Killer Sold Body Parts for Ritual: Tracking the Grisly Trail

Many families in Sierra Leone are grappling with profound trauma following a spate of alleged ritualistic killings. BBC Africa Eye has launched an investigation to uncover the shadowy figures profiting from the illicit trade in human body parts, a practice often linked to the pursuit of wealth and power.

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

Four years have passed since the murder of her 11-year-old son, Papayo, in what is suspected to be a ritual killing, yet his mother remains heartbroken that no one has been prosecuted for his death. Her anguish is palpable, highlighting the persistent quest for justice in these harrowing cases.

“Today I feel sick. They killed my child and now there is only silence,” Sallay Kalokoh confided in BBC Africa Eye, her voice heavy with grief. Her words underscore the deep emotional scars left by such tragedies, compounded by the lack of accountability.

Sallay recounted the horrifying discovery of Papayo’s body, from which vital organs, eyes, and an arm had been removed. The mutilation served as a chilling testament to the brutal nature of his demise, suggesting a sinister purpose behind the act.

Papayo was last seen heading to the market to sell fish, a routine chore that tragically became his last. His disappearance sparked a frantic search, igniting fears that are all too common in communities plagued by such crimes.

For two agonizing weeks, his family searched tirelessly until their worst fears were confirmed: the boy’s mutilated body was found at the bottom of a well. The discovery brought not only sorrow but also a stark realization of the dangers lurking within their community.

“We always remind the children to be careful. If you are selling, don’t go to a street corner or accept gifts from strangers. This happens often in this country,” Kalokoh explained, articulating the constant vigilance required of parents in Sierra Leone.

The murder occurred in my hometown of Makeni, located in central Sierra Leone, and it continues to haunt me. Such incidents are not isolated; reports of killings linked to black magic, locally known as juju, are distressingly frequent, leaving a pervasive sense of fear.

Disturbingly, these brutal killings often fail to receive proper follow-up or thorough investigation from the authorities. The lack of decisive action perpetuates a cycle of impunity, leaving families without answers and justice.

In Papayo’s case, the police never even officially confirmed it as a “ritual killing”—a specific type of murder where a person is killed so that their body parts can be used in magical rituals by unscrupulous juju practitioners. These charlatans exploit deep-seated beliefs for personal gain, promising their clients unholy favors.

They offer false promises of prosperity and power to high-paying clients, who are deluded into believing that human body parts can significantly amplify the strength of their spells. This dangerous misconception drives a demand for such gruesome acts.

However, the pursuit of justice is severely hampered by extremely limited resources, with Sierra Leone, a nation of 8.9 million people, having only one registered pathologist. This severe shortage often makes it impossible to gather the critical forensic evidence needed to track down perpetrators.

Moreover, the belief in witchcraft and juju is so deeply ingrained in Sierra Leonean society, even among many police officers, that it often creates a palpable fear of continuing investigations. Consequently, most of these cases remain tragically unsolved, allowing the cycle of violence to persist.

Driven by a desire for understanding, I sought to uncover more about this grim illicit trade in human body parts that leaves such profound tragedy in its wake. The need to expose these practices became a compelling mission.

The BBC Africa Eye team successfully located two individuals who openly identified themselves as juju practitioners and offered to procure human body parts for ritualistic purposes. Their willingness to engage in such macabre transactions highlighted the alarming reality of this underground network.

Both practitioners claimed to be part of a much larger network, with one boasting of influential clients spanning across West Africa. While the BBC could not independently verify these claims, their confidence painted a disturbing picture of widespread illicit activities.

One rotting fish can destroy the batch of fish… We are healers, we are not killers”

Sheku Tarawallie

President of the Council of Traditional Healers

Our team member, operating undercover as Osman, posed as a politician aspiring to power through human sacrifice. This dangerous masquerade was crucial to infiltrating the clandestine world of these practitioners and gathering firsthand evidence of their activities.

Our initial journey led us to a remote area in the Kambia district, nestled in the northern part of the country near the Guinea border. Here, we met a juju practitioner in his secret shrine—a secluded spot deep within the dense forest where he regularly consulted with clients, shrouded in mystery.

The practitioner introduced himself as Kanu, his identity concealed by a ceremonial red mask covering his entire face. He immediately began boasting of his extensive political connections, underscoring the intertwining of power and these dark rituals.

“I work with some big politicians in Guinea, Senegal, and Nigeria. We have a team. Sometimes during election season, at night, this place is full of people,” he revealed, detailing the scale of his operations and the influential nature of his clientele.

Election seasons are particularly perilous times, often prompting warnings to parents to exercise extra caution with their children due to an increased risk of abduction. This period, driven by political ambition, frequently sees a surge in ritual-related crimes.

