WEST AFRICA REVIEW ISSN: 1525-4488 Issue 10 (2007)

Douglas J. Falen

Abstract

Le sujet de la modernité est à la mode parmi les travaux de recherches sur la sorcellerie en Afrique. Bien que cette approche ait fourni des données ethnographiques intéressantes et diverses, surtout concernant le rapport entre la sorcellerie et les transformations économiques, sociales, et politiques, il n’est pas évident que la sorcellerie actuelle, telle qu’elle est présentée, soit différente de celle du passé. Malgré cette forte apparence de nouveauté, la plupart des études se replient sur une base quasi-fonctionnaliste, puisque, selon le modèle, la sorcellerie demeure une force maléfique dont le «but» est de gérer l’insécurité du monde moderne. Au Bénin, par contre, l’auteur observe la transformation profonde d’une sorcellerie cachée et négative vers une sorcellerie ouverte et positive. La manière dont certaines personnes parlent de cette nouvelle forme de sorcellerie traduit une tentative de réponse endogène au modèle de développement occidental qui a échoué. Le rejet de la sorcellerie meurtrière indique une nouvelle attitude qui vise à considérer la sorcellerie comme un pouvoir dont on peut se servir à des fins utiles et positives. La sorcellerie deviendrait donc une source de fierté qui pourrait favoriser le développement.

Keywords: witchcraft, Benin, development, modernity

Introduction

In recent years, a flood of scholarship has been produced on African witchcraft. Most of these studies explore the links between witchcraft and “modernity,” with the implicit or explicit claim that, contrary to Western views, witchcraft should be seen as a component of modernity (or at least of one form of modernity), rather than a vestige of “traditional” or “primitive” thought.1 While researchers have revealed an impressive variety of occult beliefs, from rumors of organ-snatching and cannibalism (Shaw 1997, Masquelier 2000) to supernatural economic sabotage, the overall role of witchcraft seems to have changed very little. Although there are some apparent novelties in how Africans view witchcraft as engaging in discourses of technology, consumer capitalism, or national politics, in these accounts witchcraft remains largely a negative force, born of greed, jealousy, fear, or social uncertainty.

Scholars have abandoned the structural-functionalist interpretation of witchcraft as a force of social conformity and equilibrium; yet in focusing on the surge in occult practices that accompany the drastic social and economic transformations brought on by what they call “modernity,” they end up flipping to the other side of the functionalist coin. That is, instead of assuming witchcraft is a conservative force opposed to change, they tend to celebrate how witchcraft flourishes amid, and because of, that change. Either way, most scholars depict witchcraft as a response to inequality and social tension resulting from the profound changes associated with modernity.

In contrast to most studies’ focus on witchcraft’s negative consequences, an emerging trend in the Republic of Benin positions witchcraft as a potentially positive force. Compared to other accounts, this appears to be a novel manifestation and transformation of witchcraft. Although this new vision of witchcraft could still be seen as a response to change, poverty, and inequality, I believe the meaning and function of witchcraft itself may be in transition in Benin. Although a few studies point to the benefits of witchcraft, most of them show these results coming at the expense of others, thus reinforcing witchcraft’s overall negative role in destroying people’s lives through competition for limited resources. The negative facets of Beninese witchcraft remain dominant, but ethnographic research demonstrates ambivalence about witchcraft and a desire to harness its powers for the betterment of people and society. This might be the beginnings of a new form of religious movement, but for now it is a powerful expression of pride in Benin’s indigenous occult powers. In this essay I will define the slippery nature of witchcraft and sorcery terminology, and put these into the context of indigenous Fon terms from Benin. Next I will review the utility of modernity models for explaining Beninese witchcraft. Finally, drawing on ethnographic data from a 2006 fieldtrip to Benin, I will discuss the current state of affairs with respect to witchcraft’s transformation.

The ideas presented here come out of two experiences, the first being my earlier fieldwork between 1998-2000, and the second being a recent six-week stay in May-July, 2006. My earlier research project was an examination of gender, but including attention to how supernatural threats play out in female/male relationships (Falen 2003). More recently I have looked at Christianity’s role in shaping debates over marriage practices and cultural identity in the face of many people’s continued attachment to traditional religion. In pursuing these topics, I have invariably been confronted with the prominence of witchcraft. Therefore in my latest fieldwork, I began asking my informants2 explicitly about witchcraft’s prevalence, and the nature of its power. I also capitalized on the abundant unsolicited comments that informants offered about witchcraft and other supernatural powers. I conducted 53 semi-formal interviews and numerous informal discussions. Interviews, most of which were recorded, were conducted in either French or Fon, with occasional interpreting assistance by Fon-speaking friends. Sixteen interviews took place in Benin’s largest city of Cotonou, while 19 were conducted in the inland towns of Abomey and Bohicon, and 18 interviews were done in villages near Abomey. I interviewed 26 men and 27 women, including a number of longtime informants and others contacted through a snowball effect. I spoke with merchants and teachers, farmers and government officials, old and young individuals. This essay is based on these observations, but what I offer are intended as preliminary comments that beg further exploration through a more systematic examination of witchcraft.

