Journeying into the experiences of persons accused of witchcraft: rethinking development theory and practice

Abstract

Regarding controversies and debates around ‘witch camps’ and whether or not they should be abolished, there are several issues that directly speak to the gaps in development scholarship, policy and practice. These gaps manifest in how individuals experience and understand their circumstances and how development interventions are designed, planned, and executed. In this article, I explore how individuals accused of witchcraft speak about themselves and their circumstances from three levels: rumour/gossip, accusation/confrontation, and eviction/banishment. I assert that there is discord between the perceived over-concentration of development interventions in the communities that offer refuge after displacement compared to other levels. Though intervening in such communities is essential, I argue that the broader debates are fixated on the existence (or lack thereof) of witchcraft. This leads to conversations that centre around whether such communities should be closed, and individuals accused of witchcraft allowed to return home. In these debates, the experiences of persons accused of witchcraft are footnotes in the argument. Although the study of witchcraft beliefs and practices is significant and has generated an impressive body of theories and debates, the issue of development intervention is relatively unexplored at the three levels mentioned above. Based on ethnographic fieldwork conducted in the Gnani community of northern Ghana, this paper highlights the implications of the problematic development constructs and subjectivities that are framed around the closure of receiving communities, eliding a more nuanced understanding of individual persons’ concerns and desires at each of the three levels. There is a need for development to be more responsive to how individuals express themselves and understand their circumstances before support or intervention can be leveraged.

Dans les controverses et les débats autour des « camps de sorcières » et de la question de savoir s'ils doivent être abolis ou non, plusieurs questions concernent directement les lacunes dans les connaissances et la pratique du développement. Ces lacunes se manifestent dans la manière dont les personnes individuelles vivent et comprennent leur situation et dans la manière dont les interventions de développement sont conçues, planifiées et exécutées. Dans cet article, j'explore comment les personnes accusées de sorcellerie parlent d'elles-mêmes et de leur situation à trois niveaux: rumeur/commérage, accusation/confrontation et expulsion/bannissement. J'affirme qu'il existe une discorde entre la surconcentration perçue des interventions de développement dans les communautés qui offrent un refuge après leur déplacement, et d'autres niveaux. Il est essentiel d'intervenir dans de telles communautés, mais je soutiens que les débats plus larges sont obsédés par l'existence ou l'absence de sorcellerie. Cela entraine des discussions sur le fait que ces communautés devraient être fermées et les personnes accusées de sorcellerie autorisées à rentrer chez elles. Dans ces débats, on donne peu de place aux expériences réelles des personnes accusées de sorcellerie aux différentes étapes.

Keywords:

• witchcraft
• development
• interventions
• witch camps
• rumours

Mots clés:

• sorcellerie
• développement
• interventions
• camps de sorcières
• rumeurs

Introduction

On 6 August 2016, an article entitled ‘Witches Are Falling from the Sky in Ghana’ (Ohene 2016; see also Darko 2016), reported a ‘witch’ being shocked by electricity wires as she flew over Kumasi (Akyeremadi), the second largest city in Ghana, at night. Earlier that week, another incident of a flying witch was reported in Tema, an industrial city in Southern Ghana (Heerde 2016; Searburn 2016). Such reports are not unusual. Since the 1990s, the notion of witchcraft and ‘witch camps’ in Ghana have received increased attention in the media, scholarship, and seen an increase of policy and development interventions due to advocacy by NGOs and religious organisations.

While the sensationalist tone of media reports has been critiqued (see Adinkrah 2019; Igwe 2016), the media attention, especially sightings of ‘witches, reflects the ongoing cultural saliency of issues relating to witchcraft in contemporary Ghana. In many ways, such reporting taps into existent fears of ‘witches’ and the broader debates about what it means in a modern society to be associated with witchcraft beliefs and practices.

The problems and challenges experienced by people accused of witchcraft are significant. Adinkrah (2019), for instance, analysed ten cases of alleged crash-landings of witches reported in the Ghanaian media over 12 years. Adinkrah notes that ‘the alleged witches were overwhelmingly female, elderly, poor, and suffered from grave psychopathological conditions’ (2019, 1). This article is concerned with the experiences of people who, following an accusation of witchcraft, were rejected by their communities and relocated to the Gnani-Tindang community, a so-called ‘witch-camp’. As with Adinkrah, the individuals with whom I worked were overwhelmingly female, elderly, and poor. Although I focus on Gnani-Tindang, the findings have a broader implication on similar ‘witch-camp’ communities in Ghana and beyond.

Accusations and banishment highlight the tensions between de jure cultural norms and values and the de facto realities of prejudices, and discrimination in relation to age, gender, and economic status. Such factors shape development interventions and have received attention from NGOs, governments, and humanitarian organisations. However, as the issues persist, it casts doubts on the effectiveness of such interventions.

Alongside reports of flying and crash-landing witches, the media landscape is also replete with stories of the treatment of those accused of witchcraft. The debate is especially notable in relation to the containment of individuals accused of witchcraft in the various ‘witch-camps’ in Ghana. In 2016, for instance, Leo Igwe, an academic specialising in witchcraft in northern Ghana and a human rights activist, wrote an influential article entitled ‘Do Not Close Down Witch Camps in Northern Ghana’ (Igwe 2016). Igwe argues that witch camps are a haven for displaced women accused of witchcraft and that closing down such communities exposes them to more risk. Similar arguments have been made by Riedel (2017) and Mutaru (2019).

The rise of this public debate is indicative of a growing concern among Ghanaians to reflect on the phenomenon of witchcraft and its impact on their society. Indeed, there is an increased scepticism in Ghanaian society with some beginning to challenge the belief in witchcraft or proclaiming outright that they do not believe in witchcraft (Forsyth 2016, 333; Onyinah 2002). There are also discourses of social shame associated with holding onto so-called ‘primitive’ or ‘irrational’ beliefs and practices that are seen as not in keeping with modernity (ActionAid 2014, 3). Ghanaians are, thus, caught between a belief in witchcraft, and its practices – including accusations which have very real effects – and their ‘modern’ status.

