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The rise of traditional African

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310

Missionalia 34:2/3 (Aug/Nov 2006) 310323

The rise of traditional African religion in

post-apartheid South Africa
Philippe Denis*
Abstract
The paper discusses the state of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South
Africa. It argues that since the coming of democracy this form of religion has occupied
a more important position in civil society than ever before. The new political situation
has created a context that is eminently favourable to the expansion of traditional
African religion. This happens in several ways. First, as an essential element of
indigenous knowledge systems, it is recognised as a field of scientific research.
Second, various steps are taken, among health practitioners and in Parliament, to give
traditional healers formal recognition. Third, in the Christian churches more and more
theologians openly advocate a dialogue with African traditional religion. Fourth, in
various parts of the country, in KwaZulu-Natal and in the Eastern Cape in particular,
groups of women vigorously promote the renewal of virginity testing, as a way of
combating the spread of HIV/AIDS. In the new South Africa, African traditional religion
has become more visible, but it is also changing. To gain recognition it has to fulfil a
variety of new legal, social and cultural requirements.
Key words: African Renaissance, South Africa, indigenous knowledge systems,
inculturation, traditional African religion, traditional healers, virginity
testing.

In April 1994, for the first time in history, the South African elections were
open to the black majority. The installation of Nelson Mandelas
government the following month opened an entirely new page in the history
of the country. Two years later, a constitution was adopted, making South
Africa one of the most democratic countries in the world. A main
characteristic of this constitution was its resolutely secular nature. From
henceforward, no one religion would take precedence over any other. In
contrast to the former regime which was Christian and which maintained
strong links with the Dutch Reformed Church, post-apartheid South Africa
proposed treating all religions equally even though the Christian religion
dominated the religious scene.
This article focuses on the consequences of this new political,
economic and cultural situation on traditional African religion. It is
doubtless too early to measure, with precision, the effects of the removal of
apartheid on religious practices nevertheless, certain observations can
already be made. The country is, indeed, changing and rapidly. One of the
most noticeable changes concerns precisely the relationship between civil
society and traditional African religion.
*

Philippe Denis is Professor of Church History, University of KwaZulu-Natal,

Pietermaritzburg. His email address is: denis@ukzn.ac.za

The rise of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

311

Traditional African religion

What is meant by traditional African religion? This expression, which some
authors prefer to use in the plural, almost inevitably leads to confusion. For
a more complete definition of traditional African religion, see Denis
(2004:177189). If religion means a set of beliefs and practices relating to a
transcendental reality (a definition which applies to most of the main
religions) justice is not done to traditional African religion whose main aim
is to ensure harmony between the living and the living dead, or the
ancestors. Distinctions which appear obvious to the West, such as those
between sacred and profane, religion and medicine, are not universally
practised in Africa. Traditional African religion is not an institutionalised
religion. It has no priests, cult, or doctrine. Its sole aim is to develop a
relationship of trust with the ancestors of the clan or tribe to prevent
misfortune, accidents or disease which threaten to occur if the ancestors do
not protect their descendants. For this reason, it is practised in the home
under the aegis of the head of the household. It is characterised neither by
ritual nor dogma. It is by carrying out specified rites that communication
with the ancestors is established. It is true that certain experts have
privileged access to the ancestors sangomas (diviners), inyangas
(traditional healers) abathandazi (spiritual mediators) but the training of
these experts and their manner of functioning is fundamentally different
from that of priests, rabbis and imams. In order to see traditional African
religion as a religion in the true sense of the word, it is necessary, as David
Chidester (1996:259f) suggests, to adopt a wider and more polysemic
definition of the word religion.
The term traditional is equally problematic. Nothing is less rigid
than traditional African religion. Its strength consists precisely in its ability
to adapt. It is perpetually being reinvented, to use an expression brought
into current usage by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (1992). It should
be noted that traditional African religion adopts different forms according to
regions, whether it be the rituals used to address the ancestors or the way in
which a supreme being, who fulfils the function of a super-ancestor, is
conceived.

