nigerian witchcraft vs. indian juju- bibin joy

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Nigerian Witchcraft vs. Indian Juju

By Bibin Joy, VSO Volunteer, Nigeria, India

A Monday morning, a month after arriving at GidanWaya as an Organizational Development Advisor, I was rushing to the office to reach in time. I was about to search for my office key in the large wooden box where the security officer mount all the keys of different offices. I found an envelope laying at his table addressed to me. I asked the security officer whether it was for me. He replied “yes” and handed over it to me. It had the seal from the State Ministry of Education. I tore open the envelope and found a three lines handwritten official invitation. It read:

‘Your meeting with the Zonkuwa Village Head is scheduled on Monday September 5, 11 am at the Community Hall in Zonkuwa Village”

I looked at my watch it said ‘Monday, September 5, and 8.45 am. I asked the security officer when the letter was delivered to his office. He replied me that he had got it on Friday and forgot to inform me on the same day. When he remembered about it, I was in my weekend holidays and he didn’t want to bother me by giving an official letter during my holidays.

I had hardly 2 hours left to reach Zonkuwa village to attend the meeting. I had already done a back ground research about the road and transportation available to this village in the previous week. I knew it would take more than 2 hours of ride on motorbike taxi (okkada) from my office, no road to this village except a narrow path for motorbike taxi in dry season. In rainy season no motorbike taxi ran between Zonkuwa and GidanWaya. There was a small river to cross even and current was forceful enough to wash you away during high rains.

Zonkuwa was one of the interior villages, under my territory of Organizational Development. This village had a primary school but from last September, it had not been functional for a year. The children did not go to school and teachers were away from the school for their own private business.

When I met the director of education in one of the recent ESSPIN workshops I had told him how I could open the schools in interior part of Nagaland, He wanted me to try my luck on reiterating the Primary School in the Zonkuwavilage. That was the only one Primary School for the whole Zonkuwa people lived on basic agriculture, they planted yam, maize, and millet, caught fish from the river, hunted bush rats with bow and arrow, raised cows and sheep. They practiced

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Christianity mixed with their traditional tribal rituals. My main responsibility was to go and motivate the community to send the children to the school and do a Need Assessment for the school in different capacity building areas. I really liked those field duties rather than spending all the time in my administrative office.

It was almost time of office hours to begin, but in Nigeria the Government office began in Monday by 10 am or even late where the official office time was from 9 am to 3 pm. So waiting for the all the offices to be functioned and asking them for an assistant to come with me to village might delay me in reaching there. My previous experience had taught me that if the meeting was scheduled for 9 in the morning people started to arrive by 10 and the meeting would begin by noon. But I didn’t want to set an example of myself of being late.

The director of Education had already told me that I might be the first person arriving in their village from a foreign country. Many of the elderly people in the village had never ever met a foreigner (white man) in their lives. In Nigeria not your complexion but anybody from outside of Africa is a battura (white man). During my initial placement days when people called me white man, I considered that as an insult because in North India I was addressed as the Kala Madrasi (Black South Indian)

So I decided to go alone, I quickly drafted a letter to my line manager informing him that I was going to Zonkuwa village for a meeting and insisted the security man to handover it to my boss, whenever he came.

I walked down to the local motorbike taxi (Okkada) stand and looked for Haruna, my favorite motorbike taxi rider at GidanWaya. He had been my good friend and guide since the day I arrived here.

When he saw me walking to the motorbike taxi stand he rode his Chinese made JingJang 100 cc motorbike towards me.

‘SannuOga” he wished me

“Sannu” I wished him back.

Not giving him a chance to ask anything else, I told him that I wanted to go to Zonkuwa village.

“Say it that again” he asked me to repeat where I wanted to go

“Zonkuwa” I said as I had read in the letter.

“Are you sure you want to go to Zonkuwa”

“Yes, common lets go, I don’t have time to waste we have to reach there by 11.O clock” I told him.

“It takes more than 2 hours and the road is not good at all and there is water in the river now”

“Can you take me there?” I pretended as if I am looking for another motorbike taxi. I knew he didn’t want to lose the business with me.



Haruna stared at me for a few seconds and without saying me a word started his motorbike and waited for me to be his pillion passenger. We went to the petrol bunk to buy enough fuel and food and drinks for both of us.

