Zambezia (2000), XXVII (ii).TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND THE QUEST FORNATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEGLORIA WAITE1Department of History, University of Massachusetts, DartmouthAbstractThis article traces and analyses efforts by practitioners of traditional medicineto obtain official recognition of their sector in post<olonial Zimbabwe.Beginning with a brief historical background of the role of traditional medicinein the colonial period, during which traditional medical practice wasmarginalised and denigrated, while efforts were made to promote westernmedicine by the colonial settlers who benefited most from it, the articlehighlights the various post-colonial campaigns to get traditional medicineofficially recognised as "a legitimate form of health care" and the strugglesto "reshape traditional medicine into a health service parallel to westernmedicine". These campaigns are analysed within the broader context ofZimbabwe's search for national identity.INTRODUCTION.When Rhodesia (formerly Southern Rhodesia) became Zimbabwe in 1980,its colonial legacy, an experience shared with practically all of Africa, wascompounded by 90 years of white settler rule. The health service waswhite-run, white-staffed and practiced apartheid. It served the whiteminority and only incidentally ministered to the Africans, who comprisedsome 97% of the population. The white settlers, who controlled thecolonial legislature, saw to it that they alone enjoyed posh medicalattention. Thus Zimbabwe was challenged at independence to eliminatewhite privileges and restructure health care to provide services to thesections of the African population that had been the most deprived.In addition, Zimbabwe became independent at a time whenneighbouring countries were taking steps to officially recognize traditionalhealth care providers and give them a role in national health service.This idea had been raised by the World Health Organization (WHO),I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of Michael West, who, while doing his ownresearch on Zimbabwe, collected many of the primary materials used in this study andinvited me to pursue the topic for a panel he organized at an academic conference. I alsohad the pleasure of directing the honours senior thesis of Madeline Frucht, now a medicaldoctor, whose study of traditional medicine in Zimbabwe gave me the rare pleasure todirect a subject in which I had an abiding interest, and acquainted me with developmentsup to the mid-1980s.235236 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEwhich called on member states to not only implement primary healthcare programmes based on preventive care, low-cost providers anddecentralized facilities in order to achieve "health care for all by the year2000", but also to evaluate the role traditional medicine might play inprimary health care delivery. The recognition of traditional medicine waseverywhere a controversial subject, given the reduction of its statusunder colonialism and the co-existence of a modern health care sectorthat remained convinced of its pre-eminence.The story of traditional medicine in Zimbabwe in the first ten years ofindependence is told here, against the background of two relateddevelopments. One is the impact of colonialism on traditional medicine,and the other is the work neighbouring countries were doing by 1980 to"collaborate" with traditional medicine and its practitioners. Afterpresenting this background, the Zimbabwean experience is told in twoparts. The first part concerns the campaign to gain government recognitionof traditional medicine as a legitimate form of health care, while thesecond part pursues the subsequent struggle to reshape traditionalmedicine into a health service parallel to western medicine. These efforts,coming as they did within Zimbabwe's first ten years of independence,spoke to the heart of Zimbabwe's search for national identity, both interms of its professed socialist policy and its nationalist imperative.THE COLONIAL BACKGROUNDIn colonial Zimbabwe, as elsewhere on the continent, western medicinewas introduced by missionaries. The missionaries, who had broughtalong medicines for their own use, quickly discovered that they couldadvance their evangelistic work by sharing the contents of their medicinechests. Soon the occasional treatment provided by missionaries led to aneed for systematic services, especially when it became clear thatevangelism was directly threatened by traditional medicine and itsmysticism.For instance, over three-quarters of a century after the LondonMissionary Society QMS) established the first mission in 1857 in whatwould later become colonial Zimbabwe, one of its employees wrote theSociety's Foreign Secretary about the problem of attracting African mento the mission. He lamented that "polygamy and beer-drinking seem to bethe two great attractions, while witchcraft will never die out until somemission takes up medical work seriously". Arguing that the LMS missionin Botswana was successful precisely because it had a dispensary, heasserted that in colonial Zimbabwe the LMS "has depended too muchupon (non-existent) Government doctors in South Africa and our workG. WAITE 237has been starved in consequence", and urged the board to "realise whata terrible evil witchcraft is,... that bigger evil behind so much disease"(Anderson, 1936).Similar, if less strident, sentiments were sent home by a locally-basedSalvation Army officer who claimed the Army's one dispensary was notenough, "as the country is steeped in customs which centre aroundwitchdoctors and other medicine men". He added that the SalvationArmy workers in the Reserves, areas to which the majority of Africanswere consigned under the system of territorial segregation, "haveconstantly to combat the evil practices of these people", noting how"Army Officers and Teachers have ever to be on the alert to prevent theirpeople [African converts], when sick, being doctored by the heathen"(Officers' Review, 1934).The health care offered by missions was devoid of mystical contentbecause European medicine had already been secularized. Even so, manymissionaries who offered care did not even have formal training inmedicine and their facilities were primitive, with limited resources andsparse services. Under these circumstances, the vast majority of Africansremained unserved. Moreover, the African population experienceddeterioration and stagnation in its living standards under the parasiticaland parsimonious rule of imperialism (Chanaiwa, 1981). White settlersclaimed half the country's land, including the most fertile areas, whileAfricans were restricted to Reserves where land quickly becameovercrowded and overused. Consequently, men were forced to seek workon white farms and in the mining economy in Southern Rhodesia andSouth Africa, leaving the women and children behind in the Reserves toeke out an increasingly impoverished existence. Some women, many ofthem widows and divorcees, migrated to urban centres where they brewedand sold beer, cooked food and provided domestic and sexual services tomale workers. Generally, these occupations, in addition to being low-paying, were also the source of many diseases.Under the circumstances, the missionaries found themselves in adifficult situation. Finding their resources limited, though they hadvoluntarily taken on the task of providing education and health care, theycalled upon the government for assistance. Missionary pressure, alongwith the growing incidence of infectious diseases like smallpox, venerealdiseases, tuberculosis and leprosy, finally forced the government to createa rudimentary public health system, build some hospitals and clinics forAfricans in the urban centres, and subsidize the work of the missionariesin the rural areas. The Native Medical Services, as they were called, havebeen much praised (Webster, 1972,1973a and b; Gelfand, 1976), but whencompared to health care available to the white population, or even whatwas needed, they were minuscule (Gilmurray et al., 1977).238TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEOut of both choice and necessity, most Africans Continued to useindigenous healers, even as these healers were being maligned and abusedby the whites (Chavunduka, 1986a). Not only in the rural areas, but inurban centres as well, large numbers of people continued to consulttraditional healers. Even as late as the 1970s, a study in one of the
capital's African townships revealed that almost one-quarter of thosesurveyed used traditional medicine as a first choice and over half of theconsumers of western medicine later consulted traditional healers(Chavunduka, 1978).Opposition to traditional medicine was very strong among themissionaries, colonial officials, doctors and nurses who laid the foundation
of western medical services in colonial Africa. The champions of western,
medicine took various measures against traditional medicine, such asseeking to undermine its legitimacy through the mission schools,organizing their own professional organizations which could censure
colleagues who referred patients to traditional doctors, and insultingpatients who used traditional medicine. People could be\ fired if theymissed work while undertaking traditional medical treatment, but thosewho were treated by western doctors could submit certificates and lettersattesting to this (Chavunduka, 1986a). Traditional medicine was alsoundermined by the Witchcraft Suppression Act of 1899, which criminalized
both malpractice and legitimate practice since it subsumed most materials
used by healers under the rubric of "witchcraft", even though many of
their "charms" have nothing to do with witchcraft. The Act also removedcontrol of witchcraft accusations from traditional courts, assuming "thewhole practice of /witchcraft as a pretense and a sham, [with] no realexistence at all" (Chavunduka, 1982).Even herbal medicines were considered "unscientific" and, with afewjiotable exceptions (Gelfand, et al, 1985; Harvey, 1962; Harvey andArmifkge, 1961; Wild and Gelfand, 1959), elicited no interest among colonialdoctors. Disinterest was especially acute among the cdforiial officials. Forinstance, in 1970 a short discussion was initiated in colonial Zimbabwe'sParliament on traditional medicine after an African member introduced amotion, "solely for the purpose of bringing certain matters to the attentionofBx^ House", urging the government to mobilize local scientific resourcesantipersonnel to study and create an independent supply of medicinesusing indigenous medicinal plants. An official from the Ministry of Health,after commenting that the mover of the motion was "very responsible"for not "dividing^the House by putting the motion to a vote, went on tosay that while he did not object to the scientific study of native medicineas_/such, and understood that scientists like Dr. Michael Gelfand were at
