The wonderful world of witchcraft, promising supernatural powers

WHEN reading articles about people dying after ingesting concoctions given to them by fake healers, you sometimes wonder why these “doctors” are still in business.

“Get lost lover back (1 day) guaranteed,” read one of the promises on the leaflet.

This was the approach I would take for my undercover operation to uncover the truth behind over-the-counter miracles.

No one claims supernatural powers on a leaflet and then speaks objectively about their success when interviewed, I thought.

So, the place to find answers about whether these healers are legitimate or not was from the ordinary people on Cape Town city’s streets.

I approached a man only known as Chabalala, school bags dangling from the steel frames of his makeshift stall at the Grand Parade market. “Yes yes yes. You want to buy? These ones are...”

“No,” I interjected. “I have a leaflet here that says this doctor can help me get my girlfriend back. Do you think it will work?”

He studied it for a moment. “If you give me R40 I can take you there,” he said, guiding my stiff body with a lank arm.

“Mama, this guy has a problem,” said Chabalala, who, it seemed, wanted to introduce the topic to his stall neighbour for kicks later.

“So you want to go to this person to bring your girlfriend back?” Mama asked, flummoxed.

“Go to church and pray!” said John, another neighbour, who was eavesdropping from his stall.

“I’ll give you p**s until you forget about your wife,” a homeless woman, with the body of a youth and the face of a granny, said.

Mama leaned forward. “Hey mtanam! Do not go to those doctors. You read in the paper about people in Bellville and here in Cape Town who lost all of their money to those people!”

“Ey my friend. You need to get your wife back?” Chabalala had brought reinforcement, a man claiming to have sensational powers. “I will give you something to wash with in the morning and at...”

“It is witchcraft,” John interjected, appropriately so because Chabalala had just suggested rituals requiring my girlfriend’s underwear.

Mama was not giving up. “Do you believe in these things, Chabalala?” she asked. He nodded. “And have they ever worked for you?” “Yes!” he answered boldly. “Then why are you selling this rubbish?” she gestured to his stall.

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