharmacopoeia (I have myself collected almost a hundred plants,
used to treat diseases and lesions, along the sides of a path for about two
hundred yards), and in ordinary circumstances they trust to drugs to cure
their ailments and only take steps to remove the primary and supernatural
causes when the disease is of a serious nature or takes an alarming turn.

Azande know diseases by their major ..symptoms. Hence when

symptoms develop they are able to diagnose them as signs of a certain
disease and to tell you its name. The very fact of naming diseases and
differentiating them from one another by their symptoms shows observation
and commonsense ,inference. Azande are of ten skilled in the detection of
early symptoms, and our own doctors have told me that they seldom err in
diagnosing early leprosy. They are naturally much less sure in diagnosing
diseases affecting internai organs such as the intestines, the liver, and the
spleen. They know beforehand the normal course of a disease as soon as its
symptoms are pronounced. They of ten know what the later symptoms will
be, and whether the patient is likely to live or die, and how long he is likely
to live. Likewise they know what infìrmities are permanent. Besides their
ability to give a prognosis, they can also tell you the aetiology of disease;
and though their notions of causes are generally far from objective reality
they recognize different causes as participating with witchcraft to produce
different illnesses. Moreover, the participating cause of ten cannot help
being the true one as in cuts, scalds, burns, bites, chiggers, etc., and they are
aware of facts such as that syphilis and gonorrhoea are preceded by sexual
intercourse with an affected person. They use their drugs by trial and error ;
if one does not alleviate pain they try another. Moreover, almost every
disease is not only diagnosed, its probable course foretold, and its relation
to a cause defined, but also each disease has its own individual treatment,
which in some cases has evidently been built up on experience and in other
cases, though it is probably quite ineffectual, shows a logico-experimental
element.

In spite of these empirical elements in Zande treatment of minor

ailments, my own experience has been that Zande remedies are of an almost
completely magical order. Moreover, it must not be supposed that where
part of a treatment is of real therapeutic value it is necessarily the part
which Azande stress as vital to the cure. I had a good example of the
manner in which magical and empirical treatments are employed at the
same time when a boy who formed part of my household was bitten by a
snake which» was said to be very poisonous. One of our neighbours who
was known to have a vast knowledge of drugs was immediately sent for and
said that he knew exactly what was required. He brought with him a knife
and some drugs (a piece of bark and some kind of grass). He first chewed
some of the bark and gave the remainder to the boy to chew. After
swallowing the juice both spat out the wood. They did the same with the
grass. The leech told me afterwards that he partook of the medicine himself
so that were the boy to die he could not well be accused of having
administered bad medicine to him. He also told me that he had addressed
the bark, saying that if the boy were going to recover let him belch, that if
he were to die let him refrain from belching, so that the drug had an
oracular action. Having administered these drugs he made incisions on the
boy's foot, where he had been bitten, by raising the skin between his fingers
and drawing the biade of his knife across it with several light strokes. As
soon as blood began to ooze out of the cuts he took the foot in his hands
and, raising it to his mouth, sucked at the incisions forcibly and for some
time. He then said that the boy was to be kept perfectly quiet and
admonished him not to move about. After a while the boy began to belch on
account of the drugs he had eaten, and on seeing this happy augury the
leech no longer had any doubt that he would speedily recover.

When a Zande suffers from a mild ailment he doctors himself. There are
always older men of his kin or vicinity who will tell him a suitable drug to
take. If his ailment does not disappear he visits a witchdoctor. In more
serious sickness a man's kin consult without delay first the rubbing-board
oracle and then the poison oracle, or, if they are poor, the termites oracle.
Generally they ask it two questions—firstly, where is a safe place for the
sick man to live and, secondly, who is the witch responsible for his
sickness. The results of these consultations are the procedures described in
Chapter III, the removal of the invalid to a grass hut in the bush or at the
edge of cultivations, unless the oracle advises that he be left in his
homestead, and a public warning to the people of the neighbourhood that
the witch must cease to molest the sick man, or a formai presentation of a
fowl's wing to the witch himself that he may blow water on to it. Or they
may summon witchdoctors to dance about the man's sickness.

At the same time they apply some remedy. If they know from the
symptoms or from the declaration of the oracle that the sickness is caused
by good or bad magic a specialist who knows the antidote is sent for
without delay, and he administers a drug specific to the magic. If the
sickness is due to witchcraft they combine efforts to persuade the witch to
leave the patient in peace with the administration of drugs to treat the actual
symptoms of the disease. Here again some old men who know the right
drugs for the particular ailment will of fer their services. It is generally
known who are authorities on drugs and the relatives summon one of these
men to treat their kinsman. The leech may or may not be a witchdoctor. If
he is not he will probably attend the patient free of charge for reasons of
friendship, kinship, blood-brotherhood, affinity, or of some other social
link. No treatment, however, will prove efficacious if a witch is still
attacking the sick man and, vice versa, the treatment is sure to be successful
if the witch withdraws his influence.

Azande frequently summon a witchdoctor to treat them by massage, the

extraction of 'objects of witchcraft' from the seat of pain, and by
administration of drugs. But they do not like to send for a witchdoctor
unless sickness is diagnosed as serious, because it is necessary to pay for
his services. It is usually the presence of more or less severe pain that
persuades them to take that course. Nevertheless, we must remember in
describing the Zande classification of diseases and their treatment that the
notion of witchcraft as a participant in their origin may always be
expressed, and that if Azande do not always and immediately consult their
oracles to find out the witch that is responsible it is because they consider
the sickness to be of a minor character and not worth the trouble and
expense of oracle consultations.
 But in serious illness there is always a tendency to identify the disease
with witchcraft or sorcery, and in less serious complaints to identify it with
its symptoms which are participating with witchcraft to cause pain. In
sickness which is attributed to the activity of the disease itselfand to
witchcraft at the same time, it is always the presence or absence of
witchcraft which determines the patient's death or recovery. Hence the more
serious the disease becomes the less they trouble about administering drugs
and the more they consult oracles and make countermagic. At death the
thoughts of a dead man's kindred are directed only towards witchcraft and
revenge, to purely mystical causation, while in minor ailments or at the
early symptoms of an illness from which a man may be expected to recover
without difficulty they think less of witchcraft and more of the disease itself
and of curing it by the use óf drugs. Supernatural causes are never excluded
entirely from Zande thought about sickness, but they are sometimes more,
sometimes less, prominent. If they are not always and immediately evoked,
as when the sickness is slight or the means of treating it adequate and
known to be unfailingly efficacious, they are always ready at hand to be
evoked when a man has need of them. When his ailment begins to cause
him more trouble the Zande begins to talk about witchcraft but does not
perform any rites to counteract its influence. Only when it becomes serious
does he start anti-witchcraft operations.

viii

Although Zande medicines cannot be neatly classified into mutually

exclusive categories of productive, protective and punitive magic, the
categories do correspond to three aspects of most Zande magic, and one of
these purposes may be stressed, in the use of a certain medicine or in a
certain situation, rather than the other two. A man makes magic to ensure a
plentiful harvest of bananas, but though we might class the rite as
productive magic, we must bear in mind that Azande would attribute
serious failure of their banana harvest to witchcraft. When more important
crops are being treated Azande usually uttér a long spell over them, and the
protective and punitive action of the medicine is clearly stated in its clauses.
When a man employs a magician to bury medicines in his threshold to
protect his home against sorcery and witchcraft he trusts to its protective
power to destroy sorcerers and witches who intend him ill. But the medicine
is also asked to ensure the peace and prosperi ty of the householder and his
family. The spells said over such medicines are therefore couched in the
form of incantations against witches. Generally speaking, Zande magic
works towards its ends by preventing mystical interference, usually in the
form of a threat of punishment to its authors.

I wish to make this point very clear because we shall not understand
Zande magic, and the differences between ritual behaviour and empirical
behaviour in the lives of Azande, unless we realize that its main purpose is
to combat other mystical powers rather than to produce changes favourable
to man in the objective world. Thus, medicines employed to ensure a fine
harvest of eleusine are not so much thought to stimulate the eleusine as to
keep witches away from it. The eleusine will be all right if witchcraft can be
excluded.

How do Azande think their medicines work? They do not think very
much about the matter. It is an accepted fact that the more potent medicines
achieve their purposes. The best proof of this is experience, particularly the
mystical evidence of oracular revelations. Nevertheless, Azande see that the
action of medicines is unlike the action of empirical techniques and that
there is something mysterious about it that has to be accounted for. It must
be remembered that a man who is a magician is also well acquainted with
the technical operations of arts and crafts. A man makes vengeancemagic
and it kills a witch. What is happening between these two events? Azande
say that the mbisimo ngua, 'the soul of the medicine', has gone out to seek
its victim.

The virtue of a medicine is sometimes spoken of as its soul, and is

believed to rise in steam and smoke when it is being cooked. Therefore
people place their faces in the steam so that the magical virtue may enter
into them. Likewise, Azande say that when they cook vengeance-medicines
the soul of the medicine goes up in the smoke from the fire and from on
high surveys the neighbourhood for the witch it goes forth to seek.

To what extent have Azande faith in magic? I have found that they
always admit that the issue of a rite is uncertain. No one can be sure that his
medicines will achieve the results aimed at. There is never the same degree
of confidence as in routine empirical activities. Nevertheless, Azande are
usually confident that vengeance-magic will be successful. This assurance
is not due solely to the importance of the end aimed at and the influence of
public opinion which forces kinsmen of a dead person to make repeated and
prolonged efforts to avenge his death, but is due also to the test of
experience. The test of magic is experience. Therefore the proof of magical
potency is always to be found in the occurrence of those events it is
designed to promote or cause.

Azande can point to the fact that people are frequently dying, that
invariably an effort is made to avenge them, and that it is very rare for such
efforts to fail. The confirmation of its success is here of a mystical order,
being oracular declarations. When making magic against a thief they have
of ten more direct evidence of the potency of medicines—at least, so it
seems, because in reality they have proof only of general belief in the
potency of theft-medicines. For most Azande can give instances of stolen
property having been returned after magic was made to avenge the theft,
and I have observed that this sometimes happens.

But Azande think that a determined thief who has lost all sense of honour
will not be awed by protective medicines. Probably he will trust to antidotes
to save himself. He may remove and destroy the medicines. He may hope
that the medicines will take so long in looking for him that the owner of the
property will become tired of observing taboos and recall it. He may take
the chance of being punished by magic since earlier thefts have not brought
on him retribution. Nevertheless, they say that it is very foolish to steal and
run the risk of dying from magic, and when I have asked them what proof
they have that thieves are so punished they have made some such reply as,
'There have been many thefts this year. There have also been many deaths
from dysentery. It would seem that many debts have been settled through
dysentery.'

Magic may be an alternative to empirical means of attaining an end, but

it is not so satisfactory a method. It was better in the old days, when a witch
either paid compensation or was slain with a spear, than it is today when
one must make magic to kill him. Magic may give a greater measure of
success to an undertaking than would have been obtained without its use.
Thus, as was noted earlier, natural conditions and human knowledge of
them, and skill in exploiting them, ensure a harvest of termites. The use of a
magical technique is secondary to the use of an empirical technique. It
cannot normally replace it. It is an aid rather than a substitute.

It may be asked why Azande do not perceive the futility of their magic. It
would be easy to write at great length in answer to this question, but I will
content myself with suggesting as shortly as possible a number of reasons.

( 1 ) Magic is very largely employed against mystical powers, witchcraft,

and sorcery. Since its action transcends experience it cannot easily be
contradicted by experience.

(2) Witchcraft, oracles, and magic form an intellectually coherent system.

Each explains and proves the others. Death is proof of witchcraft. It is
avenged by magic. The achievement of vengeancemagic is proved by the
poison oracle. The accuracy of the poison oracle is determined by the king's
oracle, which is above suspicion.

(3) Azande of ten observe that a medicine is unsuccessful, but they do not
generalize their observations. Therefore the failure of a single medicine
does not teach them that all medicines of this type are foolish. Far less does
it teach them that all magic is useless.

(4) Scepticism, far from being smothered, is recognized, even inculcated.

But it is only about certain medicines and certain magicians. By contrast it
tends to support other medicines and magicians.

(5) The results which magic is supposed to produce actually happen after
rites are performed. vengeance-magic is made and a man dies. hunting-
magic is made and animals are speared.

(6) Contradictions between their beliefs are not noticed by Azande

because the beliefs are not all present at the same time but function in
different situations. They are therefore not brought into opposition.

(7) Each man and kinship group acts without cognizance of the actions of
others. People do not pool their ritual experiences. For one family a death is
the starting-point of vengeance, while for another family the same death is
the conclusion of vengeance. In the one case the dead man is believed to
have been slain by a witch. In the other case he is himself a witch who has
fallen a victim to vengeance-magic.

(8) A Zande is born into a culture with ready-made patterns of belief

which have the weight of tradition behind them. Many of his beliefs being
axiomatic, a Zande finds it difficult to understand that other peoples do not
share them.

(9) The experience of an individual counts for little against accepted

opinion. If it contradicts a belief this does not show that the belief is
unfounded, but that the experience is peculiar or inadequate.

(10) The failure of any rite is accounted for in advance by a variety of

mystical notions—e.g. witchcraft, sorcery, and taboo. Hence the perception
of error in one mystical notion in a particular situation merely proves the
correctness of another and equally mystical notion.

(11) Magic is only made to produce events which are likely to happen in
any case—e.g. rain is produced in the rainy season and held up in the dry
season : pumpkins and bananas are likely to flourish—they usually do so.

(12) Not too much is claimed for magic. Generally, in the use of
productive magic it is only claimed that success will be greater by the use
of magic than it would have been if no magic had been used. It is not
claimed that without the aid of magic a man must fail—e.g. a man will
catch many termites, even though he does not use termite-medicines.

(13) Magic is seldom asked to produce a result by itself, but is associated

with empirical action that does in fact produce it—e.g. a prince gives food
to attract followers and does not rely on magic alone.

( 14) Men are sometimes compelled to perform magic as part of their

social obligations—e.g. to use vengeancemagic on the death of a kinsman.

(15) Success is of ten expressed in terms of magic—e.g. a successful

hunter gets a reputation for magic. People therefore attribute his success to
his magic whether he possesses medicines or not.

(16) Political authority supports vengeance-magic.

