OFFICIAL RECOGNITION AND REGULATION

In 1964, the British Protectorate of Northern Rhodesia achieved independence as the Republic of Zambia, which brought about a significant change in the relationship between ng'anga and the government. Ng'anga were little more than an administrative nuisance for the colonial government, frowned upon as encouraging the belief in witchcraft and causing unnecessary social disturbances (Browne Reference Browne1935; Melland 1935). In contrast, they became recognized as traditional healers under the first republican government led by the United National Independence Party (UNIP), which sought to clear them of the colonial stigma of ‘witch doctors’ so as to ‘revive’ traditional medicine in the country (Republic of Zambia 1993: 1, 7–9). The Zambian government thus started to engage with the ng'anga as a type of health practitioner who could serve the nation, and thereby be obligated to register with local authorities. Let us look first at how this relationship has since developed.

The first formal occasion for ng'anga, government officials and the biomedical professional to discuss the issue of traditional medicine was a five-day workshop held in 1977, organized by the Ministry of Health in conjunction with WHO. The workshop was entitled ‘Traditional Medicine and its Role in the Development of Primary Health Care in Zambia’, although the real concerns were the preconditions for ng'anga to play any role as traditional healers. Addressing such concerns, the following resolutions were taken at the workshop: first, traditional healers should desist from using the title ‘doctor’; second, there should be an association of traditional healers and a national council to regulate their practice; third, the council should include representatives from the Medical Council of Zambia and other health authorities, with a chairman nominated by the government; fourth, traditional healers would collaborate with biomedical doctors only in the area of chronic and ‘psychosomatic’ problems, so long as the effectiveness of the healers depended on ‘culture and traditional beliefs’; finally, traditional healers should register to practise, after due training of three years or more, on the recommendation of master healers and community leaders (Republic of Zambia 1977: 42–3). It was thus stipulated that ng'anga should be strictly distinguished from biomedical doctors, with their collaboration limited to a grey area where they could possibly complement each other, and, most importantly, that a system should be established for the government and health authorities to regulate the practice of ng'anga.

In accordance with the resolutions, an official association of ng'anga was founded in 1978, named the Traditional Health Practitioners Association of Zambia (THPAZ). With a brief to work closely with the association, a Traditional Medicine Unit was also set up in the Ministry of Health. A national council, on the other hand, failed to materialize even after a follow-up workshop held in 1987, entitled ‘Strengthening the Role of Traditional Medicine in Primary Health Care in Zambia’. Its establishment was finally proposed in 1997, by which time the Movement for Multi-Party Democracy (MMD) had come into power, replacing UNIP. At the time of my research, however, there had been no formal discussion about the proposal, with an Act of Parliament listed as pending. Meanwhile, THPAZ was busy carrying out registration campaigns and educational projects for ng'anga, united under a successful president, Rodwell Vongo, who was elected in 1993 and has held the position ever since.

Vongo is surely an outstanding ng'anga with a high educational background and political skills, thanks to which THPAZ has emerged from years of infighting, has gained the trust of the government, and has attracted funding from several European organizations. He has even had a voice in the Central Board of Health, although this barely compensates, in his view, for the absence of the national council. He insists that the pending Act of Parliament should immediately come into effect and the council should be inaugurated, so as to validate traditional medicine as ‘our cultural heritage’ (THPAZ Reference Thpaz1998). He sees such validation is indispensable to ng'anga and essential for their collaboration with biomedical doctors, which he feels is unsatisfactory at present: ‘We [ng'anga] refer [our patients] to hospitals but hospitals don't refer to us,’ he complained in an interview with the author (10 November 1998).² THPAZ, therefore, welcomes government intervention, counting on it not so much for regulation but for promotion of ng'anga practice, in view of the prospective introduction of traditional medicine into national health care.

To be sure, THPAZ is not the only association of its kind; a splinter group was formed in 1991, namely the Zambia National Council of Ng'anga, from which another group (the Zambia Herbalist United Organization) broke away in 1996. A record with the Registrar of Societies shows that the government disapproved of the first split and urged each party, although to little avail, to resolve the situation. At the time of my research, THPAZ had a membership of about 5,200 ng'anga, while the other two had 1,500 and 11 members respectively. Importantly, however, my findings in Kalingalinga indicate that many ng'anga have no connection with any of these associations; instead they are involved in Christian groups that I term ‘healing churches’. They practise quite as legitimately as other ng'anga, so long as they are registered with Lusaka City Council, and their churches are recognized by the Registrar of Societies. That being the case, membership of THPAZ is optional rather than mandatory for Zambian ng'anga, whose total number is estimated at 40,000 (Republic of Zambia 1993: 2). Nevertheless, THPAZ is still the largest and the only official association of ng'anga, thereby having a monopoly on national and international attention. Accordingly, the government, WHO and the European organizations have worked solely with THPAZ, leaving the splinter groups and healing churches out of their schemes.

