Kilifi villages where old age is worn as a badge of fear over witch claims

“I wasn’t born like this. He cut me because of alleged witchcraft,” an old man whose hands are missing and with deep sadness in his eyes, says.

He lost his hands when someone tried to murder him, accusing him of being a witch. Using the stump of his right arm, he wipes away his tears.

Another old man reads a letter that was addressed to him which says, “You are invited to the grave of hell. Your deaths are coming on an unknown date in the next few days.”

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These elderly people are in Kilifi, where, in 2023, 138 were killed in just two years, more than one every week, according to Haki Yetu, a human rights organisation, which published a report on witchcraft and elderly abuse.

This has been revealed in a new investigation by BBC Africa Eye, which has uncovered cases of elderly people being murdered and attacked after being falsely accused of witchcraft in Kilifi.

In the documentary ‘Cry Witch: Take My Land, Take My Life’, BBC reporter, Njeri Mwangi, speaks to victims of the violent attacks, those living in fear of attack daily, and those behind the killings.

The elderly victims claim the attacks are organised by family members, with the actual purpose being to take ownership of their land.

 Elderly people in Kenya usually wear their greying hair proudly – it’s a sign that ‘umekula chumvi nyingi’ is an idiomatic expression that means wisdom that comes from a long life. That younger people look up to you for guidance based on your years of experience. But not in Kilifi. There, grey hair can get you killed.

A group of elderly people are dying their hair black, out in the fields. “We are old, so we apply this dye, to avoid being killed,” says Sifa Changawa, one of the elderly villagers.

In another village in the outskirts of Malindi Town, we meet David Nzaro, 69. His son Chris lives with his wife and children on the same compound. David says that his son has beaten him before. He lives in much fear that Chris will kill him, that at night he goes to sleep at his uncle’s place.

The horror of it is that the uncle, Binzaro Kalume, received the threatening letter listing him (Binzaro) as one of nine people also scheduled to be killed, inviting him to “the grave of hell.” There is nowhere to hide, but they must try.

Later on, Chris denies wanting to kill his father, but also refuses to show up for a meeting with the elders and family to discuss the issue, saying he has no time for it.

“He says that I am a witch and I bring trouble, and his wife insists, ‘Your father is a big witch’,” says David. “When one of the coconuts drops on top of the house, they come out; the husband and the wife: ‘You leave your witchcraft. We will kill you.”

That is how it works in Kilifi for many of the elderly – anything can be laid on them and their alleged involvement in witchcraft – from a falling coconut like David says, to illness in the family, accidents, a bad exam grade and so on.

He explains that children accuse their elderly parents of witchcraft so that upon their deaths, the children can inherit the land.

This is confirmed by Julius Wanyama, a programme officer for Haki Yetu. “If someone is accused of being a witch, their chances of survival are minimal. They use the word witchcraft as a justification because it will get public sympathy,” he says.

He adds that historically, people in Kilifi do not have documentation for their land title, as this is often passed through oral tradition. Therefore, if an elderly person is killed “you have removed the obstacle.”

An hour’s drive from David’s compound, 74-year-old Tambala Jefwa shows where he was stabbed, on the neck and the back of his head. They also gouged out his eye.

“They had to pull the scalp back and sew it together,” says his wife Sidi Kazungu.

That was the first time. The second time, they cut his genitals and left him for dead. Tambala and his wife own around 30 acres of land, and his grandson, Baraka Kareme, explains that the family believes it is the reason he is targeted by other family members. The younger family members stand guard at night to protect him.

“We live in fear because he is the target and we are standing in the way of him being harmed, so our lives are in danger too. We must look after him,” says Baraka.

His wife Sidi says there has been no investigations into the attack. She says she does not have the money to get the police to investigate.

“They (the killers) broke him the first time and then broke him again. When we found him, it was like he’d been slaughtered. They tore his clothes and he was naked... I took my clothes and covered him,” she says amid tears.

“I saw human blood. I washed clothes soaked in blood. He bled on his clothes. I washed them. Then he got better, and they hacked him again.”

Mekatilili Cultural Resource and Rescue Center is a charitably-ran rescue centre for elderly people who have been attacked and are unable to keep living in their own homes.

Katana Chara is one of them. He looks much older than his 63 years, frail, his eyes kind, yet carrying a profound sadness. His hands were cut off during an attempt to kill him.

“I was slashed with a machete. The way my hands are now, most of my plans are ruined. I was doing manual work like farming, weaving mats and such. Now this is my situation,” he says.

“I know the person who cut my hands but we have never met face to face since. He cut me because of alleged witchcraft... He claimed that I killed his child. I don’t have anything to do with witchcraft. Honestly, I have one piece of land at the seafront. My land is six acres.”

He says he would love to go back to his home permanently, but that would almost certainly be a death sentence. He takes the BBC team home. He has only been back there once since the attack and can only go there with Julius from Haki Yetu as protection.

His youngest son appears and cries bitterly when he sees his father and the condition he is in. Katana shows the team where he was attacked, in his bedroom.

“That day... I sat there and continued to weave. Soon after, I realized the door was open and pangas were drawn. This hand was immediately cut and it fell on the floor.... I called out to my wife, telling her I was being cut. She said, ‘I am helpless’. He continued to cut me while I was screaming. Eventually, people came and helped me. Then I lost consciousness,” he says.

Julius has been pushing for justice for Katana but there have been no arrests. He says that very few people have been charged with allegations of the killing of the elderly, which is why the killers do it freely.

“I went with one of the police officers to the ground to collect a body and he told me, ‘Julius no no, let them kill each other. My work here is to collect the bodies’. The police are the weakest link in this whole process. In most of the police stations, some of them can’t even tell you how many people have been killed,” says Julius.

Njeri speaks to a man who has been contracted before to conduct the killings. He has killed 20 people and explains that whenever he is asked to do it, it is always a request by family members. He is paid a minimum of Sh50,000 to do it.

He claims that he has stopped doing it out of guilt, but when asked how he feels about having given someone a death sentence, he says, “No it is not I who gave it. I may have done something bad because I was given the job and killed. But according to the law, according to God, the person who sent me is the guilty one.”

Elderly victims repeatedly complained of police inaction.