the time engaged in such study, he rejected the idea that the governmentG. WAITE 239should "encourage the use of these primitive remedies . . . either in thelocal market or in an export market" (Parliamentary Debatp. 1970).With few exceptions, such as the mover of the above-mentionedmotion, the members of the new African elite, almost all of whom wereeducated at mission schools, showed similar disinterest In traditionalculture, and traditional medicine in particular. Despite such outwardopposition, there were persistent rumors about elite Africans who visitedtraditional doctors. Still, there were always those committed Christianswho would do no such thing but who also were little helped by westerndoctors, especially if they were barren, a condition that brought as mucha grief to a Christian wife as it did to her non-Christian sister. An alternativeappeared for such Christian women in colonial Zimbabwe in the 1950s,when the Methodist Mai Chaza founded a healing ministry especially forbarren Christian women. One early member of her sect belonged to aprominent Zimbabwean family, the patriarch of which was a leadingMethodist minister (Ranger, 1995).THE ROAD TO COLLABORATION BETWEEN TRADITIONAL ANDWESTERN MEDICINEThe advent of independence brought with it a reassessment of traditionalmedicine in some African countries. Governments wanted to reclaimtraditions that had been debased during colonialism. However, theproblem for the elites who came to power was their deep attachment tothe European way of doing things and their uncertainty about whattraditional elements should be revived. Consequently, it was a full decadeafter the "Year of Africa" in 1960, before most African countries turnedtheir attention to the issue of traditional medicine, and only then forreasons other than an intrinsic interest in it.The exception to this rule was Kwame Nkrumah's Ghana, where "anew awareness in Ghanaian culture" generated "a conscious quest for anAfrican way of doing things to distinguish the African from the European".The "African way", of course, included indigenous medicine. Nkrumahcommissioned a study of Ghana's traditional healers and followed this upin 1963 by organizing the Ghana Psychics and Traditional HealingAssociation, which included "spiritual and faith healers, herbalists andbirth attendants". The Association's charter promised many things, suchas clinics and improved practices. Traditional medicine, according to thecharter, was to be "upheld, protected, promoted, helped, and encouraged".However, with the overthrow of Nkrumah's Government in 1966, theAssociation became moribund. Official Ghanaian interest in traditionalmedicine was revived in 1974 under the Acheampong Government, thoughwithout the psychics. Rather, now the government's attention was focused240 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEon collecting and studying herbal medicines for possible commercialexploitation (Twumasi and Warren, 1986).By 1974 other African countries were also beginning to support thestudy of traditional medicines, and for the same reason as Ghana, that is,a quest for commercial gain and self-sufficiency. Around the same time,traditional medicine as a whole began to receive widespread attention asvarious governments sought ways to expand services and increasepersonnel as cheaply as possible. In order to do this, they needed todepart from the western model of health care, which was altogether tooexpensive and a drain on health budgets. As plans were initiated forexpanding services using low-cost health workers, such as medicalassistants, technicians, and health educators, policy makers began todiscuss the use of existing resources, namely traditional midwives andother traditional practitioners.Maoist China's experience with the "barefoot doctor", its efforts tostandardize Chinese medicine, and its success in checking famine andinfectious diseases inspired progressive leaders in emerging African andAsian nations. China thus became the model for the historic set ofresolutions passed by the World Health Organization (WHO) beginning in1975, urging "primary health care for all by the year 2000". In 1977, WHOalso issued a call for traditional medicine and its practitioners to beincluded in national health care, and with other international organizationsbegan to make funds available for initiating "collaboration" programmestoward a goal of "integrating" traditional and western medicine (Oyebola,1986).Despite the persistent attacks, traditional and western medicine hadlong co-existed, and a majority of Africans were pluralistic consumers,using both services (Harrison and Dunlop, 1974). WHO's resolutionswent beyond co-existence, however, and urged governments to interveneto integrate the two systems. As several African and Asian countriesbegan to take steps in this direction, the issue of collaboration, to saynothing of integration, proved problematic. In the first place, studies byhealth planners questioned the success of the Chinese model in Chinaitself (Croizier, 1973; Bibeau, 1978; Hillier and Jewell, 1983). Second,investigations of programmes begun after the WHO resolutions had beenpassed revealed that governments were eitherhindering collaboration orhaving no impact whatsoever (Elling, 1981). By the mid-1980s, internationalpolicy makers were conceding the failure of collaboration, but attributedthis to vague national commitments and ill-planned programmes. Ratherthan scrap the idea, however, new guidelines were issued for re-evaluatingthose collaborative efforts funded by international organizations (Akerele1987).G. WAITE 241Yet, ironically, at the same time that collaboration was beingpronounced a failure by international organizations, some Zimbabweanswere embarking on their own path of encouraging cooperation betweentraditional and western medicine, without funding from either externalsources or the Zimbabwean government. Zimbabwe's programme cameon line at independence in 1980, several years after other countries inSouthern Africa had begun similar collaborative initiatives. While learningfrom the experiences of its neighbours, ultimately Zimbabwe's programmewould prove unique and unprecedented.COLLABORATION BETWEEN TRADITIONAL AND WESTERN MEDICINEIN SOUTHERN AFRICAWith the exception of Botswana (Staugard, 1986), countries throughoutsouthern Africa had begun programmes of collaboration by 1980. Mostprogrammes were inspired by the WHO resolutions but some antedatedthem. Those that antedated the WHO resolutions were concerned withherbal remedies, an interest the Organization of African Unity (OAU) hadbeen encouraging since 1968, when it began to hold conferences on thesubject (Sofowora, 1982).Five countries neighbouring Zimbabwe have been selected for a brieflook at what kinds of collaboration were taking place by the time ofZimbabwe's independence. These countries are Zaire (now Congo),Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, and Mozambique, where the study of herbalremedies and the use of traditional birth attendants and midwives arethe preferred areas for collaboration.Tanzania, though generally situated in East, not Southern Africa, isincluded here since it was among the "Frontline States" assistingZimbabwe's struggle to end white rule. It has led the way in medicinalplant research in the region, and of the five countries shows the bestresults so far in this work. Tanzania's Traditional Medicine ResearchUnit, established by the government in 1974, sponsors researchexpeditions to remote areas to collect medical material (Semali, 1986).The results of some chemical analyses have been published (Hedberg etal, 1982; 1983;Chhabraefa/., 1984). Similarly, Zaire founded a Departmentof Traditional Healers in 1976 for the study of traditional medicine inselected regions (Janzan, 1976-77). The aim was commercial benefits, andtwo years later Zaire's Parliament passed resolutions to establish a localpharmaceutical industry and to give the Department of Health a centralrole in traditional medicine research (Republic du Zaire, 1978). By 1980,Mozambique was also sponsoring research in traditional medicine (Tome,1979; Jansen and Mendes, 1982; Mendes, 1981), as was Malawi, whereconsiderable work has been done by the biochemist, Jerome Msonthi242TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWE(Msonthi, 1983b), co-founder of the government-sponsored Herbalists ofMalawi. Zambia, unlike its neighbours, had shown little interest by the1980s in herbal plant remedies, despite its extensive herbarium, whichthe author used for a study of verifiably efficacious common medicinalplants used historically in select districts in Zambia and Tanzania (Waite,1988).Another point of collaboration between traditional and westernmedicine was in the increasing use of traditional midwives, an area inwhich Zambia played a leading role. By 1980 hundreds of midwives wereenrolled in Zambia's primary health care programme (Twumasi andWarren, 1986). Malawi also made considerable use of traditional midwives(Msonthi, 1983a). Training for them in both countries was funded byWHO and UNICEF. Some of these traditional midwives were alreadypractising while others were inexperienced younger women. In Tanzania,
data were being gathered on practising midwives toward including themin government-controlled health care (Semali, 1986).Traditional midwifery and herbal remedies do not threaten westernmedicine as do practices that are based on mysticism and psychic powers.Training in hygiene, record keeping and recognition of birthingcomplications for referral to hospitals are all that the modern sectorrequires of traditional midwifery. Likewise, many herbal medicines arecommon enough that they need only be standardized, reproduced anddistributed. Some traditional doctors are, however, reluctant to sharetheir knowledge, for fear of giving away "trade secrets", or because theybelieve the medicines cannot be separated from the mystical and ritualcontexts in which they are used. Yet one Zimbabwean scientist, ProfessorNorman Nyazema, has vowed to do just that: separate the pharmacologyfrom the mystical-ritual, all the while challenging assertions that aparticular practitioner or group of practitioners has a monopoly ofdesignated herbs or remedies (Herald, Jan. 31, 1986). Nyazema, apharmacologist at the University of Zimbabwe's School of Medicine,investigated the mystical claims made on behalf of some medicines, and