While THPAZ serves as a channel of state power to a certain extent, ng'anga practice is only slightly under the control of the government and health authorities. The Traditional Medicine Unit has little influence over ng'anga, apart from their involvement in routine educational programmes for THPAZ members. The local authorities do not count for much either, even though all ng'anga with whatever affiliation are obliged to register with district councils in their respective areas. As regards Lusaka City Council in particular, the registration seems no more than a formality, requiring only a letter of recommendation from the organization to which the applicant belongs, such as THPAZ, its splinter groups and the numerous healing churches. Contrary to the 1977 resolutions, the council seeks no reference from community leaders, entrusting ng'anga themselves with the evaluation of applicants. Besides, once registered and issued with a one-year permit to practise, most ng'anga do not bother to renew the permit, nor does the council insist they do so. In fact, the council does not intend to supervise ng'anga practice, as the clerk in charge of their registration let slip: ‘I'm not ng'anga. How could I know if ng'anga are good or bad?’ Hence there is no guarantee that ng'anga will keep to their agreement with the authorities, including the ban on the title ‘doctor’, which is rarely observed in Lusaka; indeed, the president of THPAZ himself is commonly known as ‘Dr Vongo’.

The situation illustrated thus far indicates that the regulation of ng'anga practice has not lived up to the prospect of their integration into national health care. It is likely that traditional medicine has been reduced to a minor concern in Zambia in the course of economic and political changes since the 1970s, which started with a decline in the mining industry, followed by UNIP one-party rule and the rise of the MMD. Apart from that, I suspect, increasing government reluctance to work with ng'anga may be due to a problem recognized from the outset, namely their engagement with ‘culture and traditional beliefs’. While WHO suggests that ng'anga practice could serve as an economical substitute for biomedicine in the developing world, the former undeniably contrasts, and often conflicts, with the latter because of its cultural peculiarities, specifically its unscientific approach to human suffering and healing. The president of THPAZ feels that such a difference should encourage the collaboration between ng'anga and biomedical doctors: ‘If they failed [to treat] psychosomatic or psychiatric cases, or the cases where demons are involved, or where witchcraft is involved, they should also refer to us. We know better the background of these cases’ (interview, 10 November 1998). In reality, however, ng'anga interest in such occult agents as ‘demons’ and ‘witchcraft’ is the very reason that discourages biomedical sectors and local authorities alike from collaborating with them. The next section looks at how the government evades this problem of ‘culture and traditional beliefs’, highlighting the official stance on the belief in witchcraft and related ng'anga practice.

FROM WITCH DOCTOR TO HERBALIST

Ng'anga are characteristically oriented towards witchcraft and spirits, the agents of affliction that constitute a real threat for many people in Zambia today. A survey that I conducted in Kalingalinga shows that 72 out of 100 adults believe in umfiti, a Nyanja concept of witchcraft, which refers to any practice aimed at afflicting others by means of mankwala ya chimuntu, ‘African (black man's) medicines’. It is postulated that such medicines are used not only to heal, as ng'anga do, but also to harm, bringing people illness, misfortune and ‘evil spirits’ (mizimu zoipa) known as vibanda or mashave. If a problem has been caused in this way, my informants invariably argued, only ng'anga can deal with it by counteracting the malign effect and even identifying a ‘witch’ (also termed umfiti): most likely a jealous relative, friend, or neighbour. The residents of Kalingalinga typically suspect witchcraft and turn to ng'anga if the problem is recurrent, consistent, incurable or paralleled by other misfortunes, although they normally trust biomedical doctors and ‘Western (white man's) medicines’ (mankwala ya chizungu) for physical afflictions.Footnote ³ Apparently, in their words, ‘nobody would consult ng'anga for malaria’ so long as the problem makes sense as malaria; one of my informants came to suspect witchcraft when what he initially thought was a symptom of malaria had lasted for an unusually long time. Thus, it can be said that indigenous and biomedical systems offer alternative ways to deal with an affliction, allowing people to ‘shop around’, as it were, in their pursuit of well-being.

