Tales of Tanzania – part III

“Muzungu, Muzungu” he cried, “this one cures everything!” he claimed. He calls himself doctor, and demands the same address from everyone. Outstretched arms present a curious brown box to me, framed by swirling flaky patterns on its borders. “this one cures everything!” he repeats.

According to doctor, this brown box contains the cure for every single sickness in the world “except death” he warns. Aids, cancer, cholera… you name it, “it even makes you better in bed!” he exclaims.

My hand reaches automatically for the change in my pocket. Six euros for the ultimate medicine can’t be a bad deal, surely. What could possibly go wrong here? My brain stops my hand from digging deeper, and I realize, even though I’d love to by the medicine as the ultimate souvenir, I wouldn’t want to make this con artist any richer than he already is.

The tall dark man wears a brown shirt tucked in blue jeans, and a flash of pearly whites convinces people to buy into his claim, to follow his name. Time freezes as I read the label. Tiny boxes followed by small text where all the sicknesses under the sun can be read, each box ticked in, and his proud grin lies to us all, claiming this magic box is all you need in life.

Witch-doctors in this part of the world are common, and their footprints can be seen all over people’s bodies. Cigar burns are more common than watches here, as witch-doctors would inhale from a cigar, burning their patient’s skin to extract the virus.

Apart from magic medicine, witch doctors here have another trick up their sleeves. They demand their patients bring them body parts of albino Africans. Their hair is mixed with potions, their hands are for luck, and their legs are for help in mining. There are an estimated 6000 (some report even higher numbers of 170,000) albinos living in Tanzania, and each person’s life is under constant threat.

Witch-doctors con their patients into believing their medicines will work, however the exact reverse is true. A patient walks into our clinic complaining of back aches, and moaning as she can’t sleep. As our doctors remove her shirt, the reasons why are obvious. Her back and her chest cannot be seen. Mountainous kiloids and boils cover her body, making sleep or rest impossible. Her level of discomfort is unimaginable, and sadly for her, the pain won’t stop any time soon. She itches constantly ask the scabs burn, some peaking at over one inch.

The actual cause for the injuries are still unknown, however the initial phases started after the patient consulted a witch doctor, a regrettable mistake she will certainly never make again.

Some people go to witch-doctors purely for consultation, and are charged up to €10 a session. To put that into perspective, the average Tanzanian man lives on less than €1 a day, as Tanzania is ranked 156th in the overall level of development, out of 174 countries. Witch-doctors depend on other people’s suffering to live, and claim they are only doing good.

They can make every dream come true, and using albino organs and body parts, anything is possible. Hardly a slogan for an effective marketing brand, however people seem to believe it. And believe it they should, because should you stop consulting the witchdoctor, a witch hunt will start for you. Like Mafiosi, they have connections to the police and are often under a safety net cast by the state.

They rope you in with a charming smile, they promise anything from cures to wealth, however fail to deliver. With levels of education in this part of the world so low, people here have no choice but to believe. They are brainwashed and conned, and there simply is no way out. Some witch doctors would even ask you to bring along other family members to enhance your chance of cure, or rather to make their pocket heavier with your spare change. This is a brilliant way for them to increase their client base, and they go about their business like efficient business men

The educated few leave the country for the wealthier south, or Europe, creating a brain drain, isolating and alienating those left behind. They are often forgotten and ignored, leaving them as prey for the hungry doctors.

I suppose, from an outsider’s perspective, some people would do anything to rid themselves of their terminal illness, and yes that sometimes would mean killing another person, raping a new born, or even allowing others to take advantage of them sexually. With no education, the witch doctors have a blank canvas, and can do literally anything they like, under the protective arm of the corrupt state police.

They say the problem is decreasing, however I believe it’s a case of it spreading, spreading from the major cities and into the rural areas. Major cities have expelled many witch doctors, however this has only fuelled them to find new victims elsewhere, and once the problem hits the rural areas, it is literally untraceable. Many parts of this world are disconnected, and unmarked on maps. They may look like friendly huts from afar, but what lies beneath the charm is a deep scar of suffering.

My brief moment with the doctor ended, as my packed bus finally arrived. I opt out of buying the box, however to this day I feel it would have been a decent souvenir. The con artist has moved on to other victims, and his network spreads. This is a growing problem in the whole of east Africa, and its growth will only be encouraged as the wealthier countries continually ignore these areas.

Education is the key here; however funding must start to build the foundations which will work wonders in the future.