No Surrender in Rhodesia

In the African quarter of Salisbury, capital of Southern Rhodesia, the “medicine stalls” do a flourishing trade. There, from a well-spoken European-suited stall keeper, you can buy a dried hornbill head, powdered rhinoceros horn or any one of a dozen noxious-looking liquids; whatever your witch doctor may have prescribed. In Nyasaland last year ninety people are known to have died as a result of “the Test.” The Test is a trial by ordeal, in which the suspect, having been smelled out by a witch doctor, is made to drink a poison distilled from the bark of a tree. If he dies, he was obviously guilty: if he survives, the witch doctor made a mistake. Witch doctors do not like to make mistakes.

Witchcraft and tribal magic are potent forces in the politics of central Africa. You might not realize this, I suppose, if you were Mr. Ian Macleod or Mr. Mennen Williams and you saw only the pastel-colored skyscrapers in the middle of Salisbury and talked only to Europeanized African politicians. But it’s all there, “a stone’s throw out on either hand,” for those who have eyes to see: and the African nationalists exploit fear and faith to the full in dragooning their followers.

AL

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Anthony Lejeune

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In the African quarter of Salisbury, capital of Southern Rhodesia, the “medicine stalls” do a flourishing trade. There, from a well-spoken European-suited stall keeper, you can buy a dried hornbill head, powdered rhinoceros horn or any one of a dozen noxious-looking liquids; whatever your witch doctor may have prescribed. In Nyasaland last year ninety people are known to have died as a result of “the Test.” The Test is a trial by ordeal, in which the suspect, having been smelled out by a witch doctor, is made to drink a poison distilled from the bark of a tree. If he dies, he was obviously guilty: if he survives, the witch doctor made a mistake. Witch doctors do not like to make mistakes.

Witchcraft and tribal magic are potent forces in the politics of central Africa. You might not realize this, I suppose, if you were Mr. Ian Macleod or Mr. Mennen Williams and you saw only the pastel-colored skyscrapers in the middle of Salisbury and talked only to Europeanized African politicians. But it’s all there, “a stone’s throw out on either hand,” for those who have eyes to see: and the African nationalists exploit fear and faith to the full in dragooning their followers.