Meanwhile, the government and health authorities seek to separate ng'anga practice from indigenous beliefs in witchcraft and spirits, so that traditional medicine has nothing to do with the occult, officially at least. They are particularly concerned about a popular English term for ng'anga, ‘witch doctor’, which they think is a ‘colonial name meant to embarrass traditional practitioners who enjoyed a lot of respect in the community’ (Republic of Zambia 1993: 9). This term indeed represents ng'anga negatively, with a connotation that shifted under the colonial situation from ‘a doctor to cure witchcraft’ to ‘a doctor who is also a witch’ (Last Reference Last, Last and Chavunduka1986: 4, 15–16). Some residents of Kalingalinga actually consider ng'anga to be witch doctors in the latter sense, suspecting them of being what they call ‘greater witches’ who can harm and heal at will. A local scientist researching ng'anga medicines supported this view by saying: ‘If you know how to cure certain [diseases caused by] bacteria, you may know how to infect people with the bacteria.’ Officially, however, witchcraft is just a superstition that ‘respectable’ traditional healers would not entertain; hence the government and health authorities dismiss witch doctors in whatever sense, discouraging ng'anga from acting as such. In this connection, there is actually a legal constraint on their practice, called the Witchcraft Act, which was originally a British colonial ordinance geared to suppressing the indigenous belief.

The Witchcraft Act has retained its original, colonial features, except for minor amendments made in the post-colonial era. Standing by a basic presupposition that witchcraft is fictitious, this law sees no legitimacy in any action based on the belief in witchcraft. Hence it criminalizes not only people claiming to practise witchcraft but also those accusing others of doing so, including witch doctors and ‘witch finders’; they are all counted as guilty for irrationally making a nuisance of themselves. Still, it is very common for ng'anga in Kalingalinga to ascribe a client's problem to witchcraft, and this does not usually get them into trouble with the judiciary. However, when it comes to identifying a witch, ng'anga and the client are very cautious lest the accused witch bring suit against them. In one case, a young woman consulted ng'anga and became convinced that her sickness was caused by an old female neighbour, a ‘well-known witch’, who was ‘jealous of any women living happily with their husband and children’. Nevertheless, the young woman did not take any action against the old woman, nor did anyone in the neighbourhood, because they were all afraid of possible consequences: ‘If I talk to her [the old woman] straight, she will sue me.’ Indeed, a lawsuit against accusation of witchcraft is not rare in Lusaka, and the accuser, as opposed to the accused, is often punished under the Witchcraft Act. The following newspaper coverage illustrates this point:

It is typical of a court case of this kind that ng'anga are disparagingly called ‘witch doctors’, rather than ‘traditional healers’, and blamed for confusing people by ascribing ‘natural’ afflictions to witchcraft. The fairness of such a judgement aside, it is undeniable that ng'anga could cause a serious disturbance to local communities by making an issue of witchcraft, especially when they take part in witch-finding campaigns (Yamba Reference Yamba1997). THPAZ, therefore, prohibits its members from naming a witch or playing a role in this kind of campaign. I found that ng'anga in Kalingalinga, regardless of affiliation, would usually give only a vague description of a suspected witch (gender, age, etc.), and let the client decide who exactly the witch was; for that matter, it was the client, regarding the court case introduced above, who ‘saw’ the suspects in the divinatory mirror. Apparently, as one of the township ng'anga observed, ‘no one comes [to consult me] without any idea [about his/her problem]’. The judicial view is that ng'anga deceptively exploit such ideas, specifically the belief in witchcraft that does not really exist. Rodwell Vongo, for his part, disagrees with this view: ‘Witchcraft does exist’, even though some people ‘believe’ otherwise, which is ‘very difficult to change’ (interview, 10 November 1998). He is also emphatic that ‘traditional medicine is not witchcraft’, lamenting that ‘some people think all healers are witches, which is not true’. Exacerbating the effect of this misconception, in his view, the Witchcraft Act criminalizes ng'anga fighting against ‘real’ witches; hence Vongo even feels that the law ‘impedes the development of traditional medicine’, which ‘should be redressed’ (THPAZ Reference Thpaz1998).

Ng'anga thus hold onto their own beliefs, and so does the government, discounting the idea of witchcraft and the occult in general. Nevertheless, the two parties can work together so long as ‘the government believes in herbalists’, according to the officer in charge of the Traditional Medicine Unit. To explain this point, it should be mentioned first that ng'anga as traditional healers are officially classified into three types: ‘herbalists’, who heal through the use of ‘herbs’ (medicinal plants); ‘spiritualists/diviners’, who heal through ‘methods of possession, divination and other ritual means’; and ‘faith healers’, who heal under the influence of Christianity, based in certain churches (Twumasi Reference Twumasi1984: 39–45; cf. Republic of Zambia 1987a: 6–9).Footnote ⁵ To be sure, ‘spiritualists/diviners’ and ‘faith healers’ also use ‘herbs’, as expected of any traditional healers. However, they are differentiated from ‘herbalists’ since they employ ‘ritual means’ as well, Christian ones included. It is such a difference, according to the same officer, that makes ‘herbalists’ favourable to the government: ‘They are like [biomedical] doctors. But we don't fully understand how other types of healers operate.’