Àzě and Bǒ: Witchcraft, Sorcery and Magic Definitions

Anthropologists correctly acknowledge that European terms such as “witchcraft” and “sorcery,” (and its French counterpart “la sorcellerie”) are problematic when used to describe the wide range of phenomena in Africa (Moore and Sanders 2001a, Pels 1998, Rush 1974). Evans-Pritchard’s classic Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic Among the Azande (1937) clearly distinguished between, on the one hand, witchcraft as an inherited, innate, and involuntary phenomenon, and, on the other, sorcery as a learned, intentional act. Anthropologists struggle with this distinction, some finding it useful (Parrinder 1958), perhaps because it corresponds to the culture(s) they are familiar with. But Evans-Pritchard (1935) himself noted that “witchcraft” may exhibit different forms in different regions of Africa. Although many anthropologists retain his distinction between witchcraft and sorcery, there is only one word in French, la sorcellerie, which translates both English terms (Moore and Sanders 2001a). Thus, the literature addressing these occult phenomena often fails to reach a consensus on what constitutes witchcraft and sorcery.

The waters grow even muddier. As Pels (1998) points out, since the arrival of European missionaries and colonial administrators, Africans themselves have been using the foreign terms, thus modifying indigenous notions of these supernatural phenomena. One terminological problem has to do with the negative, sinister connotations associated with the English word “witchcraft,” in both popular usage and in scholarship on African religions (e.g. Bourdillon 2000)—this despite the fact that a number of researchers include some benevolent or positive powers in the category of “witchcraft” (Austen 1993, Bongmba 1998, Fisiy and Geschiere 2001, Geschiere 1997, Goody 1970, Moore and Sanders 2001a, Rasmussen 2001).

Among the Fon-speaking people of the Republic of Benin, there are two basic terms in common usage, which tend to correspond roughly to Evans-Pritchard’s original distinction. Although French-speaking Beninese typically call anyone involved in malevolent occult activities a “sorcier(e),” the Fon terms do establish distinct types of supernatural forces.3 The first of these, àzě, could be translated as “witchcraft” because, according to its more usual conception, it is an internal psychic power that compels a person to consume other people’s life force (I describe below alternative views of witchcraft). But unlike Evans-Pritchard’s conception, it is not necessarily inherited, and it can be transmitted voluntarily, or involuntarily through a type of witchcraft “poisoning.” Informants have said that something can be secretly slipped into one’s food and the person unwittingly becomes a “witch,” known as àzètɔ́. In one case, a male informant in his twenties told me that a piece of human flesh is put in the sauce, and once eaten it creates an irrepressible appetite to consume more humans. Although a minority of informants contends that witches are cannibals, most people either claim ignorance of the nature of witchcraft or seem to believe that witches consume human life force from afar.4 Most informants derive their views from speculation. Generally witches are said to convene nocturnal meetings during which they collectively feast on the life force of someone, usually a relative offered by one of the group members. Indeed it is said that one need only fear witches in one’s own family. Consuming a person’s life force can bring the victim illness, and even death; children are especially vulnerable to attack. When witches are on the brink of death, they involuntarily confess to the number of people they killed in their lifetime. I once observed a commotion in the Nago town of Save, and was presented to a dying witch who had reportedly confessed to killing seven people. Witches can transform themselves into animals or birds, and they can teleport instantaneously anywhere in the world. They are feared and despised, frequently blamed for the deaths of loved-ones.

The second Fon term commonly used is bǒ, which refers to the use of magical charms and spells that produce a desired effect. These effects may be either positive or negative, and the target may be a relative or an unrelated individual. The motivation for bǒ may arise out of intense longing or jealousy. For example, a person may use bǒ to make someone fall in love or lose his or her money. Bǒ may be used to bring rain for crops, or stop the rain during an important ceremony. Bǒ may cause an enemy to have a fatal accident, or they may be worn like an amulet to protect someone from accidents. Children can be seen wearing bǒ around their waists to protect them from illness, and especially from àzě. Many homes have a collection of charms hanging over the doorway to protect the residents from theft or other dangers. Bǒ are like occult forces in other societies that can be used for good or bad. But given that they are specialized knowledge and powers that can be wielded only by trained individuals, they might be translated as “sorcery,” especially when used for aggressive purposes. Of course, anthropologists have a difficult time distinguishing between “sorcery” and “magic,” and bǒ could easily be considered a form of magic. In English, magic tends to suggest a more benign power, whereas sorcery implies more negative forces. Both of these possibilities are contained in the term bǒ.

Those mentioned above who argue that “witchcraft” is an ambivalent power, sometimes good as well as bad, are probably describing a notion closer to the distinction between black magic and white magic, which is like the Fon view of good and bad bǒ. For the Fon, this distinction has mostly been separate from the conception of àzě (“witchcraft”). At least, when I conducted earlier fieldwork (1998-2000), it was clear that witches consumed people, but had nothing to do with the rain or love spells. Today, however, the ideas implied in the terms àzě and bǒ seem to be converging. Although Beninese would be unlikely to say that àzě and bǒ are the same thing, there appears to be some terminological and conceptual slippage. In conversations with informants during the summer of 2006, I noticed that people talk about these previously distinct occult forces as being wielded by the same people, using the same universal principles. For example, in a conversation with a school teacher in his upper thirties about the need to stave off the rains for his father’s funeral, he told me about an old man who is gifted in controlling the rain. Later on he claimed that this same man is also one of the most powerful witches in the region, and suggested that àzě and bǒ are really part of the same power. This is significant because àzě has typically been considered an involuntary phenomenon, while bǒ are considered a learned, intentional technique. According to this distinction, there would be no reason to believe that the same individuals would perform àzě and bǒ. Yet, like some other people today, my informant argues that all supernatural abilities are really part of the same natural forces. According to this view, nature is at the root of all phenomena, natural and supernatural, visible and invisible (see Nyamnjoh 2001:33). This convergence appears among Beninese scholars as well. In a collection of essays debating the distinction and utility of “scientific” and “African” knowledge, Beninese scholars often spoke of magical acts and life-consuming witchcraft in the same breath (see Hountondji 1997). (But here again we see the problem of translation, which may cause French-speaking scholars to collapse disparate phenomena under the label of la sorcellerie.) What appears to be happening in Benin goes beyond simply a recognition of positive results of occult forces, which has already been noted by other scholars. Instead, it seems that the previously unambiguously evil, involuntary, and life-consuming witchcraft is being transformed into a more willful magical or scientific manipulation of forces. I will return to this issue in discussing the effects of this emerging unified theory of nature.

