how to make black magic work for you

It can get a bit stressed here, so every once and a while the volunteers will unwind with a drink and (believe it or not) a game of pool at the local watering hole. Last night, I put my bag down to play a game and somewhere between embarrassing myself at pool and dancing with many children we inevitably attract, my bag disappeared. I was immediately concerned, because I am (believe it or not) dumb enough to put all essential irreplaceable items in one place and carry it around with me. So, my credit cards, my passport, all my cash and my keys were gone. At home I would have really panicked, but something about living in a community like this gave me hope that I would get these things back.

About a month back, someone else had a digital camera stolen. CBW, the NGO we work with simply rounded everybody up told them that whoever took the camera would have to return it the next day or someone would die. At first I thought this was a rather extreme physical threat, but really it was more of a curse. Apparently, there is enough of a belief in the power of witchdoctors that the thought of supernatural intervention was enough to bring the contraband back to its rightful owner.

In my case, I called the CBW squad and they immediately starting questioning everyone at the bar and looking everywhere for the bag. The fact that CBW is so well known and respected in the community and that its top people were now creating a stir at the bar made it the topic of the evening for all of zone 10 in the camp. All who were awake and out at the time were either on the case or talking animatedly about “the white girl whose bag gone missing.” People were genuinely sorry and embarrassed. Plus, petty theft is just thrilling enough to break the monotony of camp life and provide a little excitement for the night. Even back in my room when I was getting ready for bed I overheard people outside talking about “the bag” and “the wicked people” who “can steal things.” People kept urging me to pray for its return and to make an announcement over the load speakers for the people to return the documents (passport). They all assured me that I would get the bag back. I was a bit incredulous - why the hell would anyone who just hit pay dirt, want to jeopardize their booty by bringing back some stranger’s passport???

Black magic. That’s why. You see, zealous commitment to Christianity aside, there is a deeply ingrained, almost universal and unwavering belief in the power of witches and curses. People talk about these things as if you are a fool to doubt it. Some Liberians know that us foreigners are pretty dubious when it comes to witchcraft, but they will simply state before telling a story about the supernatural, "you see, things are different here in Africa." Not that people believe in witches, but that witches exist and exercise power here.

I recently learned that a friend of mine lost his brother who was living in Liberia, leaving behind 4 small children. When I asked how it happened, I learned that the death was due to "witchcraft." When I probed deeper and asked for the specific "cause" I was told... "Jealousy." I still don't know the medical reason, and it didn't seem that anyone, other than myself, was unsatisfied with this response. I heard another story (relayed to me by a University educated and relatively Western-thinking man) about a family who stole a goat and ate it. The goat-owners consulted a witchdoctor, and within a week, the thieving family had all died. And this threat, I believe, is what brought my bag and (eventually) all of its contents back to its rightful owner.

So, after I called off the search party for the night and tried to go to sleep, there was a knock at my bedroom window.
“Who is it?”
(nervously) “I am looking for the director (of CBW)”
“He’s not here. His house is next door. And I’m sure you know that”
“I need to talk to him.”
“Who are you? Why are you talking to me? (silence) Hey! Do you have my bag?”
(silence) “Yes.”
“OK. Hold on I’ll be right out there.”

So, I called the strongest looking and closest of my Liberian coworkers and we met this guy. He was small, young and nervous, but claimed to have found and did return my bag to me (passport credit and credit cards, but no cash), so I was prepared to like the guy. Tony was not so sure. He questioned him (I thought) harshly about the location of the remaining contents and how he had come to find the bag, whispering to me, “This guy took your bag.” The next day, nervous guy came back with my keys, a lot of other little items in my bag and about half of the cash, making his “I just found the bag” story a little less believable. So, I sat with him in a booth of “vigilantes” (volunteer night watchman/ security guard/ detectives who maintain order and meet out justice on camp) questioning him and generally intimidating and embarrassing him into a confession. It was quite impressive. Our criminal justice system should operate as smoothly and effectively. They got him to confess the correct amount of cash in the bag, itemized what he did with it and agree to return the rest of the money the following day by confiscating his phone as collateral and threatening to take him to jail should he fail.

So, today I sit in the internet cafe with my bag and all of its contents. The only fallout is that I am now have strangers coming up to me wherever I go telling me (oh, they know me) to be more careful with my bag. But I suppose it is the inability to hide your transgressions this tight knit community (along with the threat of some black magic) that brought my bag back home in the first place.