The government, therefore, considers herbalist-type ng'anga to be more suitable than others for taking part in national health care, trusting that their practice is devoid of occult aspects, and hence is compatible with biomedicine. In reality, however, they are not as scientifically minded as the government presumes, judging from my findings in Kalingalinga. At first glance, their practice seems straightforward, as they do not associate themselves with spiritual agents, from which other types of ng'anga claim to draw their ability to divine and heal. ‘I don't have a spiritual power’, explained a herbalist-type ng'anga, ‘so I interview patients to understand their problem’, like ‘Western doctors’ normally do. This young, male ‘herbalist’ (he preferred to be so called) was thus inclined to copy biomedical practice, with his medicines tidily bottled and displayed on a shelf in his ‘clinic’; he was even hoping to study pharmacology at college. Importantly, however, he subscribed to the idea of witchcraft and spirits, as did any ng'anga in the township, regardless of type. Hence he often reached quite an unscientific diagnosis in his non-divinatory consultation with clients; he once concluded that a man with a swollen foot had walked over a ‘traditional landmine’, a medicine buried under the pathway he customarily used by someone holding a grudge against him.

Ng'anga thus continue to deal with the occult, notwithstanding the official discouragements, thanks to the prevailing belief in witchcraft and spirits. In fact, the belief is not limited to the residents of a low-income township such as Kalingalinga; it is worth noting that even the officer in charge of the Traditional Medicine Unit was personally convinced of the reality of witchcraft. Further, this situation is not peculiar to Zambia, but is shared among many post-colonial nations in Africa and elsewhere. Some governments have actually started to address the indigenous belief in witchcraft, rather than ignoring it, developing a new attitude towards issues involving the occult. In Cameroon, for instance, some state courts are apt to process witchcraft accusations from the accuser's perspective, allowing traditional healers to testify against the accused witch (Geschiere Reference Geschiere1997: 169–97). The South African government has also acknowledged the lasting grip of the occult, with a view to taking control of witchcraft-related violence (Ashforth Reference Ashforth2004; Niehaus 2001), and has recently made a legislative move to regulate ‘traditional health practice’ (Thornton Reference Thornton2009). The Zambian government, too, will not be able to ignore the issue for much longer, and might also venture into the dubious field of witchcraft and spirits. In the meantime, however, the occult remains outside the official scope of traditional medicine, and ng'anga are expected to work primarily as ‘herbalists’, staying clear of the old stigma attached to ‘witch doctors’.

BIOMEDICAL RATIONALIZATION

As the government and health authorities play down the occult aspects of ng'anga practice, traditional medicine is shaping up as what may be termed ‘herbalism’, the efficacy of which can be scientifically proved or disproved. Ng'anga have actually started to cooperate with scientists in this regard, leaving aside their belief in witchcraft/spirits, which may help bring their practice into line with traditional medicine as officially conceived. However, the authorities do not seem to have much confidence in traditional medicine after all, counting firmly on biomedicine as a modern science that constitutes the universal foundation of national health care. The present section aims to illustrate this point by exploring the struggle of ng'anga for an equal relationship between the two types of medicine, starting with their involvement in scientific investigation into plant medicines.

An investigation of this kind often demonstrates, unfortunately, a great deal of mistrust between ng'anga and scientists. Such is the case with a project organized by the National Institute for Scientific and Industrial Research, which seems like an exemplary case of ng'anga–scientist collaboration; they allegedly established that some plant medicines were effective in treating tuberculosis (Republic of Zambia 1987b: 11–12). In fact, this project almost failed, according to a scientist involved, because ng'anga often refused to specify the ingredients of medicines that they had provided for chemical analysis. Apparently, ng'anga regarded the scientist as not so much a cooperator as a competitor who might ‘steal’ their knowledge of medicines. The scientist, for his part, felt that ng'anga cared only about personal gain, and were indifferent to the ‘national interest and academic progress’ that his research could serve.Footnote ⁶ The same problem hampered another institution, the Tropical Diseases Research Centre, which was devising a project on malaria remedies at the time of my research. It is said that THPAZ declined to collaborate with them on the grounds that scientists might only exploit ng'anga to develop a new, marketable drug. Such mistrust is not entirely groundless when ng'anga rarely get feedback on projects in which they have participated (Republic of Zambia 1993: 8), and their knowledge of medicinal plants is legally unprotected (THPAZ 1999: 17). It is unlikely, however, that these projects are as commercially oriented as ng'anga suspect; their aim is primarily a scientific validation of indigenous medicines, rather than the development of new drugs, as far as the government is concerned.