found good, bad, and even underutilized qualities. Among the materialshe has studied are crocodile bile (Nyazema, 1984), beetles, and a "magicformula" used by a doctor to diagnose his patients that made nationalnews after one of his patients died from the medicine. Nyazema warnsthe public that "[traditional remedies are useful poisons, but if... nothandled properly, people die and get unnecessary hospitalisation". He
works to do away with "the cloak of secrecy and mysticism that surrounds[the medicines]", to prepare them for a role in primary health care(Herald, Jan. 31, 1986).Throughout the region, the role of traditional doctors in government-sponsored primary health care has been limited to supplying medicinesG. WAITE 243to scientists. Otherwise, traditional doctors continue to supply healthcare as they have always done, although in a few countries dialogue hasbeen initiated with government officials, such as a WHO-sponsoredconference in Zambia in 1977. This meeting led to an increase In thenumber of registered traditional healers and began a process ofconsultation between health workers and traditional doctors (Report,1977; Waite, 1981). No such mechanism for registering healers had beenestablished in Tanzania at latest report, though the Ministry of Youth andNational Culture was facilitating discussions between traditional andwestern practitioners (Feierman, 1986). In Malawi, conferences also werebeing held between traditional doctors, western scientists and doctors(Msonthi, 1986).On the other hand, governments have taken steps against traditionalpractitioners, demonstrating their failure and unwillingness to understandthe social context in which traditional medicine operates. For example,when the Machel Government in Mozambique, in the interest of socialism,banned private medicine, it effectively denied traditional doctors thecustomary right to collect fees for their services (Barker, 1983). Elsewheregovernments continue to apply the old Suppression of Witchcraft Actsproclaimed by the British during colonialism. Zambia even went so far asto write a new anti-witchcraft law in 1967, just three years afterindependence (Twumasi and Warren, 1986). Though these laws areintended to suppress witchcraft, they have never been successful.Upon attaining independence, Zimbabwe's government had nointention of including a role for traditional medicine, despite the severalyears of collaborative efforts already underway in other countries. Rather,the new authorities planned simply to use Village Health Workers (VHWs)as the "foundation" of the new National Health Service (so named todistinguish it from the old colonial Medical Service). VHWs, who aremodeled after the "barefoot doctor", were already in service InMozambique and Tanzania, two countries closely associated with theZimbabwe nationalists who came to power in 1980, and had been proposedin a study undertaken on the colonial medical service just prior toindependence (Gilmurray et al, 1979).The VHWs were to be the "first level of contact between the communityand health service", and each would serve 50 to 200 families in the ruralareas, where the majority of people still lived (Republic of Zimbabwe,1982b). The VHWs do preventive, not curative, work, mainly by providinghealth education, recording and transmitting vital statistics, and improving"the environmental health of the community members" (Republic ofZimbabwe, 1981) by organizing local communities to build toilet andother hygienic facilities, and to make bricks for clinics (Agere, 1987).Many VHWs are women, the popular myth being that they "are at home244 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEmore" and "feel freer to talk about health and related matters" (Herald,April 26,1984). The VHWs are selected by the communities in which theywork and are trained by another category of low-wage personnel, Medicaland Health Assistants (Republic of Zimbabwe, 1981). Within the first yearof independence, Zimbabwe had 334 VHWs, trained and* outfitted withbicycles and medical kits by UNICEF. The numbers tripled thereafter, andso did problems in their selection and quality of work (Republic ofZimbabwe, 1982a). In addition to the VHWs, traditional midwives weremobilized by the new Zimbabwe health service.A study undertaken in Zimbabwe soon after independence found thatante natal clinic attendance in urban and rural areas was high. Yet,despite this and available clinical birthing services, jnany women preferredtheir own midwives and continued to give birth at home. Thus, in aneffort to incorporate the traditional midwives into the health service, thegovernment launched a pilot programme in 1981, followed up by others,to instruct traditional midwives in hygienic practices (Chimbadzwa, 1985).Unlike traditional birth attendants in other African countries, who arefrequently young village women selected for training with no previousexperience or practice, Zimbabwe's midwives are what would elsewherebe called "independent" midwives. Many of these midwives were practisingbecause they found midwifery a way to "gain extra income" (BlairResearch, 1988).TRADITIONAL MEDICINE IN ZIMBABWE: THE ROAD TO RECOGNITIONAND CONTROLGiven the important historic role of spirit mediums in the liberationstruggle, it seemed likely early on that traditional medicine would get asympathetic hearing in the new Zimbabwe. Spirit mediums, the mhondoro,were national heroes in the first Chimurenga Š the great battle wagedagainst European colonialism in the 1890s (Ranger, 1967). Seventy yearslater, the mhondoro again became important, this time by forging analliance with the guerrillas who won the battle for independence, thesecond Chimurenga (Lan, 1985).During the election campaign and at independence celebrations,Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), the victorious party,acknowledged and celebrated some major "spirits of the nation", usingsongs, images on clothing and a huge banner. Schools, a maternityhospital and streets were named after Mbuya Nehanda, "the grandmotherof all ancestors". A revolutionary heroine of the first Chimurenga, Nehandahad prophesied that she would reappear to drive out the Europeans(Lan, 1985). There was thus strong symbolic support for the traditionalmedical culture in the new Zimbabwe (McDonald, 1981).G. WAITE 245Symbolism did not necessarily translate into substance, however.Within months of assuming power, the new regime arrested SophiaTsvatayi Jairos Muchini, a medium for the spirit of both the ancestressMbuya Nehanda and of another ancestor hero, Chaminuka. Prior toindependence, her activism on behalf of the guerrillas had landed her injail, from which she had been released by the independent government.Within a few months of returning to her mediumship at Great Zimbabwe,Muchini was rearrested and charged with ordering the killing of severalwhite farmers. Prior to being charged with murder, Muchini had been thetarget of harassment and threats by the whites in the area surroundingGreat Zimbabwe, and the new government had been made aware of that.Some former guerrillas from the ruling party's army who were serving asher bodyguards admitted to the killings. In exchange for clemency, theyblamed Muchini, claiming they were under the influence of her medicineswhen they committed the crimes, and that she ordered them to killwhites. Failing to find other adults to corroborate this account, thegovernment took into custody two young teenagers from Muchini's home,including her own child, jailed, tortured and terrorized them for a year,and released them to bear witness against her (Herald, Oct. and Dec.1981; Garlake, 1983).What is interesting about this case is that Muchini was not the onlyprominent African arrested in this period for alleged complicity in killingwhites over the land question. The Minister of Manpower, Edgar Tekere,had been arrested along with his bodyguards in August 1980, in advanceof Muchini, accused of killing a white farmer, and put on trial. Tekere wasreleased after a split decision, but it is said that "the affair unsettled theWhite community, caused bad feeling and did little to enhance thecountry's international image". The government's image was furtherdamaged by the flaring "into open war", of the "traditional tribal conflictbetween the Matabele... and the Shona majority" (Drum, 1981). Muchini,seemingly, had to be sacrificed for the sake of the national image, meaningat that time allaying the fears of local whites and international capital.Amilcar Cabral, the African revolutionary, had predicted such ascenario. Speaking at the Frantz Fanon Centre in Milan in 1964, Cabralwarned that "[t]he moment national liberation comes and the pettybourgeoisie takes power we enter, or rather return to history, and thusthe internal contradictions break out again". Asking rhetorically, u[w]hatattitude can the petty bourgeoisie adopt?" he answered, it could "eitherally itself with imperialism, and the reactionary strata in its own countryto try and preserve itself as a petty bourgeoisie or ally itself with theworkers and peasants.. .." (Handyside 1969). Muchini, needless to say,lacked the wherewithal to successfully or even effectively lead the peasantsto possess the land of their ancestors. Her claims on traditional culture246 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEwere no match for the claims of the "assimilated" elites who were also inthe process of betraying the workers (Astrow, 1983), breaking nearly 200strikes undertaken in the first year of independence over wages, workingconditions and labour relations (Sachikonye, 1987). Thus Muchini's caseraised the dilemma over traditional culture and the issue of authority inthe new Zimbabwe.Rocked by "sectional conflict, lack of unity and sometimes of direction,serious economic difficulties, and a host of other problems" (Drum, 1981),the first year of independence was not an easy one for Zimbabwe. In spiteof these problems, and even as Muchini's case was making