The Sunday Mail
I was standing on a street corner discussing football with the boys one weekend when an elderly man joined us out of the blue, holding a tiny bag stashed with muti (traditional medicine).
While one would expect a man of that age to state his mission directly, the elderly man spent close to five minutes gesticulating masculinity.
He later identified himself as “Dr Masvingo” and started showing us a motley of herbs with unprintable names.
The old man was reeking booze, while one would feel dizzy just from inhaling the air that escaped from the bag when he unzipped it.
Barely 20 minutes later, a middle-aged woman arrived using the same tactics and selling the same stuff. She also had pills and skin-lightening creams for sale to those who associate beauty with being light-skinned.
The way the herbalists speak is as if they have a single coach and all dwell on instilling fear in consumers of their products and services.
Usually identified as “Ambuya”, “Sekuru”, “Doctor”, “Godobori” or “Vemishonga” these self-styled herbalists have invaded Harare central business district (CBD).
While some of them have established themselves at certain corners in the capital, a big number of these characters walk around the streets with funny bags stashed with the muti.
The herbalists are usually found on street corners, at markets, bus stops and dingy bars in the downtown area where they offer samples.
Whether their operations are legal or not is a story for another day, but that the city has witnessed a proliferation of self-styled herbalists is there for everyone to see.
According to the laws of the land, medicines administered to people must be certified by the Medicines Control Authority of Zimbabwe (MCAZ), but this is not so with the herbalists.
People risk being given poisonous concoctions that kill. As I commit pen to paper gentle reader, entrances to public places like churches, toilets, bars, shops and street pillars have notices placed on them.
Others use public address systems to announce their presence and the services they offer.
Surprisingly, the herbalists all claim to be from Chipinge, Malawi or Musambakaruma near Hurungwe. They all claim to have remedies for barrenness, diabetes, hypertension, loss of affection and erectile dysfunction.
They also claim to be able to help one secure a job, get a favourable judgment in court, get a promotion at the workplace and keep haters at bay.
It is not unusual to walk into a bar to find young men sharing opaque beer while huddled in a corner with the self-styled herbalists.
“I am a top-notch doctor with expertise in keeping marriages intact. I spent more than 10 years under water with the crocodiles learning how to treat people. I can cure all sorts of ailments, especially couples failing to conceive.
“You will never go wrong if you do it right with the right people like myself,” you are told straight in the eye.
“I have the power to make a docket disappear from the courts of law. I have the muti to make a policeman feel dizzy each time he tries to arrest you. All you need is to smear the lion oil which I will sell to you and see the change that it will bring in your life,” one of the herbalists once told this writer while trying to make a sale.
Others claim to have muti to make one feared and respected by subordinates.
“I will make you a tower above the rest. All you need to do is listen to my instructions and never go against them because once you do that, the opposite will happen,” you hear the herbalists saying.
Yours truly is reliably informed that the police and council officials are afraid of arresting these self-styled herbalists who have become a nuisance because of threats and fear of retribution.
Whatever the case may be, action needs to be taken to remove these people off the streets and maintain public health.
Inotambika mughetto.
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