Haruna is a traditional Muslim doesn’t drink or smoke, has two wives and half a dozen children, planning to marry again his new girl friend soon. Generally he speaks a lot and gives me explanations for everything we see on the road, each girl we see he asks me.

“Do you like her?”

If I said yes he would stop the motorbike to tell her that I liked her.

“She also likes to marry you” and gave me an explanation how she could take care of me at night and her ability to cook different Nigerian dishes etc…

The jovial man was silent for half an hour. He did not make any comment on the girls we saw on the road. He did not ask whether I liked any girl who we saw on the road. After the main road we entered into a bush road, we couldn’t say this as the road but a narrow path had lot 8 foot grass on both sides. It was the end of rainy season and still expected few more rains.

I felt so boring and was bit of afraid on his silence.

I told him to stop the motorbike and when he did, I opened my bag and gave him his favorite drink ‘Maltina’.

“Haruna what happened today? Why are you so silent...”

After taking a sip from his drink he asked me a question.

“Are you going to meet Alruck?”

“I am not sure... Alruck?but I am going to meet the village head or village council members” I replied.

“He is bad man”

“Who is a bad man? Alruck..? Who is Alruck?” I had number of questions.

“Alruck is the leader of the village, and you are going to have the meeting on the school issue”

“Yes I am going to have meeting with the village leaders to discuss the possibility to open the school from next week. If they agree I’ ll do the need assessment and send the report to ministry to get all the things they need” I said the plan I had in my mind.

Without saying a word he started his motorbike and waited me to sit on it.

“Why did you say Alruck is a bad guy?” I asked him

Instead of giving me an answer the he rode the bike as speed as he could. The road became better than before. We rode on the narrow path for again an hour I could see the sign of village nearby.



Goat scavenged as children drove them along with stick. The ladies carried big yam from the field to their huts for their evening meal. Perhaps the only meal they could have for the day. The mothers carried their babies on their back and fire wood on their head. Whenever they saw me they stopped their work and stared at me.

Haruna stopped his bike for the second drink and it is almost 11 o’clock and we both were tired of the long okkada journey through the bush roads. We opened the next drink.

“Why I said Alruck is a bad guy because he is a witch doctor”

“Witch Doctor?”

“Yes people from far place used to come to see him for their problems” I laughed because I am from the home of SanthoshMadhavan to Urukkumma and MuringoorPottaetc who offer solutions for all others problems and overlook their own problem of being jailed or thrown away from their position or being enlisted in the crime records.

“Why are you laughing? I am serious”

“I know Indians are good in witchcraft too so it won’t affect you but me” I have never seen Haruna so upset since day of my arrival to GidanWaya.

It is believed in Nigeria that India is the country of black magic and witchcraft. I have seen advertisement in leading Nigerian News Papers about Indian Magical Rings, that include the disappearing ring, the ring for attracting the husband back from his girlfriend to his wife, a ring that can make you a millionaire in week all coasts only 5000 to 10000 naira (Rs1500-3000). There are Indians in Nigeria who specialize in this kind of business in a large scale. So it is widely believed that Indians are black magicians. We have a short cut to make money. They call it ‘Indian Juju’

“Don’t worry nothing will happen to you, I will protect you” I gave him an Indian juju assurance from Nigerian witchcraft.

“You know sir, why the school is closed last year? why the children are not attending the school this year?” Haruna asked me.

“Yes, parents are not interested in sending their children to school but they send them to look after their goats”

“No Mr. Bibin that is the government version” when Haruna wanted to tell me something serious he added the title in front of my name. He looked around even in the bush and made sure that no one was hearing what he spoke and continued in low voice.

Alruck, the witchdoctor was one of the leaders of the village wanted to marry the headmistress daughter, who was a teacher of the same school, as his 4th wife. But the girl refused to marry him because he was in his late 40’s and the girl was in early 20’s. Even though it was so common in their tribe. The next day when the children came to school they found a magical bones and




threads tired in front of the headmistress room blocking people to enter into her office. Everyone knew it was the vengeance of Alruck to the headmistress’ daughter. The headmistress was afraid to open the office. No teacher was courageous enough to break the magical thread and enter into the school. So the school remain closed for a week, it was just few days before the examination so no examinations were conducted in the school, by the time the headmistress daughter had met and accident in nearby town where she had gone for shopping. She was taken to Abuja hospital but few days later she died. It again created panic in the village and no teacher turned to the school and even the parents were afraid to send their children to the school.