its way throughthe courts, two supporters of traditional medicine emerged, both seekingto shape for the first time a positive relationship between traditionalmedicine and the modern government, and in the process updatetraditional medicine so that it could have a respected role in healthservice. The individuals in question were Drs. Gordon Chavunduka andthe late Herbert Ushewokunze.Chavunduka, then a Professor of Sociology and Dean of the Faculty ofSocial Studies at the University of Zimbabwe, was a recognized authorityon traditional medicine and the author of several studies on the subjectprior to independence. Many Zimbabwe healers knew and respected him.Chavunduka did not practise medicine, but had completed a course intraditional medicine at a well-known school in Pretoria (Chavunduka,1986a; ZINATHA, 1986).During the liberation war Ushewokunze had served as Commander ofthe Army Medical Corps of ZANU's Liberation Army. A member of ZANU'sCentral Committee, he was appointed ZANU's Secretary of Health in thewaning years of white rule. When ZANU Patriotic Front (PF) swept theelections in 1980, Ushewokunze was elected to Parliament and broughtinto the Cabinet as Minister of Health. Hitherto, that is to say, in colonialZimbabwe, the Secretary of Health, a civil servant, outlined policy andthe Minister of Health generally deferred to him. Ushewokunze, however,refused to accept the role scripted for him, bringing to his new assignmentthe brashness and activism for which he was justly famous.When, three months after independence, 1 500 traditional healersrallied in the capital, they were greeted by Ushewokunze, who, like otherofficials at independence, lauded the historic role played by traditionalhealers in the liberation struggle (British Broadcasting Corporation, 1980).Within days of this rally, the Zimbabwe National Traditional Healers'Association (ZINATHA) was founded at a meeting organized and attendedby Ushewokunze and his Deputy, Dr. Simon Mazorodze (ZINATHA, 1986).The healers in attendance, some of whom represented smaller existingorganizations, wrote and ratified a constitution, elected an interimG. WAITE 247executive committee, with Chavunduka as Interim President, and laidplans for a future First Congress (Chavunduka, 1986a; ZINATHA, 1986).ZINATHA was not the first organization of healers in the country, butit was the first to have the support of people in such high places. The firstorganization dates to 1957, when the African Nganga Association2 wasorganized (Chavunduka, 1978). By 1980 there were eight associations,each claiming to be "the true medical association" and discrediting theothers (Chavunduka, 1984). One of these associations held a conferencethe month before ZINATHA's founding and invited Ushewokunze andChavunduka to speak, pointing out that its members wanted "to workhand in hand with modern doctors" and formulate "a code of ethics" to"discourage and root out any dishonourable practices among members"(The Herald, June 13, 1980). Many traditional doctors in Zimbabwe andelsewhere had long worked to disassociate themselves from"dishonourable practices", such as witchcraft, witch-finding, and theselling of bogus medicines (Bantu Mirror, 1956; Mambo, 1974).With Ushewokunze, Mazorodze and Chavunduka representing a smallbut growing number of westernized African elites who supportedtraditional medicine, the founding of ZINATHA was no small matter. Themedical establishment was alarmed (Carver, 1983). Chavunduka chargedthe white-dominated Medical Council and its members with trying toundermine ZINATHA, in an effort, he was convinced, to retain "full controlof the field of medicine" (Herald, May 31, 1980).In September 1980, again with the Minister of Health and his Deputypresent, ZINATHA rallied 3,000 healers for its First Congress. The electionof a permanent National Executive Committee was conducted by Dr. C.Mamvura, a medical doctor at the University of Zimbabwe (Chavunduka,1984). Chavunduka remained President (Chavunduka, 1986a; ZINATHA,1986) and continued in that capacity until the early 1990s when he wasappointed Vice Chancellor of the University of Zimbabwe. The next stepwould be more difficult, namely gaining official recognition of ZINATHA,and therefore for traditional medicine as a whole.The architect of this move was Ushewokunze, who in his brief 15months as Minister of Health used the position to challenge the racisthealth service. With characteristic flair, Ushewokunze declared that"[s]ometimes a direct approach and shock tactics are needed to facilitatesuch a change", given the "entrenchment" of "racial attitudes" in theservice. Using words like "revolutionary zeal", "duty" and "loyalty", heannounced his desire to get "social justice" for the people. Ushewokunzealso made liberal use of statistics and other evidence to demonstrate the2 The name for traditional practitioners was variously spelled until 1981, when it wasstandardized as n'anga (Shona).248 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWE"racial disparity in health care resources", including insights gained fromon site inspections of hospitals, which some parliamentarians andnewspaper editors disparaged as "disruptive tours". Ushewokunzeacknowledged that many people found "the concept of direct ministerialinvolvement in the delivery of health services to the people of Zimbabwea difficult and most drastic change" from the "accepted role of a Ministerof Health playing the role of a rubber stamp". The growing chorus ofdetractors also accused Ushewokunze of destroying Zimbabwe's healthservices, an accusation he wore as a badge of honour, triumphantlyproclaiming: "When I am accused of destroying the health services of thiscountry I shall henceforth take it as a compliment, as the destruction of adiscriminatory, archaic and undeniably unbalanced service would be anact of great service to the people of Zimbabwe." To charges that he was"causing turmoil and dissatisfaction, even embarrassment, amongst theemployees of the Ministry of Health", he replied, "[t]o this accusation Imust earnestly plead guilty" (Ushewokunze, 1984).Ushewokunze undertook two otner important activities while Ministerof Health, which probably contributed to his being dismissed from thepost in October 1981. In July of that year he placed family planningservices under government control and pushed through a bill in Parliamentto recognize traditional medicine. The contrast between the ensuingdebates over family planning and traditional medicine is stark, and castlight on the priorities of the national government.When Ushewokunze placed family planning under government control,he raised the heat in a longstanding debate between the white settlersand the Africans over population control. The African nationalists hadfirmly opposed western family planning services when they wereintroduced to the colony in 1957. By the 1970s the white, privately-runFamily Planning Association had attracted considerable money fromabroad but only offered African women Depo Provera, a contraceptivethat by the late 1970s was known to have "serious known and suspectedside effects" and had been banned in the US, its place of origin. In 1981,when Ushewokunze placed the activities of the Family Planning Associationunder the Ministry of Health, he simultaneously banned Depo Provera(Ushewokunze, 1984).He was not ending family planning, however, for the post-independence nationalists were no longer demanding that. The new regimeaffirmed a woman's right to have access to "safe and effective methods ofcontraception". Ushewokunze and the director of the Family PlanningAssociation, who was determined to continue distributing Depo Provera,engaged in a "nasty war of words", and "when the dust finally settledmost of the Family Planning Association's white senior staff, many ofwhom were expatriates, had resigned and left the country". After theirG. WAITE 249departure, the Africans themselves took up the debate over familyplanning. Some members of the ruling party still firmly opposed westernfamily planning. However, the executive branch steered the debate infavour of family planning, in tandem with the government-controllednational press. Thereafter considerable foreign money came to Zimbabwefor its programme, and by the late 1980s Zimbabwe had become a leaderin family planning in the developing world. The Prime Minister-turned-President, Robert Mugabe, was frequently featured as a speaker atinternational conferences on population control (West, 1994).In the same month in which his ministry took control of familyplanning, Ushewokunze introduced a bill in Parliament to regulate andregister traditional practitioners of all kinds. Known as the TraditionalMedical Practitioners Act, its central feature is the Traditional MedicalPractitioners Council, which has the same authority the MedicalPractitioners Council does for western medicine. The key words used todescribe the work of the Traditional Practitioners Council are "superviseand control, promote, foster research, develop, hold inquiries, and makegrants or loans". The Act requires the Ministry of Health, after consultationwith the Council, to appoint a Registrar. Under the Act, registration isvoluntary, but traditional healers who claim to be registered and are notcan be fined. ZINATHA is officially recognized in this Act as "the legalbody to which traditional healers should belong" (ZINATHA, 1986). In itscapacity as the legally-constituted organization for traditional medicine,ZINATHA was given the authority, in conjunction with the Council, todiscipline members who violate regulations that define their practice inZINATHA's Constitution.The introduction in Parliament of the bill that became the PractitionersAct of 1981 bears some attention. The national debate it inauguratedcontinues to the present day, and represents a struggle over culture andauthority in the new Zimbabwe. Ushewokunze, who could personallyattest for some of the claims of traditional medicine (Frucht, 1987),presented the bill with the standard descriptions of traditional medicineas "an immediate, existing source of health care" that should "worktogether with western medicine". He spoke of it being "holistic", familiar,and effective, "cheaper", and a source of "self-reliance". Nor did he fail tomention that traditional medicine is "people's culture" that could "redressa balance too long tipped by arrogance and ignorance". Explaining thatthe Council created