From opposition to mutual accommodation1

Under apartheid, traditional African religion was widely practised in South
Africa but secretively. During the nineteenth century, the majority of
1

I borrow this phrase from the South African anthropologist James Kiernan. See his
essay, African and Christian: From Opposition to Mutual Accommodation in M.
Prozeski, Christianity amidst apartheid (Kiernan (1990:927). On the same theme,
Adam Ashforths remarkable study may be consulted. This Australian anthropologist
studied traditional African religion at the time of democratic change in Soweto
(Ashforth 2005).

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Denis

missionaries, whether they were Congregational, Methodist, Anglican, and

Lutheran or, later, Catholic, were aggressively opposed to traditional
African practices that they considered barbaric and based on superstition
(Mills 1995:153172). The initial accusation that Westerners levelled
against Africans was that they had no religion. The latters apparent
atheism scandalised them. Gradually, however, as contact between the two
groups was established, missionaries and colonial agents came to realise
that the natives practised a sort of natural religion which could well be used
as a basis for Christianity. From the middle of the nineteenth century, a
minority of missionaries, amongst whom were John William Colenso, the
Anglican bishop of Natal (Guy 1983), and Rufus Anderson, the secretary of
the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (McLean
2003) adopted this enlightened position. Another defender of ancestor
worship was the Protestant missionary William Charles Willoughby (1928;
see Ashforth 2005:179f) who stated that the religion of Jesus was what
Africans has always been looking for, albeit it in a confused way.
However from the end of the nineteenth century, it was not through
ecumenism that political and religious authorities ceased to campaign
against traditional African religion. Their approach was essentially
pragmatic. Unable to suppress African customs, they resigned themselves to
toleration. From the time that the colonial power had taken the decision to
use force to put an end to the traditional chiefs opposition, Christianity had
made great strides, but the converted, henceforth more numerous,
stubbornly continued to uphold their customs by incorporating them, more
or less clandestinely, into the practices of the new faith. The black clergy,
whose numbers were growing in the Protestant churches (Denis 1995),
reacted ambivalently. Thus it was that, at the turn of the century, Isaac
Wauchope, a Congregationalist pastor, had no qualms about publishing a
series of articles in the Xhosa language journal Imvo in which he defended
the morality of circumcision and the dowry, two customs that were
condemned by the missionaries.
This ambiguous situation continued into the twentieth century.
Traditional practices were not well thought of by the Whites. In the 1920s,
W.F. Eiselen, an influential Afrikaans anthropologist who would later be
appointed to an administrative post in the apartheid government, refused to
grant religious status to indigenous beliefs and denounced their archaic
nature (Chidester 1996:251253). In 1957, Parliament passed the
Suppression of Witchcraft Act, another act of colonial legislation which
declared divination to be illegal, thereby theoretically making the work of
traditional healers impossible (Ashforth 2005:286). It would seem, however,
that they were not ever prosecuted. In fact, traditional African religion
continued to be practised, tolerated, rather than accepted by the authorities.
As James Kiernan (1990:20) stated, the original dichotomy between

The rise of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

313

Christianity and traditional African religion was transformed into a polarity,

with an infinite variety of intermediary positions and multiple interaction
between the two poles. The spectacular spread of indigenous churches, and
particularly the Zionist churches (today, these churches represent one third
of South African Christianity) favoured, more than anything else, the
synthesis of Christianity and traditional African religion. By promising
healing and material advantages to their members, the Zionist churches
have similarities with indigenous religious forms, not in their rituals and
beliefs, which take their inspiration from the Christian doctrine, but in their
very function (Kiernan 1990:21). At their very centre, new and continually
changing ways of co-existence between the two traditions were constantly
being invented. At the heart of the missionary churches, the same duality,
although more discreet, was evident. Whether Presbyterian, Methodist,
Anglican, Lutheran or Catholic, most of the faithful in these churches
moved, without difficulty, from the religious services in the churches to the
rituals prescribed by custom and to visits to traditional healers (Denis 2004).

Traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

In a recent work, Adam Ashforth defends the thesis that the occurrences of
witchcraft and, by extension, traditional religious practices have
increased since the end of apartheid to the point of assuming the proportions
of an epidemic. He bases this observation on fieldwork carried out between
1990 and 2000 in Soweto, Johannesburgs large black township. The
reasons for this increase in occurrences of witchcraft are to be found,
according to him, in the uncertainties raised by the transition to democracy.
Never have the possibilities for development been greater but never, on the
other hand, have the frustrations brought about by the lack of resources
been as powerful. To this can be added AIDS, a disease with controversial
causes, which has resulted in a flood of patients visiting traditional healers.
In this connection, Ashforth speaks of a climate of spiritual
insecurity (Ashforth 2005).
It is not my intention to discuss this thesis that is based on research
which is largely qualitative and which has not been validated in other
regions of the country. What is important is to note that the new political
situation has created a context that is eminently favourable to the expansion
of traditional African religion in South Africa.
Since the coming of democracy to South Africa, traditional African
religion has occupied a position more important than ever before in public
life. An essential element of indigenous knowledge systems is that in the
future they will constitute an important field for scientific research. At the
same time, steps have been taken to make it one of the constituent
components of public health services. It has also become more widely
recognised by Christian churches and theological institutions. In the field, it

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has become more visible because of the reintroduction of traditional rituals

such as virginity testing.
Defence and promotion of indigenous knowledge
Traditional African religion has directly benefited from efforts on the part of
the South African government and Africanist intellectual circles to protect
promote and scientifically validate indigenous knowledge. This endeavour
is undertaken within the framework of the African Renaissance, a vague
concept but one which is politically important and which expresses the aim
of Thabo Mbekis government to restore to the African continent its dignity,
which was lost during several centuries of slavery, colonialism, and racial
discrimination.2 One of the aspects of this project involves science or, to use
the expression that has since been applied, knowledge creation. From the
apartheid era, South Africa has inherited a large network of universities,
archives, museums, and scientific societies, which the new government
intends placing at the disposal of the African Renaissance. Because of its
infrastructures, Nelson Mandelas country is best placed to implement this
task throughout the continent. The reinstatement of the indigenous
knowledge systems is the task particularly of the National Research
Foundation (NRF). In 1998, the government charged the NRF with
maintenance and promotion of research to facilitate the creation of
knowledge, innovation, and development in all domains of science and
technology including indigenous knowledge (Ashforth 2005:151). Of the
eight focus areas identified by the NRF at the time, the one granted the most
funding and to which the government paid most attention was precisely that
of indigenous knowledge systems, better known by the abbreviation IKS.
It is interesting to note that, at the same time, the United Nations and the
World Bank developed programmes aimed at promoting indigenous
knowledge systems amongst which was the World Intellectual Property
Organisation (WIPO) (Ashforth 2005:150).
The best-known area of implementation for indigenous knowledge is
pharmacology. In this regard complex questions concerning intellectual
property are raised which could have political or economical spin offs.3
However, as science and notably medicine and religion cannot be separated
in the African context, the concept of indigenous knowledge also includes
2

One of the first, if not the first, to use the expression African Renaissance was
Thabo Mbeki, when he was Vice President of South Africa. See Thabo Mbeki I am
and African, statement made on the occasion of the adoption of the Constitutional
Bill by the Constitutional Assembly, Cape Town, 8 May 1996, reprinted in Mbeki
(1998).
See, for example, the speech delivered by Mosibudi Mangena, Minister of Science
and Technology at a seminar of the Southern Africa Development Community
(SADC) in Pretoria on 7 June 2004. http://www.info.gov.za/speeches/2004/04062
109451001.htm

