Ethnographic Sorcery by Harry G. West Read Free Book Online Page A

complex political environment over which he was expected to preside, and hoped that Marcos and I could be made to disappear. Marcos, however, knew that word would spread that we had been chased from Namaua. If we did not assert our right to work there—if we did not reestablish the legitimacy of our project—authorities in other villages might follow suit, banning us from work in their villages as well. We therefore drove directly from Namaua to the office of the Mueda district administrator to report that, notwithstanding the administrator’s letter of introduction, we had been denied access to one of his villages. The administrator had immediately dispatched a messenger to summon the locality president to Mueda town, whereupon the official was “disciplined” and instructed not to interfere with our work in the future.
    “Hmmm,” Mandia said, looking me in the eyes.
    Marcos turned to me and said, “The problem may lie there.”
    As I sat wondering how I had arrived at this moment—how I had come to be sitting in a dank hut searching my recent experiences for signs of sorcery, and how I felt about Marcos havingbrought me there—Marcos asked Mandia to show him some of the mitela of which he had spoken earlier in the conversation. Mandia focused his scrutinizing gaze upon Marcos—and then me—for some time. Then, without a word, he rose and entered into a small area set off from the rest of the house’s interior. He reemerged with a small animal-skin bag from which he unpacked various containers filled with ground leaves, powders, and fluids. Based upon the preceding conversation, he chose two substances. The first was a white powder called ing’opedi. He explained to us that the first act undertaken by a newly installed humu was to go from house to house treating the inhabitants who fell under his protective jurisdiction with ing’opedi. He placed his right thumb over the opening of the small bottle containing an ivory-white powder and turned it upside down. He pressed his thumb gently to Marcos’s forehead, painting a vertical line and then a horizontal one. I wondered if the manner in which he anointed Marcos with ing’opedi had been affected by Christian rites, for it was a cross he painted on Marcos’s forehead. 5 He turned to me and asked if I wished to be treated. I said quietly that I did, and placed myself before him. Mandia told me that as I moved about on the plateau with objects of value—my truck, my camera, my tape recorder and, even, my “project” itself—I inevitably attracted attention and envy. I was, therefore, in need of protection. After he treated me, he explained to us that the substance was made of mapira (sorghum) flour mixed with certain kinds of mitela. It would soon disappear, he told us, but the protection it afforded would linger. Apparently, sorcerers would see the mark for some time and know that, should they attack us, they would have Mandia to contend with.
     
    The second substance Mandia did not name, but he explained that it was made of other forms of mitela mixed with bee honey. He took a short stick and dipped it into the bottle containing the nameless substance. He then placed the end on his own tongue, closed his lips around it, and pulled it out of his mouth while spinning it. He then did this with Marcos and, finally, with me. This treatment, he explained, gave us force that wouldserve in fighting off illness. He looked at me, smiled gently, and said that I also needed this.
     
    Days after we had visited Mandia, Marcos orchestrated a meeting with Kalamatatu as well, whom he also persuaded to treat us. Of Kalamatatu, Marcos requested lukulungu lwa ntumi— the throat meat of a slain lion, administered to ensure that its recipient’s voice was respected by all who heard him speak.

 
    W HOSE M ETAPHORS?
    It was only weeks after falling ill—and being treated—that I addressed my colleagues at ARPAC. In speaking about lions as complex symbols, I sought not only