The World is Round

by Shana Ogren Lourey

Some communities and cultures believe in the practice or power of witchcraft.  I had always believed in the possibilities of such a thing, but I had never gotten the personal encounter with it before. 

Until Malawi, Africa.  Ah, witchcraft.  You crafty art.

The best thing I did during my two year Malawi Peace Corps service was to start a community public library.  The nearest library that existed for my mountainous village was a three hour drive away (and nobody owned a vehicle).  None of the elementary or high schools had books or school libraries.  So I worked with teachers, students, community members, village chiefs, and the Malawian National Library Service to start from scratch a public library.  The library was started and ran by all Malawian community volunteers, including a volunteer librarian named John Chikondah.

One day I entered our library to check out a book, and there was a large gathering of village people seated on the floor in the building next to it.  The four most powerful chiefs sat in chairs at the front of the group.  In the library, I asked our librarian, "What is going on?"  He looked sad.  "There is a trial being held for witchcraft," he said.  Wow!, I thought.  How exciting!  I had only heard of such things from American history books discussing Salem.  But then I asked, "Who is being accused?"  and Mr. Chikondah responded, "It's me."      

I still don't like to discuss the trial, because it is discrimination at its worst.  Our librarian was laughed at, taunted, and yelled at by the children and all the villagers.  He sat respectfully and quietly, as accusations of witchcraft were spouted at him again and again.

A conclusion was reached.  Mr. Chikondah was a witch and he and his family must move within one week.  As they exited the trial, I asked the head chief and the one I trusted most, "How can this happen?  What can we do? "  The chief replied with the proverb, "The world is round." That is all he ever had to say on the subject.

After the witchcraft trial, the neighborhood children came over to my house porch, the way they always did, to relax, to eat, and to view and observe the strange mzungu (white woman). 

But today was different.  I asked them if their witchcraft accusation was true, or if they were lying.  Many of them started to laugh.  Most of them did not open their mouths, just avoided my eyes by looking at the trees or the ground.  I asked one 10-year-old girl, "Why did you say Mr. Chikondah is a witch?"  She told me that he came in the middle of the night, and flew her and other children to the graveyard, where he forced them to eat dead bodies.  She also would not meet me eyes as she told me this story.

I was told later by other children that the principal of the high school had called all the little children over to his house yesterday, and given them each an orange Fanta soda if they would agree to tell the village that the librarian was a witch.  Every child said yes.

Without judging, understand that an orange Fanta soda costs 50 kwatcha in Malawi, which is the equivalent of 1/3 of a dollar.  The average wage in Malawi is a dollar a day.  So a Fanta soda is like a special meal that you would not ever usually get.      

There was a big party that night.  It was religious and joyous and usually something I would come and join in order to learn more about the culture.  But there was nothing to learn here.  The party was a celebration held by the neighbors.  "The Chikondah's are leaving!  The witch will be gone!" they chanted and sang with all the children.  I sat inside my home alone and cried.  How can such an injustice happen?  Will my friends get hurt?  What will happen now to the library?  Why is this community hurting itself?

One week later, the Chikondah's moved.

Jealousy and poverty is what had motivated the village community to outcast them.  Because people wondered and probably still wonder:  Why did Mr. Chikondah become the librarian?  How did he learn how to organize books so quickly?  Was he being paid under the table for his 'volunteer' work and time?  And why was this mzungu friends with him?  Did he cast a spell on her?

Things got more normal in the village after the Chikondah's moved, but never were really the same.  I did not trust my neighbors or my village.  I did not trust the wonderful eight-year-olds that used to come to my house to draw and laugh and eat mangos with me in the sun.

In another village where the "witch" family had moved to, the librarian, Mr. Chikondah, started a new library.   I don't know what motivated him—perhaps the empowerment one receives from giving a meaningful project their all.  Perhaps his own children still needed books now in their new village and this was the best way he had figured out how to get them access to the resource.  For all I know, he accepted the same proverb that my Chief had told me, that this is just the world the way that it is—at least, the way that it currently is in Malawi. 

I fear that he will get accused of witchcraft in his new village too, because he cannot seem to stop his hands from contributing greatly to development.  And because development is different and not considered 'normal' in Malawi, Africa, he may be exiled again and again for his hand in it.  But bless him for trying!

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