The rise of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

315

religion. The National Research Foundations website clearly recognises

this. It states, We need to understand IKS and its role in community life
from an integrated perspective that includes both spiritual and material
aspects of a society as well as the complex relation between them.4
The centres that are traditionally best equipped to study traditional
African religion are the university departments of Religious Studies. It was
whilst studying at one of these centres, firstly at Transkei University and
then at the University of Cape Town that Nokuzola Mndende, a young
Xhosa woman, discovered her role as (female) spokesperson for the religion
of her ancestors.5 Whilst practising the art of divination, after having
undergone the different stages of initiation, she continued her studies up to
doctoral level and worked as a lecturer and researcher at the University of
Cape Town. In 1998, she founded an institute that she named Icamagu, in
reference to the activities with which the ancestors are associated.6 Elected
to the Legislative Assembly in 1999 as a deputy of the United Democratic
Front, a break away of the African National Congress, she resigned from her
post in 2003 stating that her party did not respect her as a woman (see
Dispatch on line, 13 February 2003). Meanwhile, she was appointed on the
Commission for the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Cultural,
Religious and Linguistic Communities, a State created commission (in
terms of Article 9 of the SA Constitution) for the defence of indigenous
cultures. A practitioner and researcher, Nokuzola Mndende illustrates the
role that African intellectuals are playing in the promotion of traditional
African religion.
The battle of traditional healers to obtain legal recognition for
their profession
According to the Department of Health, 70% of South Africans consult
traditional healers, whose numbers have climbed to 300,000. The same
source states that traditional midwives (Etkind 2006) assist 60% of births. In
the absence of a formal register, these figures possess no more than an
indicative value. They are perhaps somewhat exaggerated but the extent of
the phenomenon cannot be denied.
Although forbidden under apartheid, traditional medicine was in fact
tolerated by the health authorities. Modern medicine and traditional
medicine coexisted discreetly in a country that, in any case, was divided
according to racial principles. Everything changed with the coming to
power of the ANC, an Africanist party whose elite, although educated in
4
5
6

Indigenous Knowledge Systems: <www.nrf.ac.za/focusareas/iks>

Nokuzola Mndende, interviewed by Isabel Phiri, 9 March 2002. Sinomlando Centre
for Oral History and Memory Work in Africa, University of KwaZulu-Natal.
Based in Cape Town, the Icamagu Centre has published half a dozen papers and
brochures on traditional African religion. See <www.icamaguinstitute.co.za>

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Denis

western universities, practised traditional medicine within the confines of

their homes. In 1994, taking the lead from the World Health Organisation
and UNICEF, which had for several years been recommending the
legalisation of traditional African medicine and its integration into the
public health system, the new government published a National Health
Plan for South Africa which proposed making traditional healing an
integral and recognised part of health in South Africa. The document did
not specify how this integration would take place but it did stipulate two
principles aimed at guiding the policies regarding public health in the years
to come: State recognition of traditional health and its regularisation. Used
to functioning on parallel planes since the beginnings of the colonial era, the
two systems that governed the health of the countrys citizens would be
called upon to cooperate in future. I have relied upon Ashforth (2005:286
289) for this section.
The first legislation based on this programme was the South African
Medicines and Medical Devices Regulatory Authority Act of 1998, a law
which regulated medicines for human or animal use. Significantly, the new
law under the heading complementary medicines, referred to traditional
medicines. Muthi, as they are called in South Africa, could not be sold
without the approval of the Medicines Control Council and a list of their
ingredients had to be displayed. It is hardly necessary to say that this
proviso was disregarded. Traditional medicine is a secret art. It was nave,
on the part of the authorities, to think that the traditional healers would
meekly accept submitting their practices to the control of officials in the
Department of Health (Ashforth 2005:299).
Meanwhile, the idea of giving legal recognition to traditional healers
was progressing. For them, it was, in the first place, a question of moral
recognition. Long looked down upon, they wanted to be recognised as
health agents on the same footing as and with equal rights to the
practitioners trained in faculties of medicine. However, recognition was also
financial: the inyangas and other traditional healers believed that they had
been wronged by the fact that their patients did not have access to the
benefits of medical aid schemes. In South Africa, private companies operate
these schemes but many employees, notably in the public sector, benefit
from medical aid. In the new South Africa, many of these employees are
blacks who, a priori, would make use of traditional healers.
An important step towards the recognition of traditional healers is the
Traditional Health Practitioners Bill, a draft bill passed by Parliament in
September 2004 which is due to be submitted to the National Council of
Provinces for ratification during 2006 before being signed by the President.
This document proposes the establishment of a Council of Traditional
Health Care Practitioners made up of representatives from different sectors
of medicine and charged with determining the criteria of access to the