Development and human rights advocates have made their presence known in witchcraft debates, particularly on concerns on the ‘liberation’ of oppressed women. NGOs that work to respond to the needs of these women position the very existence of places such as Gnani-Tindang, a so-called witch-camp that accommodates people banished from their communities, is positioned as problematic. For instance, ActionAid argue that the practice of banishing people from their societies is a violation of their fundamental human rights, claiming that ‘witch camps are a cruel manifestation of gender inequality and violence against women in Ghana, as well as a denial of the rights of the women and girls who live there’ (ActionAid 2008, 3).

There is no denying that an accusation of witchcraft and the subsequent banishment, has very real, very negative effects. Nonetheless, the broader academic and public debates tend to be fixated on a series of binaries: whether witchcraft is real or not; modernity versus ‘primitivism’; development versus its lack; and maintaining versus disbanding witch-camps (Comaroff and Comaroff, 1999; Geschiere 1997; Mills 2013; Mutaru 2019; Riedel 2017; Roxburgh 2018). The experiences of real victims of witchcraft accusations are in danger of becoming mere footnotes to the argument.

Thus, this article centres on the experiences of individuals accused of witchcraft and banished from their societies. By doing so, my theoretical contribution is twofold. First, I emphasise individual experiences and call on scholars and development practitioners to adjust their attention towards the individual experience and, in turn, the local epistemologies that can emerge from focus on individual experiences and explanations (Escobar, 1995, 1999; Matthews 2004; Pieterse 2001; Rahnema and Bawtree 1997). This approach is a more holistic tactic to theorising, planning, and implementing interventions than that currently in use in existing interventions. Second, I assert that though attention has on the witch-camps as the ultimate place of development intervention, it would be more productive to analyse and view witch-camps as the final manifestation of the problematic nature of witchcraft accusations. Indeed, early development interventions could potentially to prevent or reduce accusations and banishments in the first place. Additionally, emerging scholarship has become critical of development interventions in witch-camp communities. For example, Riedel (2017) challenges the presence and effectiveness of the NGOs’ and the government’s interventions in witch-camps in Ghana. He argues that the media attention has been more propaganda than real actions in such communities. Consequently, this article does not only seek to highlight the strengths of local epistemologies, but also to challenge, work with, and, in some cases, against such epistemologies as shown below.

My argument is based on ethnographic research in the Gnani-Tindang community in northern Ghana (2016–2017). Gnani-Tindang provides refuge for people who have been accused of witchcraft and banished from their original communities. In total, 68 people were interviewed, out of which 32 were women from both Bikpakpaam (Konkomba) (20) and Dagbamba (Dagomba) (12) ethnic groups. I also interviewed staff from three NGOs that work with people accused of witchcraft: ActionAid Ghana (AAG), Songtaba, and Humanist Service Corps (HSC). Additionally, staff of varied government institutions including the Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice (CHRAJ), the National Commission on Civic Education (NCCE), the Domestic Violence and Victims Support Unit of the Ghana Police Service (DOVVSU), and a District Police Crime Officer were interviewed. The final category of research participants included political and traditional leaders, including interviews with chiefs, assemblymen (present and past), Uwadaan (the term used to refer to the shrine priest of the Gnani-Tindang community by the Bikapkpaam ethnic group), religious leaders, and other opinion leaders in and around Gnani-Tindang. For ethical reasons, the names of individuals in this article are pseudonymised, but the stories remain valid and reflect the conversations and observations that transpired in the field.

It is worth noting that I am Ghanaian, from Northern Ghana, and am literate in Likpakpaaln, one of the main local languages spoken in Gnani-Tindang and its surroundings. I grew up in an environment where people were highly sensitive to issues of spirituality, including witchcraft. I was aware of such sensitivities and was guarded by a high sense of circumspection, taking into consideration the subtle and overt consequences of witchcraft allegations, beliefs, and practices. Such a positionality has no doubt affected my interpretations of the ethnographic data.

Theoretical foundations of witchcraft and development in Africa

In the popular modernist imagination, the very mention of ongoing witchcraft beliefs and practices inevitably evokes stereotypical sentiments as the beliefs being those of ‘irrational’ and ‘primitive’ people. Such perceptions about witchcraft mirror what was once a dominant strand in scholarship discourses, particularly in the late nineteenth to the early twentieth century. Indeed, scholarly debates surrounding witchcraft and the colonial encounter at the turn of the nineteenth century are intimately intertwined, especially in relation to African societies (Tweneboah 2015, 392–393). That is to say that the intellectual or scholarly legacy that has continued to be influential in shaping popular perceptions of witchcraft is that of the social evolutionary and structural-functionalist schools of thought (Evans-Pritchard 1937; Lévy-Bruhl 1952; Mair 1964; McCaskie 1981; Moore and Sanders 2001; Parker 2004; Ward 1956, 47).

Understandably, there have been significant critiques of the dominant paradigms of the social evolutionary and structural-functionalist approaches to witchcraft. Perhaps the key point of derision in contemporary scholarship is on where to situate witchcraft within the paradigm of how individuals engage with and navigate modernity or, at least, the uncertainties of modern times. Contemporary anthropological approaches to witchcraft are more concerned with the nuances of local epistemologies and what it says about how individuals and communities navigate life and relationships (Ardener 1970; Ciekawy and Geschiere 1998; Comaroff and Comaroff 1999b; Geschiere 1997; Parish 1999; Smith 2008). Further, in various works on Africa, various scholars have drawn attention to new forms of witchcraft and how they may be associated with the production of wealth (Ardener 1970; Geschiere 1997; Smith 2008). Finally, numerous studies specifically explore the intersection between witchcraft, modernity and development (Kohnert 1996 for sub-Saharan Africa; Eves and Forsyth 2015 for Melanesia; McNamara 2015 for Malawi).

There is, thus, a move in contemporary literature to understand witchcraft as it is experienced and understood beyond outdated theories associated with social evolution or structural functionalism. Early theorising suggested that witchcraft would disappear with civilisation and modernity. However, in reality, witchcraft appears to be increasing. For instance, Smith (2005, 141) notes a rise in witchcraft beliefs and accusations in Kenya that led to the government hiring an international witch-finder to help ‘sanitise’ their communities.

