Travel Reference
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ded around me, in all its freezing glory. Gasping for air, I reeled back - and, when I could
finally rub the milk from my eyes, I saw Mama Fina's face open in a wry chuckle.
'The ceremony is over,' she declared, and promptly tramped back to the shore of the
lake.
On the beach I was presented with a spear and badly carved shield for my protection,
charms I was entitled to as one of the blessed. Boston, I was later to learn, had given her
258,000 Ugandan shillings for her services today. That was the equivalent of around £60.
Not bad work if you could get it, I thought.
'That was her magic?' I asked as we watched her waddle away across the beach, to
where the black Land Cruiser was waiting. The goat tried to resist being pulled behind her,
but his attempts came to nothing; he was, I guessed, about to become somebody's lunch.
'Do you feel blessed?' asked Boston.
If this had happened at home, I might have felt violated. 'Perhaps just a little . . . be-
wildered.'
But our display in the water hadn't even drawn the attention of the onlookers from the
beach. To them, it had just been another blessing among many: an ordinary day. Uganda, I
had seen, was rife with magicians like Mama Fina. At the roadsides we had passed posters
and flags advertising their dubious services: remedies for malaria, for syphilis, even for
AIDS; help with finding lost property and lost lovers. In the back pages of the newspapers
there was more of the same: Dr Kamaagagi was everywhere, selling his services as a spir-
itual specialist in erectile dysfunction.
'If you want,' said Boston, 'I can take you to Owino. It is a market, in the centre of
Kampala. There you can buy almost any fetish in the world. Bones, animal skins, snake
poison, toads and cats. Masks and potions, herbs and trinkets, little bags of powder. You
can get it all, Lev.' He stopped. 'Do you want to grow your penis by six inches?'
I stammered in reply.
'They can do anything for you, these magicians.'