Sangomas are traditional healers in Southern Africa. They perform symbolic healing in the belief that their ancestors protect and guide the living. Deeply connected to the spirit world, masters of trance dance, and indigenous medicine, sangomas are respected healers in their communities. The television blares from inside the small house in Extension Six in Joza, the township that sits on the perimeter of Grahamstown. A group of children sit with eyes fixed to an episode of Isidingo. I am told by a girl, named Cindy, to take a seat with the other patients and that Mamngwevu will see me in a moment.
She brings me a cup of tea and a rusk. I am surprised at how professional everything is, as my expectations had been very different. I explain to Cindy that I am here to do a documentary on a sangoma. She smiles and tells me to follow her to the hut at the back of the house.
In Southern Africa the number of sangomas, far outnumber those of western-style doctors. In South Africa, 84% of the indigenous population consult a sangoma more than three times a year. It is estimated that there are two hundred thousand practicing sangomas in South Africa.
An important distinction must be made between the ancestrally designated diviner or mediator, isangoma, and the doctor or inyanya. The inyanya primarily works with herbs and unlike the isangoma, has not been called by the ancestors. However, many sangomas, like Mamngwevu do practice as herbalists as well as mediators.
As I walk into the hut, a pungent aroma fills the air. A mpepho plant is burning to attract the ancestors and its sweet smoke fills my lungs. Sangomas believe that the ancestors reside in the huts and therefore they are sacred places.
I watch the women as they sit on the floor, pounding hemp with steel rods, their movements synchronous with one another. The room is cold and dark, the late afternoon sun peeks through a small window. I realise these must be Mamngwevu’s trainees or thwasa as they are called. Cindy speaks to them in isiXhosa telling them why I am here. They glance up at me and smile, nod their heads and carry on pounding.
When a sangoma is called to heal by the ancestors he or she will experience an illness, often psychosis or pains in the stomach, shoulder or neck. He or she will then undergo Thwasa, a period of training including learning humility towards the ancestors, purification through steaming, washing in the blood of sacrificed animals and the use of muti.
One of the thwasa, Ntombendaba, tells me she has been training for seven years with Mamngwevu. She explains that it can take many years before one is ready and that it is not an easy process, as your training goes according to your dreams and it is not cheap.
Sangomas are able to access advice from their ancestors in three ways: possession by an ancestor, throwing of bones and interpreting dreams. In possession state the sangoma works herself into a trance by singing and dancing to the beat of drums, allowing her ego to step aside so that her body can communicate directly with the ancestors.
Some sangomas possess a collection of small bones, shells and seeds, each with specific significance to human life. The sangoma will throw the bones but the ancestors will control where they lie.
Sangomas can either interpret their patient’s dreams or their own dreams, which may have relevance to their patient’s life. A sangoma will often give their patient muti, a medicine of plant and animal origin which can be smoked, drunk, inhaled, smeared on the body or bathed in.
Phiwemna, one of the trainees, picks up a bowl of Iingcambu (roots) showing me which Iingcambu they would give a patient for a headache, stomach ache or other illnesses. This new information swirls around in my head as I try to grasp it.
“You have to be tolerant of you trainer. You have to listen to your ancestors and do what they say. Being a sangoma is not about acquiring wealth, but about helping others,” says another trainee, Kholeka.
The women begin to cover their faces in white clay and drape beads around their foreheads and necks. Mamngwevu, the sangoma I have come to meet steps into the hut, nods at me and sits down. She is dressed in an array of bright colours and draped in beads from head to toe.
An elaborately beaded pipe is lit and handed to her. She inhales and slowly puffs out. The sun is disappearing outside and I should be getting home. Suddenly, a drum is brought into the hut and I know that what is about to happen should not be missed.
The small hut starts to vibrate with singing and stomping feet. The beat of the drum pulses through my body. I want to put down my camera and join in the celebration but the opportunity is too great to miss.
The dancing is precise, feet moving in patterns across the floor, colourful skirts swaying side to side. The drumming and singing grows louder and louder as the women work themselves into a trance. Sweat starts to pour from their faces as entering this trance state requires an immense amount of energy and concentration.
Then, one by one they drop to the floor shouting, arms lifted to the sky. Kholeka begins to shout, her voice transformed from sweet and smooth to deep and husky. I wish I could understand what she is saying but the spectacle is fascinating enough on its own.
The singing goes on for about an hour and when they stop they collapse to the floor, exhausted. I am later told that the spirit had entered Kholeka’s body and when this happened she became a channel for the ancestors to communicate.
“It is a great honour to be called by the ancestors to become a sangoma,” says Phiwemna. “We are here to heal and help the community,” she says.
