Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Ahead of us a cliff reared up, and in its shadows I saw a recess in the stone, a natural
cavern in which yet more fires were burning. It was exactly as I had imagined a witch doc-
tor's hideaway to be - peculiarly so. My imagination, stoked by Hollywood clichés, was
being fed images to keep it alive. Smoke from incense sticks billowed in great reefs from
the mouth of the cave, lending the cove a malign air. A group of camp followers, half-na-
ked - and many of them disabled - gathered around one of the beach fires, stirring the
contents of a cast iron cauldron. The spearheads, blades pointed upwards, suddenly took
on a devilish air.
'You know what this is, Lev.' I was about to tell Boston it was downright creepy when
he cut me off. 'It is
branding
. Mama Fina isn't even her real name. It's Sylvia. All of this
- the smoke, the cave - she knows what she's doing. She is a clever woman, this Mama
Fina.'
Boston was right. Mama Fina, he explained, had started out life as an orphan wandering
the Mabira Forest east of Kampala, but, forty years on, was living the life of a fabulously
wealthy business woman. This cavern we were approaching was not her home; it was her
place of business, a store front for a very particular product. Mama Fina had made her cash
every which way she could, first as a housemaid, a cleaner and washer girl, before taking
over a textile business and beginning a chain of stores. She had even, Boston assured me,
gone on to monopolise the
boda-boda
taxi service in Kampala. But it was here, in 'heal-
ing', that she had truly made her money.
'Casting spells, mixing potions, chanting and singing, praying to the gods of water and
wind and fire.' Boston seemed to take great delight in recounting the list of acts she per-
formed. 'She is an actress, Lev, but these Ugandans believe her. Did you know, she is the
president's personal healer . . .'
Mama Fina was waiting for us in the mouth of the cavern. As the fog around her parted,
I saw urns and pottery chalices arranged in delicate piles. Mama Fina was enormous. As
she approached, she waddled like one of the ducks out on the lake. She was wearing an ill-
fitting traditional dress, the bottom hem heavy with dirt, and her deep black eyes exuded
what I took for a keenly focused greed. Her black hair was cropped close to her scalp and,
on each of her fat fingers, huge jewels sat in rings. I was about to introduce myself when
she opened her mouth and hollered four belligerent words.
'Take off your shoes!'
Boston looked to me. Half of him had the air of a naughty schoolboy, but the other half
was distinctly unimpressed.
Once we had taken off our shoes, Mama Fina's hand shot out and clutched me by the
wrist. 'You have kept me waiting,' she breathed and, barely concealing her anger, dragged
me across the sand to one of the driftwood shrines.
'Don't worry, Lev. She is only going to bless you.'