“Unbelievable story but believe it, this is Africa!” I said myself.

I thanked Haruna for the story and rode again 15 minutes to reach the village. I found a group of young men were sitting beneath the trees playing draft, three viewers were cheering up the players by giving advice. Three elderly men were sitting beneath another tree and involved in serious discussions. A group of children were on the branches of tamarind tree chewing sugar cane. I looked around the village it was tiny and quite only hand full of huts surrounded by 8 foot high bush grass and towering by palm trees. Here the bush was constant looming presence always on the verge of swallowing up settlement.

When I climbed off from the bike like RajaniKanth in some of the Tamil cinema in 90’ s all the commotions suddenly stopped all the eyes simultaneously turned and stared. Haruna parked his bike close to the players and directly involved in giving advice to the draft players.

A young man possibly by his late 20’ s from the draft game advisory committee came to me, without a even a greeting he asked me

“So you are the battura going to open our school”

I did not know how to answer that question, I looked at Haruna for a support, but he behaved as if he was just like any other motorbike taxi rider whose I bike I first ever hired.

“I am here for the meeting with village leaders to speak about the school issues, by the way I am Bibin” I offered my hand forward for a hand shake.

“I am Adamu, teacher of the school” he introduced himself with a heavy handshake.

“Pleased to meet you” I said. I looked at Haruna as if I did not want any more help from him.

“Where is the meeting place, Can you take me there?”

“We have not fixed the venue for the meeting and no village leaders are here today because all of them had gone for fishing” he told me.

“Are you an Indian or Pakistani” thank god, he could recognize at least part of the world, I am from.

“I am an Indian” I said.



I was disappointed; the long okkada journey was going to be in vein. I always had dream of successful heroic missions and telling to my colleagues about it. Nothing was going to happen today.

“Is there burkuto (locally brewed maize wine) available here”? I asked Adamu.

“Yes, do you want to drink it?”

“Yes I like it very much” but honestly I did not like brukuto at all, instead I liked palm wine so much. I needed a place to sit and interact with people.

I found the elderly gang who were sitting beneath the tree, were watching me from the moment I arrived.

I walked towards them and greeted “Sannuko”

A man in his 50’s came forward and greeted me back in clear English. He was wearing a northerner’s traditional dress and had two cut marks on his right cheek telling that he had participated the notorious northern- southern war in Nigeria.

“Welcome to our village young man”

“Thank you sir” I replied.

“Are you here for the school issue” good, everyone was aware of the issue and my arrival.

“Yes sir, I m here for the meeting with village leaders but I heard that no one is here today” I said to him.

He smiled the meaningful smile I ever saw in my life.

“Baba he wants to drink burkut”? Said Adamu to the man.

No burkut, I want to speak more about the school issues, I wanted to tell him, before I said anything to them he took a 500 naira note and gave to Adamu.

He disappeared in between the huts get burkut for us.

“Come with me” said the man a lead me to the elderly people’s group. Well! My mission is on track.

We all sat down beneath the tree.

“I am Moosa” the man who lead me to the group introduced himself. “I was taught Science and English by Mr.Cherian from India in my Junior Secondary School at Jemma Local Government, Those days so many Indian teaches were in our the Schools, naira was more powerful than Dollar.”

I used to hear the story of Indian teachers wherever I went in Northern Nigeria. There were number of Indian teachers in Nigeria in 1970’ s in schools and colleges. Naira (Nigerian Currency) was more powerful than Dollar. 1 Naira was equal to 1.5 dollars (now I dollar is equal to 154



naira). The country had advance backward. I would write later about the Indian Teachers in Nigeria and their contributions to Nigerian educational field.

I really hat off the Indian Teachers who were in Nigeria in 70’s and 80’. All the respect I got in different villages as an Indian, all because of them. I hat off to you all again!!

The other elderly men sat under the tree also introduced themselves; some of them could speak and understand English that was the other amazing thing I experienced in Northern Nigeria. Lot of people understood and spoke English.