The discussion of àzě and bǒ as witchcraft and sorcery/magic tends to side-step their connection to “religion.” While we might be willing to place àzě and bǒ in the category of religious thought and action, their relationship to the traditional Fon religion, known by academics as Vodun, is quite complex. In truth, most Fon people who hold traditional beliefs do not think of their spirituality as a “religion”; rather they conceive of spiritual forces simply as part of the landscape. Informants who attend traditional ceremonies and make offerings to spirits often tell me they have no religion. There is no word, not even “Vodun,” that accurately encompasses their worldview. Rather than a label for a self-contained religion, the word vodun (vodũ) simply means “spirit” or “deity,” some of which are gods associated with the land, the sky, thunder, water, and so on. Other vodun are deceased ancestors who still hold sway over people’s lives. Vodun spirits are some of the supernatural forces, along with àzě and bǒ, that Fon people must contend with. Religious leaders (vodṹnɔ̃̀) and their adepts (vodṹnsì) direct the ceremonies that honor the various vodun. But diviners (bokɔ́nõ̀) are intermediaries to the ultimate source of spiritual knowledge, known as Fá. By consulting the spiritual force of Fá the diviner can diagnose the supernatural root of people’s illness or misfortune, whether it be the result of a vodun deity, the malicious magic of a jealous rival, or the attack of a witch in the family.

Thus, diviners are priest-healers who assist ordinary people, as well as vodũn, in determining the proper manner to serve the spirits or to protect people’s health and safety. Bǒ are often made by diviners and are the primary means of countering àzě and other bǒ. In addition to offering protective services, a diviner may be entreated to create an aggressive bǒ to attack a client’s enemy. Based on this evil ability and on the learning required to exercise it, diviners are frequently called sorcerers. Diviners and similarly trained people are the chief creators of good and bad bǒ, and therefore, along with the Fá, they are the bridge between what I call the official and the unofficial religious phenomena. Àzě and bǒ are unofficial in that they are private, usually secret acts. Public ceremonies dedicated to the deities are official in that they are visible, collective rituals. But both official and unofficial rituals may require the input of the Fá and a diviner. While the distinction between official and unofficial phenomena is somewhat imaginary, I feel it helps demonstrate what many people see as the distinction between religion and magic. Thus àzě and bǒ are included in the supernatural arsenal, but they are part of a broader spiritual network influencing people’s lives.

Modernity and Witchcraft

It has perhaps become cliché to say that the surge in witchcraft beliefs and accusations in Africa today are part of a broader phenomenon of modernity (Ciekawy and Geschiere 1998, Comaroff and Comaroff 1999, Geschiere 1997, Geschiere 1998, Geschiere and Fisiy 1994, Moore and Sanders 2001b, Parish 1999, Stewart and Strathern 2004). Although it was a fresh approach when Comaroff and Comaroff launched their edited volume Modernity and its Malcontents (1993), since then the vogue has inspired a rush of studies generating countless variations on the ways that witchcraft has tried to “assert a measure of control over worlds often perceived as rapidly changing” (Comaroff and Comaroff 1993: xiv). This view holds that witchcraft responds in unique and creative ways to capitalism, industrialization, urbanization, and scientific developments—in a word, to modernity. Scholars admit that the “witchcraft” they are discussing may differ from that in other locales, but on the whole, what is noted is an increase in the various occult forces dealing with modernity. I do not take issue with their definition of modernity, although I am not alone in recognizing that using any word to refer to disparate regions and events is problematic (see Comaroff and Comaroff 1993:xii-xiii). Despite these reservations, I agree that rapid change, capitalism, wealth differentials, industrialization, and urbanization are real phenomena that often come as a package and could be called “modernity,” although “globalization” is perhaps a more current term for this constellation of processes. I do not dispute the notion that these forces are at work and that witchcraft responds to them, but I do question the proliferation of these witchcraft-as-modernity reports because, as others have noted, they appear unoriginal and are possibly cliché exoticisms of African peoples, though in a new guise.

Even though anthropology generally believes it has discarded ethnocentric views of the primitive, irrational Other (this was, in fact, the goal of Evans-Pritchard’s work), perhaps one thing of which recent studies rightly remind us is that occult beliefs are not irrational superstitions but rather a culturally logical approach to, and articulation with, the recent rise in wealth differentials (Apter 1993, Fisiy and Geschiere 2001), industrialization (Moore and Sanders 2001a), exposure to new illnesses (Yamba 1997), urban relationships (Bastian 2001), modern national politics (Ciekawy 1998, Geschiere 1997, Geschiere and Nyamnjoh 1998, Rowlands and Warnier 1988), and the legal system (Fisiy 1998). Indeed, scholars argue that it is significant in this day of technological and scientific breakthroughs that witchcraft does not “simply wither away” (Sanders 2001:161). They imply that scientific rationalism does not necessarily apply in Africa, where other invisible forces are taken for granted (Nyamnjoh 2001) in a different but perfectly rational logic that is not merely a relic of the past, but a vibrant part of the modern world (Comaroff and Comaroff 1993, Moore and Sanders 2001a, Sanders 2001).