by the bill would be able to "upgrade and integratetraditional midwives", Ushewokunze noted it would substitute for the"controls of a traditional community" that no longer exists to protectpeople from "charlatans" (Ushewokunze, 1984), and would be able tomonitor unhygienic practices and instruments and standardizedsubstances (Herald, July 1, 1981).250TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEMany hopes and fears were stirred by the bill, and both houses ofParliament discussed it at great length, often revealing the cultural gapsamong Africans as well as between them and white representatives. Inthe House of Assembly, where the bill got its first and most importanthearing many spoke in favour, even with distinct pride in their Africannessand indigenous culture. Some asked questions about the operation of thebill such as who would be covered and what role the Council wouldhave There was opposition, however, and not just from white members.One African representative declared she did "not know of any ngangawho has actually helped a patient", and demanded to know how aneducated person could "sit with a nganga who never went to school, whodoes not even clean his teeth". This brought inaudible remarks, so shecontinued "No, this is very serious. Most of the ngangas I know arepeople who are psychological. If he has failed in life then he goes to be annganga" (Parliamentary Debates, 1981).Another African representative, this one also a church Bishop, wantedto know how the bill would deal with traditional healers who are "saidnot only to know of the techniques of healing people, but also to know ofways to get people sick" (Parliamentary Debates, 1981). He was referringto witchcraft, a subject making news at that moment after a Senatortracked down, gathered and burnt the paraphernalia of an alleged witch-hunter who was scheduled to be arrested, and would probably be triedunder the Suppression of Witchcraft Act of 1899. The issue was not, then,whether or not witch-hunting activities would be controlled by theTraditional Medical Practitioners Act, since the Suppression of WitchcraftAct ostensibly did that. Even Ushewokunze emphasized that the billbefore Parliament had nothing to do with witchcraft (Herald, July 22,1981). Still, witchcraft, witch-finding, and traditional doctors wereassociated in the public mind, and would continue to haunt the issue oftraditional medicine in the new Zimbabwe.In the Senate, an appointed body with much less power than theHouse, there was a barrage of what Ushewokunze identified as "colonialarrogance" and "cultural chauvinism" (Herald, July 17, 1981). One whiteSenator described the debate as "one of the worst we have ever had inthis House" (Herald, July 22, 1981). Another one complained that theinformation provided by Ushewokunze was "scanty" and "an affront toour intelligence", and referred to the bill as "a macabre practical joke"and a "confidence trick". He accused Ushewokunze of seeking "to clothein a professional mantle a group of individuals who have no recognisedstandards of learning and skill". Other white Senators demanded that thewords "medicine" and "Council" be stricken from the bill, insisting thatthese terms were the exclusive preserve of western medicine. One Senatoradmitted that neither he nor the other whites knew anything about theG. WAITE £51subject of traditional medicine, and expressed doubt that the blackSenators knew any more, "with the exception of the Senator Chiefs". Oneof these Senators, a Chief for 40 years, who until then had apparentlystayed out of the debate, agreed that "chiefs knew more about the practiceof traditional medicine than anyone else", and pronounced, "there isnothing bad about this Bill" (Herald, July 15, 22, 1981).Within days of the enactment of the Traditional Medical PractitionersAct of 1981, Ushewokunze was sent an effigy of himself with needles stuckthrough the head and heart. Displaying the macabre gift to the press,Ushewokunze declared that if he "preach[ed] the gospel of maintainingthe status quo, the reactionary fringe would not be ganging up against meand instead of effigies, I would be receiving gold bars" (Herald, July 29,1981). Two months later Ushewokunze was dismissed from his positionas Minister of Health. He had used his 15 months in the post to challengethe monopolies of western medicine and private family planning. One ofhis last speeches, given in Parliament just before his dismissal, concernedfamily planning. Some Senators had raised a motion in support of theFamily Planning Association and its recently resigned director.Commenting on the resignation, Ushewokunze said "good riddance tobad rubbish". Explaining to the movers of the motion why he bannedDepo Provera, he first rhetorically demanded to know "who has saidwomen in the Third World countries should act as experimental animals?"And he concluded, "I could go on on this issue, but I do not want to castpearls before swine" (Ushewokunze, 1984).Replaced by his deputy, Dr. Simon Mazorodze, who died suddenly inoffice a few months later, Ushewokunze was rehabilitated the next yearand went on to hold the portfolios of several other ministries. Withouthim at the helm of the health ministry, however, traditional medicinewent its way. Like the ruins at Great Zimbabwe (Garlake, 1983), ZINATHAwas ignored by the government until the mid-1980s, when the issue ofauthority over traditional medicine was raised again.TRADITIONAL MEDICINE IN ZIMBABWE: AFTER RECOGNITIONSpeaking to members of ZINATHA right after Ushewokunze had beensacked, Chavunduka noted "the Government had done all it could torecognise the traditional healers", asserting that "now it is up to us toorganise ourselves and remain strong". Chavunduka reminded hisaudience that "Today's n'anga" faced "a new war of liberation aimed atchanging people's mentality". Their job, he explained, was "to teachpeople to respect their own customs, their own medicines and their ownleaders" (Herald, Oct. 19, 1981).252 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEThe Registrar and the Traditional Practitioners' Council created bythe Traditional Medical Practitioners Act were not appointed until 1986, afull five years after its passage. Until then the Ministry of Health neitherappointed its seven members to the Council nor made appointments toZINATHA's Executive Committee, where seats were reserved for it underZINATHA's Constitution. Chavunduka would later attribute these delaysto the "continuing debate over traditional medicine in the country" and"[a] number of leaders" arguing that "the Government was wrong ingranting traditional healers legal recognition" (Chavunduka, 1986a). Someof this opposition made an early appearance in public statements bygovernment officials shortly after the Traditional Medical PractitionersAct was passed.For instance, Simon Muzenda, the Deputy Prime Minister, and SenatorJoseph Culverwell, the Deputy Minister of Education and Culture, jointlyaddressed a state technical college" graduation where they launched atirade against traditional medicine. Culverwell dismissed the healers as a"drawback to Zimbabwe's educational system and its development",chiding them for regarding themselves as "workers of wonder" when infact "their claims are worthless". Muzenda concurred, sarcastically asking"why were hundreds of people dying when n'angas who claim to performmiracles are here?" (Herald, Sept. 11, 1981). The point, however, is notwhether or not healers make great claims for themselves; western-traineddoctors often do the same. What is revealed by these comments are themixed signals on traditional medicine coming from the government; thelegislative branch had legitimized it and the executive branch wasdenigrating it.The government-controlled press also was inclined to take a jaundicedview of traditional medicine. One columnist satirically wrote about therecent recognition and rising popularity of traditional doctors, mockingthem as con artists living.in comfortable homes paid for with fees fromgreedy people who hoped the medicines they purchased would helpthem get jobs or public offices (Herald, October 3, 17, 1981). To be sure,the press occasionally reported favourably on ZINATHA and traditionalhealers, but this was not the norm (Herald, Sept. 10; Nov. 6, 1981).Where the government and the press may have equivocated, thechurch came out fully against ZINATHA. Singling out the Catholichierarchy, Chavunduka accused the church of embarking on a campaignto discredit ZINATHA, hostilities he attributed to its fear of losing membersand income. While denying the existence of a campaign, the Archbishopand chairman of the Catholic Bishops' Conference admitted that theCatholic Church objected to the use "of superstitious beliefs in seekingcuratives" (Herald, Oct. 19,1981).G. WAITE 253Attacks on ZINATHA and traditional medicine in general subsidedsoon after the granting of official recognition. Instead, new dissensionsurfaced among traditional practitioners. In late 1981, the press reportedthe existence of an organization Švariously called the Spirit Mediums'and True N'angas' Association of Central Africa (Herald, Nov. 16, 1981)and the True African N'angas' and Spirit Mediums' Association (Herald,Dec. 10, 1981) Š whose president, a certain Dr. Mucheka Gombera,claimed to be the authentic, elected leader of healers in Zimbabwe, andhad been for decades. Gombera also objected to Chavunduka's presidencyof ZINATHA on the grounds that Chavunduka was not a traditionalpractitioner, and criticized ZINATHA for not displaying pictures of MbuyaNehanda, the senior ancestress of the nation, in its offices (Herald, Nov.16, 1981). Gombera's criticism was not directed solely at ZINATHA. Healso lashed out at the government for compelling spirit mediums, likeother traditional medical practitioners, to pay fees to join ZINATHA. This,Gombera objected, was contrary to the tradition of "young men andwomen [giving] presents to the spirits[,] but now we have a situationwhere the Government, which is full of young men, compels its elders topay money" (Herald, Dec. 10, 1981).By late 1982, leadership of the anti-ZINATHA True N'angas hadapparently passed from Gombera to one Dr. Kenneth Ntopa (Herald, Nov.2; Nov. 26; Dec. 7, 1982; Frucht, 1987). The True N'angas were thenholding meetings in several Zimbabwean towns, where spirit mediumsfrom several Central African countries competed with each other to driveout evil spirits and heal people in order to see which country had thebest healers (Herald, Nov. 2, 26,1982). They held a mass meeting, too, topray for rain to end the drought that year, which they blamed on thearmed unrest in Zimbabwe (Herald, Dec. 7, 1982).ZINATHA, however, spurned such activities, determined as it was todemonstrate that traditional medicine was not contrary to the officialideology of "scientific socialism" but was, in fact, "a system based onscience . . . waiting to be developed into a more powerful science"(Herald, Nov. 1, 1982). Over the next several years, ZINATHA contributedto this process by instituting a number of programmes aimed atprofessionalizing the healers and creating the outlines of a parallel healthcare service based on traditional medicine. The True N'angas also beganto professionalize themselves but had their own distinct way of doingthings (Frucht, 1987). Some healers (Sibanda, 1992) belonged to bothZINATHA and the True African N'anga Herbalist Association (TANHA), asthe organized True N'anga tendency was now called. ZINATHA, however,was the organization upon which recognition had been conferred. Solelyfor this reason, some healers joined ZINATHA, even though they did not254 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEaccept its claims to be the only legitimate representative of healers inZimbabwe (Frucht, 1987).Besides distinctions in the operations of ZINATHA and TANHA,differences in the orientation and practice of urban and rural healers alsobegan to appear (Frucht, 1987), though undoubtedly such sifting hadbeen going on for some time. These issues certainly deserve a study intheir own right. Here, the focus is restricted to what ZINATHA did afterrecognition and how it served as the lightning rod for public grievancesagainst traditional medicine.Immediately upon obtaining government recognition, ZINATHAopened a research centre, a department of education, and two medicalcolleges. The colleges taught hygiene, uses of traditional medicine andaccount keeping, but not spirit possession (Chavunduka, 1986a). Inaddition, ZINATHA operated four clinics in Harare and one in Bulawayofor training and treatment (Herald, Jan. 11, 1983). All of these projectsfloundered for lack of money (Herald, Feb. 23, 1983; Chavunduka, 1984;1986a; ZINATHA, 1986), with the exception of the education department,which was quite active (Chavunduka, 1986a).An early issue for the healers was continuous access to traditionalmedicines. Some healers were beginning to travel outside the country formedicines, and others were thought to be possibly hoarding medicinesmade from species that had become extinct (Herald, Feb. 2, 7, 1983). Toaddress these concerns, ZINATHA began to grow herbs and trees on asmall plot at its research centre. The space was insufficient, however,and the idea was raised of purchasing a farm (Herald, Feb. 2, 1983).Lacking the money for this, ZINATHA began planting trees throughoutthe country, starting in 1985 on the same day each year, to ensureindefinite supplies of some medicines (Herald, Dec. 11, 1990).Other issues surfaced and challenged ZINATHA to find solutions.More than once traditional doctors complained that they needed financialhelp to build larger facilities for their growing practices (Herald, Sept. 10,1981; Oct. 18, 1990). Others complained about patients not paying alltheir fees after treatment (Herald, Oct. 18,1990). On the reverse side werepatients not satisfied with their treatment, who wanted their money back(Herald, July 23, 1990). There was also the problem of employers notrecognizing certificates of sickness from traditional doctors, nor couldtraditional healers submit treatment bills to medical aid societies (Frucht,1987). One particular category of practitioners, traditional midwives,wanted to receive "the same treatment as village health workers andclinic midwives" and be compensated for their services by the government(Blair Research, 1988). Then there were the herbalists who were givinglocal scientists their herbal medicines and complained that after fiveyears of collaboration they "had never had any feedback on what wasG. WAITE 255discovered", and feared "they might be robbed of their knowledge" (Herald,Jan. 9, 1992). Other herbalists wanted the opportunity to sell theirmedicines in pharmacies (Herald, Jan. 8, 1992). There was also the issueof increasing dialogue between western and traditional doctors, and ofmaking clear to traditional doctors the terms under which they werepractising in the new Zimbabwe.In his capacity as president of ZINATHA, Chavunduka was especiallyattuned to the question of compensating healers for their services. Henoted that since a very large number of people, perhaps upward to 80and 90%, used traditional medicine at some point in their lives, some ofthe medical budget should be allocated to traditional healers (Herald,Jan. 11, 1983). His argument fell on deaf ears, of course, as even themidwives being trained by the government were told in no uncertainterms that they "were still not being employed and would not be paid bythe Ministry of Health", and were to continue charging "according totraditional customs" (Herald, April 26, 1984). Nevertheless, ZINATHAappealed to the public on the matter of compensation, encouraging peoplewho belonged to medical aid societies to find ways to be reimbursed fortheir use of traditional medicine (Herald, July 12, 1990). Of course,members of the medical aid societies were generally people of means(Agere, 1987), who were not the most likely to consult traditional doctors.Pursuing the subject further, however, ZINATHA proposed launching amedical aid scheme of its own, complete with a register of specialists(Herald, July 23, 1990).As a means of making certain common medicines more widely andeasily available, ZINATHA unveiled plans for a company to manufacturealready-tested medicines, and proposed opening shops throughout thecountry where people could go without first consulting traditional doctors(Herald, Jan. 14, 1992). Around the same time these plans were revealed,ZINATHA herbalists decided they would protect their products in thefuture by only providing research scientists with powdered forms ofmedicines, labeled with the contributor's name and address, and thediseases treated with the medicine. They also agreed to form a committeeof ZINATHA members and scientists to oversee the issuing of receipts tocollaborating herbalists to ensure that they receive payments, and gaveZINATHA more oversight over the research. The herbalists were adamantabout keeping these controls within the hands of ZINATHA and out of thereach of the Ministry of Health (Herald, Jan. 9, 1992).While it was not difficult to convince research scientists about thevalue of traditional medicines, western doctors were far more skeptical,believing as they did that their system of medicine was the only true onebecause it was scientific and the traditional one was not (Herald, Nov. 1,1982). ZINATHA's efforts to bring about greater co-operation between256 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEwestern and traditional medicine began with a series of meetings organizedby its department of education after 1982 (Chavunduka, 1986a). By 1983and 1984, Chavunduka was able to report considerable progress in gettingwestern practitioners to overcome their reluctance to recognize traditionalhealers as colleagues (Herald, Jan. 11, 1983; Dec. 19, 1984). Further workin this direction came in 1984, when first and second year medical studentswere required to take a Behavioural Science Course taught by a medicalanthropologist, who instructed them on traditional family values,traditional medicine and its referral systems, the expertise of traditionalhealers in mental disorders and maternal and child care, and the attitudesof modern professionals toward traditional healers. A similar course hadbeen taught jointly from 1978 to 1981 by Chavunduka and the late DrMichael Gelfand, but was canceled after opposition by faculty and students(Frucht, 1987).On the other side, the budding traditional medical service needed to"rationalise where possible traditional medical procedures, to eliminateincompetent healers and to prevent as far as possible abuse and quackery"(Chavunduka, 1986a). A series of seminars organized by ZINATHA informedtraditional doctors about the regulations and laws affecting their practice,such as the Traditional Medical Practitioners Act, the Drugs Control Act,the Witchcraft Suppression Act, hygiene and ethics (Chavunduka, 1984).Local and regional meetings of ZINATHA were used to press the caseagainst "abuse and quackery", activities forbidden under ZINATHA'sConstitution, and to remind practitioners about the laws. Another avenuefor bringing "discipline" to the profession was through registration.The Traditional Practitioners Council, which was to appoint aRegistrar, according to the terms of the Traditional Medical PractitionersAct of 1981, itself had never been appointed. Therefore, ZINATHAperformed the work of registering practitioners. ZINATHA also compiledand distributed Registers in which healers were listed by district, branchof traditional medicine, and specialties. Registration and the Registerswere underwritten entirely by the joining and annual fees of ZINATHAmembers, the number of which went from 5,000 in 1981 (Herald, Sept. 10,1981) to 20,000 in 1984 (Chavunduka, 1984). Most active members wereherbalists, although in the general population of traditional practitionersthey represented only 16% (Chavunduka, 1986b)."Discipline" was always a concern of ZINATHA, as it was of earlierorganizations that wanted to "drive away fake herbalists who go aboutselling their herbs in the streets just for gain" (Bantu Mirror, 1956), orwhose constitutions prohibited accusing anyone of witchcraft or helpingthe public "trace stolen goods" (Mambo, 1974). While its Constitutionmade no mention of witchcraft and witch-hunting, a booklet published byZINATHA in 1981 emphasized that "No healer may attempt to try a case ofG. WAITE 257witchcraft" (Chavunduka, 1984; 1986a). Perhaps the existing WitchcraftSuppression Act should have been sufficient, but given the government'schronic inability to enforce this law, officials began to hold ZINATHAresponsible for stopping the practice of witch-finding.The government was pushed in this direction in early 1986, afterpersistent and numerous complaints in the media about traditionalpractitioners