I
frequently sighted him rummaging though the overflowing garbage from the
shadily constructed dumpsites in our area.
Middle aged, strong and lean, with wild matted hair. Always wearing the same tattered shorts, shirtless. The only thing he donned above the waist were, his dirty
frayed necklaces made from odds and ends.
Each shred of cloth was strung with a piece of brightly colored debris,
forming a think tangled collar around his neck.
I had seen similar amulets worn by other local people usually for
protection form evil spirits or to deflect the bullets of a witch-gun.
Witchcraft or Juju as its know in
Sierra Leone is prevalent. The fear of being cursed by a vindictive neighbor or
a jealous friend causes great anxiety for a lot of people. In order to counteract
the effects of the witch-gun aimed at them they go to another witch rumored to
be more powerful and after paying a chunk of money, the witch will perform some
incantations and provide them with a charm that will protect them from whatever
they are afraid they might encounter.
From my western perspective Oscar,
as I called him, looked as though he was suffering from mental illness that had
been mistaken for demonic torment. Sadly, there are no doctors, medications or treatment
centers available for the mentally ill in Sierra Leone. In their desperation,
people resort to witchcraft or chaining the sick individual up. I suspect whoever was providing Oscar with
the necklaces was desperately hoping to cure him.
I couldn’t help but ruminate on why
he was in the pitiable condition he was in.
Was he born this way? Had he been abused as a child? Maybe during the
civil war he had experienced unspeakable traumas or had been forced to commit
some grievous acts like so many others during that time. Whatever the reason,
Oscar was in desperate need of treatment.
While working as a missionary when encountering this
type of individual my first inclination is to scan my memory of the Bible for
comparable circumstances. My mind quickly retrieved the story of the demonic
who had become a host for a legion of demons and was forced to live naked in a
graveyard until he met Jesus. I didn’t
know where Oscar slept at night but by the looks of him it wasn’t in a house.
He clearly spent most of his time outside and knee high in trash. I also recalled from my theological studies
that one of the descriptions given to Satan is Beelzebub which means lord of flies and I wondered if this was
one of the reasons I always saw him in or near the garbage dumps; not that he
was Satan, but that he was being tormented by demonic flies so to speak. Yet even
if his issues weren’t spiritual in nature his demeanor, appearance and behavior
stirred up in me these reflections.
Then my brain quickly swings the other way and wonders if he is always sifting through the refuse
simply because he is hungry or looking for a new trinket to hang around his
neck. Part of me wanted to buy him a hardboiled egg or banana from a street
hawker so that he didn’t have to forage in the trash. I wondered what would
happen if I did. Would he turn on me returning my kind concern with physical
aggression? Would I be forced to confront his demons and have to attempt a
public exorcism? Conflicted and afraid
I did the only thing I knew to do, I prayed for Oscar from a safe distance. I
asked God to show him mercy. I prayed for his healing and for freedom from the
ties that bound his soul and mind. I thanked God that I wasn’t in his
situation. Now years later as I explore my thoughts and actions in that moment,
I feel cowardly like I could have and should have done more. You know taken the
risk. But in that moment years ago, all I could do was what I did.