The rise of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

317

profession of traditional healer. In the end, the aim is to establish a register

of accredited traditional healers whose patients would receive medical aid.
In this way, Manto Tshabalala-Msimang, the minister of health, believes
that competent practitioners can be distinguished from charlatans. They
will receive supplementary training and their activities will be regulated.
For example, they will be forbidden to treat serious illnesses such as cancer
or AIDS (Matomela 2004).
The new legislation raised objections from doctors as much as from
traditional health practitioners. Doctors for Life, an association of
conservative Christian doctors, took a stand against the proposed law by
highlighting the lack of scientific validation of traditional medicine, the
danger of secondary effects caused by proposed treatments and, finally, the
principle of laicity. Traditional healers (at least African traditional healers)
are priests of the religious system of African Traditional Religion (ATR),
and function as such. To grant them the status of health professionals
without doing the same to office bearers of other religions would be
discriminatory against other religions (Thindisa and Seobi 2004). Sam
Mhlongo, president of the Traditional Healers Association of South Africa,
expressed reservations for another reason. He said, Healers like me believe
in the tradition we inherited from our forefathers who used to be paid in
pounds sterling. According to him, sangomas want to be paid cash when
they invoke the ancestors spirits. Without cash, we cannot communicate
with our ancestors (Etkind 2006). This argument is not without value.
Medical aid schemes are highly bureaucratic. It is difficult to see how
traditional healers, some of whom are illiterate, would manage the required
administrative tasks.
Inter-faith dialogue and inculturation
Another sector which debated the problem of traditional African religion
was the churches. The time was long past when the religion of the ancestors
was combated because it was seen to be hostile to true faith. The success of
independent African churches that combine Christian rituals with traditional
practices in the most diverse ways had caused more than one ecclesiastical
leader to reflect. The missionary churches, including the Catholic Church
which was, however, in a better position, continued to lose members.
Another change was that there were more and more indigenous priests.
Since the end of apartheid, the majority of the large churches had
restructured themselves, abandoning the internal racial barriers that had
been inherited from colonialism. More and more black priests and pastors
were in charge of parishes that had formerly been white or had risen to
positions of responsibility within their church (Denis 1995). More than their
white colleagues, they were anxious to create harmony between Christian

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Denis

and African legacies. Moreover, many of them had never ceased practising,
sometime secretly, the religion of their ancestors.
The Methodist church is a good example of the transformation taking
place at the very heart of South African Christianity. In 1975, unhappy at
being excluded from the decision-making structures of their church, a group
of black priests formed the Black Methodist Consultation, a pressure group
destined to hasten the africanisation of the Methodist church. Initially, the
groups demands exclusively concerned questions of internal organisation.
In 1980, the Consultation took a stand at the instigation of its president,
Stanley Mogoba, in favour of recognising traditional rituals that were
secretly practised by its clergy (Denis 1995, Balia 1991:87101). When he
was elected as presiding bishop of the Methodist Conference of Southern
Africa in 1989 for a five-year period of office, Mogoba continued to plead
for the Africanisation of ecclesiastical life. In 1993, he explained to Charles
Villa-Vicencio, the author of a book of interviews, that the African view of
the world could contribute much to Christianity. Africans have not lost
their African identity but they are loath to express it in public (VillaVicencio 1993:196). Despite similar stands, however, the Methodist church
has still not published any directives concerning the integration of
traditional African religion into Christianity. It has to deal with accepting
the religion of the ancestors a point on which there is more or less general
agreement rather than granting it official recognition.
The Catholic Church was more careful to explain its position in
written documents but, in fact, showed the same ambiguity as the Protestant
churches. In a document entitled Statement on Inculturation, the Southern
African Catholic Bishops Conference invited its members to proceed with
the matter of inculturation in a responsible way. The ecclesiastic leaders
wavered between a minimalist position of Roman inspiration according to
which the content of the faith would merely be adapted to the African
cultural context and a more ambitious project that aimed at conciliation by
integrating Christian and African heritages. The appointment of Buti
Tlhagale, a spokesperson for Black Theology and author of several works
on traditional African religion, as bishop of Johannesburg in 2003, revealed
the influence of this group, partisan to the second approach. More and more
African priests practise as healers. All large South African dioceses have
committees charged with studying inculturation and organising training
sessions on this theme for pastoral officials. For greater detail concerning
the position of the Catholic Church see Plastow (2000:521) and Tlhagale
(2006:1316).
The renewal of virginity testing
Traditionally, the aim of virginity testing (ukuholowa kwezintombi) was to
make sure that the young girls who were tested could be married in