 (17) Azande do not possess sufficient knowledge to understand the real
causes of things—e.g. germination of crops, disease, etc. Having no clocks,
they cannot perceive that placing a stone in a tree in no way retards sunset.
Moreover, they are not experimentally inclined.

(18) Not being experimentally inclined, they do not test the efficacy of
their medicines.

(19) There are always stories circulating which tell of the achievement of
magic. A man's belief is backed by other people's experience contained in
these stories.

(20) Most Zande medicines come to them from foreign peoples, and
Azande believe that foreigners know much more about magic than they do.

(21) The place occupied by the more important medicines in a sequence

of events protects them from exposure as frauds. Magic is made against
unknown witches, adulterers, and thieves. On the death of a man the poison
oracle determines whether he died as a victim to the magic. If the oracles
were first consulted to discover the criminal, and then magic were made
against him, the magic would soon be seen to be unsuccessful.

(22) Zande beliefs are generally vaguely formulated. A belief to be easily

contradicted by experience and to be easily shown to be out of harmony
with other beliefs must be clearly stated and intellectually developed—e.g.
the Zande concept of a soul of medicine is so vague that it cannot clash with
experience.

[Link]
CHAPTER XII

An Association for the Practice of Magic

Most of the magical practices which I have so far mentioned are

individual rites performed by individual practitioners, either singly and for
private purposes or on behalf of , and in the presence of , a client. Such is
one of the characteristics of Zande magic. But during the first two decades
of the present century a number of associations have arisen for the practice
of magic in assemblies. They show all the qualities of associations :
organization, leadership, grades, fees, rites of initiation, esoteric vocabulary
and greetings, and so forth. Their purpose is the performance of magical
rites, and their actions conform to patterns of magic in Zandeland: plant-
medicines, rambling spells, mild taboos, blowing of whistles, cooking of
medicines, etc.

Whilst caution is desirable in trying to account for the introduction of

closed associations into Zandeland, we may commit ourselves to the
statement that they were not only introduced after European conquest of the
country, but also are functions of European rule and a sign of breakdown of
tradition.

Ali the associations are of foreign origin and none formed part of Zande
culture in the Sudan forty years ago. Even today they are not incorporated
into Zande social organization and may be regarded as subterranean and
subversive. They are indicative of wide and deep social change.

I shall describe only of these closed associations, and I have chosen Mani
because it is the one about which I know most. I can say without hesitation
that Mani is typical of these associations and that the others differ from it
only in the medicines they use, in the stress they lay on a particular purpose
out of a number of common purposes, and in peculiarities of initiatory rites.
In their organization and actions they conform monotonously to a single
pattern.
 My knowledge of the Mani association was acquired in circumstances
unfavourable to observation and record. It is slight, but I do not think that
there is much to record that I have not noted. There were three sources of
information at my disposal. Firstly, laymen gave me their opinions about
the morality of the association and told me something about its history and
organization. Secondly, members described to me its rites. I refrain from
mentioning their names as membership is illegai. Thirdly, I joined a lodge
myself and attended a few assemblies. Since the Government of the
AngloEgyptian Sudan has declared the association illegal and punishes its
members, I was not able to make full use of these sources in a thorough
investigation. I had to dig beneath the surface for most of the facts recorded
in this section. Suppression has, Moreover, changed the social character of
the association.

I want to make it quite clear that direct observations and inquiries

through informants were inadequate and not of the same quantity and
quality as those on which the rest of the book is based, and also that the
ritual of the association does not play nearly so important a part in the life
of the people as the customs I have so far described. I have several times
emphasized that witchcraft, magic, witchdoctors, and oracles form a system
of reciprocalìy dependent ideas and practices. None could be left out of my
account without seriously distorting the others. But were I to omit a
description of the closed associations it would not be of great consequence.
If they had not been penalized the associations might have become stable
institutions. As it is', they strike one as foreign and abnormal modes of
behaviour.

ii

When Mani first entered the Sudan its members used to meet in lodges in
the bush, but these are no longer built. They met in the bush because in a
homestead the medicines might have been polluted, and not because they
wished to hide the lodge from the notice of their prince. A lodge consisted
of a miniature hut and a cleared circular space in front of it. The hut was
erected to shelter the medicines, which were kept in a pot resting on three
short thick stakes driven into the ground. Here the pot remained between
assemblies and became filled with spiders' webs which were boiled with the
medicines to increase their potency. Sometimes they built a small shrine
like the shrines erected in honour of the ghosts and placed the medicinepot
on it, but members of the association say that their rites do not concern the
ghosts. Members sat on the cleared circular space during the rites and
afterwards danced there the Mani dances. The lodge was situated near a
stream, as immersion in water was part of a novice's initiation.

Today meetings take place in homesteads late at night in a hut, or, where
there is a palisade, under the shelter of a veranda. The small space at their
disposai compels the members to sit huddled together, and when the other
rites are finished they dance sof tly in the centre of the homestead. The
medicinepot is placed on three thin stakes which are removed after each
assembly and hidden till the next meeting.

At the head of every lodge is a man called boro basa or gbia ngua, 'Man
of the Lodge' or 'Master of the Medicines'. I will refer to him as lodgeleader.
He obtains his title by purchase of medicines from another lodgeleader. He
pays him spears, knives, piastres, pots of beer, and so forth. As is the case
with transference of other Zande medicines, it is desirable that the owner
shall be well pleased with the gifts made him lest his illwill should cause
the medicines to lose their power. The medicines are not bought and sold all
at once, but are transferred one by one over a considerable period and each
in return for a payment. The owner shows the purchaser magical plants and
trees in the bush, shows him the correct type of bulb to plant near his
ghostshrine in his homestead, and supplies him with a magic whistle. When
he knows all the necessary medicines the purchaser pays the owner to build
a little hut to house them in his lodge. He now starts a lodge of his own, but
is expected to make occasionai gifts to the owner of the medicines from the
proceeds of his lodge activities. Magic of this type cannot be handed over
simply as a gift from relative to relative or from friend to friend because
unless the medicines see that they have been bought they will lose their
power. Their owner must have a title by purchase.

A lodgeleader receives wealth by selling knowledge of his medicines to

others in the manner described. He also gets fees from laymen who wish to
become members of the association, though he is expected to share these
with their sponsors and with his lodge of ficials. He is made small presents
by junior members of the association when they wish to stir and address the
medicines about their affairs, for this is a privilege that must be paid for.
Members who wish to enter a higher grade buy their seniority from the
lodgeleader who, in return, shows them new medicines. He has ateo a large
rubbing-board oracle called yanda which he uses, on receipt of a small
present, on behalf of members who have reached the highest grade in the
association.

A leader has very little authority. His position is due solely to his
knowledge of magic and is maintained by fear of his medicines, by the rules
of the association, and by the Zande's invariable devotion to discipline and
authority in social life on the pattern of his political institutions. Organizing
ability, character, and prestige in the locality ateo count for something.
Public opinion in the lodge insists on decorum and obedience to authority in
matters pertaining to the association.

Besides the leader, each lodge has a few minor of ficiate : the kenge, the
uze, and thtfurushi. The kenge, so called after the thin stakes on which the
medicinepot rests, is next senior to the leader, and, as he of ten knows the
medicines, he is sent into the bush by the leader to gather them. It is his
duty to erect the thin stakes, to place the medicines in a pot on the fire, and
to cook them. I shall speak of him as the cook. The uze is so called after the
stick with which the medicines are stirred in the pot, and he alone may eat
them on the end of the stick. It is his duty to assist in stirring the medicines,
to hand them round to other members in the lodge, and to see that everyone
observes the rules and pays attention to the proceedings. I shall speak of
him as the stirrer. There is ateo sometimes an official called furushi, from
the Arabie word for policeman. He is told to guard the lodge from
interruption and spying, and to assist the stirrer in maintaining order. I shall
speak of him as the sentry. None of these officiate is important. The
functions of each are not rigidly restricted to the holder, and in his absence
any other person can perform them. The of fices are no more than slightly
privileged positions in the lodge held by senior members. Members of the
association are usually called Aboro Mani, 'People of Mani', to distinguish
them from fio, laymen. They eat the medicines of f the tips of their little
fingers. You can discover whether a man is a member of the. association by
an exchange of secret formulae. Members also have their special greetings,
but it is rare for these to be used outside the lodge.
 There are various grades in the association. A man enters new grades by
purchase of new magic. A member of Water Mani can be initiated into the
grade of Bluebead Mani and then into the grade of Night Mani, or Cutthroat
Mani as it is also called because it breaks the neck of a person who injures
anyone who has partaken of the medicines. There is another grade called
Thunder Mani because the sanction behind the medicine is thunder. Though
I speak of the types of Mani as grades they have little hierarchical
organization and are not much more than different medicines which a man
acquires from time to time. Since, however, the acquisition of new
medicines by purchase is of ten accompanied by further rites of initiation,
and since a man's position in the lodge depends on the number and potency
of the medicines he has eaten, we may speak of grades in the association.

What happens is that people now and again bring new Mani medicines
from either Azande of the Congo or directly from some foreign people. A
man introduces a new medicine into his lodge, and, being new, it attracts
the members, some of whom are prepared to purchase it. Those who have
purchased it thus become graded from those who have not partaken of it.
The medicine is then diffused from the lodge of the man who introduced it
to other lodges and a grade in the association comes into being. Purchase of
new medicine in this way is of ten accompanied by a simple rite of
initiation. Thus a man who purchases Fire mani has to wriggle like a snake
under hoops placed dose to the ground towards the medicines in a pot on
the fire, and when a man purchases Dysentery mani, so called because
anyone who injures the partakers of it will suffer from dysentery, he has to
crawl through high hoops. Azande say that these grades have come into
being through love of gain, for a man who brings a new Mani medicine
from a foreign country is likely to make a little wealth while its novelty
persists, and he sells it cheaply to tempt purchasers. Consequently many
people acquire it, and the more widely owned it becomes the less people
value it. This flux is typical of the changes taking place the whole time in
Zande magic. Often a closed association loses its popularity, its members
join a new association with the attraction of novelty, and the old one
remains only a memory. This has not yet happened to Mani.

iii
 I will now summarize what happens at an assembly of a lodge when a
novice is introduced to the association. I shall first describe the present-day
procedure and afterwards show how the old ritual differs from it.

It is arranged that a man shall be initiated at the next meeting. Medicines

are collected in advance by the lodgeleader or by one of his subordinates
and the magical apparatus of stakes, withies, and creepers are gathered and
set in position.

When all is ready his sponsor takes the novice by the hand and leads him
from where they have been awaiting orders, some distance away, to the
lodge, which today is generally a space under the veranda of a hut in an
ordinary homestead, used temporarily for the rites of the association. As the
novice is led forward he holds a long oval leaf over his eyes. Sometimes the
old custom is still maintained of dropping a little liquid into his eyes which
causes the novice a certain amount of pain and prevents him from seeing
clearly for a while. On his way to the lodge his future comrades hide behind
trees on the route and imitate the cries of lions and leopards, and he is told
that there is a snake in the hut to which he is going. When they reach the
place of the ceremony the leaf is removed from his eyes and he is greeted in
the special language of the association.

The novice sees a fire in the background and between him and the fire
two wooden hoops joined by a branch tied from the top of one to the top of
the other, the hoops and this horizontal bough being twined with various
creepers. He goes down on hands and knees and crawls under this structure
from one end to the other and then back again. He repeats this performance
four times, and each time as he emerges at one end the people seated there
turn him round in the opposite direction. The reason given for this rite is
that it fixes the medicine in the novice and prevents him from receiving its
virtues superficially. He then goes and sits in front of the fire, which is
separated from him by a pile of leaves, and is warned not to divulge the
secrets of the association. He is admonished to obey the leader of the lodge,
to behave with decorum during the meetings, and not to use the lodge for
fornication or adultery. He is told what taboos he must observe and is given
other instructions partly by direct admonition and partly in rambling spells.
 On the fire are the Mani medicines and water in a pot, which rests on the
heads of three stakes driven into the ground. The fire is fed by sticks thrust
in between the stakes. While it is cooking, first the lodgeleader, then the
higher officials and senior members, and lastly, those who lay a present
before the magic take a wooden stirrer in their hands and stir the medicines
in the pot and utter long spells over them, asking protection for the novice,
for themselves, and for all members of the lodge against a variety of evils.
Each requests special protection and success for himself. Whilst a man or
woman is addressing the magic those who are sitting on the ground at the
far end of the veranda space will of ten repeat a terminal phrase of the
address like a litany. Thus, when the stirrer finishes a section of his spell by
saying, 'May I be at peace,' the others will repeat in a low chorus, 'May I be
at peace.'

When the various roots which compose the medicines have boiled for
some time they are removed from the pot, and oil and salt are added to the
water and juices. This mixture is placed on the fire and during its hearing
further spells are uttered over it. Members watch to see whether the oil will
rise well to the surface as this is considered a good omen. When it has
boiled the oil at the top is poured of f into a gourd, leaving a sediment. They
pour some of this oil into the novice's mouth and eyes and rub it on his skin.
Senior members drink what is left or anoint themselves with it.

After the paste has cooled at the bottom of the pot lumps of it are placed
on leaves and handed round to members who eat them or take bits of them
home. Senior members eat out of the pot. The novice is fed by the hand of
his sponsor. While the paste is still cooling in the pot members place the pot
on their heads and against their breasts and hold their faces in its mouth, all
the while uttering spells.

When the ineal is finished the novice is given his first Mani name and his
waistband is removed and replaced by a length of creeper. He is given one
or two magical whistles by the lodgeleader who instructs him in their use.
Then his sponsor leads him by the hand away from the veranda and the
meeting closes with the dances and songs of the association.

For several days afterwards the novice must wear his creeper-girdle and
observe certain taboos. He will then pay his sponsor to be relieved from the
more onerous taboos and his sponsor will remove the creeper from his waist
and give him his final Mani name. He is now an initiate of Mani.