Although this moral message is not entirely new in the treatment of African religious beliefs, it is not without merit. Yet, much of the recent scholarship relies on an ironic functionalist outlook in its understanding of witchcraft. According to the received wisdom, the key to modernity is that it creates “rising social and interpersonal tensions” (Stewart and Strathern 2004:ix-x), “uncertainties, moral disquiet and unequal rewards” (Moore and Sanders 2001a:3), and “alienation, desire and fragmented social relations” (Bastian 2001:72). In sum, the upsurge in occult forces is believed to “reflect social and economic turmoil” (Rasmussen 2001:138). In truth, as Moore and Sanders (2001a:9) concede, accounts from the mid-20th century also pointed to the growing prevalence of witchcraft as a response to changing economic and political structures, which means that recent studies “are not altogether novel” (Moore and Sanders 2001a:11). But these earlier reports typically followed the structural-functionalist paradigm whereby witchcraft was a gauge of society in decay, or was a means of maintaining conformity to social norms (Rush 1974).

Accounts since the 1990’s are similar to those from the mid-20th century in their focus on witchcraft as a response to change and uncertainty, but Moore and Sanders (2001a:11) argue that the novelty lies in the emphasis on witchcraft as more than a response to modernity, but rather “as part and parcel of modernity itself.” Nevertheless, the new approaches often “reproduce earlier functionalisms” (Kapferer 2002:18), as societies are still portrayed as unhealthy, being plagued by “tension,” “uncertainty,” “fragmentation,” and “turmoil.” In these terms, witchcraft is inevitably reduced to the very functionalist model which scholars eschew. Moreover, although there is arguably more profound and rapid change in Africa today than there was before colonialism, the focus on witchcraft’s new responses to modernity tends to paint a picture of Africa’s past as a time of relative equilibrium and cohesive social relations, another image echoing our functionalist predecessors. In some ways the witchcraft-as-modernity school makes a backhanded critique of modernity and globalization, for it is hard to imagine that modernity is good if it comes with so many social problems, including witchcraft. But these studies generally fail to make this political agenda explicit.

If witchcraft today really is a manifestation of jealousy and social tension in a time of wealth discrepancies, political change, uncertainty and misfortune (see Ashforth 1998), then it is perhaps no different than it was in the past. The existence today of more extreme inequality and tension may create a corresponding extreme witchcraft, but comparing this to earlier accounts, the difference strikes me as one of degree, rather than of kind. By contrast, my observations from Benin appear to indicate a more marked break from the previous notions of àzě as a negative force. Whereas bǒ (magic) always reflected possibilities of good or evil (Herskovits 1967[1938], vol 2:285), today people talk about àzètõ (witches) as if they too could be convinced to use their powers for good.

Another feature of recent studies is that, despite functionalist underpinnings, their portrayals emphasize a postmodern outlook, arguing that there are multiple “modernities,” (Moore and Sanders 2001a:12) producing not one global culture, but rather “global cultures” (Rasmussen 2001:154). The proliferation of occult studies on Africa is intended by their authors as a vivid portrayal of the varied modernities foreign to western sensibilities of modernity.5 Yet as has been noted, the current scholarship offers little in the way of novelty, since witchcraft’s revitalization seems to occur through a similar process in different locales, thus “contradict[ing] the significance of multiple modernities” (Kapferer 2002). Thus, the focus on witchcraft appears as scholars’ celebration of the creative and dynamic ways it sneaks its way into modernity, surprising and delighting the western observer.6 In spite of these dynamic examples of witchcraft it is unclear why one should continue to be surprised with each additional report echoing a similar refrain. This celebration of diversity is rendered more sober when met with Geschiere’s modest remark that his examples of Cameroonian witchcraft “are nothing exceptional” (1997:6). He contends that countless examples reveal the similar conditions that help witchcraft thrive in Africa and elsewhere. Amid the fanfare of witchcraft’s spectacular resurgence in Africa, Geschiere states that in comparing Africa to the rest of the world, witchcraft’s “resilience” on the continent is “hardly exceptional” (1997:8). He does not mean that witchcraft is uninteresting, but rather that it need not be sensationalized as if the juxtaposition of modernity to witchcraft were so unusual. He even draws comparisons between African witchcraft and the way political turmoil and uncertainty in the West7 are also interpreted as mysterious but would never be called “witchcraft” (Geschiere 1997:9, 127).

If phenomena like witchcraft are remarkably similar in and out of Africa, why do scholars celebrate witchcraft as if each instance was an affirmation of human creativity and diversity? Geschiere (1998) and Pels (1998) call attention to this recent fascination with witchcraft. They assert that anthropologists’ focus on the destructive, immoral practices of witchcraft reveals our enduring stereotypes of Africa as the home of the primitive, the exotic and the occult, and Karlström (2004) argues that witchcraft studies may obscure the more optimistic actions undertaken by Africans. This is both a general reminder to be vigilant against exoticizing the Other (see also Kapferer 2002, Meyer 1999), and a plea to see witchcraft as Africans do: as a frighteningly real, but often mundane, phenomenon (Pels 1998).