“Look at the children” he pointed the gang on the tamarind tree branches “they keep me asking when the school is going to open?” he continued “my children are grown up and settled in the town I am staying with my wife here in village because my ancestors are buried here, I want the school to be opened soon so that these children can go to school” My mission is now rightly on the track Adamu brought a gallon of burkutu and poured into the calabashes. The meeting is on I thought. After a few sips I asked the group “Tell me honestly, what is the actual problem? Why the school is not yet opened” There was no answer.

I knew it why but I wanted to hear from them as our community empowerment theory said “let them find out the problem and alternative solution you are just a facilitator not a problem solver” “Can you construct the other building for us..?” asked Adamu.

I am a poor social worker have no money, I am here on community empowerment as part of my job description, I wanted to tell them but asked them “Why don’t we go to the school and sit in the office and continue our discussion” I could read the fear on many of their faces, afraid of the magical thread, the death of headmistress daughter.

They had a discussion on their own Zokuwa for next 10 minutes and I concentrated fully on my burkutu. I could hear in between the word buttura was mentioned. The discussion was too loud and hot. After the discussion the spoke person of the group told me the same story of what Haruna had told me on the way, about the school, headmistress and her daughter. But he did not mention the name of Alruck

When the story was ended he added

“We know the the witchcraft will not affect a white man. You are an Indian you have Indian juju, if you can remove the stuff from in front of the school door and take back to your place to dispose”

After a few seconds of hesitation he continued “if you do so after a week we’ll send you a letter for the meeting” I knew what the indication of “a week”. After removing it if I was alive for a week they might believe me or rather my Indian juju.

I gulped the rest of brukuto from my calabash and said “Yes I will”.

Adamu gave me the key of headmistress office and led me to the school, the group of elderly men followed us. The tamarind tree gang followed us too with a safe distance. Adamu explained to all the people whom we met on the way to school. I believed it could be like that “Here is the white witchcraft doctor all the way from India to remove our trouble. He is an Indian juju”



We just came out of the village and I could see a tin sheet roofed building with grass widely grown around it. The goats grazed around the school without the fear of witchcraft. As we were approaching close to school building the procession became lean and lean but the tamarind tree gang became big and big. Adamu showed me the headmistress office I just like accomplishing a big mission went close to the headmistress room.

Before, opening the room I asked Adamu, where the magical stuff was

Adamu and his group looked around, searched for the bones and magical thread all around; the tamarind tree gang joined in searching for but couldn’t find anything there. I asked Adamu when the magical thread was seen last.

He replied that he had seen it last September and after the death of Headmistress daughter no one came there actually. This first group came there after almost a year led by an Indian juju.

I opened the headmaster’s room and went inside all the inhabitants of the room bats welcomed the Indian witchcraft doctor guest by showing respect, flew away to the deep bushes. My Indian witchcraft works!! I came out from the headmistress room and told the group

“The Indian juju has won over Nigerian witchcraft. The magical thread and bones have been disappeared for ever, may be you can clean the surroundings after a week and fix a date for me come for the needs assessment”

I went and opened all the 4 class rooms, wrote something on the blackboard with broken pieces of chalks I took from the headmistress room. It had been a good feast for the termites for last 11 months. The bush rats had a good shelter during rainy season. The bats enjoyed the day shelter

without the fear of Alruk’s witchcraft. All the class rooms including the headmistress room became a sustainable eco system by last 11 months.

The elders group looked at me as if I am really like an Indian witchcraft doctor.

We went back to beneath tree drank rest of brukut. The ladies stopped at tree from field to see the Indian juju who vanished the magical bone and thread from the school. The tamarind tree gang climbed on the top branches to see me clearly, the village elders bought more burkutu for the ‘mission Indian juju team’. When I couldn’t drink any more I rode back to my quarters in the evening asked Haruna to be my pillion passenger.

Exactly after a week I got an invitation from the headmistress of the school asking me come to their school for the needs assessment.

Haruna kept me asking really what happened to the magical bone and thread, where those disappeared.

I said to him “I don’t know may be the bush rats in Zankuwa would be knowing it”



nigerian witchcraft vs. indian juju- bibin joy

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