The rise of traditional African religion in post-apartheid South Africa

319

exchange for a dowry (ilobolo) which usually consisted of a certain number

of head of cattle. The tests were done by the young girls mothers, aunts or
grandmothers or, in the event of collective testing, by an elderly woman
chosen by the tribal chief.7 This practice, which had gradually become
obsolete, has seen a remarkable rebirth in the provinces of KwaZulu-Natal
and the Eastern Cape within the context of the AIDS epidemic. Collective
ceremonies for virginity testing, accompanied by songs and traditional
dancing, are organised at regular intervals in public places, community
halls, schools or public parks in both urban and rural areas. Sometimes,
virginity testing is done during the Festival of Nomkhubulwana, a Zulu
goddess who is seen as virgin, mother, and protector of young girls. This
festival had not been celebrated for a long time but has suddenly taken on a
new lease of life. These festivals attract thousands of people, mainly women
but men as well, who are drawn by the festive atmosphere of the ceremony.
The inspectors (abahloli) are poorly educated or unemployed urban
women (Scorgie 2002).
Immediately, the virginity tests provoked debate. Its supporters
highlighted the role that the tests played in the fight against AIDS, saying
that they encouraged young girls to practice sexual abstinence. But they also
involved a cultural aspect, placing the defence of African traditions,
threatened by urban development, in the forefront. It is only by reinstating
old customs and re-establishing the authority of the elders, they maintain,
that it is possible to avoid unwanted pregnancies, sexually transmitted
diseases, rape and criminality, all curses of modern society. For a
theological reflection on virginity testing, see Isabel Phiri (2003:6378)
where the author analyses the testimony of Nomagugu Ngobese, one of the
promoters of virginity testing in Pietermaritzburg.
For their part, human rights organisations energetically resist this
practice which they consider sexist, humiliating and dangerous. Their main
objection against virginity testing is the stress laid by its instigators, on the
good behaviour of the young girls implicitly exonerating men from all
responsibility in the spread of AIDS. In spite of their good intentions, these
new practices can only reinforce stigmatisation. As the inspections are
performed in public, the young girls who fail the test even in cases
where the hymen has disappeared naturally or as the result of rape find
themselves classed as prostitutes and run the risk of being sexually abused.
Given the social pressure put on the young girls to be tested, their decision
to undergo virginity testing cannot be viewed as voluntary. For an example
of this position see Lecler-Madlala (1997:363380).

See, for example, M. Kohler, Marriage Customs in Southern Natal (Pretoria,

Department of Native Affairs, 1933) quoted by Fiona Scorgie (2002:61).