Similarly, in the 1970s and 1980s Benin embarked on a nationwide witchcraft eradication programme (Kahn 2011), intended to find people accused of witchcraft and incarcerate them. The irony here is that, as in Kenya, the state engaged the services of cults to find and cleanse the society of witchcraft. Rather than ending the practice of witchcraft in Benin, however, witchcraft was used as an instrument to further large-scale political mobilisations in the name of modernity. Kahn argues that the very act of engaging occult groups to hunt down witches as a way of modernising Benin was self-defeating and heightened the very practice it tried to exterminate (2011, 6).

Smith (2005) established a link between local imaginations of development and neoliberalism, such that where there is a failure of development, the blame is placed on witches (2005, 147). The increase in witchcraft in both Kenya and Benin is not an isolated ooccurrence (Comaroff and Comaroff 1999a; 1999b; 2000; Kahn 2011; Kyriakakis n.d). For example, Kyiakakis similarly notes that witchcraft is on the rise in West Africa. For Byrne, witchcraft belief is ‘ingrained in popular mentality and informs and underscores social, political, and cultural beliefs and practices’ (2011, 1). Mavhungu notes that,

even as Africa is increasingly urbanising and Africans are embracing modern day technological advancement, there is a prevailing common belief across the continent that there are people who can secretly use supernatural power to harm others or help themselves at the expense of others. (2012, 1)

Theorising witchcraft in Ghana

Classic anthropological studies and ethnographies of various linguistic, religious, and ethnic groups across Ghana have often included witchcraft in their analyses, showing the ways in which such beliefs and practices are historically embedded in Ghanaian society (see, for example, Gray 2001). As Crampton notes in relation to the anthropology of Ghana,

Ghana has hosted some of the disciplines most famous scholars, such as Jack Goody (1967; 1962) and Meyer Fortes (1945, 1940). This is in part because witchcraft is part of spiritual beliefs and practices that permeate much of daily life in Ghana within a multicultural region of many ethnic groups and multiple languages. (2013, 201)

In more recent scholarship that focuses on the intersections between modernity, development, and witchcraft, the legacies of previous scholars, such as that of Fortes and his study of the Ashanti, around the issue of the increasing presence of witchcraft and anti-witchcraft shrines is notable. For instance, though many recent scholars focus on modernity or contemporary societies, they are nevertheless furthering what had previously been observed by several scholars. In particular Fortes and Mayer (1969; Fortes 1945; Fortes 2017[1969]) noted that amidst the social, economic, and political turmoil and the struggle for political power prior to the end of colonialisation, there was an apparent rise of ‘new witch-finding cults’ among the Ashanti. Likewise, Ward affirms Fortes’ assertion of the increase in witchcraft and new cults by quoting conversations with both young and elderly Ashanti who declared that ‘there never used to be so many witches in the good old days’ (1956, 47). Moreover, Ward argues that in the case of the Ashanti, increased European contact, rapid economic advances, political change, education, and the spread of Christianity ‘had been accompanied not simply by the persistence of witchcraft beliefs but by their very considerable increase, and by the emergence of new cults designed to deal with them’ (1956).

Such observations regarding the increase of witchcraft and the emergence of new cults designed to deal with the changes, as Ward phrases, typically draw on functionalist analysis. Prominent in many twentieth century ethnographies, there was an endeavour to account for the extent to which witchcraft is embedded in social life and a mode of navigating ruptures in society. According to Wyllie, who studied the Efutu of Southern Ghana,

At the heart of modern social anthropological theory relating to witchcraft is a form of structural-functional analysis which focuses upon witchcraft accusations and treats these as indices of social tension and vehicles of social change. (1973, 74)

This is not inaccurate given that there is a notable increase in witchcraft beliefs and practices noted by current scholars of contemporary societies, such as Ghana, who suggest the increase is a reaction to change. Equally, however, it can be argued, as I do here, that witchcraft is a mode of enfolding new experiences and contexts within local epistemologies, often indicative of emerging economies, an innovative way of incorporating change within the known and familiar cosmic order. The economy of witchcraft can similarly be considered a reaction to capitalism, modernity, or development just as much as witchcraft. Witchcraft is also not static. Indeed, it is crucial to note the hybrid forms that emerge between ‘traditional’ beliefs and spirituality and new religions, and between local and global economic engagement that clearly indicates innovation rather than a simple reaction to societal disruptions and change.

The beginning of the journey: individual accounts of their banishment from community

While similarities exist between Ghana and many other sites across Africa regarding the prevalence and increase of witchcraft, connections to the past, colonial and post-colonial experiences, and its articulations within modernity, some aspects are unique to Ghana. For example, the refuge offered by particular communities to people who have been banished based on witchcraft accusations is only present in Ghana. I now turn to an ethnographic examination of individual experiences of accusation and banishment.

This section of the article provides individual accounts of their experience from when they are gossiped about, accused, confronted, and removed from their communities. All cases differ in experience from accusation to banishment, as well as how the individuals navigated their lives in the Gnani-Tindang community. Though all cases presented here for analysis are drawn from Gnani-Tindang, the discussion that follows extends beyond the Gnani-Tindang community.

Gossips/rumours and confrontation: the case of Upinyaan

Amidst the usual merriment of preparations for New Year’s Eve festivities in Gnani-Tindang, a lone woman named Upinyaan is sat on a stool in front of her house with a child who appears to be around ten years old. Upinyaan is one of the many people who was accused of witchcraft and banished from her original community. Upinyaan, who seems to be in her late 50s or even older, looks somehow lost and despondent, and her child is no different. An active member of her local church, this woman’s behaviour seemed particularly strange. Upon greeting her and enquiring about her mood, she tells me what led to her feelings of fear and panic about what was to become of her and her child. She said that some members of her clan had expressed unhappiness about her being in Gnani-Tindang, arguing that members of their clan had never been known to relocate to a community based on witchcraft accusations. They claimed there was reputational damage to the clan, and the clansmen tried to compel her to leave. However, where was Upinyaan to go? The clansmen were not offering her a place to live, but rather simply stating that she should not be in Gnani-Tindang because it negatively impacted their reputation.