Before the association was prohibited procedure was different. After a

spell had been said over the novice he was led from the lodge to a nearby
stream, which had been previously blocked up to bring the water to the
level of a man's waist or knees. On his way to the stream the novice was
frightened by members of the association hiding behind trees and imitating
the cries of lions and leopards. Appearing just above the surface of the pool
were one or two hoops, and the novice had to duck three or four times
under these, each time returning whence he carne. He was said to have
struck the water with his club, meaning that he struck it with his head. He
was then taken out of the water and given his first Mani name. Afterwards
all returned to the lodge where magic juices were poured into the novice's
eyes, causing tears, so that he was said to be weeping for Zabagu (Zaba),
the founder of the association in the Sudan. The medicine was then cooked
and addressed as described above. Later the novice was invested with his
creepergirdle and was instructed in the rules and customs of the association.
Dancing then began, but was interrupted now and again to discuss business.
Ali returned home at dawn.

The ordinary Mani medicines are known as Water Mani because a novice
passes through water to obtain the privilege of using them. When a man
wishes to acquire the further privilege of using Bluebead medicines he pays
a fee and goes through an additional initiation in a section of the hut shut of
f by a screen of banana leaves so that ordinary members of the association
cannot see what is going on. His initiation consists of passing under hoops
and picking up blue beads between his lips. From the tops of the hoops
hang more blue beads and of ten a ring fastened to a whistle. The ring, the
whistle, and one of the blue beads are presented to the novice at the end of
the ceremony. One of the rites is to tie the blue bead to the end of a stick
and hold it, while uttering spells, in the smoke and steam arising from fire
and boiling medicines. By paying another fee a member can see the
rubbing-board oracle of the association and get the leader to use it on his
behalf. The use of other medicines can similarly be bought, though I am not
certain whether there are separate rites of initiation for each.
 From this précis, one important fact emerges that may be missed if it is
not separately indicated. Though all members of Mani partake of Water
Mani medicines, and all members of grades partake of their different
medicines, only the leaders know the plants and herbs from which the
medicines are taken. Any man who buys that knowledge from a leader
becomes himself a leader. Otherwise his payments only enable him to make
magic with the leader's medicines. Hence he can only use Mani medicines
in the lodge in the company of other members. He cannot use them in his
own home.

Nevertheless, each member acquires at initiation certain magical

weapons in full ownership. Each has a whistle which he can blow, uttering
spells, in the early morning before washing his face. He is warned that to
blow it for illegitimate purposes is dangerous.

The blue bead also has magical power. Some people attach it to their
whistles, and others keep it in oil in a tiny bottlegourd and in difficult times
anoint themselves with the oil. Its owner may also hold the bead in the
smoke of a fire and utter spells over it. If the oracles tell you that a certain
man is doing you an injury you may enter his homestead at night and
bounce the bead on the threshold of his hut. When the man has died from
your magic it must be recalled lest it harm you also. You recall it by tapping
yourself on your legs, arms, head, and other parts of your body with your
Mani whistle and by blowing water from your mouth to the ground. Finally,
each member of the association is given a bulb which he plants in the centre
of his homestead near his ghostshrine. If he is depressed or frightened he
can eat a piece of its leaf.

Nevertheless, in spite of private ownership of medicines and individual

usage of magical weapons, there is a group action that we do not find
elsewhere in the practice of Zande magic, save among witchdoctors. The
rites are organized and are not merely a. number of individual actions
performed in rotation. Moreover, when a member is uttering a spell he
speaks on behalf of the whole society as well as for himself and the other
members present repeat many phrases in his spell as a litany. I have also
sometimes observed heightened emotional expression at Mani ceremonies
which I did not note at most other magical performances.
iv

Mani is spread over the whole of Zandeland. Its membership must

number thousands, though it is impossible to take any kind of census. Each
locality has its lodge, and a man does not know many members of the
association outside his own lodge. In the past members wore a blue bead as
a badge, but they are too frightened to display it today. I was told that there
would of ten be as many as forty or fifty members present at a lodge
assembly, but I have myself never observed an attendance of more than
fifteen persons. Though children and old persons do not as a rule belong to
the association, there are no restrictions of age or sex to enrolment. Anyone
can join on payment of two or three piastres at the most [5 piastres= 1
shilling]. A piastre or two are given by the initiate to his sponsor and his
sponsor hands them over to his lodgeleader. Later the novice will pay a
piastre to his sponsor when he asks him to remove the waistcord he wears
when subject to food and sex taboos during initiation. The old barkcloth
which a novice wears at his initiation also goes to his sponsor. A sponsor
may be of either sex and a woman may sponsor a man, though this is said to
be unusual. If a man sponsors a woman he ought to be either her husband or
a kinsman, for otherwise serious trouble is likely to be caused by her
husband and her family. One of my informants said that the same man must
not sponsor both husband and wife, but he gave no reason for the
prohibition.

As far as I was able to observe, men and women join the association in
about equal numbers. This does not lead to improprieties in the lodge itself,
but husbands are doubtless right when they say that wives attend meetings
with the object of starting clandestine relations with other men and that,
such is female inconstancy, no woman is able to resist adultery if an
opportunity presents itself. For even if a man has no opportunity to speak to
a woman at an assembly, there is, Azande say, a language of the eyes that is
as effective as language of the lips, and if a man has no opportunities for
dalliance on the way to and from an assembly he can at least start an
acquaintanceship which may subsequently be advanced. Hence men
strongly object to their wives joining a lodge if they are not themselves
members. Nevertheless, it sometimes happens that a woman joins without
her husband's knowledge.
 Women are, indeed, keen on joining the association to obtain magic and
escape from the boredom of family life and the drudgery of household
labour. The inclusion of women is a revolutionary breakaway from custom
in a society where segregation of the sexes is rigidly enforced. Even at
Mani assemblies women sit apart from men and there are separate paths for
the sexes to and from the lodge. But they come into closer contact than on
most other occasions, and it is in itself remarkable that women should be
allowed to take part in the ritual at all, for they are, with few exceptions,
excluded from any part in magical performances in which men participate,
and there is strict sexual division of labour in other social activities. That
women should take equal part with men and sometimes sponsor men and
hold of fices, even that of leader, in the associations, shows that Mani (and
the same is true of the other closed associations) is not only a new social
grouping but a social grouping which conflicts with established rules of
conduct. It is a function of the new order of things.

Aged persons of both sexes do not as a rule join the association, and
when an occasional old man joins it he prefers that the fact shall not be
widely known as it is not becoming for a senior man to associate on equal
terms with youngsters. Quite small children are occasionally present, as
they come with their mothers and are initiated. The mass of members are
youths and maidens and young married couples. Here again we see that the
association runs counter to most Zande institutions for among commoners
the older men have everywhere control and the younger are socially and
economically dependent on them. Mani and similar associations are a
challenge to their superior status, and they realize this and oppose them.

Mani challenges traditional patterns of behaviour not only in relation to

sex and age but also in relation to status. In almost every activity of Zande
life in which nobles take part they act as leaders. Even in the activities in
which nobles usually refrain from participating, e.g. in dancing, they
assume, when they do take part in them, either the role of leader or an
independent role which places them outside commoner authority. In Mani,
though the nobles do not as a rule enter into full and regular participation in
the ceremonies, and probably ruling princes never attend assemblies, when
a noble becomes a member and visits a lodge he cannot act as a leader
unless he happens to own the medicines. Hence, even if he is treated with
the respect due to his class, he must be subordinate to a commoner in the
ritual. Mani was introduced without the backing of the nobles and has
remained a commoner grouping which derives its power and independence
from its medicines. Therefore it lies outside ordinary social life where the
authority of the nobles is supreme, personal, and direct. It even contradicts
their authority.

When I asked Azande why princes should be hostile to Mani they gave
me one or more of several reasons. They said that princes are always
conservative and against the introduction of a new custom simply because it
is not traditional. They were able to quote as other evidences of
conservatism King Gbudwe's opposition to circumcision and ta the
introduction of habits of Arabic-speaking peoples. They said that princes
were especially opposed to closed associations because their members built
lodges far away in the bush, and because they performed rites which were
only partly known to the nobles. Nobles are of ten ignorant of what is
familiar to commoners. In boyhood they seldom depart from the courts of
their kinsmen to visit the homesteads of commoners. When they grow up
they are given provinces to administer and rarely travel beyond their courts
and gardens. Consequently they rely mainly on information they receive
from a few confidential courtiers about happenings in their provinces.
These courtiers are generally old men with polygamous households and of
conservative spirit. They are strongly opposed to the closed associations
which, they tell their princes, lead to disloyalty and immorality. It is truly
remarkable how close a watch Zande nobles and wealthy commoners keep
on their wives. They spy on their every movement. It is therefore easy to
understand their opposition to closed associations which allow female as
well as male membership and which provide a meeting-place for the sexes.

Azande also attribute the antipathy shown by princes to their associations

to jealousy. For lodgeleaders settle minor disputes between members
concerning incidents in the lodge itself. Slight though their judicial
functions are—for Azande have contempt for magical sanctions when
engaged in serious litigation—they are thought to challenge the despotic
prerogative of the princes. Because, however minor the disputes settled by
lodgeleaders, they settle them in their own right ; whereas in ordinary social
life disputes settled by commoners are settled in virtue of authority
delegated by a prince.

But perhaps the most weighty reason for noble opposition has always
been fear of sorcery, for their is no certainty whether newly imported
medicines are good or bad. Members of the association claim that they
practise good magic, but outsiders sometimes accuse them of sorcery. The
secrecy of rites and spells and the mystery surrounding initiation naturally
give support to suspicions of sorcery.

None the less, according to my own observations, and from what initiates
have told me, Mani medicines have the attributes of all good magic, for a
man can ask of them only favours that will not cause loss or injury to
innocent persons. He can only use the medicines against a man who has
committed, or has the intent to commit, an of fence recognized as such by
Zande law and not against a man merely because he dislikes him. It is true
that occasionally Mani magic is used as a weapon of of fence and a man
mentions the name of an enemy in the spell spoken to the medicines.
Nevertheless, members declare that by the rules of the association they may
only take this step after they have attempted unsuccessfully to obtain
redress through the usual legai channels. They say it is only when a prince
has awarded damages to a member and he cannot extract them from the
defendant that the member is allowed to employ magicai sanctions—e.g.
when a wife leaves her husband and leads a licentious life away from him
or marries another man and the husband is unable to obtain return of her
bridewealth ; or when a man is injured by witchcraft or sorcery, or has been
assaulted. These situations could not easily have occurred in old times,
when redress for injury could generally have been obtained at a prince's
Court, and they may be regarded as symptomatic of social disintegration.

I do not know whether members only use magic against others when they
are justified by the occasion, but such is their assertion. Laymen are
sceptical of their claims because they have no proof that they are true.
Hence laymen are of ten hostile to Mani and other closed associations, and
commoners who attend a prince's court regularly, and regard themselves as
men of higher social position than ordinary folk, seldom join them. Many
laymen who are not hostile express doubt about the morality of Mani
magic. There is no way by which an observer can reach a satisfactory
conclusion about such a matter because he is never in possession of all the
facts relative to it. Members say that if they were to use magic against any
person who had not wronged them the magic would turn round and strike
those who had sent it on its errand. But what one man considers to be a
reprisal another considers to be an unprovoked attack, so that while the one
says the magical weapon he is using is moral the other protests against
criminal usage. Opponents of Mani also declare that the medicines enable
members to influence court decisions, and this accusation seems justified by
the spells they utter. But Azande know how to escape any criticism by
verbal twistings and turnings. So members say that their medicines do not
enable criminals to escape punishment for their of fences but merely that if
a member blows a Mani whistle on his way to court and asks the magic to
assist him he will be able to state his case well and if condemned will
receive lighter punishment than he would otherwise have suffered.

So Mani not only cuts across custom in relation to sex, age, and class, but
confuses also the accepted division of magic into good and bad, for here
some approve and some condemn instead of all being of one rtiind as we
saw was elsewhere the case in reference to important medicines.

Finally, I wish to draw attention to the fact that Mani lodges are local
groupings. This means that members of a lodge have already numerous
social interrelations: ties of kinship, political ties, ties of blood-brotherhood,
ties of initiation, and so forth ; and bring a history of neighbourly
friendships, enmities, and common experience with them to assemblies. I
have not observed that a lodgeleader is otherwise a man of social
importance in the community, though he gains some importance in virtue of
his magical powers.

Each lodge is an independent unit consisting of a man who knows the

medicines and those who collect to eat them in a small locality. A lodge has
no relations with other lodges, but a man who has joined the association in
one lodge will be recognized as a member by other lodges if he visits them.
The grades are similar in the different lodges.

As a lodge is dependent on the knowledge of one or two men, and as its

insignia are a few objects which are easily removed, it has little stability
and permanence. The leader may leave the district and there may be no one
in his particular lodge who can prepare the medicines and initiate members
into the higher grades. Then people go to eat medicines at the hands of
other leaders, i.e. they join a new lodge. There is nothing to prevent a man
who knows the rites and medicines from starting a lodge in a district where
other leaders are well established.

Conditions which may have been favourable to the spread of Mani have
been the breakdown of political authority following European conquest; the
fact that some of the younger nobles have joined the association and have
influenced their more powerful kinsmen in its favour or have themselves
succeeded to political of fice ; and direct conversion of a few princes. An
important prince would sometimes make inquiries about the new magic and
order a trusted courtier to report to him about its purpose and uses. If he
were favourably impressed by the report he would send for the lodgeleader
to learn more about the medicines and might even partake of them in
private. Nevertheless, in questioning princes about Mani I found that they
were even less prepared to give information than their subjects because they
feared lest they might be punished by the Government if they were to show
any knowledge of its ritual.

Europeans, without, it is feared, having understood the organization and

purpose of these closed associations, condemned them. In the Sudan 'The
Unlawful Societies Ordinance' of 1919 made them illegai, and similar
measures appear to have been taken earlier in the Belgian Congo.
Missionaries of every sect agree that closed associations are a menace. I do
not think that Mani members were imprisoned by the Government of the
Anglo-Egyptian Sudan during my residence in Zandeland, but if
participation in the rites of the association was tolerated Azande were
unaware of their liberties, and this is not surprising, because members of
other associations were of ten punished. Azande believed that the
Government was equally hostile to all their magical associations.

The consequences of Government opposition are not easy to assess.

Certainly the associations continue to flourish, but they are not easy to
observe. They have now become secret, instead of merely closed,
associations. Before European intervention everyone knew who were
members, where lodges were situated, and when meetings took place. It
was only certain rites and medicines that were kept secret from outsiders.
Nowadays everything is kept as secret as possible.