whose witch-finding activities allegedly posed a danger tothe public. Prior to the recognition of ZINATHA several individuals hadbeen arrested for witch-finding (Herald, Jan. 27, 1983). Then, a year afterthe passage of the Traditional Medical Practitioners Act, a registeredZINATHA member entered the news for his witch-finding activities, andconcerns were raised about ZINATHA's role in curbing this practice.When, in late 1982, the above-mentioned ZINATHA member began to"smell out" witches, people began to complain to their local officialsabout the turmoil witchcraft accusations were causing their families.Some of those who had hired him wanted their money back for thisreason. When officials investigated, they discovered that the witch-finderwas registered with ZINATHA and concluded that he was "protected byofficial papers of ZINATHA". No charges were filed and his activitiescontinued. Months later, when Chavunduka was asked by the press tocomment on the case, he revealed that he had personally registered thehealer and questioned him about his background, since it had been saidthat the man was a witch-finder before independence. Appraising him "ofthe rules of the association which clearly forbid such activities",Chavunduka claimed to have warned the witch-finder that "strongdisciplinary action would be taken against him" for any violations, sinceZINATHA's primary role was to accredit healers "in their capacity asmedical practitioners, but not for witch-hunting" (Herald, Jan. 27, 1983).The problem, of course, was that there was a demand for witch-finding ceremonies (Herald, Jan. 27, 1983). Reporters pursuing thisparticular story interviewed several people, including the healer himself.His healing abilities were not in question and it was also clear that peoplecame to him of their own free will to seek his help in uncovering witches.One chief, asked by a reporter why he had come the distance he had, andif there were no medical practitioners in his area, replied that he had"heard about the work this man performs and [had] come in search ofhim". The chief needed to take the witch-finder back to his village thatnight because it "is full of sick people and I want it cleansed", butunfortunately for him, there were already several other chiefs waiting forthe healer to return with them to "cleanse" their villages. Taking a hintfrom the complaints being raised against him, the witch-finder agreed tostop receiving payments in advance. The local Senator, when asked whathe thought of all this, expressed concern that "now that the rains have258 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEfallen people should be in the fields ploughing and planting. But everybodyis moving around following this man." He added, "[i]f he medically curesthem, it's all right", but he detested the way in which witch-finding"leaves families divided" (Herald, Jan. 31,1983). Numerous other cases ofwitch-finding were reported in subsequent years.Chavunduka called reports of witch-hunting "very disturbing". Henoted that ZINATHA members frequently reported cases to the police,and errant members would be suspended or expelled (Herald, April 26,1984). At ZINATHA meetings members were reminded that it was illegalto name people as witches or to instigate witch-hunts, and they wereurged to exercise greater discipline (Herald, June 11, 1984). Yet, localauthorities, including ZANU party chairmen, were known to ask ZINATHAto send witch-finders to their area (Herald, Feb. 10, 1986). Some whitesalso used witch-finders. For instance, one white farmer reportedly hired awitch-finder when workers "failed to turn up for duties, allegedly becausethey were bewitched" (Herald, Nov. 28,1985). Other whites, one a farmerand the other a garage-owner, engaged witch-finders to smell out suspectedthieves among their employees, which included white workers at thegarage (Herald, Nov. 25,1986; May 7, 1990).The government's frustration with witch-finding activities wasrevealed in a comment made by the Home Affairs Minister, Enos Nkala,who noted the difficulty of arresting witch-hunters "because peopleinvolved were reluctant to report to the police" (Herald, April 26, 1984).But, after a number of cases in 1985 that involved deaths of allegedwitches, the authorities began to demand action from ZINATHA, especiallyafter one of its members was arrested in early 1986 for conducting witch-hunts (Sunday Mail, Jan. 26,1986).The late 1985, early 1986 witch-finding activities of Size Chikanga, amember of ZINATHA, raised the issue of authority over traditionalmedicine, and led the government to take steps to gain control, everZINATHA. Speaking in early 1986, in the communal area where Chikangawas practising, the Minister of Information, Nathan Shamuyarira, assertedthat while the government supports "traditional culture, chieftainship,[and] spirit mediums who used traditional herbs", it "does not supportwhat some members of ZINATHA are doing". Shamuyarira attackedChavunduka directly, stating that "[s]ome members of ZINATHA are notqualified medicine men by African tradition Š their president, for example,is not a qualified herbalist: he is university professor". After assuring theaudience that Chikanga would be arrested and charged, Shamuyariraannounced that the government "would be looking more closely into theactivities of ZINATHA" (Herald, Jan. 3,1986).Joining the issue was the Minister of Home Affairs, Nkala, who, havingearlier mentioned the government's inability to crack down on witch-G. WAITE 259finding, now placed the blame squarely on ZINATHA, which he assailedas an organization of "undisciplined people". Nkala threatened that ifthe leadership does not discipline its people, then the Government willhave to step in and do it for them." He claimed that "ZINATHA has beengiven the wrong impression of its powers" and suggested the government"should look again into [its] activities" (Herald, 20 Jan. 1986).Subsequently, Prime Minister Robert Mugabe backed up his ministers.Declaring that the government's determination to "clamp down on witch-hunters and bogus spirit mediums was demonstrated by the recent arrest"of Size Chikanga, Mugabe attacked "bogus spirit mediums and witch-hunters" as a "retrogressive development". The Prime Minister demandedthat ZINATHA "get its house in order" and reorientate its membership"towards more scientific and therefore more positive approaches toherbal practice" (Sunday Mail, 26 Jan, 1986).Chavunduka was dismayed. "[A] few culprits", he lamented, wereplacing ZINATHA's name in "great disrespect and embarrassment", whileadmitting that the organization lacked the power to curtail witch-hunting,having neither the power to fine, suspend or imprison errant members'(Herald, Feb. 10, 1986). Some power resided in the Traditional MedicalPractitioners Council created by the Traditional Medical PractitionersAct of 1981, but previously ZINATHA had been unable to activate itbecause of the stalling tactics of the government (Herald, Jan. 11, 1983;The government, however, could no longer ignore ZINATHA, giventhe vengeance people were unleashing on suspected witches. For thefirst time since the Traditional Medical Practitioners Act was passed, theMinistry of Health in 1986 activated the Traditional Practitioners Councilby appointing its seven members while ZINATHA elected five more fromits ranks. The 12-member Council, which was to serve as the "high court"for the discipline of traditional practitioners (Herald, 10 Feb. 1986), wasby 1990 licensing healers on an annual basis (Herald, May 21,1990). Yetone problem, the appointment of a Registrar by the Minister of Health torun the affairs of the Council, remained stalled over the issue of whowould pay his salary (Herald, 10 Feb. 1986).ZINATHA also now took additional steps to control traditionalpractitioners, by setting up a disciplinary committee to suspend members(Herald, Feb. 10, 1986). Still, lack of real power and authority overpractitioners continued to haunt the organization. For instance, after thedisciplinary committee fined an unregistered midwife whose activitieshad generated negative publicity, it could not compel her to pay the fine(Herald, June 26, 1990). By the end of 1990, however, ZINATHA wascompiling lists of unregistered practitioners and circulating themthroughout the country, calling unregistered practitioners before the260 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEdisciplinary committee and fining them (Herald, Dec. 19,1990). ZINATHA'ssuccess in collecting fines was another matter entirely.By the late 1980s, ZINATHA was experiencing additional stress withthe appearance of healers, or individuals claiming to be healers, allegingthey could cure Acquired Immunity Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS). Oneman asserted that "he had been sent to cure all the 'incurable' ills thatafflict mankind and defy modern medical science". Reporting that people,"some of them high-office holders, flock to him seeking salvation", aneditorial noted that such "charlatans" had "tarnished the reputation ofauthentic healers in the eyes of the public and fuelled scepticism towardsgenuine traditional and faith healers". The editors called on ZINATHA,"with the help of the police", to "end the reign of charlatans among theirmidst", wisely adding that no legislation could put these healers out ofbusiness "because it is the naivete and desperation of the patients whichgive rise to this breed of dubious traditional and faith healers", whoseincreasing numbers were "largely the result of soaring unemployment"(Herald, Nov. 14, 1989).A few months after these comments were made, another case wasreported of a man who claimed that the ancestors had instructed him ina dream to "take up the Aids healing mission", showing him "the herbs forboth its prevention and cure". Reporters wrote of seeing "scores ofpeople" at his home, though his neighbours "remained sceptical abouthis alleged healing powers and said they were surprised to see peoplecoming to him for Aids treatment 'of all the diseases". This man ownedseveral general stores and had a license to market and sell, which headmitted "suited well his new-found occupation as Aids healer" (Herald,May 18, 1990).Editorializing about this latest case, the press pointed out that suchcases were not limited to rural areas, for individuals in the urban centrestrumpeted their abilities to cure AIDS, and recalled a recent report of a"self-styled 