The Ugandan political scene on another level

[Allan]

By Charles Onyango - Obbo

Picture this: Wilson Watira, a hopeful Ugandan politician, sticks out his hand to greet a rival at a funeral in the eastern city of Mbale. The guy doesn’t just dodge the handshake—he grabs a church programme, folds it like it’s a magic wand, and waves it at Watira as if he’s warding off a zombie apocalypse.

No joke, this is politics in Uganda, where shaking hands might mean shaking your luck away. Behind the loud campaign rallies and vote-buying antics, there’s a secret game: Spiritual warfare, complete with witchdoctors, and some seriously eerie rituals, reported by the Associated Press in its July 16 story headlined, In African politics, the rampant belief in witchcraft fortifies some and vexes others.

In Uganda, elections aren’t just about ballots. They are also about battling unseen forces of darkness. Candidates sneak off to traditional healers, or “witchdoctors,” for a sprinkle of magic dust to win votes or dodge curses.

Steven Masiga, a big shot in Mbale’s cultural scene, spills the tea: One politician, egged on by a healer, skinned a goat alive—yep, alive—and still won his seat. In Kampala, posters on streetlights promise to hex rivals or charm

Even President Yoweri Museveni, who’s been running Uganda for nearly 40 years, admits he tactically jumped over a slaughtered chicken three times back in the 1980s to kick-start his rebel victory. He’s like, “Don’t mess with traditional healers, they’ve got game!”After former Ugandan Parliament Speaker Rebecca Kadaga was photographed visiting a shrine, she defended her actions, stating that she was informing her ancestors of her political achievements.

Peace Khalayi, a Catholic running for parliament, rolls her eyes when supporters nudge her toward witchdoctors. But even she gets the jitters, admitting, “You can’t just be all buddy-buddy with your opponent. What if they’ve got a juju guy on speed dial?”It’s not just Uganda. Across Africa, witchcraft is the uninvited guest at the political party, stirring up drama and paranoia. Take South Sudan’s Vice-President Riek Machar. He’s convinced he’s the “gap-toothed, left-handed” messiah a local prophet predicted a century ago. It’s like he’s starring in his superhero movie, battling President Salva Kiir for the crown.

 

Kenya, recently, youthful protesters swore that an “evil spell” around President William Ruto’s State House made them dizzy!In Zambia, two blokes are on trial for waving charms and a live chameleon at President Hakainde Hichilema, who once got accused of witchcraft himself by one of his predecessors, Michael Sata. Talk about a plot twist!Then there’s Gambia’s ex-president Yahya Jammeh, who went full villain mode. In 2009, he rounded up more than 1,000 folks—mostly old people—forcing them to drink hallucination-inducing potions to “confess” witchcraft. Some died. Jammeh thought he was dodging mystical attacks on his 22-year rule. Spoiler: It didn’t work. He got kicked out in 2017 after losing an election and failing to cling to power.

Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe, the leftist radical with seven academic degrees, was often cited as one of the most educated leaders in the world (but still turned Africa’s breadbasket into a basket case) — leaned on ancestral spirits and healers to keep power.

In DR Congo, former president Joseph Kabila turned to Kongo mgangas to shield himself from betrayal.

The rituals don’t stop at politics. African football is a witch doctor’s playground. Nigerian clubs like Enugu Rangers sprinkle animal blood or stash amulets for luck. Ghana’s Black Stars have been spotted splashing “holy water” on pitches or rocking charmed armbands.

In 2019, a Tanzanian team got fined when a player buried a fetish under a goalpost to jinx the other team’s striker. Even Nigeria’s Super Eagles brought a juju man to the 2008 Africa Cup of Nations to out-hex their rivals.

So, why is witchcraft still a thing in the age of artificial intelligence (AI) and TikTok? Simple: When life’s a mess—hospitals are empty, courts are corrupt, and politicians are heartless, people cling to what makes sense.

Witchcraft explains why you lost an election, why your kid is sick, or why your crops failed. Urban sprawl, poverty, and diseases like HIV/Aids make folks lean harder into these beliefs.

Pentecostal churches, with their demon-busting sermons, often remix traditional fears. In Nigeria and the DRC, pastors like Helen Ukpabio accuse kids of being witches, leading to heartbreaking abuse. A 2014 study even found Nigerian students thinking Western technology comes from “magical powers.”What does this say about Africa? Politics-wise, it screams shaky systems—when you don’t trust the vote, you trust the witchdoctor. Socially, it’s a tug-of-war between old gods and new ones (Christianity, technology).

Economically, it hits the weakest hardest—poor kids, grannies, anyone who looks “cursed.” Leaders like Jammeh, Mugabe and Kabila, who dabbled in the occult, had several things in common: They ruled shaky countries, feared rivals, and played the mystic card to look untouchable. They would don suits for the State House cocktail by day and sneak to shrines by night.

Someone always pays the price, though. In Nigeria, child witch hunts by pastors have left thousands homeless or worse. Witchcraft is not just a quirky headline—it’s a mirror. It shows leaders scared of losing, voters scared of curses, and teams scared of missing goals.

In a world of drones and Wi-Fi, Africans still jump over chickens, skin goats, and bury charms under goalposts, because when life’s a gamble, you don’t bet against the spirits—just in case.

Charles Onyango-Obbo is a journalist, writer, and curator of the “Wall of Great Africans”. X@cobbo3 Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (