Pitfalls of seeing sangomas

Kwanele Ndlovu Singles Lane

Competition,

Wuz dat Wuz dat Wuz dat

I don't see em

Wuz dat

Wuz dataaaah choo!

Aaah choo!

Thokoza gogo!

This a highly probable moment on one of Boity's upcoming stage performances for her new pop song. In fact, I would not be surprised if the rap heads responded with a resounding "Makhosi!", as they bopped their heads, waiting for her to finish sniffing that Ntsu stash and hook up that pre-chorus. I can't imagine anything more Insta-fab than this here scene.

I have found myself pondering on the rate our local celebrities are heeding their ancestral call. In fact, I love the new developments. The more social influencers openly publicise and discuss their reliance on traditional medicine, the easier it might get to educate the next generation and hopefully eradicate the demonisation of African traditional practices.

I for one have always leaned on ancestral guidance for everything in life. I embrace African traditions and customs and have had a few goat skin bangles in my jewellery collection. In fact, all my summer body photos are riddled with fading incision scars on all my joints.

However, if anyone does consider this route, it might be wise to take some counsel from me. Don't let Boity's glamorous appearance trick you into believing that getting healed by an inyanga will be something like Instagram pictures. Listen... I have been there.

First of all, I did not eat chicken for a very long time after my consultation, after having to cut one myself and then drink a concoction with its bile as an emetic. I am not sure how vegetarians and vegan traditionalists navigate this one. But if you think a butchery is torture, just grow your herbs in your garden. Sangomas might be wearing the hide of some of your favourite wildlings or hanging their tails at the altar.

I had a brand new human hair weave, that had to come off after muti residual clung relentlessly between the GHD curls and the wool stitches. It is also a bad idea to wear your good lingerie. Memories of taking it off near flowing rivers holding a dead cock just might impair your sex life indefinitely.

And you better not be on any skin treatment creams... you will not survive being cooked on boil under three blankets.

And I had been instructed to not speak to anybody until I got home. But I had to take a long-distance taxi ride in an old Hi-Ace that had a puncture midway. And oh, the one shallow razor cut in between my brows was bleeding the most. I sat there, silent, in the backseat, pretending not to smell like chicken blood and old roots and impepho.

But hey... when it's all done, you will be back in your office wear, speaking good English and smelling of expensive cologne. Healed, spiritually grounded, and readily saying "Makhosi" when Kelly Khumalo sneezes in church.

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