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Denis

Initially, political authorities were relatively favourably disposed to

the phenomenon. In June 2003, Zweli Mkhize, the KwaZulu-Natal minister
of health, showed his support for the Nomkhumbulwana festivals by
attending them at Inadi, on the outskirts of Pietermaritzburg.8 At the same
time, his department provided funding for training sessions for young
people interested in virginity tests. In December 2004, the premier of the
Eastern Cape, Nosimo Balindlela, publicly supported virginity testing
during a festival, organised by the Xhosa royal family, near to Grahamstown
(Sunday Times, 3 December 2004).
In June 2005, Parliaments adoption after the second reading, of the
Childrens Act changed this situation. One of the articles of this draft bill
forbade, in fact, virginity testing of children. Boys and girls under the age of
eighteen were considered children. The Bill restated the main arguments of
those opposed to virginity testing.9 In reaction, the proponents of testing
organised protests marches claiming that their rights had not been respected.
They hoped that the president would refuse to sign the Bill.
What is important for the purpose of this article is the visibility of
these new practices and the debates which they engendered. Without official
support and practically without finances, their promoters, mainly women,
have brought to the fore in the media, in political circles and cultural
institutions, the fact that traditional African religion is an element that
cannot be ignored in the fight against AIDS.

An uncertain future
The introduction of democracy has had important consequences for
traditional African religion in South Africa. Granting it recognition is on the
agenda of a government which, driven by President Mbeki, is campaigning
for the African Renaissance. The fact that a growing number of cadres in
the civil service, education, the clergy and business are African has
contributed to the reinstatement of ancestral religion. It is no longer
necessary to practise traditional rituals in secret. Without officially
recognising them, the major churches are relatively favourably disposed
towards them. In a country that is claiming its African identity, traditional
African religion is very highly respected.
8

Information provided by Lindiwe Mkasi, research assistant to the Sinomlando

Centre for Oral History and Memory Work, University of KwaZulu-Natal. Within
the framework of research into the role of women in traditional African religion,
Lindiwe Mkasi and Isabel Phiri interviewed Nomagugu Ngobese, the main
organiser of the Nomkhubulwane festivals and several young girls who had
participated in the virginity tests. These interviews are available to researchers.
This has been shown by Carol Bower, the Head of RAPCAN, an association which
fights against the abuse of children, in Virginity in whose interest?
http://www.rapcan.org.za/Virginity%20Testing.pdfd

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321

Given all this, is it possible to draw the conclusion that traditional

African religion has a bright future? Things are not as simple as that. South
Africa is a country that is on the path of rapid modernisation. The
integration of modern and traditional life styles and ways of thinking poses
many problems. How, for example, is it possible to reconcile democratic
societies desire for sexual equality with a culture, largely patriarchal, of
respect (ukuhlonipha), which is characteristic of traditional African life?
The debate caused by virginity testing represents on this subject, a strong
dividing line. Similar tensions are found in the world of medicine. In
principle, all are in agreement regarding the harmonisation of traditional
and western medical practices. Traditional healers, who have never been
more popular, cannot be ignored. The government has offered them a deal:
if they accept regularisation, they will be accredited and their services will
be paid for by medical aids. But how can a practice which is founded on
communication with the ancestors be regularised? Traditional remedies
have never been scientifically proven and, doubtless, they will not be for a
long time. Is it possible to imagine a sangoma requesting a client to fill in a
medical aid claim form?
Since the introduction of democracy, traditional African religion has
enjoyed greater visibility in public life and social practices. But what is its
position in the field? In a society that is mainly urban, financial conditions
which allow for the practice of traditional African religion have become
more and more difficult. In order to contact the ancestors and thereby ensure
harmony in the family, heads of family have to carry out complicated and
costly rituals. They need cattle, space and time, all of which are at a
premium when one lives as do the majority of practitioners of traditional
African religion in urban or peri-urban areas which are badly serviced,
poor and over populated. A recent survey carried out amongst women
sangomas in the Durban region shows that they view the future with
apprehension. Far from showing gratitude towards the democratic
government, they are critical of its lack of support and complain about
restrictions placed on the practice of their profession (Ntsimane 2006).
If it wishes to survive, traditional African religion must adapt. It has
already begun to do this, as is shown by Adam Ashforths study on
witchcraft in Soweto (Ashforth 2005). The South African government
intends providing the necessary means. A new legal dispensation is
beginning to be put in place. Nevertheless, many contradictions still remain.
Reconciling the affirmation of an African identity with a respect for
modern, democratic values is not easy.

322

Denis

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