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CHAPTER XIII

Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic, in the Situation of Death

I am aware that my account of Zande magic suffers from lack of

coordination. So does Zande magic. Magical rites do not form an
interrelated system, and there is no nexus between one rite and another.
Each is an isolated activity, so that they cannot all be described in an
ordered account. Any description of them must appear somewhat
haphazard. Indeed, by treating them all together I have given them a unity
by abstraction that they do not possess in reality.

This lack of coordination between magical rites contrasta with the

general coherence and interdependence of Zande beliefs in other fields.
Those I have described in this book are difficult for Europeans to
understand. Witchcraft is a notion so foreign to us that it is hard for us to
appreciate Zande convictions about its reality. Let it be remembered that it
is no less hard for Azande to appreciate our ignorance and disbelief about
the subject. I once heard a Zande say about us : 'Perhaps in their country
people are not murdered by witches, but here they are.'

Throughout I have emphasized the coherency of Zande beliefs when they

are considered together and are interpreted in terms of situations and social
relationships. I have tried to show also the plasticity of beliefs as functions
of situations. They are not indivisible ideational structures but are loose
associations of notions. When a writer brings them together in a book and
presents them as a conceptual system their insufficiencies and
contradictions are at once apparent. In real life they do not function as a
whole but in bits. A man in one situation utilizes what in the beliefs are
convenient to him and pays no attention to other elements which he might
use in different situations. Hence a single event may evoke a number of
different and contradictory beliefs among different persons.

I hope that I have persuaded the reader of one thing, namely, the
intellectual consistency of Zande notions. They only appear inconsistent
when ranged like lifeless museum objects. When we see how an individual
uses them we may say that they are mystical but we cannot say that his use
of them is illogical or even that it is uncritical. I had no difficulty in using
Zande notions as Azande themselves use them. Once the idiom is learnt the
rest is easy, for in Zandeland one mystical idea follows on another as
reasonably as one commonsense idea follows on another in our own
society.

It is in connexion with death that Zande belief in witchcraft, oracles, and

magic is most coherent and is most intelligible to us. Therefore, though I
have before briefly described the interplay of these notions at death it is
fìtting to give a slightly fuller account in conclusion, for it is death that
answers the riddle of mystical beliefs.

It is not my intention to give a detailed description of Zande funeral

ceremonies and vengeance. I shall not even attempt to recount the elaborate
magical rites by which vengeance is accomplished, but only give the barest
outline of what happens from the time a man falls sick to the time his death
is avenged.

It is with death and its premonitions that Azande most frequently and
feelingly associate witchcraft, and it is only with regard to death that
witchcraft evokes violent retaliation. It is likewise in connexion with death
that greatest attention is paid to oracles and magical rites. Witchcraft,
oracles, and magic attain their heightof signifìcance, as procedures and
ideologies, at death.

When a man falls sick his kinsmen direct their activities along two lines.
They attack witchcraft by oracles, public warnings, approaches to the witch,
making of magic, removal of the invalid to the bush, and dances of
witchdoctors. They attack the disease by adminisiration of drugs, usually
summoning a leech who is also a witchdoctor, in serious sickness.

A leech attends a man till all hope of his recovery is abandoned. His
relations gather and weep around him. As soon as he is dead they wail, and
the relatives-in-law dig the grave. Before burial the dead man's kin cut of f a
piece of barkcloth and wipe his lips with it and cut of f a piece of his
fingernail. These substances are necessary to make vengeance-magic.
 Sometimes earth from the first sod dug when the grave is being prepared
is added to them.

On the day following burial steps are taken towards vengeance. The elder
kinsmen of the dead man consult the poison oracle. In theory they ask it
first whether the dead man has died as a result of some crime he has
committed. But in practice, except on rare occasions when his kinsmen
know that he has committed adultery or some other crime, and that the
injured man has made lethal magic, this step is omitted. Not that a Zande
would admit its omission. He would say that if this question were not
directly put to the oracle it is contained in those questions that follow, for
the oracle would not announce that their magic would be successful unless
the dead man were innocent of crime and were a victim of witchcraft.

In practice, therefore, they first ask it to choose the man who will
undertake to act as avenger. His duties are to dispatch magic on the tracks
of the witch under the direction of a magician who owns it, and to observe
the onerous taboos that enable it to achieve its purpose. If the kin of the
dead man wish to make certain of avenging him they insist on placing only
the names of adults as candidates for this office, but usually senior, men are
anxious to avoid the ascetic routine it imposes and propose the name of a
lad who is too young to feel the hardship of sex taboos and yet old enough
to realize the seriousness of food taboos, and of sufficient character to
observe them. They ask the oracle whether the magic will be successful in
its quest if a certain boy observes the taboos. If the oracle says that it will be
unsuccessful they place before it the name of another man or boy. When it
has chosena name they ask as a corroborative verdict whether the boy will
die during his observance of the taboos. He might die as a result of breaking
a taboo or because the man they wish to avenge was slain in expiation of a
crime. If the oracle declares that the boy will survive vengeance is assured.

They then ask the poison oracle to choose a magician to provide

vengeance-magic. They put before it the name of a magician and ask it
whether vengeance will be accomplished if his medicine is used. If the
oracle rejects one name they propose to it another.

Having chosen a boy to observe the taboos and a magician to provide the
medicines, they proceed to prosecute vengeance. I will not describe the
various types of medicines employed nor the rites that dispatch them on
their errand. It is not expected that they will immediately accomplish their
purpose. Indeed, if people in the vicinity die shortly after the rites have been
performed the kinsmen do not suppose that they are victims of their magic.

From time to time the kinsmen make presents of beer to the magician to
stir up the medicines, because Azande think that they go out on their
mission and, not having discovered the guilty man, return to their hiding-
place. They have to be sent forth afresh on their quest by further rites. This
may happen many times before vengeance has been accomplished, perhaps
two years after magic has first been made, and usually not before six
months afterwards. Although the taboos are only incumbent on a single boy
in so far as the virtue of the magic is concerned, all near kinsmen and the
spouse of the dead must respect irksome prohibitions to a greater or lesser
degree, for a variety of reasons, and all are anxious to end their fast.
Nevertheless, everything must be done in good order and without haste.
From time to time they ask the poison oracle whether the medicines are
being diligent in their search and for further assurance of ultimate success.

In the past medicine of vengeance was placed on the dead man's grave,
but it is said that people interfered with it there, either removing it and
plunging it into a marsh to deprive it of power, or spoiling it by bringing it
into a marsh to deprive it of power, or spoiling it by bringing it into contact
with some impure substance, like elephant's flesh. Today they of ten
continue to place some medicines on the grave but they also hide others in
the bush, generally in the cavity of a tree. There they are safe from
contamination by ill-disposed persons.

Several months after magic has been made someone dies in the vicinity
and they inquire of the poison oracle whether this man is their victim. They
do not, as a rule, inquire about persons who have died several miles away
from the homestead of the deceased. If the oracle tells them that the magic
has not yet struck they wait till another neighbour dies and consult it again.
In course of time the oracle declares that the death of a man in the
neighbourhood is due to their magic and that this man is the victim whom
they have slain to avenge their kinsman.
 They then ask the oracle whether the slain man is the only witch who
killed their kinsman or whether there is another witch who assisted in the
murder. If there is another witch they wait till he also is slain, but if the
oracle tells them that the man who recently died was alone responsible they
go to their prince and present him with the wings of the fowl that died in
declaration of the witch's guilt. The prince consults his own poison oracle,
and ifit states that the oracle of his subjects has deceived them they will
have to await other deaths in their neighbourhood and seek to establish that
one of them was caused by their magic.

When the oracle of the prince agrees with the oracle of the kinsmen
vengeance is accomplished. The wings of the fowls that have died in
acknowledgement of their victory are hung up, with the barkcloth and
sleeping-mat of the boy who has observed taboos, on a tree at the side of a
frequented path in public notification that the kinsmen have done their duty.

The owner of the medicine is now summoned and is asked to recall it.
When his fee has been paid he cooks an antidote for the boy who has borne
the burden of taboos, the kinsmen of the dead, and the widow; and he
destroys the medicine, for it has accomplished its task. He destroys it so that
it can do no further harm. Those who are dose kinsmen of the dead man
may now live unrestricted lives.

Thus death evokes the notion of witchcraft ; oracles are consulted to

determine the course of vengeance ; magic is made to attain it; oracles
decide when magic has executed vengeance; and its magical task being
ended, the medicine is destroyed.

Azande say that in the past, before Europeans conquered their country,
their customs were different. Provincials used the methods I ha ve just
described, but men who regularly attended court did not make magic. On
the death of a kinsman they consulted their poison oracles and presented to
their prince the name of a witch accused by them. If the prince's oracle
agreed with their oracles they exacted compensation of a woman and
twenty spears from the witch or slew him. In those days death evoked the
notion of witchcraft ; oracles denounced the witch ; compensation was
exacted or vengeance executed.
[Link]
APPENDIX I

A List of Terms Employed in describing Zande Customs and Beliefs

I n my use of anthropological terms I am mainly concerned with

following Zande thought. I have classed under a single heading what
Azande call by a single word, and I have distinguished between types of
behaviour that they consider different. I am not anxious to define
witchcraft, oracles, and magic as ideal types of thought, but desire to
describe what Azande understand by mangu, soroka, and ngua. I am
therefore not greatly concerned with the question whether oracles should be
classed as magic ; nor whether the belief that children are unlucky who cut
their upper teeth before their lower teeth is a form of witchcraft ; nor yet
whether taboo is negative magic. My aim has been to make a number of
English words stand for Zande notions and to use the same term only and
always when the same notion is being discussed. For example, the Zande
does not speak of oracles or taboos as ngua, and therefore I do not call them
'magic'. I do not here raise the question whether Azande are aware of a
classification of all forms of behaviour denoted by the same term or
whether the unity is merely our abstraction.

In the first column are the Zande words that stand for certain notions. In
the second column are the English words that I use whenever I speak of
these notions. The meaning of the terms is developed in the text, and the
object of giving formai and condensed defini tions is to facilitate reading,
since description of some notions and actions must precede description of
others. I do not want to quarrel about words, and if anyone cares to
designate these notions and actions by terms other than those I have used I
should raise no objection.

Mangu (i) witchcraft-substance: a material substance in the bodies of

certain persons. It is discovered by autopsy in the dead and is supposed to
be diagnosed by oracles in the living.

(2) witchcraft: a supposed psychic emanation from witchcraft-substance

which is believed to cause injury to health and property.
 (3) witchcraft-phlegm: among witchdoctors mangu occasionally refers to
a supposed substance in their bodies which they say is pròduced by
medicines. In their opinion it is entirely different to the witchcraft-substance
mentioned above. They are able to expectorate phlegm which they claim to
be derived from this substance.

Boro (ira) mangu witch: a person whose body contains, or is declared by

oracles or diviners to contain, witchcraft-substance and who is supposed to
practise witchcraft.

Ngua (1) magic : a technique that is supposed to achieve its purpose by

the use of medicines. The operation of these medicines is a magic rite and is
usually accompanied by a spell.

(2) medicines: any object in which mystical power is supposed to reside

and which is used in magic rites. They are usually of vegetable nature.

(3) leechcraft: the treatment of pathological conditions, whether by

empirical or by magical means, through physic or surgery. Physic is
treatment by administration of drugs (empiricai) or medicines (magical).
Surgery is manual treatment. Normally leechcraft is simple magic, but the
term is given separately because it is a special department of magic and
because it leaves open the question whether treatment contains an empirical
element.

(4) closed associations: the Azande have a number of associations for the
practiSe of communal magic rites. Their ritual is restricted to members. In
this book only the Mani association is described.

Sima spell : an address accompanying rites and forming an integral part

of them. When the address is made to medicines I call it a spell. When it is
made to oracles I call it an oracular address. An address to the ghosts or to
the Supreme Being I call a prayer.

Boro ngua (ira ngua) (1) magician: any person who possesses medicines
and uses them in magic rites. (2) leech: a person who practises leechcraft.
egbere (gbigbita) (1) sorcery (bad magic) : magic that is illìcit or is ngua,
kitikiti ngua considered immoral.
 (2) bad medicines: medicines that are used in sorcery.

Wene ngua (1) good magic: magic that is socially approved.

Unless it is stated to the contrary, all references to magic refer to good

magic.

(2) good medicines: medicines that are used in good magic.

Ira gbegbere (kitikiti) ngua sorcerer : anyone who possesses bad

medicines and uses them in rites of sorcery.

Gira taboo : the refraining from some action on account of a mystical

belief that its performance will cause an undesired event or interfere with a
desired event.

Soroka oracles : techniques which are supposed to reveal what cannot be

discovered at all, or cannot be discovered for certain, by experiment and
logical inferences therefrom. The principal Zande oracles are:

(a) benge, poison oracle, which operates through the administration of

strychnine to fowls, and formerly to human beings also.

(b) iwa, rubbing-board oracle, which operates by means of a wooden

instrument.

(c) dakpa, termites oracle, which operates by the insertion of branches of

two trees into runs of certain species of termites.

(d) mapingo, three sticks oracle, which operates by means of a pile of

three small sticks.

Pa ngua (pa atoro) divination : a method of discovering what is

unknown, and of ten cannot be known, by experiment and logie. The
instrument is here a human being who is inspired by medicines (ngua), or
by ghosts (atoro), or by both.

Abinza (Avule) witchdoctors : a corporation of diviners who are believed

to diagnose and combat witchcraft in virtue of medicines which they have
eaten, by certain dances, and by leechcraft.

Mbisimo soul: a supposed psychic property in persons and things that at

times is separated from them.

Atoro ghosts : souls of persons when finally separated from their bodies
at death.

Mbori supreme being : a ghostly being to whom the creation of the world
is attributed.