Upinyaan was accused of witchcraft and banished from her community by her father-in-law. Since her banishment, she resided in Gnani-Tindang with her two daughters and son all in one room. No further communication occurred between her and her immediate family. She explained that she was accused because two of her sons had died. Since the death of her first son, rumours emerged that she was a witch and had killed her children through witchcraft. At the time of her accusation, she had just given birth to another boy and her father-in-law wanted her to live in Gnani-Tindang where the powers of the shrine could prevent her from bewitching the child. Despite both she and her husband contesting the accusation, her father-in-law not only insisted but was ready to forcibly evict her, saying that he could not live in the same house as a witch. Weighing the options, especially threats of potential violence and social ridicule, she left the community with her children with the promise of her husband coming to visit. However, due to the risk of losing his eventual inheritance, her husband remained with his belligerent father. In this case, kinship played a significant role in shaping the outcome of accusations and women’s lives post-accusation.

While she was still living with her father-in-law, Upinyaan explained that the threat of violence grew and each day she lived in fear. She did not wait to be forcefully or violently driven out of her community but instead packed up a few things and walked for about an hour before boarding the car heading towards the Gnani-Tindang community on a market day. Market days are the only days that some areas can access transport. She explained she left at dawn because she could not stand the embarrassment of people waking up to see her leave. Word had spread through gossip that she was a witch who killed her sons. She wondered at the point of leaving what life would hold for her. Initially, she only took her son with her to Gnani-Tindang, though they were later joined by her two daughters.

Since moving to Gnani-Tindang, Upinyaan states that life has not been easy. She did not take anything with her except a few cooking utensils and clothes. She is entirely responsible for taking care of her children, yet she is not engaged in any activity that can earn her money like she used to. At the time, she had just built two more rooms to accommodate their needs in the Gnani-Tindang, from the minimal savings from her peasant farming. However, following a ruling from the Tindana/Utindaan, who also doubles as the shrine priest of Gnani-Tindang, she was not allowed to roof it with sheets.

Upinyaan reminisced on life before she was accused and wondered why anyone would think her capable of bewitching her sons bemoaning how she carried her sons for nine months and, suffered greatly during those pregnancies. She could not understand why anyone would think she would bewitch them. Her only support system in Gnani-Tindang is her daughters, the church, and occasional assistance from NGOs.

Upinyaan reported being a farmer and a housewife in Jounayili, her matrimonial village. She has not had any formal education. She is a Christian and an active member of the Gnani-Tindang chapter of the Christian Mothers Association of Ghana. She has been married for the past 30 years and only separated from her husband following the witchcraft accusation.

Accusations and confrontation: the case of Jilma

It was my third day in the Gnani-Tindang community. Among the many people I interacted with, Jilma’s story demonstrated an instance of confrontation. Upon greeting Jilma in her residence, she gave me a stool to sit on while she sat on a mat in front of her room. Jilma recounted what had brought her to Gnani-Tindang and her experiences.

Jilma was about 80 years old, from Dipa. She has been in Gnani-Tindang for two years. She has never been to school and was a housewife and peasant farmer. Her husband passed away a decade before I met her. She then lived with her eldest son until she was accused of witchcraft. One of her brothers-in-law explained that his son had gone to labour on his farm and while there lit a fire and placed a piece of yam on top before going back to work on the farm. When he went to turn the yam, he noted that it had already been turned, yet he was alone on the farm. When he returned home, he told his father. Jilma’s brother-in-law claimed that, following an inquest into who turned the yam on the fire, Jilma had done it using witchcraft. Her brother-in-law confronted her, but she insisted she did not know anything about it.

The boy died a few months later and Jilma was summoned to the chief’s palace where she was questioned but maintained she was innocent. It was agreed by the chief that she should be sent to Gnani-Tindang for witchcraft testing. Before leaving for Gnani-Tindang, Jilma’s son worried that he would have issues with his uncle if his mother were declared innocent after the testing. However, the conclusion of the testing process presented contradicting narratives. While Jilma declared she was innocent, her brother-in-law who had gone with her said otherwise. She recounted:

When we got home, he told the community that I was confirmed as a witch. After that, the youth in the village started insulting, backbiting, and shaming me. My son, who was the assemblyman (local or village representative of the decentralised political system) of the community, did not take it kindly with the youth. My son was preparing to visit another village when the youth threatened to kill him. By the time he entered his room to dress up for the journey, the youth had mobilised themselves and surrounded him. They said they wanted to kill my son before killing me too. This was because he was very protective of me. ‘How can someone be in his house, and you surround the house to kill him? Will anyone in their right senses allow himself to be killed under such a circumstance?’ My son thought it was a joke. But before he could realise it, they wanted to kill him. One came with a cutlass and the other with a pestle. At that time, my son took his gun and started shooting at them. He killed two of the young men and wounded the third one. My marital village was not safe for me, the reason I returned to Gnani-Tindang.

Jilma disclosed that the community was furious after the incident and destroyed her son’s property and his yam harvest. Her son’s wife fled the community with her children, retreating to her parents after being threatened.

Knowing what had happened, I eavesdropped on a conversation that the youth would kill me at night. I did not doubt it because people were really angry. I fled to Gnani-Tindang to save my life. I waited, and at night when everyone was asleep, I left the community without the knowledge of anyone. I walked for a long way before dawn. I had reached Makayili and boarded a car from there to Yendi and subsequently to Gnani-Tindang. I told Uwadaan that I needed to stay here to save my life. Uwadaan accepted but said I needed to drink the shrine water first-this is the purification ritual that every person accused of witchcraft goes through before they are allowed to stay. I did and stayed.

Jilma currently lives in Gnani-Tindang with another woman accused of witchcraft. Jilma shared her experience of living in Gnani-Tindang, stating it was challenging for her, and she wished she could go back home. But the shame, fear, and threat of violence also lingered in her mind. Her son was in prison, and she felt she had lost everything due to the witchcraft accusation. She was old and could not do much for herself and there was no one to help her. She said to me:

Look at me; I’m old and weak now. I can’t do much for myself. But I must fetch water, firewood and beg for food to eat. It is lonely here. I don’t have anyone to chat with except this other woman I live with.