The National Drug Policy stipulates that the scientific research on ng'anga medicines should ‘identify the active ingredients’ and ‘standardize the usage of the identified active ingredients’ so as to realize a ‘rational and safe use of traditional medicines at all levels of the health care delivery system’ (Republic of Zambia 1999: 19). This means that, in the long term, biomedicine and traditional medicine are expected to coexist as ‘two disciplines’ (so worded in the policy statement) in not only primary but also higher levels of the national health care system. The government thus envisages not so much integration as coexistence of the two types of medicine, which might help ng'anga and biomedical doctors to practise without clashing with each other. Importantly, however, this policy does not place traditional medicine on an equal footing with biomedicine; the former is not even defined as an autonomous discipline, and hence is subjected to scientific investigation for the sake of biomedical rationalization. THPAZ is not content with such a subordinate status of traditional medicine, and thus strives to convince the authorities of its advantages over biomedicine, although without much success.

THPAZ is keen on propagating the idea that their international sympathizers value traditional medicine for such virtues as its ‘community-based nature’, ‘holistic approach’ and, above all, ‘cost effectiveness’. Highlighting the economic advantage in particular, THPAZ maintains that Zambia, being a developing country, should not spend its budget on expensive, foreign-made biomedicines while their traditional counterparts are locally available at a less cost. For instance, THPAZ president Vongo called on the government in vain to ban the importation of Viagra, a highly publicized drug for male sexual dysfunction, on the grounds that traditional healers have a stronger, safer and cheaper equivalent (Sunday Mail, 8 November 1998). In this connection, some ng'anga in Kalingalinga argued that their medicines, including a ‘traditional Viagra’, would compete favourably with biomedicines if only they had access to the drug market. Yet such arguments do little to jeopardize the existing hierarchy of medicine wherein biomedicine is firmly established as the primary, albeit costly, means of national health care. Hence Vongo dare not deny the primacy of biomedicine, and even urges ‘all Third World countries to bury their pride’ in promoting traditional medicine (THPAZ 1999: 3), as though he considers it to be the second-best option. Meanwhile, some ng'anga seek to prove that their practice should not be seen as just a cheaper option for poorer people, claiming that they can cure diseases that biomedical doctors cannot, most notably AIDS.

There have been sporadic cases of ng'anga attracting media attention for their allegedly successful treatment of HIV/AIDS. The government and health authorities are uncompromisingly critical of these ng'anga, and tend to dismiss their practice without bothering to conduct a scientific investigation. Indeed, biomedicine has yet to list AIDS as a curable disease, which gives the authorities sufficient grounds to assert that ‘no one in the world has found the cure’ except for some ignorant ng'anga falsely claiming to have it (Times of Zambia, 9 January 1999). Playing along with the authorities, THPAZ dissociates itself from such claims, and regularly holds workshops in order to provide its members with ‘correct’ knowledge about HIV/AIDS. Such efforts have taken effect, according to Vongo, who commented as follows at an international conference: ‘When the disease was new in the country some healers thought they could cure AIDS’, but ‘we have now sensitized our healers’ so that ‘they do not make these claims any more’ (THPAZ 1999: 4).Footnote ⁷ THPAZ thus encourages ng'anga to accept an official, biomedical view on HIV/AIDS, along with restrictions placed on their practice to prevent them from spreading the virus; without this acceptance, they would be regarded as an obstacle to the national effort to deal with the pandemic.

To be fair, although scientific knowledge can be limiting for ng'anga, it can also help to validate their practice, especially their use of plant medicines. A seal of approval from scientists could even boost their ‘business’, as exemplified by a craze for the so-called ‘African potato’ at the time of my research. Many ng'anga have profited from this tuber plant, thanks to a South African discovery that it contains a stimulus to the human immune system that might benefit HIV carriers.Footnote ⁸ In fact, the tuber boom heated up to the extent that THPAZ intervened; Vongo sought to have ng'anga recognized as ‘professional people who know the correct dosage and use of the medicine’, as opposed to ‘unqualified people’, specifically street vendors, who were also dealing in the tuber (THPAZ 1999: 3). Interestingly, however, my informants assured me that Zambian ng'anga had hardly known of the African potato until its possible medicinal effect was disseminated through the media. This means that ng'anga have appropriated scientific knowledge about this plant that scientists had extracted from indigenous knowledge. That being the case, it seems fair to say that ‘traditional medicine’ develops under the guidance of modern science, although ng'anga would not necessarily follow this line of development if they wish to be ‘traditional healers’ in their own right.

