KATLEHONG - Smoke swirled around Badanile Maci as she crouched on all
fours, clapping and chanting with half a dozen other sangomas -
South African traditional healers - to greet their ancestors'
spirits.
Widely respected by South Africans as spiritual guides,
healers and counsellors, gay sangomas like 23-year-old Maci are
also challenging the idea that being lesbian, gay, bisexual or
transgender (LGBT+) is unAfrican.
"When we are together in our traditional ceremonies, we are
free," said Maci, who knew she was gay at the age of 15 and
brought her first girlfriend home a year later.
"Our traditional beliefs have created a safe space for the
LGBT community ... We find the support we never had before," she
said, sitting beside jars of dried leaves, twigs and herbs in
her consulting room in Katlehong, 35km east of Johannesburg.
Sangomas - sometimes called witchdoctors - believe they are
called by their ancestors to heal. By consulting with spirits
and using rituals and natural medicines, they predict the future
and help clients with problems from sickness to relationships.
In a country where lesbians are often subjected to the
trauma of "corrective rape" to make them straight, and access to
mental health care is limited, gay sangomas are finding their
own remedies to achieve happiness and win social acceptance.
"I have had suicidal thoughts," said Nomsa Mokoena, a
33-year-old sangoma, recalling how her family rejected her when
they found out she was a lesbian.
"But my ancestors have guided me through the worst of my
depression," she said, from eMalahleni, about 140km east of
Johannesburg.
Through advice from her ancestors in dreams, Mokoena was
able to understand her depression, which she described as an
"ongoing battle" but preferable to going to hospital.
"We find power in ourselves ... I don't have to be ashamed
or live a lie," she said.
DOUBLE STIGMA
Africa has some of the world's most prohibitive laws against
homosexuality, with 32 nations out of 54 criminalising same-sex
relations, according to the ILGA, an LGBT+ rights group, with
punishments ranging from imprisonment to death.
South Africa is the only country on the continent to allow
same-sex marriage and its 1996 constitution was the first in the
world to ban discrimination based on sexual orientation.
But homophobia and violence are an everyday reality, with
four out of 10 LGBT+ South Africans knowing of someone who was
murdered for their sexual or gender identity, South Africa's
Centre for Risk Analysis think-tank has said.
"Lesbians are often gang raped before being killed in
violent ways," said Ntsupe Mohapi, head of the Ekurhuleni Pride
Organising Committee (EPOC), which started a Johannesburg Pride
march a decade ago after two gay activists were murdered.
"Often survivors fear secondary victimisation by police if
they report it, so they keep the trauma inside ... many turn to
suicide and substance abuse."
There are no official statistics on suicides among LGBT+
South Africans but Maci said she loses a friend to suicide
several times a year.
"I had a friend called Zinhle who was rejected by her
family," she said. "She told me she was struggling over
WhatsApp, but I didn't realise how bad it was until she took her
own life."
Globally, sexual minority youth are 3.5 times as likely to
attempt suicide as heterosexual peers, often driven by stigma,
bullying, isolation and difficulties with self-acceptance,
Italy's University of Milano-Bicocca found last year.
Nearly three-quarters of South Africans reporting mental
illness - some 7 million people - never receive any treatment,
according to the South African Depression and Anxiety Group, one
of Africa's largest mental health support groups.
This is the norm across Africa, where governments spend
about $0.10 per person on mental health, 25 times less than the
global average, according to the World Health Organization,
resulting in a severe shortage of mental health workers.
"Our hospitals are tackling HIV, diabetes, cancers. Mental
health is put on the back burner," said Jan Chabalala, a
Johannesburg psychiatrist.
"To be gay and to live with a mental health disorder is to
live with a double stigma in South Africa."
FREEDOM
Sangomas said they face pushback from some Christians who
accuse them of practising witchcraft, but generally they command
respect, and have the freedom to dress and act as they wish.
"When my ancestors take over my body, they can be either
male or female," said 28-year-old Xolani Chamane, referring to
the act of channelling his ancestors to give spiritual and
medicinal advice to clients.
"When they visit, my gender is naturally more fluid," he
added, wearing earrings, beads and a red, traditional skirt.
Although regional politicians have condemned homosexuality
as unAfrican, women sangomas have had same-sex relationships for
a century, often under instructions from their ancestors,
according to research by the University of the Witswatersrand.
Simphiwe Mahlaba of the African National Healers
Association, which promotes the sector, said he has registered a
growing number of LGBT+ sangomas, although he could not provide
figures as members were not asked their sexuality.
"We have no problem registering gay traditional healers,"
Mahlaba said. "As long as they are true to their ancestral
beliefs, then we are happy to live side-by-side with them."
Gay sangomas said their status as community leaders also
allows them to educate their clients.
"People don't come to me because I am gay, they just come to
see a sangoma," said Chamane. "Then they see my mascara and my
mannerisms and ask me, 'Is it possible to be a gay sangoma?' I
tell them that it is, and slowly we are changing mindsets."
LGBT+ sangomas said they were better placed than most South
African mental health professionals - who tend to be white and
English-speaking - to support LGBT+ people struggling with
anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts.
"We need more psychologists, counsellors and social workers
who have lived through what we have," said Maci. "This can start
with traditional healers."
For Maci, it was a sangoma - her own mother - who helped her
accept both her sexuality and her calling to become a healer.
At the age of 18, Maci's ancestors starting visiting her in
her dreams, telling her it was time to learn about her "gift".
"My mom cornered me and asked me if I was sure this was what
I wanted," said Maci, referring both to her sexuality and her
traditional beliefs. "I told her I was, and she said I must
never be ashamed of who I am."
Maci flicked through her phone, stopping on a video of
hundreds of sangomas cheering her on while she danced to drums.
"These are my people," she said. "They allow me to be a
proud lesbian and a proud sangoma. I can be both."