Of course, to accept witchcraft as an ordinary part of life may require that non-African observers actually believe in witchcraft, a monumental feat when faced with the possibility, for example, that witchcraft may prevent people from seeking medical treatment against fatal diseases like AIDS (see Yamba 1997). Beyond anthropologists’ academic understanding of the “emic” view, this would mean perceiving and fearing witchcraft the way Africans do. And this gets to the crux of the fundamental challenge to scientific “rationality” (Kapferer 2002).8 Of course, there is no reason to believe that science and rationality have obliterated all magical thought in Europe and the United States. In fact, the evidence of a renewed interest in magic and neopaganism suggests that there continue to be competing epistemologies, even in societies thought to rely solely on scientific observation. Thus, although the debate tends to portray the U.S. and Europe as bastions of scientific rationality, and Africa as the home of esoteric supernatural powers, the tension between these modes of thought is actually worldwide and likely undergoes periodic resurgence. Yet the tension between alternate worldviews is one that anthropology, developing out of a scientific tradition, has still never mastered because it involves accepting an alternative vision of “reality” or “truth” (Geschiere 1997:19-21).

In an important collected volume (growing out of a 1987 conference of Beninese academics) that tackles this tension, Beninese philosopher Paulin Hountondji (1997:13) laments the fact that “traditional” (or “endogenous”) knowledge is frequently juxtaposed to “scientific” knowledge, with no attempt to investigate the connections or commonalities between them. According to him, the result is usually the loss of endogenous knowledge at the hands of “westernization” (Hountondji 1997:13-14). Among contributors to the volume, there is a notable ambivalence regarding the links between what they refer to as scientific thought and mystical thought. The authors portray endogenous knowledge as magical, in contrast to scientific knowledge based on measurable observations. Some accept the reality of mystical powers (Dah-Lokonon 1997), or see hope in the complementarity of the two modes of thought (Kiniffo 1997), while others are more skeptical of occult forces (Ahyi 1997).

Another contributor attempts to take seriously occult and witchcraft beliefs, but within a scientific framework that views witchcraft as a social reality for Africans, growing out of fear and psychological instability (Adjido 1997). Adjido’s (1997:276) ultimate position is that witchcraft is only real in people’s imagination, and he supports his case with the Fon expression “m w nɔ̃ ɖi bǒ bǒ nɔ̃ ɖi” (bǒ only work on those who believe). Unfortunately, this expression refers to bǒ and offers little solace to potential victims of àzě, for which other expressions include “xó ɖe nu àz ě ma flĩ w è o” (pray that witchcraft does not find you) and “é nɔ́ gló àz ě ǎ” (one cannot prevent witchcraft). When I asked my former research assistant about the expression Adjido cites, he explained that it is mainly used in the Christian milieu to relieve anxiety over witchcraft among church members. Therefore it may carry less weight for adherents of Vodun traditions, who are less likely to question supernatural powers. Equally dangerous is the fact that Adjido’s stance continues to discount the invisible forces of witchcraft as a psychological weakness or flaw, and he echoes many primitivisms regarding Africa. He writes: “Africa is a land of many mysteries [ . . . ] Of these mysteries sorcery has a particularly powerful grip on the continent’s population” (Adjido 1997:266). Although coming from an African author, this comment resonates with many non-African anthropological accounts that continue to exoticize and sensationalize witchcraft as a typically African phenomenon, but a phenomenon which outsiders rarely conceive as real. If there is such ambivalence among educated Africans regarding the possibility that witchcraft really exists, then perhaps a new positive view of witchcraft is likely to emerge from the grassroots, and this is where I believe the seeds exist.

The Valorization of Witchcraft in Benin

As Karlström (2004) sees optimism among Ugandans, I see hope among some Beninese. This hope stems from the idea that perhaps witchcraft (àzě) is not inherently evil after all. In the interval of six years, I have noticed significant changes in Beninese people’s views of the supernatural. During fieldwork from 1998 to 2000, I learned about the wicked actions of witches who suck the life out of people and sacrifice their own relatives to sate their hunger. Children required protection, and witches were feared. Witchcraft was unmistakably evil. At the same time, witchcraft was undeniably secret. Although people talked about witchcraft constantly, and although rumors and suspicions were rampant, as they frequently are with occult forces (Stewart and Strathern 2004), I knew of very few cases of confirmed or confessed witches. As mentioned above, I had witnessed the dying witch in Save. I had also met an admitted witch who was converting to a new religion in order to be exorcised. But as a rule, nobody voluntarily declared being a witch. Even when I asked close informants about witchcraft, most of them seemed to know very little of the mechanics of witchcraft or of the members of witch societies. My research assistant explained to me that anyone providing me with information on witchcraft would be acknowledging a privileged understanding of nefarious practices: in other words to know about witchcraft was to be a witch, and nobody wanted to be connected with witchcraft.