She only casually mentioned that Tindana/Utindaan occasionally supported her, but she had not received any help from anyone else. She had to beg for food from some of her peers who were also accused of witchcraft and had also sought refuge in Gnani-Tindang but were stronger than her. Indeed, while I was conversing with Jilma, another woman brought her a bowl full of guinea corn. The woman greeted Jilma and said, ‘I have brought food for you. You told me you didn’t have anything again. In the meantime, you can have this part of what was given to me by another resident of Gnani-Tindang’.

Banishment and relocation: I have nowhere to go! I’m blind, lonely, and feel rejected: the case of Tiya.

Tiya is an 80-year-old widow, originally from Krachi in the Volta region of Ghana. Prior to her accusation, she was a peasant farmer in her community and had a normal social life. She had children, was happily married, and engaged in social and economic activities. She has spent the past 25 years in Gnani-Tindang, where she does not have a caretaker. Currently, she lives in a roundhouse alone in Gnani-Tindang.

Tiya described life in Gnani-Tindang as challenging due to the lack of anyone to help her. She is weak and blind due to her age. The lack of support was concerning. She had this to say when I asked her about her life in Gnani-Tindang:

My issues are too much to be discussed. I don’t have anyone to support me. If I need water, I must beg people at the borehole fetching water to fetch some for me. If I don’t get anyone merciful enough to do so, I try to do so by myself. But imagine me, I’m blind totally, sick, and old. It is tough for me.

I reproduce below a conversation we had.

Interviewer:

What led to you being accused of witchcraft?

Tiya:

After the death of my husband, the relatives accused me of witchcraft. My in-laws said I killed my husband, but I don’t know anything about it. He fell sick and died afterwards. How can I kill my husband?

Interviewer:

What happened after they accused you of bewitching your husband?

Tiya:

I was lucky I wasn’t killed. There were lots of chaos, and some of the people suggested that I should be killed. Others disagreed and suggested that I should be brought to Gnani-Tindang for testing. It’s my husband’s people who brought me here. They are no more in Krachi. They migrated to another place. I don’t even know where it is.

Interviewer:

Will you go home if your brother’s children come for you?

Tiya:

Where will I live? I have no one to care for me! I won’t get a house to live in if I go. The elder whom I was living with is no more, he died, and his children are dispersed. If I am here, I like it, but the only problem is that I can’t see it again. It is even worse at night. I am just sitting like that. I can’t fetch water; I can’t do anything. It is my God who will touch someone’s heart to give me a token, and I will use it to buy flour to cook. I was rearing fowls, but thieves stole everything. In Gnani-Tindang here, that is what others who can see rear to take care of themselves. I woke up one day, and all my fowls were gone.

Analyses of the implications for development theory, policy, and practice

This section discusses the above cases and notes the implication for development theory, policy, and practice. Turning first to Upinyaan, my analysis focuses on the first stage of witchcraft accusation: gossip and rumours. At this stage, community members begin to suspect that someone among them might be a witch and this belief quickly spreads through the grapevine. This is often spurred on by many factors such as death or sickness befalling another member of the community, prophetic dreams, or extreme financial situations, both good and bad. While rumours spread about an individual being a witch, this individual may have no idea about it or only learn about it through eavesdrop on such conversations. Still, no action is made at this point to confront the individual. Additionally, at this stage, those making the accusation gather evidence that can be used to make a case against the suspected witch for when they do confront them. These include spiritual consultations with supposed witch doctors to validate or invalidate their gossip.

In the case of Upinyaan, being accused of being a witch was triggered by rumours after her sons’ deaths. Moreover, the accusation levelled on her was gendered. The death of two male children in a patriarchal society is seen as suspicious when the female children survive. For Upinyaan, the emotional trauma of losing her two sons was followed by the rumours, confrontation, and an eventual rejection from her community, further devastating her. She did not even have enough time to grieve the death of her sons before the rumours that she was the witch began.

If we consider this scenario through the lens of localising development and aid interventions, it becomes clear that this situation has played out differently. First, development interventions such as primary healthcare could help avert deaths caused by the suspicion of witchcraft, as in the case of Upinyaan. This is not to suggest that medical attention would stop all deaths from occurring or that witchcraft accusations would end, but rather that a focus on primary healthcare, instead of a focus on creating spaces for those who have been accused, could lead to fewer fatal scenarios for those accused of witchcraft. Second, gender plays a large role in Upinyaan’s accusation, in that being a woman exasperated the gossip and resulted in her eventual banishment.

Indeed, not all those who face gossip about being a witch are confronted. Rich, young males and/or those in positions of power in society are less likely to be confronted in comparison to poor, elderly women. Upinyaan’s husband was neither accused nor banished from the community, although the children who died were his as well. Therefore, there is a need to highlight the importance of gender equality at local community levels as part of development interventions. Early gender-tailored education by the government and development actors on the value of both boys and girls in the patriarchal societies of northern Ghana could address such issues. This is a particular instance where I challenge and argue against local structures that tend to value boys more than girls. The theoretical implications here are that scholars should pay attention to local views and concerns and such an approach could help highlight some of the hidden issues that often lack the attention of theory. As such, we would be able to enhance what is useful and adapt it into our theoretical thinking as well as challenge those that expose other members of such societies to risks. Policies that are aimed at ensuring equality for the Ghanaian child, such as free education, health care, and many others, need to be upheld and implemented. Ensuring they are implemented will benefit every member of society and contribute to closing gender gaps in the Ghanaian society.

Jilma’s case illustrates the stage after the individual suspected of being a witch has been confronted and the accusation has been made publicly. There are several ways which this could be made known to the person accused of witchcraft. Often, they are invited to the family, clan, or community meetings where such accusations are communicated.

