Hunting down those who kill for human body parts

As many families in Sierra Leone are traumatized by murders apparently linked to so-called magic rituals, BBC Africa Eye investigates those behind the trade in human body parts.

Warning: This article contains details that some readers may find disturbing.

The mother of an 11-year-old boy who was murdered on suspicion of black magic four years ago is devastated that no one has yet been brought to justice for his death.

Speaking to BBC Africa Eye, Sallay Kalokoh said, “I am suffering today. They killed my child and now there is only silence,” and explained that his son Papayo was found with some parts of his body removed, including his vital organs, eyes and one arm.

He went out to sell fish in the market and never came back.

His family searched for him for two weeks and eventually found his dismembered body at the bottom of a well.

“We always tell our children to be careful. If you are selling, do not go to a corner or accept gifts from strangers. This happens very often in this country,” Ms. Kalokoh said.

I was disturbed by this murder in my hometown of Makeni in central Sierra Leone; because we often hear reports of murders linked to black magic, also known as juju, that are never pursued or properly investigated by the authorities.

In the Papayo case, police did not even confirm that the killing of a person for the purpose of using parts of his body by illegal juju practitioners in so-called magic rituals was a “ritual murder.”

They promise things like prosperity and power to customers who pay large sums of money in the mistaken belief that parts of the human body can make such jewelry stronger.

But because authorities are severely under-resourced (there is only one pathologist in a country with a population of 8.9 million), it is often impossible to gather the evidence needed to track down criminals.

Belief in witchcraft is so deeply ingrained in Sierra Leone, even among many police officers, that there is often a fear of taking cases further, and many remain unsolved.

But I wanted to learn more about this underground trade in human body parts that leaves tragedy in its wake.

Our BBC Africa Eye team managed to track down two people who claimed to be juju practitioners and offered to take body parts for ritual purposes.

Both said they were part of much larger networks, and one boasted of having strong clients in West Africa. The BBC was unable to confirm these claims.

A member of our team went undercover using the name Osman to pose as a politician seeking to gain power through human sacrifice.

We first traveled to a remote part of the Kambia region in the north of the country, close to the border with Guinea, to meet the Juju man at his secret temple; This was an area in the dense bush where he met with clients.

The man, who called himself Kanu, ceremonially wore a red mask covering his entire face to hide his identity and boasted about his political connections.

“I was working with some big politicians in Guinea, Senegal and Nigeria. We have a team. Sometimes during election time, at night, this place is full of people,” he claimed.

Election season is seen by some as a particularly dangerous time When parents are warned to pay special attention to their children due to the high risk of abduction.

On his second visit, Kanu’s confidence grew and he showed Osman what he said was evidence of his trade: a human skull.

“Do you see this? It belongs to someone. I dried it for them. It’s a woman’s skull. I expect that person to pick it up today or tomorrow.”

He also pointed to the pit behind his mausoleum: “This is where we hang the human parts. Here we slaughter, and the blood flows there… Even great chiefs come here when they want power. I give them what they want.”

When Osman said that he wanted a woman’s limbs to be used in the ritual, Kanu got to work: “The price of a woman is 70 million leons.” [£2,500; $3,000]”

We did not meet with Kanu again in order not to put anyone at risk. He may have been a scammer, but we handed over our evidence to the local police for further investigation.

Such juju men sometimes call themselves herbalists; This name is given to healers who use traditional medicines, often made from local plants, to treat common diseases.

World Health Organization data Sierra Leone, which suffered a brutal civil war in the 1990s and was at the center of the Ebola epidemic a decade ago, is seen having around 1,000 registered doctors in 2022, compared to reported estimates of 45,000 traditional healers.

Many people in the West African country rely on these healers, who also help with mental health issues and treat their patients at shrines where there is an element of mysticism and spirituality culturally associated with their craft and the medicines they sell.

Sheku Tarawallie, president of the Sierra Leone Traditional Healers Council, is adamant that “evil” juju men like Kanu are giving healers a bad name.