During fieldwork from May-July, 2006, I detected a new conception of àzě, one allowing for the possibility of benevolent acts. The data pointing to a new form of witchcraft comes mainly from four male informants, though the information they report is remarkably similar, suggesting that these ideas are more widespread and conventionalized. Nevertheless, I would hesitate to make broader generalizations without further investigation. It is hard to say if this is the first time àzě has held a positive meaning. My former research assistant told me he thinks àzě has always been used for good, but he claims this was not widely pursued or publicized until recently. After Herskovits conducted research in the early 20th century, he acknowledged the ambivalence of bǒ being used for good and evil (1967[1938], vol 2:285), but he only referred in passing to àzètɔ́, claiming they were vampires (1967[1938], vol 2:299). Unfortunately, he also conflated àzètɔ́ with “sorcerers,” whom he later described as possessing the skill of zombification, whereby a person’s soul is separated from the flesh in order to sell the body into slavery (Herskovits (1967[1938], vol 2:243). Interestingly, in precolonial times the neighboring Ewe people, with a closely-related language, are reported to have employed witchcraft, known as adze (a cognate of àzě), for both good and evil purposes, although this ambivalence was lost (Meyer 1999:90). Nevertheless, my introduction to anything but negative àzě came in 2006. For the first time, I met people who knew witches. Plus, professed insiders were willing to talk about witchcraft and claimed that it was a force that could be harnessed for good. Although witchcraft has long been a popular topic of conversation due to people’s fear of it, I had never encountered such willingness to reveal personal knowledge of the workings of witchcraft. For my informants, witchcraft held the potential for healing, or for bringing success. Although my informants do not use the word “development,” with respect to witchcraft, they speak of witchcraft’s potential in the same domains that Americans or Europeans speak of development – in terms of economic growth, improved healthcare, and higher agricultural yields. Though “development” might be too strong a word for witchcraft’s potential achievements, much like the Beninese scholars mentioned above, my informants are seeking a way to reconcile witchcraft with science to employ it for beneficial ends, while validating their cultural heritage and bringing respectability to indigenous supernatural practices.

To be honest, most Beninese people do not talk about witchcraft this way. Benin is like other African countries where occult fears seem to be on the rise, perhaps associated with the frustration and jealousy that come with failed development and capitalist inequalities (Apter 1993, Bastian 2001, Comaroff and Comaroff 1999, Nyamnjoh 2001, Parish 1999, Sanders 2001). For most Beninese, witchcraft is still the evil, aggressive power it was six years before, but even more prevalent than I remember. In the time between my two research periods, two of my closest informants lost children to witchcraft. The guilty witches were revealed and publicly disgraced (in one case, an old woman confessed after being accused).9 During my recent visit in the town of Bohicon, I saw an old woman being chased through the streets by children chanting and banging makeshift instruments. Apparently the woman had just been identified as a witch, and the female informant accompanying me said with excitement and disgust, “Look, there’s a witch!” In the six weeks I spent in Benin, a middle-aged woman I know was extremely ill, becoming emaciated following a prolonged witchcraft attack. In one village I frequently visit, an elderly informant of mine died suddenly from a witchcraft attack, just days before I visited his home. On multiple occasions, informants told me that children were going to school and threatening their classmates with witchcraft. This is particularly shocking given that children were previously seen as the primary targets of witchcraft, rather than its perpetrators. In many ways, the surge in witchcraft beliefs displays the same paranoia and confusion as other writers observe. But it is amazing that despite the heightened fear of witchcraft, many of the acts and conversations I had suggest that witchcraft is being circumscribed in a way that offers greater understanding and control of witches and their power.

I make no claims that witchcraft itself has increased, for this would be impossible to measure (Moore and Sanders 2001a). But at least it does seem that discussion and fear of witchcraft have increased. A few of my recent informants held that witchcraft was on the decline, but the vast majority believed it to be more common today than it was a few years ago, citing the examples of children in school, or of neighbors or relatives affected by witchcraft. Gabin Djimassè, a local Beninese oral historian explained to me that witchcraft itself is not growing, but that people are increasingly fearful of it. If true, this is perhaps an understandable result of witchcraft becoming a more public, open affair, a phenomenon recorded elsewhere on the continent (Geschiere 1997:217, Geschiere 1998:811). Indeed, it seems as if witchcraft has gone public. Although witchcraft was an open topic of conversation when former President Kérékou initiated public anti-witchcraft campaigns (Bierschenk and de Sardan 2003:166, Geschiere 1997:188), that period probably magnified the already widespread discussions that cast witchcraft as an evil, deadly force. Newer Christian and indigenous movements have also broadcast the dangers of witchcraft to attract new converts (Tall 1995, 2005). Even the Catholic Church, which previously dismissed witchcraft as superstition, has established an exorcism division of its operations. Thus witchcraft has been, and continues to be, a popular topic of conversation, but during my fieldwork I spoke with informants who demonstrated knowledge and curiosity of witchcraft, rather than fear and repulsion. Meanwhile, radio shows focus on witchcraft and the occult, often giving testimonials and instruction on supernatural powers, rather than warnings. On all fronts, witchcraft appears to be treated openly, something no longer hidden or spoken about in hushed voices. Because witchcraft is on the table in this new way, it makes sense that wildly differing views coexist. On the one hand, more publicity causes heightened anxiety; on the other hand, with witchcraft as a known entity rather than a mysterious force, there are some people beginning to seek a means to tame or control it. These are the people who spoke to me about witchcraft as if it were a potential strategy for improving conditions and helping people.

Benin is relatively poor. Despite or because of programs initiated in Europe or the United States of America, the economic situation of most Beninese has not improved.10 Poverty may provide the rationale leading to new ideas of witchcraft, which are a rejection of foreign development models and an affirmation of Beninese power and ability. Although Cotonou and surrounding areas are exhibiting a fantastic period of expansion, construction, and the creation of new infrastructure, informants presented a more ambivalent economic picture. One close informant who worked in a telephone company’s customer service call center (until it abruptly went out of business) told me he literally hated going to work. He was disgusted that after striving for such a job he found it unrewarding, monotonous, and requiring few real skills. Thus, many Cotonou residents find that life remains difficult, and they associate this life with the move away from more traditional African lifestyles.