One of the main challenges of being accused of witchcraft is the possibility of violence. Violence towards people accused of witchcraft is common. The world can be cruel to a ‘witch’, particularly where the state is not present and recourse to protection is also absent. This brings forth a form of violence and conflict that exposes the so-called witch to abuse, discrimination, or even death (ActionAid 2008; Baba 2013; Igwe 2016). The journey to the Gnani-Tindang community is not a smooth path for people accused of witchcraft but rather a painful transition that exposes the accused witch to various cruel treatments. Before being banished, some people accused of witchcraft reported having been beaten, insulted, and shamed publically. For example, Jilma’s experience led to violence and gun use, resulting in the death of two young men, her son charged with murder, and incarcerated for illegal gun use and murder. The community has vowed never to welcome Jilma and her son back. Indeed, Jilma reported that she only narrowly escaped the anger of the community to resettle in Gnani-Tindang, which offered her a refuge.

The threat of violence, or violence itself, is always present in witchcraft accusations. Other people accused of witchcraft have similarly recounted how their lives were threatened emotionally, physically, and psychologically. The following, espoused by some people accused of witchcraft in Gnani-Tindang, capture the plight and threat of violence they experienced before relocating to Gnani-Tindang.

They finally threatened that they were going to do their juju, and if I had any knowledge about the child’s sickness, I was going to die within four days. I told them they should go ahead; I was willing to die if I were the one responsible for the child’s sickness. After the ritual, I didn’t die. However, they said I could no longer stay with them in the community.

The above sums up the emotional, psychological, and physical violence that people accused of witchcraft go through. The individual was threatened and forced to go through a ritual she claims she knew nothing about. The reality of the life of an accused witch in northern Ghana is, therefore, a sad one, where people accused of witchcraft may be gruesomely murdered by angry mobs (Comaroff and Comaroff 1999; Mavhungu 2012). Others may have their powers exorcised by Christian pastors, Islamic imams, or fetish/shrine priests through shameful practices. While acts of mob injustice usually take place within the community or its peripherals, exorcism as a way of neutralising a witch’s powers can take place either in the same community or at a distance, after which the person is made to return home (see Onyinah 2002; Parish 1999; 2003). Although communities like Gnani-Tindang are physical manifestations of witchcraft accusations, they serve as a refuge for evicted persons.

The confrontation stage also has implications for development theory, policy, and practice. One difficulty is that people act as collectives and, thus, it becomes difficult to identify individual perpetrators of witchcraft violence. Mabefam and Appau assert of collectives that:

On the one hand, the use of they here about the youth mob that carry out accusation and eviction reveals the necessary collectivization of individuals that motivates and legitimizes a successful contestation of power. On the other hand, it also reveals the successful de-identification and de-personalization of agency that is intended and results from collective mob actions of usurpation and subversion. Here, they is everyone and no one.

In short, policy design or the broader rubric of development planning and intervention, especially in security and peacebuilding, need to be recalibrated to re-engage with complex issues such as the above at the local level. In this sense, involving local communities and the victims of such activities is a useful approach to handling and reducing violence towards victims of witchcraft accusations. When the fear of being hurt or violated no longer exists, individuals accused of witchcraft are more likely to remain in their communities instead of fleeing. By doing so, scholars and practitioners would have fronted the experiences of people accused of witchcraft at the heart of their interventions and development theory.

Finally, Tiya’s case is an example of the lived experience of eviction and banishment. When Tiya was accused, confronted, and evicted, there was no place for her except in Gnani-Tindang. Some of those people who had been evicted are invited to remain in Gnani-Tindang, where the testing and purification rituals are done. Others are simply asked to leave their communities without any community to go to. Some, when they begin to hear the gossip accusing them of being witches, flee for safety elsewhere (Baba 2013). However, this has challenges of its own, as gossip quickly spreads that they have been accused of witchcraft and it becomes difficult to settle in new communities other than in Gnani-Tindang and other similar communities in such circumstances. Another participant recounted:

I spent several days in the bush, not knowing exactly where I was going. I nearly died of thirst and hunger. I am from Yajool and trekked to Gnani-Tindang. This should not happen to anyone under any circumstances. Can you imagine my family abandoned me after I was accused of witchcraft? Even my wives left for their various homes with their kids after I was accused of witchcraft. I have been driven away from the community.

Where there is a conscious effort by society to remove people accused of witchcraft, it is apparent that remaining in such places is dangerous, as it comes with numerous risks. However, the strategic nature of removing people from their duties, and obligations and suddenly depriving them of the positions they once occupied in society impacts their sense of belonging in any community. As a result, the majority become homeless, the consequence of the lack of a community to identify with. The generosity of the Gnani-Tindang community in the first place was intended to host people displaced because of witchcraft accusations (Truxler 2006; Palmer 2010; Tayo 2010; Bakoe 2016). In being homeless, people accused of witchcraft have no access to resources, rights of belonging, or freedom of association. They begin to wander about, some spending several days or weeks in the bush without knowing how their next day will be spent. They are also stripped of their citizenship, property ownership, or sense of belonging to their original communities. For example, Tiya and others who were accused of witchcraft, never got the opportunity to go back to vote during elections in their original communities where they were registered, nor were they able to access any of the resources of their communities, such as their farms, or interact with those they had built relationships with over the years. The loss of property affects the livelihood of people accused of witchcraft in a most significant way.

Experiences of life after resettlement: a theoretical extension

Conventionally, when people are cleansed of witchcraft, they are free to return to their original communities. However, I noted that many people accused of witchcraft and cleansed prefer to stay in the Gnani-Tindang community, raising the question of why people accused of witchcraft stay in the Gnani-Tindang community after the cleansing rituals? Local accounts for this are varied. On the one hand, there is a belief that anyone who lives in Gnani-Tindang and has had their witchcraft expelled, is protected by their shrine, and cannot access witchcraft again. Consequently, many accusers would prefer the accused persons to stay in Gnani-Tindang. On the other hand, persons accused of witchcraft are concerned about their safety and protection from the psychological and social shame that comes with being accused as a witch in their original communities. People accused of witchcraft assert that they have already been labelled in a way that is complex and difficult to erase. The acquisition of a new label, often viewed in a pejorative sense, comes with mistreatment and abuse. Loved ones who supposedly care no longer do, resulting in accused people choosing to stay in Gnani-Tindang.