In addition to terms directly derived from Zande notions, and purporting

to translate them, I have found it necessary to use a number of further
categories to classify both the notions themselves and the behaviour
associated with them. I now list these additional terms, together with the
meanings I attach to them. It should be noted that this is purely an ad hoc
classification for descriptive purposes. If anyone should object to these
terms, or wish to attach different meanings to them or to class the facts
under different headings he is at liberty to do so. Terms are only labels
which help us to sort out facts of the same kind from facts which are
different, or are in some respects different. If the labels do not prove helpful
we can discard them. The facts will be the same without their labels.

mystical notions. These are patterns of thought that attribute to

phenomena suprasensible qualities which, or part of which, are not derived
from observation or cannot be logically inferred from it, and which they do
not possess.

commonsense notions. These are patterns of thought that attribute to

phenomena only what men observe in them or what can logically be
inferred from observation. So long as a notion does not assert something
which has not been observed, it is not classed as mystical even though it is
mistaken on account of incomplete observation. It still differs from mystical
notions in which suprasensible forces are always posited.

scientific notions. Science has developed out of common sense but is far
more methodical and has better techniques of observation and reasoning.
Common sense uses experience and rules of thumb. Science uses
experiment and rules of Logic. Common sense observes only some links in
a chain of causation. Science observes all, or many more of , the links. In
this place we need not define scientific notions more clearly because
Azande have none, or very few, according to where we draw the line
between common sense and science. The term is introduced because we
need a judge to whom we can appeal for a decision when the question arises
whether a notion shall be classed as mystical or common sense. Our body
of scientific knowledge and Logic are the sole arbiters of what are mystical,
commonsense, and scientific notions. Their judgements are never absolute.

ritual behaviour. Any behaviour that is accounted for by mystical

notions. There is no objective nexus between the behaviour and the event it
is intended to cause. Such behaviour is usually intelligible to us only when
we know the mystical notions associated with it.

empirical behaviour. Any behaviour that is accounted for by

commonsense notions. Such behaviour is usually intelligible to us without
explanation if we see the whole of it and its effects.

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APPENDIX II

Witchcraft and Dreams

Azande distinguish between witchcraft-dreams and oracular dreams;

usually, a bad dream, i.e. a nightmare, is a witchcraft-dream and a pleasant
one an oracular dream. Nevertheless, all dreams are in a sense oracular : a
bad dream is regarded as both an actual experience of witchcraft and a
prognostication of misfortune, for if a man is being bewitched it is
obviously likely that some misfortune will follow. Also, Azande associate
witchcraft with an oracular dream that foretells a misfortune, the dream and
the misfortune being linked products of witchcraft. The dream is a shadow
cast by witchcraft before the event it is about to produce—in a sense has
already produced, though at the time the dreamer does not know what it is.

Here I give only dreams of the kind that are regarded by Azande as
experiences of witchcraft. I did not find it easy to record Zande dreams, and
it was yet more difficult to obtain the context in which they were
experienced. Part of the information contained in this Appendix was
obtained by consulting many Azande on different occasions about the sort
of dreams people dream and their meanings. More intimate informants gave
me detailed accounts of actual dreams, but it was very seldom that I was
able to obtain an account at the time of the experience. Most of the dreams
were told me a long time after they were dreamt. Owing to their dramatic
character and their relation to events of importance to the dreamer they had
been remembered. They thus represent highly selected samples; but their
interest is not thereby diminished as they clearly show what Azande regard
as typical dreams and the interpretations, both general and particular, of
fered by their culture. For it will be perceived that dreams have accepted
interpretations, but that, here as elsewhere, a man selects from stock
interpretations what suits his individual circumstances and twists accepted
interpretations to meet special requirements.

It must be remembered that a bad dream is not a symbol of witchcraft but

an actual experience of it. In waking life a man knows that he has been
bewitched only by experiencing a subsequent misfortune or by oracular
revelation, but. in dreams he actually sees witches and may even converse
with them. We may say that Azande see witchcraft in a dream rather than
that they dream of witchcraft. Therefore a man who dreams that he is being
chased by a human-headed beast, for example, does not think that he has
been attacked by witches during the night : he is quite certain of the matter.
He has experienced it, and the only question that troubles him is who has
bewitched him.

In fact it would be more in accordance with Zande thought to say that it

is the soul of the sleeper which has these experiences. Azande, while
perceiving that the sensations of dream-happenings are not like those of
daily life, are certain that in sleep the soul is released from the body and can
roam about at will and meet other spirits and have adventures. Likewise
they believe that a witch who is sleeping can send the soul of his witchcraft
to eat the soul of the flesh of his victim. The hours of sleep are hence an
appropriate setting for the psychical battle that witchcraft means to a Zande,
a struggle between his soul and the soul of witchcraft when both are free to
roam about at will while he and the witch are asleep.

A witch may attack a person in any form, the form being in fact of little
importance, since all bad dreams are alike attacks by witchcraft. The
commonest bad dreams are dreams of being chased by lions, leopards or
elephants, being attacked by men with animals' heads, being seized by
enemies and being unable to call for assistance, and falling from a great
height without ever reaching the ground. One man told me that he fell from
a high tree to the ground, where he saw a homestead occupied by strange
men with white faces like Europeans. He knew it was an evil dream but
could not say what misfortune it presaged. Sometimes a man is attacked by
snakes. He runs away from one to find another in front of him, and they
twist themselves around his arms and legs. In dreams men also see strange
beasts such as wangu, the rainbow-snake, and moma ime, the water-leopard.
From all such dreams men generally awake in sudden terror.

Generally in these dreams a man cannot see the face of his assailant, and
of ten there is no circumstantial evidence which enables him to establish
beyond all doubt the responsibility of any particular person. He may fall
sick on waking, but even if he feels well it is advisable to consult the
oracles to inquire into the meaning of a dream so that what it portends may
be known in advance and warded of f in good time. Azande do not always,
or even usually, consult oracles about a bad dream. In most cases they
ponder a while on its contents and then forget all about it unless anything
untoward happens, when it is immediately linked with the dream. More
than once I have heard a Zande explain in reference to some misfortune,
'Ah! that is why I dreamt a bad dream the other night. Truly dreams foretell
the future!'

Sometimes a dreamer of a bad dream goes next morning to a

bloodbrother or relative or friend and asks him to consult the rubbing-board
oracle to determine whether witchcraft has done him any harm, and who
sent it to him at night. When he has discovered the name of the witch he
acts in the usual way by first consulting the poison oracle for corroboration
and then asking a chief's deputy to notify the witch of its findings. Men
consult the oracles about dreams if they are repeated. Princes consult them
if they are visited in dreams by their dead fathers and grandfathers.

Sometimes, however, a man actually recognizes the face of a witch in his

dream. Kisanga was attacked by two witches, Basingbatara and his son,
during sleep. They climbed on the roof of his hut and sat looking down
upon him through a hole in the roof as he lay upon the ground. There was
no hole in the real roof , only in the roof of the dream image. The two men
had all the characters of dogfaced baboons except for their faces, which
were human. Kisanga said that Basingbatara's appearance changed, now the
head and belly being Basingbatara's head and belly, and now the head and
belly of a baboon. After a while Basingbatara said to his son, 'You strike
him,' and the youth struck him on top of the head with his spear. At this
point Kisanga awoke and saw them running down the roof of his hut
towards their home. Kisanga declared that he had been very ill for some
weeks after this experience. He was, moreover, able to explain the motives
which led to the attack. He and Basingbatara were openly on good terms,
though they disliked one another. The young man who had struck Kisanga
with his spear was engaged to his daughter, but there was no love lost
between the two families, and a fair time after he had experienced his
dream Kisanga was prosecuting them in the chief's court because the young
man's brother had made advances to his wife. This was more than adultery,
since the woman counted as his mother-in-law.
 Sometimes a man who has not seen the face of a witch during a dream
surmises that it was a certain man from previous events. Kamanga told me
of a dream he had dreamt a long time ago in which, while he was lying on
his bed, a creature approached who was human from shoulders to feet but
with an elephant's head and tusks and trunk in the place of human head and
face. Kamanga was very frightened and pretended to be asleep while
squinting through his eyelashes to see what the creature was doing. The
witch moved his elephant's head as though looking for him and then, after a
while, went out of the hut. Kamanga immediately leapt from his bed and
rushed wildly out of the hut, and, lifting his arms like a bird, flew through
the air towards a nearby tree, round which he curled his legs and arms. The
witch saw him fly past but was unable to locate his hiding-place. Kamanga
told me without hesitation who the witch was who had come to attack him.
When I asked him how he knew the man he replied that he recognized him
by his body and that this man, who was surely a witch, was vowing
vengeance on him because of a marriage dispute in which Kamanga had
acted against his interests. When Kamanga was a boy his mother had died
leaving his sister a little child who could walk but who still needed the
breast. His father's sister wanted to take the child and give it milk. As she
was going home with the child she met this man who had attacked
Kamanga in the dream. He had been for a long time desirous of marrying
her and took this opportunity to press his suit. On being refused he seized
the baby and ran away with her to his homestead. At the time Kamanga was
serving as a page at the court of Prince Ngere and complained to him about
this man's conduct. Ngere told Kamanga that his elder brothers were to
recover the child. Four of them went together and, meeting with the man
and his two sons on the road, his brothers gave him a hiding while
Kamanga seized the baby and ran away with her. Because he had informed
the prince of the affair the man bore a grudge against him and attacked him
when he was asleep. Kamanga added that the man was well known in the
neighbourhood as a witch because the gardens of his neighbours did not
prosper. Kamanga was uncertain what exactly would have happened had the
elephantman caught him, but he was sure that he would have been very ill.

It is interesting to compare Kamanga's account of his dream with a

second account he gave me some months afterwards and which I took down
in his own words :
 I slept soundly and dreams came to me and I dreamt a dream. A man
came in the guise of an elephant and began to attack me. This elephant
stood outside my hut and put its trunk through the side of the roof and
hauled me outside.

The bottom part of its body was like a man, and its head was the head
of an elephant. It had hair like grass on its head, so that its head
resembled the head of an aged man. I sprang in haste before it from
where it threw me and began to run and run. It pursued me and I
climbed a tree. It continued to pursue me and rubbed its head up
against the tree and I was perched just above its back. It walked about
looking for me and threw its trunk this way and that, and I was on the
tree. It searched after me in vain and it moved away from this tree and
went and stood some way behind it and gazed round after me. I
remained there for a long time where I was and then jumped down
from the tree. As it was looking round it saw me and charged furiously
at me to try once again to kill me. It had only just started on its path
when I awoke from the dream.

Another dream by the same youth further illustrates how events

preceding, or subsequent to, a dream are related to its images, and also the
manner in which dreams are interpreted by selection of happenings and
persons by the affective bias of a dreamer. On the afternoon preceding the
dream I had suggested to members of my household that they might lend a
hand in building Kamanga's hut. This suggestion did not meet with their
approvai, for I afterwards learnt that they had abused him in the kitchenhut
and, so Kamanga said, would have delighted in striking him. On the
following morning Kamanga told me that he was in pain down his left side.
He said that in the middle of the night the souls of his companions had
attacked him and beaten his left side with their fists, thus doing what they
had feared to do in the daytime. When I questioned him further he said that
he did not see their faces but that he knew it must be his fellowservants. He
added that though a man's body might be asleep his soul was awake.

It is difficult to know whether it is the soul of a witch who bewitches a

man at night or whether this soul is different from a soul of witchcraft
which does the deed independentiy. I think Azande have no clear beliefs on
this point.
 It is not uncommon to dream of composite animals (kodikodi anya) like
the human body surmounted with an elephant's head seen by Kamanga and
the man with a dogfaced baboon's head seen by Kisanga. I was told that the
following creatures are seen in dreams : a creature with the face of a man,
the head, beak, and body of a bird, and the tail of a snake ; a creature with
the face of a man, the tusks and ears of an elephant, the body of a dog, and
the legs of an old man ; and a creature with the face of a man, the body of a
swallow, and the wings of a bat. Kisanga's wife was attacked by a man
called Bòli with a human face and a leopard's body. This man had made
advances to her which she had rebuffed. Later she had a deepseated abscess
in the place where the leopardman had clawed her in her dream.

It is very common for a witch to assume some of the attributes of an

elephant or buffalo or waterbuck, and a man who has absorbed body-
medicines against witchcraft may of ten see a witch in human guise before
he changes into an animal shape. I was told that it is not only witches who
appear in dreams in animal shapes, but that a man may see a friend thus
transformed and will later say to him : 'I saw you in a dream last night and
you had a buffalo's head. Some witch must have presented you to me in this
way,' to which his friend replies, 'Is that so? Alas, it is a bad affair if it was a
witch.' In this case the notion of witchcraft is excluded by feelings of
friendship, for if the man with a buffalo's head had not been a friend the
dreamer would undoubtedly have dubbed him a witch.

The dreams I have recounted show us from a different angle how the
notion of witchcraft is a function of misfortunes and of enmities. When a
misfortune occurs that can be related to a previous dream both are allke
evidences of witchcraft. The dream is an actual experience of witchcraft as
is demonstrated by the misfortune that follows it. A witchcraftdream is
therefore known to presage disaster. The man is already bewitched, already
doomed to some misadventure. A bad dream is like an unpropitious
declaration of an oracle. In both cases the man is at the time well and happy,
but he has a premonition of disaster. Indeed, the dream and the oracular
indication are more than harbingers of misfortune, for they are a sign that
the misfortune has already taken place, as it were, in the future. It is
necessary therefore to proceed as though the misadventure had an inevitable
future occurrence and to lift the doom from over the head of the victim by
approaching its author in the manner already described.

We have also seen how a Zande seeks to interpret dreamexperiences in

the same manner as he interprets other misfortune by attributing them to
machinations of his enemies. He may actually perceive these enemies in
dreams; or he may know that persons who have appeared in them must be
his detractors, al though he has not recognized their faces, because previous
events so clearly indicate these persons ; or he may be in doubt about their
identity and place the names of enemies before the oracles to discover
among them who is the guilty party.

[Link]
APPENDIX III

Other Evil Agents associated with Witchcraft

Witchcraft is sometimes found in dogs and is associated with various

other animals and birds. The dog has a malicious way of looking at people
and is so greedy that it resembles human beings, and on account of these
and other deficiencies Azande think that dogs are of ten witches. Their
opinion is said to have been sustained by a few cases in which dogs have
been proved guilty of witchcraft by judgements of the poison oracle.
Azande told me that sometimes relatives of a dead man have in vain
consulted the oracle about their neighbours and have at last asked it whether
a dog was responsible for his death and have received an affirmative
answer. No actual case of this happening was recorded.