To quote the president of the Cameroonian equivalent of THPAZ, who joined Vongo at the conference mentioned above, ‘there is no way a traditional practitioner will be scientific because we don't subscribe to that [science] as we have our own methods’ (The Post, 16 September 1999). Indeed, while they increasingly give in to biomedical rationalization, African traditional healers do retain ‘their own methods’ that seemingly have no scientific accountability. It is possible that Cameroonian healers are relatively free to pursue such methods, given that their expertise in the occult is not always discounted in official contexts, as mentioned in the previous section. Compared with them, Zambian healers are more likely to invite the criticism that they exploit superstitions, risking being labelled as ‘witch doctors’ whenever they deal with the occult. Nevertheless, traditional medicine is developing in Zambia along unscientific lines as well, albeit unofficially, with not only indigenous beliefs but also Christian faith involved in ng'anga practice.

CHRISTIAN MORALIZATION

Christianity definitely forms a part of traditional medicine developing in Zambia today, despite being a modern religion originally brought from the West. It has penetrated the indigenous system for dealing with affliction since the colonial era, as demonstrated by the existence of healing churches, where ng'anga operate as ‘faith healers’. In fact, unlike indigenous beliefs, the Christian faith has been officially recognized in the post-colonial era; both UNIP and MMD regimes have used it to unite the nation and to confer legitimacy on themselves, to such an extent that Zambia is constitutionally declared a ‘Christian Nation’ (Gifford Reference Gifford1998: 181–244). Nevertheless, the government does not encourage interaction between traditional medicine and Christianity, nurturing the former as herbalism, detached from both indigenous and Christian beliefs. Besides, established churches as well as burgeoning Pentecostal churches are not sympathetic to ng'anga practice, let alone their adaptation of Christianity. Still, their activity deserves special attention in studying the development of traditional medicine, as a counterbalance to the biomedical rationalization of ng'anga practice.

Each healing church includes a certain number of ng'anga, called ‘doctors’, who claim to practice through the power of ‘holy spirits’ (mizimu oyera). Other members, also associated with such spirits, have different roles in the healing ministry, with some specializing in preaching, while others are apprenticed to the doctors. They typically hold a service several times a week, offering divinatory consultations, cleansing rituals and medicines to anyone seeking help; such people may either join or leave the group as the treatment proceeds. Churches of this type in Lusaka often trace their ancestry back to one of two movements that emerged in the 1930s, known as the Mutumwa Nchimi and the Zion Spirit Church.Footnote ⁹ The former originated in Isoka, Northern Province, led by a man who regarded himself as mutumwa nchimi, meaning ‘God-sent diviner/witch finder’ in Tumbuka (Dillon-Malone Reference Dillon-Malone1983; Reference Dillon-Malone1988). The latter was founded by a woman in Chipata, Eastern Province, most likely under the influence of the so-called ‘Zionist’ churches, which were proponents of revelation and healing originating in South Africa (Daneel Reference Daneel1970; Seeley Reference Seeley1987; Sundkler Reference Sundkler1961[1948]). Let us look briefly at how Christianity came into the ng'anga system and established such a tradition of healing in Zambia.

For a start, healing churches can be seen as an ‘institutionalized continuation’ of witch-finding movements in the colonial era (Jonker Reference Jonker1992: 214). It is actually known that such movements involved not only ng'anga but also millenarian ‘prophets’ who envisaged emancipation from witchcraft as well as colonialism (Cross Reference Cross1977; de Craemer et al. 1976; Willis 1970). Supporting this view, there is an indication that people in the north associate Mutumwa churches with witch finders (Willis Reference Willis1999: 143), while the same applies to Zion churches in the east (Auslander Reference Auslander and Comaroff1993: 175). Normally, however, these churches are concerned less with exposing witches than with healing people, especially those tormented by witchcraft and spirits. In this regard, they are comparable to another institution, the so-called ‘cult of affliction’, which is geared to dealing with certain spirits, mashave for instance, under the guidance of ng'anga who have tamed those spirits and turned them into healing agents (Janzen Reference Janzen1992; Turner Reference Turner1968; van Dijk et al. Reference van Dijk, Reis and Spierenburg2000). An important difference is that while these cults identify afflicting spirits with healing spirits, Mutumwa/Zion churches differentiate them as ‘evil’ agents of Satan and ‘holy’ agents of God. That being the case, apart from their relation to witch-finding movements, it is plausible that healing churches emerged as some cults of affliction adopted a Christian morality in organizing themselves, with their leaders, namely ng'anga, assuming a prophetic character (cf. van Binsbergen 1981: 159–62). Thus, we can fairly argue that Christianity has partially accommodated the indigenous concern with witchcraft and spirits, thereby allowing ng'anga to act in the name of God and holy spirits.