The various reason given as to why people stay in Gnani-Tindang have a numerous impact on the lives of accused persons. To help unpack the impact on their lives, I draw on the theories of ‘liminality’ by Arnold van Gennep (1960), which was later applied to socio-cultural anthropology by Victor Turner (1967), and ‘bare life’ by Giorgio Agamben (1998). Liminality is especially relevant here as the individuals accused of witchcraft go through phases of transitioning such as transitioning from their original communities to Gnani-Tindang. Furthermore, this sense of transitioning also extends beyond physical spaces to include the personhoods of the individual. That is, from an individual with inalienable rights as a Ghanaian citizen, including the right to movement, belonging, and participation in the political processes of their communities, to being stripped off their citizenship and right, both symbolically and literally. In between the various phases of the accused persons lives, they transition from being protected by their community, families, and the state to being abused, violated, driven away from the community, and others devastating scenarios. The individual in this process is, according to Turner (1967), Betwixt and between or in the liminal stage.

The ‘bare life’ theory presents an additional layer to the situation as drawn from Agamben. An Italian philosopher, Giorgio Agamben conceptualised and popularised the theory of bare life. He observed that the western political thought at the time of his writing viewed life in a narrow sense, in contrast to the original understanding of life according to the ancient Greeks. For the ancient Greeks, life constituted of two dimensions: bios, the form or way life is lived, and zoē, the biological fact of life. He argues that the lack of distinction between the two limited life to the biological, the zoē, while neglecting the bios. This, therefore, means that there are no assurances regarding the quality of life lived, be it political, socio-cultural, or economic if no attention paid to the bios. This is comparable to the lives lived by people accused of witchcraft and evicted from their communities. After being stripped of their citizenship or sense of belonging to their communities, they become ‘bare’, or reach a point of ‘bare life’, where their existence is defined based on the basis of zoē.

Communities such as Gnani-Tindang or Kukuo and Gambaga (Poakura Fong) are crucial points of refuge, important physical spaces akin to camps that Agamben engaged with, thus, seeking a redefinition of what a camp is. In the same vein as Agamben, though from a different context, I seek a redefinition of the so-called witch camps from the understanding of it as a place of abuse of people’s rights to one that recognises it as a place of refuge, where the victims of eviction begin to recollect, navigate and build a sense of belonging for themselves after having it removed by their original communities. Here, the evicted individuals’ personhood and agency have been politicised with varied entrenched positions, some ideological and others for practical reasons. Accepting their fate as people ostracised from their societies because of witchcraft accusations, they can renegotiate their survival within Gnani-Tindang. This is challenging given the loneliness and social exclusion of losing touch with their kith and kin and other social relations in their communities (Mabefam and Appau 2020).

Aside from individual tensions, people accused of witchcraft tended to have good relationships with their kin and community prior to their accusations. This is illustrated by their participation in communal activities and their interaction with other members of society. They ate, drank, danced, and sang with other members of society during funerals and other festive occasions. However, the good rapport that existed between the accused and society disappeared with their accusation. On this basis, it is important to highlight that when one is accused of witchcraft, confronted, and evicted they lose their right to existence within their communities, a problematic aspect of local epistemology. This results from local understandings of the role of witches in society. The immediate reaction of the non-accused towards the accused is withdrawal. Members of the larger society do not want anything to do with the accused. Their friends withdraw and parents warn their children not to go near them; people avoid eating or taking any gifts from them as the accused are discriminated against.

Almost everyone I spoke to in Gnani-Tindang agreed that they did not retain any good relationships with their communities after the accusations, including close family members and, in some instances, their children.

There is, however, a gendered dynamic to this treatment. Most men who moved to Gnani-Tindang moved with their families (that is, their wives and children), except for one man who told me his wives and children deserted him. They might, however, still be disconnected from the extended family members and the community. However, women who move to Gnani-Tindang rarely move with their husbands. Their husbands have often passed away, which often leads to accusations. They tend move alone or possibly with a grandchild, usually a girl who helps fetch water and collect firewood. Such children could, on the one hand, be a source of support, such as in the case of Upinyaan. On the other, they can be a source of burden as the accused is tasked with taking care of them amid limited resources. This is especially so when they are still young and need to be cared for.

Living in the Gnani-Tindang has its challenges, including shelter. The houses and rooms of the accused are often quite dilapidated, with many rooms leaking during the rainy season. The houses are built with mud and roofed with thatch. However, males who were accused of witchcraft have their houses roofed with zinc. This is probably because they might have moved with their sons, daughters, and wives, and, thus, able to assist them in rebuilding or engaging in other activities that brings them a regular income. For example, one of the grinding mills in the Gnani-Tindang community is owned by a man accused of witchcraft and operated by one of his sons. It is the central grinding mill in the community and people from both near and far use it. Even though he has been accused of witchcraft, this man is wealthy and receives a regular income from this business.

For most of the residents in Gnani-Tindang, especially the elderly, accommodation is a problem. Unusually, Upinyaan’s daughters moved with her. Although they were not accused of witchcraft, they were not perceived as useful to society and were not accommodated in their original community. Upinyaan had to build two more bedrooms in the community to house them. However, she explained that she could not roof her house with iron sheets because people accused of witchcraft were not allowed to. When I queried why this was, she said that all lands were given to them for free to build on. Apparently, a woman had once invested in her house, roofing it with iron sheets, and when she was leaving the witch camp community for another community of her choice, she sold it, but did not inform the Utindaan. Upon hearing about it, the Utindaan angrily ordered that no woman be allowed to roof her house with iron sheets ever again. The rest of the women had to pay for the behaviour of one woman whom the community members felt had betrayed their trust by selling her house. This suggests that gender discrimination continues to exist even in Gnani-Tindang after people relocate. This speaks to the broader gender issues in Ghana.

Health conditions were also identified as a key issue facing the people living in the camp. As people accused of witchcraft are often of advanced ages and lack access to health facilities, they are prone to illnesses. Tiya complained of bad health and had lost her sight and did not have any carer to help her. She cooks and does everything on her own. Others I spoke to had knee problems resulting in their inability to walk.