It is difficult to say to what extent Azande take seriously the tradition that
other animals are witches. In ordinary situations of daily life I have
generally found that Azande treat the subject with humour, though I have
seen them express alarm at the appearance or cry of an animal associated
with witchcraft. This is especially so with nocturnal birds and animals
which are very definitely associated with witchcraft and are even thought to
be the servants of witches. Bats are universally disliked, and owls are
considered very unlucky if they hoot around a homestead during the night.
There is an owl called gbnku that cries he he he he at night, and when a man
hears its cry he knows that a witch is abroad and blows his magic whistle
and seats himself by the medicines that grow in the centre of his homestead.
A jackal howling near a homestead is considered a harbinger of death.

But Azande also speak jokingly of animals as witches when nothing more
is meant than that they are clever and possess powers which appear strange
to man. Thus they say of a domesticated cock which crows to welcome the
dawn before men can see the first signs of its approach: 'It sees the daylight
within itself, it is a witch.' Azande were not surprised to find witchcraft-
substance in my goat and recalled that it had tried to butt people during its
lifetime and was a grumpy, illnatured creature.
 One never knows what animals in the bush have witchcraft, especially
the cunning ones which appear to know everything the hunter is doing.
Azande will say of an animal that eludes their nets and pits, 'It is a witch.'
Though I believe that this expression ought generally to be rather translated
'As clever as a witch,' it suggests an association between great intelligence
or skill and the possession of witchcraft such as we find clearly enunciated
by several peoples in the Congo who, like the Azande, regard witchcraft as
an organic substance.

The most feared of all these evil creatures that are classed by analogy
with witchcraft is a species of wild cat called adandara. They live in the
bush and are said to have bright bodies and gleaming eyes and to utter shrill
cries in the night. Azande of ten say of these eats, 'It is witchcraft, they are
the same as witchcraft.' The male eats have sexual relations with women
who give birth to kittens and suckle them like human infants. Everyone
agrees that these eats exist and that it is fatai to see them. It is unlucky evèn
to hear their cries. I heard a cat cry one night and shortly afterwards one of
my servants came to my hut to borrow a magic whistle which I had bought
and which was made especially for warding of f the influence of these eats.
He uttered a spell and blew on the whistle and went back to his hut
seemingly satisfìed that he had warded of f danger from our home.

A text about the eats runs thus:

A woman who bears eats has sexual congress with a male cat and
then with a man. She becomes gravid with child and with eats. She is
pregnant with child and with eats. When she approaches the time of
labour she goes to a woman who makes a practice of delivering eats
and says to her that she is in pangs of childbirth and that she wishes
her to act as midwife. She rises and they go together, and having
arrived at a termite mound which she has sighted they seat themselves
beside it. She gives birth to eats and the midwife places them on the
ground and washes them. They hide them in the termite mound and
return home. The midwife says to the woman who bore the eats that
she is going to grind kurukpu and sesame to anoint the eats with it. The
woman who bore the eats assents. She grinds kurukpu and takes oil
and brings it with her and anoints the eats with kurukpu and oil. The
midwife returns home.
 The following day she bears a child and no one knows that she has
borne eats. The eats grow big and take to eating fowls. In his
homestead the owner cries out on account of his fowls and says 'Who
has brought eats to eat my fowls', for he does not know that his wife
has given birth to the eats.

These animals are terrible, and if a man sees them he is not likely to
recover but will die. There are not many women who give birth to eats,
only a few. An ordinary woman cannot bear eats but only a woman
whose mother has borne eats can bear them after the manner of her
mother.

My personal contacts included only two cases of persons who had

actually seen adandara ; but there are a number of cases in Zande tradition.
It is said of some great kings of the past that they died from sight of these
eats, and I think that this is a tribute to their royal position since it took
more than ordinary witchcraft, such as is responsible for the death of their
subjects, to kill such famous people. It is to celebrated cases of this kind
that Azande appeal if you question the authenticity of their cats. Ali believe
firmly in their existence, and many carry magic whisdes as a protection
against them.

Azande of ten refer to Lesbian practices between women as adandara.

They say, 'It is the same as cats.' This comparison is based upon the like
inauspiciousness of both phenomena and on the fact that both are female
actions which may cause the death of any man who witnesses them. In this
place only a few words need to be written about Lesbianism and certain
kindred practices considered unlucky by Azande. Zande women, especially
in the homesteads of princes, indulge in homosexual relations by means of a
phallus fashioned from roots. It is said that in the past a prince did not
hesitate to execute a wife whose homosexual activities were discovered,
and even today I have known a prince to expel wives from his household
for the same reason. Among lesser folk, if a man discovers that his wife has
Lesbian relations with other women he flogs her and there is a scandal. The
husband's anger is due to his fear of the unlucky consequences that may
ensue from such practices. Azande therefore speak of them as evil in the
same way as they speak of witchcraft and cats as evil, and they say,
moreover, that homosexual women are the sort who may well give birth to
cats and be witches also. In giving birth to cats and in Lesbianism the evil is
associated with the sexual functions of women, and it is to be noted that any
unusual action of the female genitalia is considered unlucky. It is injurious
to a man if a woman provokingly exposes her vagina to him, and it is yet
more serious if she exposes her anus in the presence of men. A woman will
sometimes end a family argument by exposing a part of her body in this
way to her husband's eyes. These customs are mentioned here in order that
the reader may appreciate that witchcraft is not the sole agent of misfortune,
but that there are a number of other agencies which are thought to have an
inauspicious influence over human beings, and they are also mentioned
because, when Azande talk about them, they compare their inauspiciousness
to that of witchcraft which is the prototype of all evil. Other unlucky
agencies, such as menstruating women, could be enumerated also, but have
no particular association with witchcraft.

There is one unlucky agent, however, who bears so close a resemblance

to witches that he must be described here. This is the person who cuts his
upper teeth first. Such a man is called an irak'órinde ; ira, possessor of , k'ó
(a contraction of kere), bad, and rinde, teeth. He is considered unlucky but
not a serious menace, like witches, since he never kills people. I have not
seen a person who was known to be a possessor of bad teeth ; but then, as
Azande ask, how can you know whether a man is one or not? Nevertheless,
people say that it is sometimes known if a baby has shown upper teeth
before lower ones, and I was told that such a child would be considered a
danger to the crops of neighbours, and that if its evil influence were not
counteracted by magic it would run a risk of falling a victim to protective
medicines. They say of such a child :

Oh, what a child to have his teeth appearing above. It is a witch. Oh

protect my firstfruits lest that possessor of evil teeth goes to eat them.

For at sowing time men protect their crops against witchcraft and
possessors of bad teeth. There are probably special medicines which injure
possessors of bad teeth if they partake of the firstfruits of a food crop, for it
is the eating of firstfruits that does the greatest harm. A man digs up some
of his groundnuts, leaving the main crop ungarnered. With these his wife
makes a pasty flavouring to accompany porridge and he invites a few
neighbours to partake of the meal. Should a possessor of bad teeth partake
of it the whole groundnut crop in the gardens may be ruined. Since there is
no means of knowing who are possessors of bad teeth people trust in
protection of magic, from fear of which possessors of bad teeth will abstain
from partaking of the firstfruits of their neighbours' crops. These medicines
are considered at the same time to have a productive action, causing
groundnuts, eleusine, and maize to give forth abundantly.

Azande say also that a possessor of bad teeth may injure anything new
besides firstfruits. If a man makes a fine new stool or bowl or pot and one
of these people comes and admires it and fìngers it, it will crack. I gathered
that a possessor of bad teeth injures people's possessions without malice
and perhaps also without intent, though Zande opinion was not very
decided on this point. Nevertheless, he is responsible, since he knows of his
evil influence and should avoid eating firstfruits and handling new utensils.
Moreover, his father should have used magic to have rendered him
innocuous as soon as he discovered the abnormality. He has therefore only
himself to blame if he suffers injury from protective magie. I have never
heard that people consult oracles to find out which possessor of bad teeth
has injured their possessions, and consequently they are not identifìed.
When a Zande has suffered an injury he asks about witchcraft, not about
bad teeth. Moreover, except for making protective magic against possessors
of bad teeth, there is no special social behaviour associated with them.
Azande do not treat them very seriously, and it is very seldom that one
hears them mentioned.

[Link]
APPENDIX IV

Some Reminiscences and Reflections on Fieldwork

I have of ten been asked how one goes about fieldwork, and how we
fared in what must seem to them those distant days. It had not occurred to
me as clearly as it should have done that the information we gathered and
published might some time or other be scrutinized and evaluated to some
extent by the circumstances of one kind or another in which we conducted
our research. So I have jotted down these notes as a fragment of
3
anthropological history.

That charming and intelligent AustrianAmerican anthropologist Paul

Radin has said that no one quite knows how one goes about fieldwork.
Perhaps we should leave the question with that sort of answer: But when I
was a serious young student in London I thought I would try to get a few
tips from experienced fieldworkers before setting out for Central Africa. I
first sought advice from Westermarck. Ali I got from him was 'don't
converse with an informant for more than twenty minutes because if you
aren't bored by that time he will be'. Very good advice, even if somewhat
inadequate. I sought instruction from Haddon, a man foremost in
fieldresearch. He told me that it was really all quite simple ; one should
always behave as a gende- -man. Also very good advice. My teacher,
Seligman, told me to take ten grains of quinine every night and to keep of f
women. The famous Egyptologist, Sir Flinders Petrie, just told me not to
bother about drinking dirty water as one soon became immune to it. Finally,
I asked Malinowski and was told not to be a bloody fool. So there is no
clear answer, much will depend on the man, on the society he is to study,
and the conditions in which he is to make it.

Sometimes people say that anybody can make observations and write a
book about a primitive people. Perhaps anybody can, but it may not be a
contribution to anthropology. In science, as in life, one finds only what one
seeks. One cannot have the answers without knowing what the questions
are. Consequently the first imperative is a rigorous training in general
theory before attempting fieldresearch so that one may know how and what
to observe, what is significant in the light of theory. It is essential to realize
that facts are in themselves meaningless. To be meaningful they must have
a degree of generality. It is useless going into the field blind. One must
know precisely what one wants to know and that can only be acquired by a
systematic training in academic social anthropology.

For instance, I am sure that I could not have written my book on Zande
witchcraft in the way I did or even made the observations on which it is
based had I not read the books written by that noble man Lévy-Bruhl, and I
doubt whether I could ever have convinced myself that I was not deluding
myself in my description and interpretation of the lineage system of the
Nuer had I not, almost suddenly, realized that Robertson Smith had
presented, in almost the same words as I was to use, a similar system
among the Ancient Arabians. I do not think I could have made a
contribution to an understanding of the political structure of the Shilluk and
Anuak if I had not been deep in mediaeval studies. And I could not have
written as I did about the Sanusi had I not had in my mind the model of the
history of other religious movements. These last éxamples illustrate a
further point. Strictly speaking, mediaeval Europe and religious movements
might be held to lie outside social anthropological studies, but on reflection
it might be accepted that this is not really so, that all knowledge is relevant
to our researches and may, though not taught as anthropology, influence the
direction of our interests and through them our observations and the manner
in which we finally present them. Moreover, one may say that since what
we study are human beings the study involves the whole personality, heart
as well as mind ; and therefore what has shaped that personality, and not
just academic background : sex, age, class, nationality, family and home,
school, church, companions—one could enumerate any number of such
influences. All I want to emphasize is that what one brings out of a
fieldstudy largely depends on what one brings to it. That has certainly been
my experience, both in my own researches and in what I have concluded
from those of my colleagues."

It used to be said, and perhaps still is, that the anthropologist goes into
the field with preconceived ideas about the nature of primitive societies and
that his observations are directed by theoretical bias, as though this were a
vice and not a virtue. Everybody goes to a primitive people with
preconceived ideas but, as Malinowski used to point out, whereas the
layman's are uninformed, usually prejudiced, the anthropologist's are
scientific, at any rate in the sense that they are based on a very considerable
body of accumulated and sifted knowledge. If he did not go with
preconceptions he would not know what and how to observe. And of course
the anthropologist's observations are biased by his theoretical dispositìons,
which merely means that he is aware of various hypotheses derived from
existing knowledge and deductions from it and, if his field data permit, he
tests these hypotheses. How could it be otherwise? One cannot study
anything without a theory about its nature.

On the other hand, the anthropologist must follow what he finds in the
society he has selected for study : the social organization of its people, their
values and sentiments and so forth. I illustrate this fact from what happened
in my own case. I had no interest in witchcraft when I went to Zandeland,
but the Azande had ; so I had to let myself by guided by them. I had no
particular interest in cows when I went to Nuerland, but the Nuer had, so
willynilly I had to become cattle-minded too.

It will have been evident from what has already been said that it is
desirable that a student should make a study of more than one society,
though this is not always, for one reason or another, possible. If he makes
only a single study it is inevitable that he will view its people's institutions
in contrast to his own and their ideas and values in contrast to those of his
own culture; and this in spi te of the corrective given by his previous
reading of anthropological literature. When he makes a study of a second
allen society he will approach it and see its people's culture in the light of
his experience of the first—as it were through different lenses, in different
perspectives—and this is likely to make his study more objective, or at any
rate give him fruitful lines of inquiry which might possibly not otherwise
have occurred to him. For instance, Azande have kings and princes and a
fairly elaborate political organization and bureaucracy. When I went to live
among the Nuer after many months among the Azande, I found that
although they had qui te substantial political groups there appeared to be no
political authority of any significance ; so naturally I asked myself what
gave a sense of unity within these tribal groups, and in the course of my
inquiries I was led to unravel their lineage system. Then, while the Azande
were deeply concerned with witchcraft, the Nuer appeared to be almost
totally uninterested in the notion or in any similar notion, so I asked myself
to what they attributed any misfortune or untoward event. This led to a
study of their concept oikwoth, spirit, and eventually to my book on their
religion.

The study of a second society has the advantage also that one has learnt
by experience what mistakes to avoid and how from the start to go about
making observations, how to make shortcuts in the investigation, and how
to exercise economy in what one finds it relevant to relate, since one sees
the fundamental problems more quickly. It has its disadvantage that the
writing-up period is greatly extended— I have still published only a portion
of my Zande notes taken down during a study begun in 1927! It is the
British intense emphasis of fìeldresearch which certainly in part accounts
for the demise of the once much-extolled comparative method. Everyone is
so busy writing up his own field-notes that no one has much time to read
books written by others.