In Abomey and other areas, there are similar economic concerns. Although most Abomeyans probably avoid malnourishment, they do not have sufficient money to purchase the food and products that would allow them to live comfortably and in security.11 Nearly everyone I spoke with in Abomey claimed their economic situation is getting worse. Amid this disappointment with modernity, some people have begun to embrace a new version of reality. But rather than exploiting witchcraft to bring others down, witchcraft is starting to take shape as a symbol of positive, indigenous power.

Some people have found new optimism in the prospect of using witchcraft to improve their lot. Even those who view witchcraft in a negative light cannot repress a sense of awe in the abilities of Beninese to control the occult. I have frequently been told by Beninese that their supernatural strengths are unsurpassed. As Geschiere (1997:6) points out, Beninese are all too familiar with the use of supernatural forces to determine outcomes in sporting events or political elections (see also Strandsbjerg 2000). The exact applications of this new witchcraft are varied. One school teacher informant, for example, explained that controlling the rains would be an obvious advantage for struggling agricultural communities. Another male informant in his twenties suggested that witches could use their powers to diagnose and cure illness. He told me that he himself had a heart problem that doctors were unable to cure. He decided to ask for help from his girlfriend, who is a witch. She was able to cure him and stun the doctors. He believes that witchcraft could be put at the disposal of the medical community to help diagnose and treat illness. These skills clearly diverge from my earlier image of witchcraft as a life-consuming evil. Moreover, these applications are similar to the magic of bǒ, and, as my teacher informant noted, witchcraft and magic both derive their power from leaves and other natural phenomena, which suggests that the lines between bǒ and àzě may become blurred.

The pride that wells up in people’s hearts is obviously part of a historical and political moment, when most Africans feel disenfranchised from the political and economic processes. In this sense, they exhibit a self-conscious rejection of what they call “western” paradigms in favor of a more “African” worldview.12 But talking about abstractions tends to mask the fact that the supernatural is also a very real, lived experience for people, as evidenced in my discussions. For example, a civil engineer said that he has dabbled in the occult and learned the witch’s technique for teleporting. He once teleported to another village where he visited a relative, but he found the experience so unsettling that he has never done it again. The young man who used to have a heart problem told me he has been partially inducted into the witch society, to the point where he can identify witches in their nocturnal sorties and protect people under attack. Still another man in his forties confided in me his similar abilities, having followed all but the final witch initiation ritual. The existence of an initiation process is also a dramatic contrast to the mystical way people used to describe the contraction of witchcraft, which further signals how witchcraft is becoming more transparent, and more like the learned magic of bǒ. Both men who embarked on the initiation path say they know witches, and that some witches are good, whereas others are bad, also a significant departure from previous characterizations of purely evil witchcraft. Good witches often intervene in an attack, but usually the human victim must be replaced by an animal sacrifice such as a goat. Perhaps the knowledge of “good” witches gives people hope that àzě could go even farther than just a protective magic.

As mentioned, recognition that African powers are beyond the grasp of westerners creates pride among many Beninese, and inspires comparisons to “science.” In an informal conversation in a Cotonou bar, two strangers told me (in French) that King Behanzin, the last independent monarch of precolonial Dahomey, was actually a powerful sorcier (witch/sorcerer). They explained that the foreign traditions of Christianity and Islam cannot defend against la sorcellerie, so people need the magic of an African leader. Legends also speak wistfully of the powerful war magic at the disposal of precolonial kings. Ellis (2001:223) has shown that soldiers in Liberia’s recent civil war also used war magic, but my two companions added a modern twist by calling it “African science.” I have met other Beninese who also talk about the occult as the African equivalent of science. And the reverse is also true, as I have been told that computers are white people’s magic. Indeed, witchcraft’s transformation holds the wish for a rapprochement between science and the supernatural.

My engineer informant told me that occult powers are even prevalent in The United States of America and Europe, in mystical orders like Eckankar, Rose Croix, and Freemasons. The difference, he said, is that Beninese have tended to use it for malevolent purposes, while westerners use it for positive ends. Despite the fact that some people envision witchcraft as an involuntary force, most informants acknowledge that it becomes prevalent as a result of jealousy. In their eyes, witchcraft-induced death and misfortune are the product of Beninese people’s penchant for attacking their neighbors and family members who show potential to get rich and succeed. The implication of this awareness is that good witches have the potential to pull people out of the dangerous and ubiquitous infighting that holds the country back. In isolating the powers of witchcraft in a demystified, scientific manner my engineer informant intends to rein in the negative aspects of witchcraft and promote the positive aspects. One way my informants suggest would be to study this endogenous supernatural knowledge and incorporate it into science, a suggestion discussed by other Beninese scholars (see Dah-Lokonon 1997).

It is true that despite connections to modernity, the positive spin on witchcraft could be seen as a desperate attempt to find something valuable in tradition when hope is nearly lost in the present. Following this view, in times of confusion and uncertainty, backward-looking nostalgia seeks a return to a time when African kings used war magic to defeat their rivals. Perhaps, just as in 19th century Europe, nostalgia does have something to do with transforming witchcraft from a negative to a positive force (Behringer 2004, Hutton 1999). In Europe, it planted the seeds of new religious traditions—neopaganism or Wicca—which discarded previous ideas of witches as evil-doers (Behringer 2004, Hutton 1999). There are signs that more recent witchcraft movements in the U.S. and Europe go beyond mere nostalgia, reaching out to those either disenchanted with mainstream religion (Jorgensen and Russell 1999, Lewis 1996), or opposed to modern rationality’s dismissal of magical, psychic aspects of oneself (Ivakhiv 1996). In this sense, neopaganism is depicted in terms similar to the witchcraft-as-modernity school, but rather than being a negative force of competition, it is seen as a productive force of nature. In Benin, a similar disenchantment with mainstream notions of development or scientific knowledge may have contributed to rise of good witches. But again, a word of caution about overemphasizing a functionalist interpretation of witchcraft, which invariably reduces it to superstition. Rather than a sign of competition, social decay, and turmoil, witchcraft’s transformation appears to be a conscious reinterpretation of traditional knowledge in order to highlight its positive values.