Considering the above challenges of people living in Gnani-Tindang, there is the need for development interventions such as social security and safety support systems, improved facilities such as health and housing, and secure sources of economic livelihood among many other things that would better the lives of people who choose to stay in Gnani-Tindang and other communities that offer refuge. For those who want to go back to their various homes, if the conditions are suitable after attention is paid to the two previous levels, development actors should support them. This could occur when such actors work in partnership with locals and people accused of witchcraft. This approach is more likely to succeed than if the actors insist that such communities that offer refuge stop offering support.

Based on the above, aid and development agencies come in at the end point of a process, by which time individuals have already been stripped of social citizenship and reduced to what Agamben might call a bare life. From a local cosmological point of view, it is very hard to ‘return’ people to a life not-as-a-witch after this has occurred. As a result, the intervention becomes one of supporting people in ‘outcast’ communities. Again, my case demonstrates that this development aid paradigm comes too late. Instead, I suggest that the time to stop accusations from happening and help people who are accused of being witches is before, not after. Indeed, development and governmental interventions should happen before the accusation even occurs through better healthcare, actions against patriarchal policies, and work against modernity as coloniality. Only then might we see a real reduction of witchcraft accusations.

In sum, the theory of liminality and bare life that have been drawn upon here are useful lens to explain theoretical insights on witchcraft accusation and eviction as well as offer practical implications for development practices. This adds value to the larger argument this article makes regarding development intervention. That is, by the point that NGOs intervene, people are already stripped of their citizenship and rights. I, therefore, argue that before people reach a stage of bare life, interventions need to occur, or else interventions need to be locally formulated to find ways to return individuals from bare life to active social citizenship; that is returning to a focus on bios.

Amplifying voices of development subjects and local epistemologies

This article contributes to amplifying individual experiences and calling for more critical attention to the local epistemologies that I have argued for and against at the same time in my discussion. For example, one argument put forward for the rise of witchcraft in Ghana and Africa more generally is the modernity thesis. That is the lack or inadequate access to modern infrastructures, such as healthcare, livelihoods, and education among others, has created a situation that easily triggers witchcraft accusation. Additionally, people engaging with modernity have led to different contestations that provide the tempo for witchcraft accusation. Both scenarios provide a contradictory understanding of the place of the local within the global using witchcraft as a prism.

In highlighting local voices as I have done in this article, I do not to suggest that everything about local epistemologies and orientations is without challenges. In fact, there are problematic aspects too. For example, although the witchcraft accusations and confrontations lead to the eviction of people from their societies and have some level of association with the global, the modalities of judgment and the removal of those accused of witchcraft is local. However, on the positive side, the communities of refuge that have become controversial in development theory, policy, and practice in Ghana are also local. Regardless of the inherent politicism enmeshed in such spaces and livelihood within them, they serve as safe haven for displaced people. My approach challenges the normative thinking that communities of refuge are places of abuse, though I do not deny some elements of abuse may occur. The bigger conundrum is the local epistemologies within Ghana that I have also challenged. Especially relevant is the place of women within the local epistemologies and the special case witchcraft accusation provides us as a window for further exploration. This needs to be relooked as we seek to prevent them from reaching a state of bare life and making it almost impossible to return to ‘a normal life’.

Again, reframing terms such as ‘witch camps’, ‘feeder communities’, or ‘receiving communities’ by instead redefining those communities as the local people see them is seeking to decolonise development theory and intervention that outside frameworks have over the years underpinned with limited connection with local realities. This is essential, especially at a time where development theory and interventions have come under intense scrutiny, especially from the global south. That is not to suggest that local frameworks are not without any challenges. The ideal is for the various actors to work together, taking on board the experiences, concerns, and actions. This will have the potential to be more impactful than just seeing local frameworks as barriers to development and, thus, should be ignored.

In this article, I have argued that witchcraft accusations and banishment fundamentally disempower people as they are removed from their communities to live in Gnani-Tindang. These individuals are exposed to many risks, such as being evicted from their communities, facing violence, discrimination, and the inability to sustain even the most basic livelihoods. Evictions have a tremendous impact on the wellbeing and livelihood of the people accused and those who depend on them, especially their children. Thus, though some might critique communities like Gnani-Tindang due to real or perceived exploitative tendencies, they also provide much needed support such as refuge that is not offered elsewhere. Further, such communities have become constituted communities for people accused of witchcraft. People accused of witchcraft are accepted and provided with essential resources such as land, accommodation, and a community to live in. As such, even though life is challenging, as people accused of witchcraft lack several basic amenities, they are, nonetheless, provided with a home without which they would remain wanderers. The challenges and needs of the individuals accused are also related to broader social processes of a shift in family and kinship structures, aging populations and broader socio-economic development, and the kinds of services provided by the state in the care of marginalised discriminated sectors of the society.

In sum, development interventions have tended to focus on the end point of witchcraft accusations, by which point people exist in bare life and have already been stripped of their social citizenship and forced to relocate. However, an engagement with the experiences of people accused of witchcraft shows that it is the earlier point that matters more. Until then, the efforts of NGOs and governments might be limited in terms of what they achieve as they are, in fact, starting in at a wrong place.

Statement of Ethics

The research was conducted with approval from University of Melbourne. Ethical approval was obtained from the ethics committee at University University of Melbourne. Permission to conduct the interviews for the purposes of this research was obtained from each community leader/local authority. All respondents were fully informed about the purposes of this research and how their responses would be used and stored. All interviewees have been anonymised and gave consent to be interviewed for the purposes of this research. The interviewer clearly communicated the scope and purpose of the research project to all interviewees. All interviewees gave consent to be interviewed for the purposes of this research. All interviewees also consented to interviews being used for publication purposes.

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank all individuals in Ghana who have generously given their time and shared their intimate stories regarding their journeys into Gnani-Tindang community. I would also like to thank the two anonymous reviewers and the editor, for their extremely useful and constructive feedback on this article. Finally, special thanks go to Dr Violeta Schubert, Associate Professor Kalissa Alexeyeff and Dr. Samuelson Appau, for their comments on previous drafts. Research conducted in Ghana in 2016- 2017 upon which this article draws was supported through The University of Melbourne International Research Scholarship. Witch Camps and Witchcraft Discourse in Africa Critiquing Development Practice' 2023 with Copyright © 2023 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).