When I leave Joza at the end of the day, I feel completely at peace and my mind swells with this newly acquired African wisdom. Western culture teaches that the more one acquires, the happier one will be. We learn to self-indulge and believe we are the centre of the universe. Sangomas believe in giving, healing and self-sacrifice. This is a cultural practice I think we all could learn a great deal from.
She brings me a cup of tea and a rusk. I am surprised at how professional everything is, as my expectations had been very different. I explain to Cindy that I am here to do a documentary on a sangoma. She smiles and tells me to follow her to the hut at the back of the house.
In Southern Africa the number of sangomas, far outnumber those of western-style doctors. In South Africa, 84% of the indigenous population consult a sangoma more than three times a year. It is estimated that there are two hundred thousand practicing sangomas in South Africa.
An important distinction must be made between the ancestrally designated diviner or mediator, isangoma, and the doctor or inyanya. The inyanya primarily works with herbs and unlike the isangoma, has not been called by the ancestors. However, many sangomas, like Mamngwevu do practice as herbalists as well as mediators.
As I walk into the hut, a pungent aroma fills the air. A mpepho plant is burning to attract the ancestors and its sweet smoke fills my lungs. Sangomas believe that the ancestors reside in the huts and therefore they are sacred places.
I watch the women as they sit on the floor, pounding hemp with steel rods, their movements synchronous with one another. The room is cold and dark, the late afternoon sun peeks through a small window. I realise these must be Mamngwevu’s trainees or thwasa as they are called. Cindy speaks to them in isiXhosa telling them why I am here. They glance up at me and smile, nod their heads and carry on pounding.
When a sangoma is called to heal by the ancestors he or she will experience an illness, often psychosis or pains in the stomach, shoulder or neck. He or she will then undergo Thwasa, a period of training including learning humility towards the ancestors, purification through steaming, washing in the blood of sacrificed animals and the use of muti.
One of the thwasa, Ntombendaba, tells me she has been training for seven years with Mamngwevu. She explains that it can take many years before one is ready and that it is not an easy process, as your training goes according to your dreams and it is not cheap.
Sangomas are able to access advice from their ancestors in three ways: possession by an ancestor, throwing of bones and interpreting dreams. In possession state the sangoma works herself into a trance by singing and dancing to the beat of drums, allowing her ego to step aside so that her body can communicate directly with the ancestors.
Some sangomas possess a collection of small bones, shells and seeds, each with specific significance to human life. The sangoma will throw the bones but the ancestors will control where they lie.
Sangomas can either interpret their patient’s dreams or their own dreams, which may have relevance to their patient’s life. A sangoma will often give their patient muti, a medicine of plant and animal origin which can be smoked, drunk, inhaled, smeared on the body or bathed in.
Phiwemna, one of the trainees, picks up a bowl of Iingcambu (roots) showing me which Iingcambu they would give a patient for a headache, stomach ache or other illnesses. This new information swirls around in my head as I try to grasp it.
“You have to be tolerant of you trainer. You have to listen to your ancestors and do what they say. Being a sangoma is not about acquiring wealth, but about helping others,” says another trainee, Kholeka.
The women begin to cover their faces in white clay and drape beads around their foreheads and necks. Mamngwevu, the sangoma I have come to meet steps into the hut, nods at me and sits down. She is dressed in an array of bright colours and draped in beads from head to toe.
An elaborately beaded pipe is lit and handed to her. She inhales and slowly puffs out. The sun is disappearing outside and I should be getting home. Suddenly, a drum is brought into the hut and I know that what is about to happen should not be missed.
The small hut starts to vibrate with singing and stomping feet. The beat of the drum pulses through my body. I want to put down my camera and join in the celebration but the opportunity is too great to miss.
The dancing is precise, feet moving in patterns across the floor, colourful skirts swaying side to side. The drumming and singing grows louder and louder as the women work themselves into a trance. Sweat starts to pour from their faces as entering this trance state requires an immense amount of energy and concentration.
Then, one by one they drop to the floor shouting, arms lifted to the sky. Kholeka begins to shout, her voice transformed from sweet and smooth to deep and husky. I wish I could understand what she is saying but the spectacle is fascinating enough on its own.
The singing goes on for about an hour and when they stop they collapse to the floor, exhausted. I am later told that the spirit had entered Kholeka’s body and when this happened she became a channel for the ancestors to communicate.
“It is a great honour to be called by the ancestors to become a sangoma,” says Phiwemna. “We are here to heal and help the community,” she says.
When I leave Joza at the end of the day, I feel completely at peace and my mind swells with this newly acquired African wisdom. Western culture teaches that the more one acquires, the happier one will be. We learn to self-indulge and believe we are the centre of the universe. Sangomas believe in giving, healing and self-sacrifice. This is a cultural practice I think we all could learn a great deal from.
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