'prophet' who claimed he could 'heal' by the laying on ofhands while in a self-induced trance". While the editors admitted that "acure, if and when it is found, could well come from traditional medicine",they cautioned that such a cure would receive "the closest scientificscrutiny, something the charlatans avoid at all costs". Concerned aboutthe danger of spreading the disease by people who believed they were nolonger infected, the editorial warned that the public was demanding"tougher action" by the police, the courts and the legislature, adding that"ZINATHA, too, has been urged to take a tough line with members whooverstep the mark" (Herald, May 19,1990).ZINATHA initially responded by warning the public about AIDS-cureclaims and reminding them that traditional healers had to be licensed. Itpointed out that some traditional medicines were known to relieveG. WAITE 261symptoms, and advised people to consult ZINATHAfor referrals to healerswho were specially trained to deal with AIDS (Herald, May 21, 1990). Thepress was not satisfied with these comments, however. The editors of thegovernment-owned paper, The Herald, demanded to know why ZINATHAdid not condemn outright the aforementioned "healer" and others.ZINATHA's reaction to the stories, they argued, was "lukewarm". Theeditors then asked rhetorically, "when has ZINATHA issued more thanthe warning put out in this latest Aids cure case or at most administereda slap on the wrist?" (Herald, May 22,1990). Actually, besides conductingits own research on AIDS and launching an awareness campaign amongits members, there was little ZINATHA could do other than summonerrant healers before its disciplinary committee (Herald, May 23,1990).CONCLUSIONIt is typical of Zimbabwe that the debate over the place of traditionalmedicine in post-colonial society should so centrally involve the press, aforum that colonial Zimbabweans had long used to air their grievancesand aspirations (West, 1990). Zimbabwe is also a country "rich inintellectual and analytic skills in the field of social science research"(Mandaza, 1987), a scholarly tradition well represented by the likes ofChavunduka and Ushewokunze, two dominant voices in the debate ontraditional medicine. The quest for national identity in Zimbabwe involvedthe recognition, as one writer put it, that "traditional medicine is part andparcel of [the country's] culture" (Agere, 1987). But this, as we have seen,is a highly charged and controversial matter. Not only do the debatesconcern the place of traditional medicine, but also who should control itand toward what end. The formation of ZINATHA and its recognition bythe government were attempts to control the practice of traditionalmedicine. It is, however, not easily controlled, as ZINATHA and thegovernment discovered, to their chagrin.Nevertheless, the work done by ZINATHA, Ushewokunze and othersbears fruit. Take Dr Barbara Sibanda, a traditional practitioner in Bulawayo,Zimbabwe's second largest city, who seeks to combine the best of bothworlds Š traditional and western medicine Š not to integrate them butrather to let them complement each other. I met Dr Sibanda in the early1990s, and spent some time interviewing her and her staff, visiting herimmaculately clean facilities, and taking pictures of newborn babies,buildings already in use and others undergoing extension.Sibanda's mother had been a respected midwife and spirit medium inone of Bulawayo's African townships, where Sibanda herself was born.After training as a nurse, Sibanda was inspired by the spirit of her deceasedmother to undertake service on behalf of babies and their mothers. One262 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEof her business cards shows a baby being held by a nearly invisible hand,and another has a mother nursing her infant.In 1980, Sibanda began the Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinicin Bulawayo to bring together traditional and western medicine underthe same roof. It was the first of its kind in Zimbabwe. In 1981,Ushewokunze, while still Minister of Health, facilitated the registration ofher clinic, like any other medical facility. Sibanda recalled the early daysof the clinic and how the "Medical doctors were so much against thisconcept", believing that working in the same physical setting withtraditional healers would "jeopardise their ethics and dignity in society"(Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991). Yet, this was an ideawhose time had come.The main herbalist was Dr Dumezweni Sidambe, whose membershipin healers' associations dates to the 1950s, and who had known Sibanda'smother. He was impressed by Sibanda's "love in this field of healing and[her] helping the needy" (Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991).Another early staff member was a practicing western doctor, T. Harvey,who qualified as a physician in England and in the 1940s entered foreignservice in Asia, where he developed an interest in indigenous culturesand their medical systems. Dr Harvey had written extensively on thesesubjects relative to India and Zimbabwe, and in the 1950s helped toorganize an association of traditional healers that included himself andZimbabwe's first African medical doctor, Samuel Parirenyatwa. Afterretiring to England, his birthplace, Harvey realized his home wasZimbabwe, so he returned and joined the staff at Sibanda's Clinic (Harvey,1992; Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991). In the Clinic's"functional structure and methods", he sees the opportunity to promotewhat he calls the "active and practical dualism of Traditional Medicinecombined with the Allopathic discipline", a combination he believes is"ideally suited to the holistic approach of healing rather than the empiricalreductionist system on its own" (Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic,1991).The Traditional and Medical Clinic is supported by an organizationcalled "Friends of the Clinic", located in Bulawayo and headed by theregional manager of a government ministry. Hundreds of local familiesbelong to it and receive free health care at the Clinic as part of theirmembership. From 2,000 patients seen at the Clinic the first year, thenumbers had grown to 20,000 by 1990. In addition to the services givenby the herbal and western doctors, dental advice, family planning servicesand free immunizations were available (Sibanda, 1992; ZimbabweTraditional and Medical Clinic, 1991).In addition to this clinic, Dr Sibanda opened Kings Maternity Home in1990 in another part of Bulawayo, with support from the Ministry ofG. WAITE 263Health, Bulawayo's City Health Department, and donations from the US,Canadian and Netherlands Embassies. The Home includes a maternityward staffed by nurse-midwives who practise natural childbirthing. Itoffers ante and post natal services, immunizations of children and naturalfamily planning. Dr Sibanda trains local midwives and maintains contactwith others, whom she encourages to use the Home, something she saidthe government should be promoting in clinics throughout the countrybut was not (Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991).Besides these facilities, Sibanda has, since the late 1970s, operated asmaller clinic, her first, in a village 20 kilometres outside the city centre.When I visited, this clinic was scheduled to move into a communitycentre Sibanda was then building. Sibanda hoped to increase the clinic'swork by getting a full-time medical staff person. Like the larger clinics,but on a part-time basis, this clinic also offers free care to the indigent,immunizations, and preventive-health education (Kings Maternity Home,1994; Sibanda, 1992; Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991).We should think, with an impressive array of services like these, thatDr Sibanda would be content. But she is not. If she could, Dr Sibanda,would create state of the art facilities for birthing services, where westernand traditional medicine would be brought under the same roof (Sibanda,1992). She is held back only by lack of money and the advanced technologyit could buy, a common experience in Africa, and obstacles herresourcefulness, unfortunately, cannot overcome.Despite the heights to which she cannot soar, Dr Sibanda has putinto practice a vision of traditional and western medicine working side byside. She also shares her organizational abilities and her "love in this fieldof healing" with healers outside Zimbabwe. In 1986 she was instrumentalin the founding of the International Organisation of Traditional MedicalPractitioners and Researchers, which by 1990 had branches in over 12countries on three continents. Its president was a Nigerian, while theSecretary General and Director of Research were both Zambian. For herwork in traditional medicine, Sibanda has received honours from fellowAfricans outside Zimbabwe (Sibanda, 1992; Zimbabwe Traditional andMedical Clinic, 1991).Within Zimbabwe, her work is also esteemed. In 1991, the TenthAnniversary celebration of the Traditional and Medical Clinic was attendedby the Minister of Health, Timothy Stamps, Herbert Ushewokunze, thenMinister of Energy and Water Development and an Honorary Member oithe Clinic, the Governors of Matabeleland South and North, and theMayor of Bulawayo. Fraternal greetings were sent by traditionalpractitioners' organizations in West, East, Central and Southern Africa,and even by the Prime Minister of Swaziland. Healers in Europe, NorthAmerica and Australia, who practise alternative therapies and have visited264 TRADITIONAL MEDICINE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY IN ZIMBABWEthe Clinic over the years, sent congratulations or brought them in person(Sibanda, 1992; Zimbabwe Traditional and Medical Clinic, 1991).The year after the anniversary celebration, the Zimbabwean Womenin Contemporary Culture Trust, formed in 1991 to encourage women'screative work and local and regional networks, selected 54 women,including Dr Sibanda, for its first Diary-Notebook (Zimbabwean Women,1992). Interestingly enough, Dr Sibanda was not featured for her medicalwork, but rather for having organized the Zimbabwe Traditional Musicand Cultural Dancers Association in 1987. By 1992 this Association, locatedin Bulawayo, comprised almost 40 groups; it organized workshops andfestivals, and encouraged women artists to be "members and decision-makers" (Zimbabwean Women, 1992). 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