The importance of a thorough grounding in general theory begins to

reveal itself when the fìeldworker returns home to write a book about the
people he has studied. I have had much, too much, fieldexperience, and I
have long ago discovered that the decisive battle is not fought in the field
but in the study afterwards. Anyone who is not a complete idiot can do
fieldwork, and if the people he is working among have not been studied
before he cannot help making an originai contribution to knowledge. But
will it be to theoretical, or just to factual, knowledge? Anyone can produce
a new fact; the thing is to produce a new idea. It has been my woeful
experience that many a student comes home from the field to write just
another book about just another people, hardly knowing what to do with the
grain he has been atsuch pains to garner. Can it be too of ten said that in
science empirical observation to he of value must be guided and inspired by
some general view of the nature of the phenomena being studied? The
theoretical conclusions will then be found to be implicit in an exact and
detailed description.

ii
 This brings me to what anthropologists sometimes speak of as
participant-observation. By this they mean that in so far as it is both
possible and convenient they live the life of the people among whom they
are doing their research. This is a somewhat complicated matter and I shall
only touch on the material side of it. I found it useful if I wanted to
understand how and why Africans are doing certain things to do them
myself: I had a hut and byre like theirs ; I went hunting with them with
spear and bow and arrow ; I learnt to make pots ; I consulted oracles ; and
so forth. But clearly one has to recognize that there is a certain pretence in
such attempts at participation, and people do not always appreciate them.
One enters into another culture and withdrawsfromitat the same time. One
cannot really become a Zande or a Nuer or a Bedouin Arab, and the best
compliment one can pay them is to remain apart from them in essentials. In
any case one always remains oneself, inwardly a member of one's own
society and a sojourner in a strange land. Perhaps it would be better to say
that one lives in two different worlds of thought at the same time, in
categories and concepts and values which of ten cannot easily be
reconciled. One becomes, at least temporarily, a sort of doublé marginai
man, allenated from both worlds.

The problem is most obvious and acute when one is confronted with
notions not found in our own presentday culture and therefore unfamiliar to
us. Such ideas as God and soul are familiar and with some adjustment
transference can readily be made, but what about beliefs in witchcraft,
magic, and oracles? I have of ten been asked whether, when I was among
the Azande, I got to accept their ideas about witchcraft. This is a difficult
question to answer. I suppose you can say I accepted them; I had no choice.
In my own culture, in the climate of thought I was born into and brought up
in and have been conditioned by, I rejected, and reject, Zande notions of
witchcraft. In their culture, in the set of ideas I then lived in, I accepted
them; in a kind of way I believed them. Azande were talking about
witchcraft daily, both among themselves and to me ; any communication
was well-nigh impossible unless one took witchcraft for granted. You
cannot have a remunerative, even intelligent, conversation with people
about something they take as self-evident if you give them the impression
that you regard their belief as an illusion or a delusion. Mutual
understanding, and with it sympathy, would soon be ended, if it ever got
started. Anyhow, I had to act as though I trusted the Zande oracles and
therefore to give assent to their dogma of witchcraft, whatever reservations
I might have. If I wanted to go hunting or on a journey, for instance, no one
would willingly accompany me unless I was able to produce a verdict of the
poison oracle that all would be well, that witchcraft did not threaten our
project; and if one goes on arranging one's affairs, organizing one's life in
harmony with thelives of one's hosts, whose companionship one seeks and
without which one would sink into disorientated craziness, one must
eventually give way, or at any rate partially give way. If one must act as
though one believed, one ends in believing, or half-believing as, one acts.

Here arises a question with regard to which my colleagues have not

always seen eye to eye with me. In writing about the beliefs of primitive
peoples does it matter one way or the other whether one accords them
validity or regards them as fallacious? Take witchcraft again. Does it make
any difference whether one believes in it or not, or can one just describe
how a people who believe in it, think and act about it, and how the belief
affects relations between persons? I think it does make a difference, for if
one does not think that the psychic assumptions on which witchcraftbeliefs
are based are tenable, one has to account for what is commonsense to others
but is incomprehensible to oneself. One is in a different position with regard
to belief in God, or at any rate I was. We do not think that witchcraft exists,
but we have been taught that God does, so we do not here feel that we have
to account for an illusion. We have only to describe how a people think of
what we both regard as a reality and how in various ways the belief
influences their lives. The atheist, however, is faced with the same problem
as with witchcraft and feels the need to account for an illusion by various
psychological or sociological hypotheses. I admit that this is a very difficult
philosophical question, for it might reasonably be asked why, other than in
faith, should one acpept God and not witchcraft, since it could be held, as
many anthropologists do, that the evidence for the one is no greater than for
the other. The point is, I suppose, that in our culture (leaving out past
history and modem scepticism) the one makes sense and the other not. I
raise the question even if I cannot give a very satisfactory answer to it. After
all, it does make a difference whether one thinks that a cow exists or is an
illusion !
 Since this question of eritering into the thought of another people has
been raised, I might touch on a further implication. I wonder whether
anthropologists always realize that in the course of their fieldwork they can
be, and sometimes are, transformed by the people they are making a study
of ,"that in a subtle kind of way and possibly unknown to themselves they
have what used to be called 'gone native'. If an anthropologist is a sensitive
person it could hardly be otherwise. This is a highly personal matter and I
will only say that I learnt from African 'primitives' much more than they
learnt from me, much that I was never taught at school, something more of
courage, endurance, patience, resignation, and forebearance that I had no
great understanding of before. Just to give one example: I would say that I
learnt more about the nature of God and our human predicament from the
Nuer than I ever learnt at home.

iii

It is an academic issue of some importance and one which is of ten

confused and sometimes leads to rancour: what is the difference between
soCiology and social anthropology? I have discussed this question
elsewhere and will not go into it again here, especially as it is only
peripheral to my topic. But I would like to touch on a query put to me from
time to time by sociology students : why do anthropologists in their
fìeldwork not employ some of the techniques used by sociologists in theirs,
such as questionnaires, sampling, interviews, statistics and so forth. The
answer is that, though I suppose the situation is now somewhat different, in
my day the use of such techniques among a primitive people would not
have been to any extent worthwhile, or even possible at all. The peoples I
worked among were totally illiterate, so the distribution of questionnaires
would have been a waste of time. With a homogeneous rural or semi-
nomadic people sampling, such as is required in a socially heterogeneous
urban community in our own country, is not only unnecessary but more or
less meaningless. Set interviews in the anthropologist's hut or tent, as
distinct from informai conversations are generally impossible because
natives would not cooperate; and in any case they are undesirable because
they are held outside of the context of a people's activities. I made it a rule
never to take a notebook with me in public, not that people would have had
any idea of what I was doing but because I felt that somehow a notebook
came in between them and me and broke our contact. I memorized what I
saw and heard and wrote it down when I got back to the privacy of my
abode. Statistics have a very limited value even when the required
numerical data can be obtained—had I asked a Nuer woman how many
children she had borne she simply would not have told me, and had I asked
a Nuer man how many cattle he possessed he would have, unless he knew
me very well indeed, all too likely have withdrawn into an unbroken
taciturnity, or perhaps have been violent.

When I say that in my time set interviews were out of the question,
private conversations with a few individuals, those whom anthropologists
call informants (an unfortunate word) must be excluded. There are certain
matters which cannot be discussed in public; there are explanations which
cannot be asked for on the spot (as for instance during a funeral or a
religious ceremony) without intruding and causing embarrassment; and
there are texts to be taken down, which can only be done in seclusion. It is
necessary, therefore, to have confidential informants who are prepared to
attend regular sessions, maybe daily; and it is evident that they must be men
of integrity, truthful, intelligent, knowledgeable, and genuinely interested in
your endeavours to understand the way of life of their people. They will
become your friends. Among the Azande I relied mostly on my two
personal servants and on two paid informants, but as usual in Africa, there
were always people connected with them coming in and out of my home.
The one young man whom I came across who was capable of writing Zande
was for a time my clerk, having been sacked from the C.M.S. Mission for
having married a divorced woman. Among the Nuer and Anuak and
Bedouin I never found anyone who could, or would, become an informant
in the sense I have set forth above, and so I had to do the best I could,
gathering information from all and sundry. One has to be very careful in
one's selection of informants, if one has the opportunity to be selective, for
it may be found that it is only a particular sort of person who is prepared to
act in this capacity, possibly a person who is ready to serve a European as
the best way of escaping from family and other social obligations. Such a
man may give a slant to one's way of looking at things, a perspective one
might not get from others.
 Sometimes it is said that the anthropologist is of ten hoodwinked and lied
to. Not if he is a good anthropologist and a good judge of character. Why
should anyone lie to you if there is trust between you ? And if there is not,
you might as well go home. If you are in the hands of an interpreter it is
true that it can be a hazard, but if you speak the native language you can
check and recheck. It would be improbable in these circumstances, unless
everybody is telling the same story, for a man to get away with an untruth.
There may be, and very of ten is, a difference, sometimes a considerable
difference of opinion between one informant and another about a fact, or its
interpretation, but this does not mean that either is telling a lie. Natives are
not all of the same opinion any more than we are; and some are better
informed than others. There may, of course, be secret matters about which
an informant does not wish to speak and he may. then prevaricate and put
you of f from pursuing a line of inquiry for one reason or another. Till
towards the end of my stay among the Azande my inquiries, even among
those I knew and trusted most, about their secret societies met with lack of
response. Informants, who were members of these societies, pretended to
know nothing about them. As they were sworn to secrecy they could
scarcely have done otherwise. However, to an observant anthropologist a lie
may be more revealing than a truth, for if he suspects, or knows, that he is
not being told the truth he asks himself what is the motive of concealment
and this may lead him into hidden depths.

Perhaps here is the place to discuss another question which has

frequently been put to me. Does one get the native view about life (and
about women) from men only or can one get to know the women as well
and see things from their viewpoint? Much depends on the people one is
studying and the status of women among them. During an abortive (war
broke out) fieldstudy in an Upper Egyptian (Quft) village I never spoke to a
woman or even had more than a flitting sight of one at night. Bedouin
women in Cyrenaica did not veil and could be conversed with if not with
intimacy, at least without embarrassment. The Zande women were almost
an inferior castle, and unless elderly matrons, shy and tongue-tied. In
Nuerland, where women have high status and assert their independence,
they would come and talk to me whenever they chose, of ten at times most
inconvenierit to me. It seemed to be an endless flirtation. Certainly it was
they and not I, who made the going. On the whole I would say that the male
anthropologist, not fìtting into native categories of male and female and not
therefore being likely to behave as a male in certain circumstances might be
expected to behave, does not come within their range of suspicions,
judgements and codes. Ina sense he is, since he lies outside their social life,
however much he may try to identify himself with it, sexless. For example,
nobody in Zandeland objected to my chatting to their womenfolk, but had
an unrelated Zande done so there would have been serious trouble; in pre-
European days indemnity would have been demanded or emasculation
would have ensued.

It is asking a rather different question, whether a woman anthropologist

can obtain more, or better, information about women's habits and ideas than
a man can. Here again much depends on the kind of society. Obviously in
an urban Moslem society, where women are secluded in hareems only a
woman has access to them. But I would say that elsewhere I have seen little
evidence that female anthropologists have done more research into woman's
position in society and in general their way of life than have male
anthropologists. I would add that I doubt whether it is even an advantage
for an anthropologist to be accompanied by his wife in the field. They then
form a litde closed community of their own, making it difficult for both to
learn the native language quickly and correctly and to make the required
transference which only the feeling of need for dose company and
friendship can force a man to make. However, I would imagine that the man
with a wife in the field gets at least better fed; but since I was not married
when I did my research this hardly comes within my reminiscences. But I
cannot resist the observation that, as I see it, what eventually ruined our
relations with the peoples of the Southern Sudan were motorcars and British
wives.

Another matter which has some hearing on the subject of informants is

the anthropologist's relations with other Europeans in the areas in which he
is working. In the Southern Sudan in my day this presented no great
problem. There were only a handful of administrative officials, a few
missionaries and an occasionai doctor. With one or two exceptions, I found
them kindly, hospitable, and willing to be helpful. Sometimes they were
able to give me information which, though it was not always accurate or
from an anthropological point of view adequate, saved me time and enabled
me at least to make a start. This was particularly the case with the American
Presbyterian missionaries in Nuerland, with Mr. Elliot Smith among the
Anuak, and Archdeacon Owen among the Luo of Kenya. In this matter the
anthropologist has to be wise. After all he is, so to speak, an intruder into
their territory, a territory about which they have of ten and for a long time
been considered, and considered themselves to be, the main or even sole
authority. There is no need or purpose in his being condescending, and if he
has got the sense not to be, they will not in my experience hold back a
willing hand. Let him therefore always remember that, at any rate at the
beginning of his research, though he may know more general anthropology
than they, they possibly know more about the local ethnographical facts
than he. Also let him remind himself that if he cannot get on with his own
people he is unlikely to get on with anyone. And, furthermore, they are part
of what he is supposed to be studying.

But I must caution students not to accept, above all in religious matters,
what they may find in mission literature. The missionary generally only
knows a language outside of the context of native life and therefore may
well miss the full meaning of words which only that context can give him.
The fact that he has been among a people for a long Urne proves nothing :
what counts is the manner and mode of his residence among them and
whether God has given him, among other blessings, the gift of intelligence.
I have advised caution above all in religious matters. It is, or should be,
obvious that since the natives do not understand English the missionary in
his propaganda has no option but to look in the native language for words
which might serve for such concepts as 'God', 'soul', 'sin' and so forth. He is
not translating native words into his own tongue but trying to translate
European words, which he possibly does not understand, into words in a
native tongue, which he may understand even less. The result of this
exercise can be confusing, even chaotic. I have published a note on the near
idiocy of English hymns translated into Zande. Missionaries, for instance,
have used the word mbori in Zande for 'God', without any clear
understanding of what the word means to the Azande themselves. Even
worse things have happened in the Nilotic languages, or some of them. I am
not going to pursue this matter further now beyond saying that in the end
we are involved in total entanglement, for having chosen in a native
language a word to stand for 'God' in their own, the missionaries endow the
native word with the sense and qualities the word 'God' has for them. I
suppose they could hardly have done otherwise. I have not in the past made
this criticism of missionaries because I did not wish to give of fence and
because I thought any intelligent person could make it for himself.