Indeed, the most striking transformation of witchcraft being expressed by my informants is the notion that witchcraft does not need to have victims. This assumes that there is such a thing as true benefit, rather than merely a redistribution of success from one place to another. The usual form of witchcraft assumes that people get rich or succeed at the expense of others. In other words, there is a limited amount of resources in the world, and those who accumulate more must be depriving others. This zero-sum game is a common metaphor in describing witchcraft and magic in Africa and African-derived traditions (Austen 1993:92, Herskovits 1971[1937], Brown 2001:188, Nyamnjoh 2001:43). Although some individuals reap benefits from employing supernatural powers, the zero-sum game portrays the receiving end of witchcraft as evil, destructive, and aggressive. During my previous research study, àzě in Benin fit this model, but today witchcraft departs from other occult writings on Africa. Although a number of researchers point out that there are benevolent uses of the occult, there are only rare accounts of an evil practice being co-opted for positive purposes. I know of only one anecdotal example, whereby a Cameroonian woman claimed to be using witchcraft to fly a mystical airplane in order to deliver food and rain to needy places (Mbuy 1994:39, cited in Geschiere 1997:3). Thus if there are no more victims, witchcraft could become an unqualified advantage to all people concerned. Whether or not witchcraft in Benin will continue its climb towards legitimacy is unknown, but it is noteworthy that despite its negative connotations, people have begun to forge a new, positive image as an attempt to gain pride, agency, and the possibility of a better life.

Conclusions

Witchcraft has obvious links to the social changes sweeping Benin. Rapid wealth accumulation by a minority of individuals, on the one hand, and often fruitless struggles by the majority on the other, may in fact lead to jealousy, tension, and a search for explanation. Indeed witchcraft is still seen by many Beninese as a jealous attack against those who get rich suddenly. In many ways, the functionalists had it right that spiritual beliefs help deal with processes that defy explanation or control. More recent postmodern views also seem to have found something worth mentioning—that, contrary to Euro-American expectations, occult beliefs continue to thrive in diverse ways in a complex and changing political, economic, and social context. Yet as I have shown, both approaches present witchcraft as a facet of competition, uncertainty, and tension. African religious traditions have perhaps always transformed and adapted to new social and material conditions (Ardener 1970:141, Stoller 1989), a fact which renders the recent witchcraft scholarship less earth-shaking than it would appear. Moreover, to suggest that witchcraft is the result of inequality and social tension is to reduce it to a psychological or cultural belief tantamount to fear or paranoia. While there is plenty of fear surrounding witchcraft, this functionalist model casts witchcraft as superstition. Even if Africa were “a land of many mysteries” (Adjido 1997:266) witchcraft is mainly a mystery for non-believers. For my Beninese informants, the mechanics of witchcraft may not always be known, but witchcraft is all too real and concrete, not mysterious.

Without discarding the findings of other researchers, this paper has attempted to shed light on a new phenomenon that hints at a more drastic shift in the meanings and practices associated with witchcraft. My recent fieldwork suggests that, while witchcraft discourse becomes more public and widespread, some people are seizing the opportunity to redefine this occult practice as a positive “African” force. Although I have yet to hear of witchcraft in Benin being used for economic development, my informants have explained that witchcraft has the potential for good, and there are good witches who protect people from bad witches. It is perhaps this knowledge that gives them hope that witchcraft is not inherently evil. While the legacies of slavery, colonialism, and dependence have brought poverty and the devaluation of indigenous knowledge, there appear to be the makings of a movement to salvage what Beninese believe is their strength. Rather than a reflex in response to modernity, perhaps the new witchcraft will be an example of “the indigenization of modernity” (Moore and Sanders 2001a:13, quoting Sahlins 1999:410).

Following Apter (1993:125, see also Fisiy and Geschiere 2001), I believe that “witchcraft and ‘development’ have converged,” but whereas witchcraft in other areas is depicted as an unproductive reaction to “unfulfilled” development (Bastian 2001:72, see also Sanders 2001), witchcraft in Benin may actually be seen as the source of productive power, and even pride. The prerequisite for this transformation is the public exposure of witchcraft discourses in a way that allows people to define and identify the workings of witchcraft. Whether this leads to a desacralization of witchcraft or rather to a new form of religious tradition is unknown. But if the current trend blossoms, the result could be a movement based on the pride in, and revival of, Beninese occult traditions. While witchcraft protection is a flourishing business in Benin’s religious landscape, witchcraft itself may be shifting to avoid being targeted, but in a way that opens the door for a new religion that openly builds on witchcraft.

I would like to thank Agnes Scott College for the research support that made this work possible. I am also grateful to reviewers and to Simon Akindes for helpful comments on this article.

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Notes and References

Citation Format:

Douglas J Falen. “Good and Bad Witches: The Transformation of Witchcraft in Benin” West Africa Review: Issue 10, 2007.

Copyright © 2007 Africa Resource Center, Inc.