“We try very hard to clarify our image. The common man doesn’t understand, so he classifies us.” [all] as evil herbalists. One rotting fish can destroy a whole lot of fish… We are healers, not killers,” he told BBC Africa Eye.

Mr Tarawallie is actually trying to work with the government and another non-governmental organization to open a traditional medicine clinic to treat patients.

He believed that those who were behind ritual murders were usually those who were greedy for power and money.

“When someone wants to be a leader… they take parts out of people. They use it as sacrifices. They burn people, they use their ashes for power. They use their oil for power.”

The number of ritual killings in Sierra Leone, where most people identify as Muslim or Christian, is unknown.

“In most African countries, ritual murders are not officially recorded as a separate category or subcategory of murder,” researcher Emmanuel Sarpong Owusu, from England’s Aberystwyth University, told the BBC.

“Some are misclassified or misreported as accidents, deaths from attacks by wild animals, suicides, natural deaths… Many of the perpetrators – probably 90% – are not caught.”

When we found another supplier of suspected body parts, he was in the capital’s Freetown suburb, Waterloo, an area notorious for drug use and other crimes.

The man, who called himself Idara, said to Osman, who was also undercover and wearing a hidden camera, “I am not alone, I have about 250 herbalists working under my flag.”

“There is no human part that we do not work with. When we look for a particular body part, they bring it. We share the work,” Idara said.

He went on to describe how good some of his collaborators were at capturing people, and on Osman’s second visit, a voice message was played from one of them saying that they were ready to go out every night to look for a victim.

Osman told him not to proceed yet, but we later contacted Police Chief Ibrahim Sama when he received a call from Idara claiming that his team had identified a victim.

He decided to carry out a raid but said his officers could not have done so without the involvement of Mr Tarawallie, who often assists the police in such operations.

“When we receive intelligence about the presence of a dangerous sorcerer running a shrine, we will work with traditional healers,” said Deputy Inspector Aliu Jallo, one of the police officers on the raid.

Addressing the superstitions some officers have about dealing with rogue herbalists, he continued: “I will not go and provoke situations. I know they have powers of their own beyond my knowledge.”

After Idara was captured (he was discovered hiding on the roof with a knife in hand) Mr Tarawallie began searching the property for evidence, saying piles of what appeared to be human bones, human hair and dirt from cemeteries had been found.

This was enough for police to arrest Idara and two other men in June, accused of practicing witchcraft and possessing traditional weapons used in ritual killings. They pleaded not guilty to the charges and were released on bail pending further investigations.

Since we had heard nothing about Kanu from the police in Kambia, I tried to call him myself to directly dispute the allegations, but he could not be reached.

There are times when even high-profile cases stall. Two years ago, a university lecturer went missing in Freetown and his body was later found buried in what police said was the mausoleum of an herbalist in Waterloo.

The case was referred to the High Court for a hearing by a judge in August 2023, but two sources told the BBC the matter has not been pursued so far and those detained by police have been released on bail.

My family faces similar obstacles to finding justice. In May, during our BBC investigation, my 28-year-old cousin Fatmata Conteh was killed in Makeni.

The body of the hairdresser and mother-of-two was dumped on the side of the road the day after her birthday, where a resident told the BBC two other bodies had been found in recent weeks.

He was missing several of his front teeth, leading the community to believe it was a ritual murder.

“She was a woman who never did harm. She was very peaceful and hard-working,” said one mourner, as family, friends and colleagues gathered for a large funeral service at the local mosque.

We may never know the real reason for Fatmata’s murder. The family paid to have his body transported to Freetown for an autopsy – which authorities could not afford to do – but the autopsy was inconclusive and no arrests have yet been made.

Like Papayo’s mother, police lack of closure and feelings of abandonment fuel fear and terror in poor communities like Makeni.

Additional reporting by Chris Alcock and Luis Barrucho