While their emergence was seemingly unrelated to the issue of traditional medicine, healing churches have become involved in the trend towards ng'anga integration into national health care. As mentioned earlier, they count as alternatives to THPAZ and other associations of this kind, and hence serve as referees for ng'anga to register at district councils. In fact, they have a significant presence in Lusaka, at least in Kalingalinga, where the church-based ng'anga clearly outnumber those practising on their own.Footnote ¹⁰ These churches are relatively free from government intervention and related scientific rationalism, as they attract little attention in official contexts, compared to THPAZ. In effect, they sanctify ng'anga to deal with the occult as a legitimate, communal concern, counteracting the official nurturing of traditional medicine as herbalism. This, however, does not mean that healing churches are consciously opposed to the government and health authorities; I found no such inclination among them in Kalingalinga. Rather, many groups distance themselves from THPAZ, the official association of ng'anga, on the grounds that it is centred more on ‘herbalists’ and ‘spiritualists/diviners’ than ‘faith healers’, whom they trust and sponsor.Footnote ¹¹ Indeed, it may be relevant that, as well as the government's predilection for ‘herbalists’, Rodwell Vongo is a known ‘spiritualist/diviner’ – although he is also a Christian, if not a keen churchgoer. The members of healing churches tend to suspect that this type of ng'anga, and even ‘herbalists’, are ‘using evil spirits’ to heal, while, they argue, ‘we are using holy spirits’. Thus, by making a clear distinction between ‘our doctors’ and the rest of ng'anga, healing churches ascribe moral righteousness to their activities, particularly their dealings with the occult, which could otherwise be associated with ‘evil’ witch doctors.

The extent of the Christian environment in Zambia seems, at first glance, favourable to healing churches; their devotion to Christianity and related conceptions of affliction are by no means out of place. While my informants are drawn from different churches in Kalingalinga, including the Catholic Church, a Pentecostal church and a few healing churches, they do not differ greatly about the issue of witchcraft/spirits, so long as they make sense of such agents in accordance with shared Christian values. In fact, they do not discount witchcraft as pagan, but take it seriously as an absolute evil that violates the basic Christian dictate of loving each other; hence they even compare it to ‘Satanism’, an enemy-within of Zambia as a Christian nation. Similarly, they tend to generalize indigenous spirits, specifically vibanda and mashave, as an anonymous manifestation of Satan (‘demons’ or ‘evil spirits’), although they could differentiate these agents as, for instance, the spirits of the dead and those of aliens, depending on their ethnic backgrounds (Colson Reference Colson, Beattie and Middleton1969; Dillon-Malone Reference Dillon-Malone1988; Yoshida Reference Yoshida1992). Thus, it seems that witchcraft and indigenous spirits have found a niche in the Christian framework of meaning, embedded in the ‘evil’ side of an unambiguous moral dichotomy, thereby being real, detestable and threatening to many people in Zambia today. Under such circumstances, it should be advantageous for ng'anga to affiliate themselves with Christianity, so as to assure the clients that they are on the ‘good’ side, fighting against Satan alongside God to save people from affliction.

Ironically, however, my informants, except for the members of healing churches, do not particularly appreciate the links between ng'anga and Christianity; they do not necessarily hold ‘faith healers’ in higher regard than others. This is partly because they consider ng'anga, first and foremost, as the experts in indigenous medicines, as opposed to biomedicines, seeing little difference among them in general terms. To be sure, people do make different choices as regards which ng'anga to consult; some trust ‘faith healers’ because ‘they work through holy spirits’, while others prefer ‘herbalists’ because ‘they only use natural things to heal’. Interestingly, however, I found that any client of any type of ng'anga would firstly say, ‘I just wanted medicine’, if I asked him/her why he/she was consulting ng'anga. Correspondingly, many people consider a healing church to be not so much a church as an indigenous kind of ‘clinic’ where they can consult ng'anga and try out their medicines. Such people attend a healing church only temporarily without losing allegiance to their original churches, in the hope of solving a problem that biomedical doctors cannot handle. Conventional Christians are thus inclined to set aside their faith in resorting to ng'anga by focusing their attention on ‘just medicines’. Still, their conscience is not entirely clear; most denominations, if not all, do not approve of traditional medicine, thereby encouraging the faithful to rely solely upon biomedical doctors, apart from God, in dealing with affliction.