Here might be a sui table place to discuss a related topic. How much help
can the anthropologist get from technical experts who have worked in his
area of research—agronomists, hydrologists, botanista, doctors, vets and
others? The answer is that he can gain information he cannot himself obtain
and that some of it may be relevant to his own problems and lines of
inquiry. Only he can judge what has relevance and what has not. Succinctly
stated, a physical fact becomes a social one when it becomes important for
a community and therefore for the student of it. That the Azande are unable,
whether they would wish to or not, to keep domesticated animals, other
than dog and fowl, on account of tsetse morsitans is obviously a fact
important to know, but knowledge of the pathology of the trypanasomes is
not going to shed much light on the social effects of what they do. But one
must beware of accepting what anyone tells you about native life, whatever
his special qualifications may be. An awful example would be de Schlippe's
book on Zande agriculture, for what he describes in it are less Zande modes
of cultivation than those imposed on the Azande by the Government of the
AngloEgyptian Sudan. Had de Schlippe been able to speak and understand
the Zande language he might have realized this. Also beware of a joint team
of research. It can only lead to waste of time and irritation. Meyer Fortes
told me that when he was in such a team in Ghana he spent much of his
time and energy in trying to explain to other members of the team the
significance of their observations, and when I became a member of a team
for study in Kenya I was the only member of it who turned up and did
anything. When I did my research in the Sudan there were no agronomists,
entomologists, and so on, so I had to do the best I could to be my own
expert. Perhaps it was just as well.

Ali that was required in one's dealings with Europeans in a country ruled
by the British were tact and humility. Things have changed. In the first
place, it has become increasingly difficult, of ten impossible, to conduct
anthropological research in many parts of the world. Clearly, at present, one
would be unlikely to be encouraged to do so in Soviet Russia, and at any
rate some of its satellites, or in China. In present circumstances I would not,
though I speak Arabie, care to try to do research in most of the Arab lands.
Even were I given permission to do so, there would be constant supervision
and interference. In such countries the anthropologist is regarded as a spy,
his knowledge likely to be used in certain circumstances by the Intelligence
of his country ; and he is also resented as a busybody prying into other
people's affairs.

Even when this is not the case and in countries where no acute political
issues are involved, there may be, and I think generally is, a hostile attitude
to anthropological inquiries. There is the feeling that they suggest that the
people of the country where they are made are uncivilized, savages.
Anthropology smells to them as cultural colonialism, an arrogant assertion
of European superiori ty—the white man studying the inferior black man ;
and they have some justification for their suspicions and resentment, for
anthropologists have in the past only too readily lent and sold themselves in
the service of colonial interests. The late Dr. Nkrumah once complained to
me that anthropologists tried to make the African look as primitive as
possible : photographing people in the nude and writing .about witchcraft
and fetishes and other superstitions and ignoring roads, harbours, schools,
factories, etc. Indeed, anthropology has, I think rather unfairly, and without
its intentions and achievements being really understood, become a bad word
for the peoples of new and independent states, perhaps especially in Africa.
So I have for many years advised students about to embark on fieldwork to
claim that they are historians or linguists, subjects which no one can take of
fence at; or they can talk vaguely about sociology.

On the question of the length of fieldwork, I would say that a first study
of a people takes, if it is to be thorough, up to two years. (My stay among
the Azande was twenty months.) I do not think it can be much less (in spite
of the American way of doing research). Ideally, the programme would be
something like a year in the field and then a break of some months to chew
the cud on what one has gathered, discussing with friends problems that
have arisen in the course of one's work, and sorting out what has been
omitted and overlooked during it. Then back to the field for another year.
This has not always, or even of ten, proved to be possible. Furthermore, a
student must, if anything is to become of his research, have at least another
year for writingup. This, again, is not always, or -even of ten, possible, and
the fieldworker may be compelled to accept a post in which he is plunged
into teaching, and the results of his research become stale. How of ten has
this not happened?

iv

Obviously the most essential of all things the anthropologist must have in
the conduct of his inquiries is a thorough knowledge of the language of the
people about whom he is going to tell us. By no other path can their thought
(which is what I have myself chiefly been interested in and why I have
spent a lifetime in anthropology) be understood and presented. So in the
researches I have made, other than the ethnographical surveys (through the
medium of Arabie) to oblige Prof . Seligman, I have struggled with and
mastered the native language— Zande, Nuer, Anuak, Bedouin, Arabie, and
even Luo and Galla to some extent. Ali English anthropologists today,
unlike their predecessors, Rivers, Haddon, Seligman and others, would pay
at any rate lipservice to this requirement and would claim that they have
spoken native tongue well. They may have done so, but they seldom display
evidence of their ability. Even when I have little doubt that they understood
languages, a critic may, and probably will, at some time in the future ask
what their credentials are. In the past these could be presented in the form
of texts (with translations), but today this cannot be accepted as certain
evidence, for as most 'primitive' societies become literate it is possible for
the anthropologist, as it was seldom, of ten never, possible in my day, to
find people to write his texts for him and to translate them. I met only one
Zande who could write at all coherently, while among the Nuer, Anuak,
Bedouin Arabs and other peoples there was no one ; so I had to take down
texts myself, and in the hard way, there being at that time no taperecorders,
an instrument not always an advantage. Being brought up on Greek and
Latin, texts were for me a necessary accomplishment and my passion for
them was inflamed by Malinowski who in his turn had been inspired in this
matter by the Egyptologist Sir Alan Gardiner. The trouble, however, is to
get vernacular texts published—who can or wants to read them? I have
done my best for Zande. It has cost me much time and money ; and I have
given up all hope of publishing others in that language or in other
languages.
 One of the things I have of ten been asked is how does an anthropologist
make even a start in his study of a primitive society. I must answer the
question in the light of my own experience, which may not be quite the
same as that of others working in different conditions.4 It helped of course
that most of my research was carried out in a country, the Sudan, at that
time ruled by the British and with a government and its officers friendly
disposed to anthropological research. What helped also, I think, and even
more, was that the British were few and far between, that in other words
one could be liked or disliked, accepted or rejected, as a person and not as a
member of a class of persons (which was very unlike Kenya, where it was
hard to decide who were the more unpleasant, the of ficials or the settlers,
both of whom were so loathed by the Africans that it was difficult for a
white anthropologist to gain their confidence). But given favourable
conditions, such as generally obtained in the Sudan, it has always seemed to
me to be perfectly simple to walk into a so-called primitive society and
sojourn there. Why should anybody object since one does no harm and is a
guest? Would not I feel the same if one of them came to live near me? I did
not expect, as some American anthropologists appear to, to be loved. I
wanted to give and not to be given to ; but I was always received with a
kindly welcome—except among the Nuer, but they were bitterly hostile to
the Government at the time. I suppose that if one knows one is going to be
so received one just turns up and hopes to get to know people, and in my
experience they are happy to be known. It may happen that an
anthropologist who has encountered difficulties among one people might
not have done so among another. To this extent it could be said that there is
an element of chance..

There are really no directions that can be imparted about how one gets to
know people. Somehow or another one finds a couple of servants, or more
likely they find you, and one or two men who are prepared for a reward to
teach you the language ; and these people tend to identify themselves with
you so that nothing you possess is 'yours' any more, it is 'ours'. Then they
get some kudos for having—I was going to say owning—their white man,
and are happy to introduce him to their families and friends, and so it goes
on. There is an initìal period of bewilderment, one can even say of despair,
but if one perseveres one eventually breaks through. I have always found
that the best way, largely unintentional on my part, of overcoming my
shyness and sometimes my hosts' suspicion has been through the children,
who do not have the same reserve towards a stranger, nor if it comes to that,
did I on my side towards them. So I started among the Azande by getting
the boys to teach me games and among the Nuer by going fishing every
morning with the boys. I found that when their children accepted me their
elders accepted me too. Another tip I venture to give is not to start trying to
make inquiries into social matters—family, kin, chieftainship, religion or
whatever it may be before the language has to some extent been mastered
and personal relationships have been established, otherwise
misunderstandings and confusions may result which it may be difficult to
overcome. Anyhow if you do what I did, refuse, or are unable, to make use
of an interpreter you cannot in the early stages of research inquire into such
matters. The way tó begin is to work steadily for twelve hours a day at
learning the language, making use of everybody you meet for the purpose.
That means that you are their pupil, an infant to be taught and guided. Also
people easily understand that you want to speak their language, and in my
experience in your initial gropings they are sympathetic and try to help you.
The strictest teachers were the Nuer, who would correct me, politely but
firmly, if I pronounced a word wrongly or was mistaken in its meaning.
They were quite proud of their pupil when he began to talk more or less
intelligibly. Then, being mute to begin with, one learns each day through
the eye as well as by the ear. Here again it seems to people both innocent
and reasonable, if sometimes a bit amusing, that you should, since you have
sprung up from nowhere, to join them, take an interest in what is going on
around you and learn to do what they do : cultivating, pot-making, herding,
saddling camels, dancing, or whatever it may be.

I will only add to these random remarks that I have always advised
students going into the field to begin by learning a few new words each day,
and by noting material things. Every social process, every relationship,
every idea has its representation in words and objects, and if one can master
words and things, nothing can eventually escape one. A final hint : get away
from servants and regular informants from time to time, and meet people
who do not know you ; then you will know how badly you are speaking
their tongue !

v
 It may well be asked, and it sooner or later has to be, what should one
record about a people one makes a study of and how much of the record
should one publish. I have always held, and still hold, that one should
record in one's notebooks as much as possible, everything one observes. I
know that this is an impossible task, but long after, maybe many years after
one has left the field and one's memory has faded, one will be glad that one
has recorded the most familiar and everyday things—what, how, and when
people cook, for example. I have now lived to regret that I did not always
do so. And how much that goes into the notebooks should go into print?
Ideally, I suppose, everything, because what is not published may be, and
generally is, forever lost—the picture of a people's way of life at a point of
time goes down into the dark unfathomed caves. And one cannot know how
valuable what may appear to one at the time to be a trifle may be to a
student in the future who may be asking questions which one did not ask
oneself. I feel it therefore to be a duty to publish all one knows, though this
is a burden hard to be borne—and publishers think so too. One is burdened
for the rest of one's life with what one has recorded, imprisoned in the
prison one has built for oneself, but one owes a debt to posterity.

It may be here that I should make a protest about anthropologists' books

about peoples. A certain degree of abstraction is of course required,
otherwise we would get nowhere, but is it really necessary to just make a
book out of human beings? I find the usual account of fieldresearch so
boring as of ten to be unreadable—kinship systems, political systems, ritual
systems, every sort of system, structure and function, but little flesh and
blood. One seldom gets the impression that the anthropologist felt at one
with the people about whom he writes. If this is romanticism and
sentimentality I accept those terms.

E. E. EVANS-PRITCHARD

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Suggestions for Further Reading

The first and most obvious advice to the student whose appetite has been
whetted by this abridgement is togo on and read the full, originai versionof
E. E. EVANS-PRITCHARD's Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the
Azande. An abridgement, necessarily, leaves out a great deal ; in this
instance I have had, very regretfully, to exclude a vast number of case-
histories and examples, which are not only interesting and deliglitful in
themselves but made up much of the value and rich intrinsic character of
the originai book. So the first suggestion for further reading must be:

EVANS-PRITCHARDE. E.: Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic among the

Azande. Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 1937.

Other suggestions may be grouped under the following headings :

(A) Further material about the Azande

EVANS-PRITCHARDE. E.: The Azande: History and Political

Institutions. Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 1971-

Contains the author's earlier writings on aspects of Zande history, culture

and political institutions, preceded by a new Preface and followed by a
good Bibliography of the early travellers and explorers who visited the area.

Singer A. and Street B. V. (eds.) : Zande Themes. Oxford: Basii'

Blackwell, 1972.

Essays presented to EVANSPRITCHARD by a number of his pupils,

dealing with different aspects of Zande society.

Reining C. C.: The Zande Scheme. .Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern

University Press, 1966.

An informative book on the later history of the Sudanese Azande.

(B) Comparative material about neighbouring peoples

 Only one other people has been thoroughly studied in this area: the
Nzakara of the République Centrafricaine, under their Bandiya royal
dynasty. Their French ethnographers regard them as a people quite distinct
from the Azande, though with similar culture and institutions ; EVANS-
PRITCHARD (1971, pp. 27-8) is less certain. In any case they exhibit
interesting material for comparative studies, both as regards resemblances
and differences.

1. It is customary, when witchcraft is suspected, to ask the local

prince, or more of ten his deputy, to send a fowl's wing to the
presumed witch, courteously requesting him to blow water upon
it from his mouth in token of goodwill towards the injured person;
cf. pp. 40-41. Sending a fowl's wing to someone is therefore
tantamount to an accusation of witchcraft.
2. For further information on dreams, cf. Appendix II.
3. This paper is based on talks given in the Universities of
Cambridge and Cardiff.
4. Notes and Queries was certainly of little help to me. I carried my
books in my head, but for the record I will say this: before I went
to Nuerland I talked over with Max Gluckman the problem of
books and we decided that if I could take only one to guide me it
should be Lowie's Primitive Society. It was a very good choice.

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 Table of Contents
Introduction
CHAPTER I
Witchcraft is an Organic and Hereditary Phenomenon
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
vii
viii
CHAPTER II
The Notion of Witchcraft explains Unfortunate Events
i
ii
iii
iv
v
CHAPTER III
Sufferers from Misfortune seek for Witches among their Enemies
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
vii
viii
CHAPTER IV
Are Witches Conscious Agents?
i
ii
iii
CHAPTER V
Witchdoctors
i
ii
iii
iii
iv
v
vi
vii
viii
ix
x
xi
CHAPTER IX
Problems arising from consultation of the Poison Oracle
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
CHAPTER X
Other Zande Oracles
i
ii
iii
iv
v
CHAPTER XI
Magic and Medicines
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
 vii
viii
CHAPTER XII
An Association for the Practice of Magic
i
ii
iii
iv
v
CHAPTER XIII
Witchcraft, Oracles, and Magic, in the Situation of Death
APPENDIX I
A List of Terms Employed in describing Zande Customs and Beliefs
APPENDIX II
Witchcraft and Dreams
APPENDIX III
Other Evil Agents associated with Witchcraft
APPENDIX IV
Some Reminiscences and Reflections on Fieldwork
i
ii
iii
iv
v
Suggestions for Further Reading

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