The degree of disapproval varies among denominations, with Pentecostal churches being particularly antagonistic to ng'anga. According to the leader of one such group in Kalingalinga, ‘born-again Christians’ should never resort to traditional medicine since the church itself was a ‘place of healing’. Compared to them, older missionary churches take a more tolerant stance; the Catholic Church and the Baptist Church in the township actually had ng'anga in the congregation, allowing them to practise on the condition that they did so only as ‘herbalists’. Yet no church would tolerate ng'anga who invoke spiritual agents, except that healing churches host ‘faith healers’, which is deemed heretical, even ‘satanic’, from a conventional Christian perspective (Auslander Reference Auslander and Comaroff1993: 175). Thus, mainline churches effectively side with biomedicine against traditional medicine, denying ng'anga the moral support that they need in dealing with the occult. Hence ng'anga are barely recognized as ‘faith healers’, no matter how far they embrace the modern influence of Christianity in their capacity as ‘traditional healers’.

CONCLUSION

The WHO-initiated promotion of traditional medicine propounds its cultural legitimacy, scientific rationality and economic potential, in stark contrast to the colonial suppression of indigenous systems for dealing with affliction. Accordingly, the promotion has prevailed in many post-colonial nations, Zambia included, evoking a complex politics that does not necessarily boil down to the issue of health care. In fact, traditional medicine can be seen as the product of a politics that revolves around modern systems of Western origin, particularly biomedicine and its religious ally, Christianity. This, at least, is the case with Zambia, a self-declared Christian nation, as the foregoing discussions have shown.

It is worth remembering that biomedicine and Christianity served in colonial Africa as complementary agents of Western power and meanings, simultaneously spread in the form of ‘missionary medicine’ that aimed to replace the indigenous systems for dealing with affliction (Reference VaughanVaughan 1991). As for Zambia today, the twin systems have the full backing of the post-colonial establishment, valued highly as a universal science and a national religion respectively, with their Western origins seemingly overcome. Under such circumstances, the indigenous system does not assume much political value, even though it is positively conceptualized as ‘traditional medicine’, stopping short of embodying ‘Zambian culture’, which is worth state patronage. Hence the government has shown little commitment to the promotion of traditional medicine, subordinating it to biomedicine and, by implication, to Christianity, contrary to an official, optimistic view that ‘a traditional healer's future is bright’ (Republic of Zambia 1993: 11).

Ng'anga, for their part, submit to the primacy of biomedicine in order to establish their position on the periphery of national health care, while increasingly associating themselves with Christianity, the national religion. On the one hand, ng'anga elaborate their use of plant medicines into herbalism, which could meet scientific standards and fit into the scope of biomedicine, as the government expects of traditional medicine. On the other hand, ng'anga continue to explore the occult realm of witchcraft and spirits, with Christianity serving as a validation for the existence of these agents, while healing churches provide them with moral support as well as an escape from biomedical rationalization. It seems as though the national religion constitutes a refuge for indigenous, unscientific discourses on affliction that biomedicine discounts, functioning as an official domain of the occult wherein the unscientific assumes a ‘legitimate’ reality. However, the mainline churches would not approve of such a ‘heretical’ relationship between traditional medicine and Christianity, nor would the government and health authorities; hence ng'anga as traditional healers remain marginalized in modern, Christian Zambia.

It may well be the case that ng'anga are deliberately prevented from tapping into Christianity, considering that the national religion amounts to an absolute source of meaning and power for the post-colonial establishment. They are officially confined to the status of ‘traditional healers’ who work primarily as ‘herbalists’ rather than ‘faith healers’. As such, ng'anga can have only minor relevance to national health care, let alone national politics and religion, thereby posing no threat to scientific, religious or political authorities. Should they deviate from this status, ng'anga would be simply demoted to ‘witch doctors’, whose practice is dismissed as irrational and immoral, and even counted as illegal. Thus, to conclude, ng'anga have a fairly limited potential for exerting influence on contemporary Zambian society, owing to a subtle alliance between the institutions of science, religion and the state, which seems to have been in operation since the colonial era.