During a second visit, Kanu grew more confident, brazenly presenting Osman with what he claimed was tangible evidence of his work: a human skull. This gruesome display offered a chilling glimpse into the reality of his macabre trade.

“See this? It belongs to someone. I dried it for them. This is a woman’s skull. I expect the person to pick it up today or tomorrow,” Kanu stated matter-of-factly, revealing the chilling commodification of human remains.

He then gestured towards a pit situated behind his shrine, an ominous feature that further intensified the sinister atmosphere. The presence of such a pit hinted at even darker practices hidden from plain sight.

“This is where we hang human body parts. We slaughter here, and the blood drains there… Even big paramount chiefs, when they want power, come here. I give them what they want,” he confessed, painting a grim picture of a brutal ritualistic process.

When Osman specifically requested female body parts for his purported ritual, Kanu wasted no time getting straight to the point. “The price of a woman is 70 million leones [$3,000; £2,400],” he declared, attaching a monetary value to a human life.

Out of concern for potential danger, we did not meet Kanu again. Despite the possibility that he might be a trickster, we promptly handed over the gathered evidence to the local police for further investigation, prioritizing safety and justice.

Such practitioners often misrepresent themselves as herbalists—a term for traditional healers who use local plants to treat ailments. This deceptive practice blurs the lines between legitimate healing and harmful sorcery, making it difficult for the public to distinguish.

World Health Organization (WHO) data for 2022 reveals a stark reality in Sierra Leone, a country that endured a brutal civil war in the 1990s and was an epicenter of the Ebola outbreak a decade ago. It had only about 1,000 registered doctors, a figure dwarfed by the approximately 45,000 traditional healers operating across the nation.

The vast majority of the population in this West African nation relies heavily on these traditional healers. Known as ‘smart people,’ they address various health concerns, including mental health issues, often treating patients in shrines where mysticism and spiritualism are culturally intertwined with their expertise and the remedies they offer.

Sheku Tarawallie, president of Sierra Leone’s Council of Traditional Healers, unequivocally stated that “evil juju practitioners” like Kanu have severely tarnished the reputation of legitimate healers. He expressed deep concern over the misuse of traditional practices for nefarious purposes.

“We are trying hard to clean our image. Ordinary people don’t understand, so they classify us all as bad herbalists. One rotting fish can destroy the batch of fish… We are healers, we are not killers,” he passionately told BBC Africa Eye, emphasizing the vital distinction.

Tarawallie is actively working to collaborate with the government and other non-governmental organizations to establish proper traditional medicine clinics aimed at genuinely treating patients. His efforts reflect a commitment to restoring credibility to traditional healing practices.

According to Tarawallie, those driven by an insatiable lust for power and money are frequently behind these horrifying ritual killings. He highlights ambition and greed as primary motivators for such heinous acts, which exploit deep-seated superstitions.

“When someone wants to become a leader… they take human body parts. They use that as an offering. Burning people, using their ashes for power. Using their oil for power,” Tarawallie chillingly described, revealing the gruesome methods believed to bring influence.

The precise number of ritual killings in Sierra Leone, where most of the population identifies as either Muslim or Christian, remains unknown. This lack of official data complicates efforts to understand the scale of the problem and to develop effective interventions.

“In most African countries, ritual killings are not officially recorded as a separate category or sub-category of homicide,” Emmanuel Sarpong Owusu, a researcher at Aberystwyth University in the UK, told the BBC. This classification issue obscures the true prevalence of these crimes.

Owusu further elaborated, stating that “some are misclassified or misreported as accidents, deaths from wild animal attacks, suicides, natural deaths… Most perpetrators—perhaps 90%—are not apprehended.” This high rate of impunity contributes significantly to the ongoing problem.

Our investigation also led us to another fake juju practitioner who openly trafficked human body parts. He operated in Waterloo, a suburb of the capital Freetown, an area notorious for drug abuse and other criminal activities, painting a picture of a grim underworld.

“I am not alone; I have 250 herbalists working under my command,” the man, who identified himself as Idara, proudly told Osman, who was once again undercover and equipped with a hidden camera. His boast underscored the organized nature of their illicit network.

“There is no human body part we don’t deal with. Once we request a specific body part, they will bring it. We divide the work,” Idara explained, detailing a sophisticated division of labor within his criminal enterprise, ensuring efficient acquisition.

He further elaborated on the expertise of his associates in apprehending victims, a chilling assertion that revealed the predatory nature of his network. His confidence highlighted the calculated efficiency with which they operated.

During Osman’s second visit, Idara played a disturbing voicemail from one of his associates, who claimed to be ready to go out every night in search of victims. This audio provided irrefutable evidence of their active hunt for human prey.

However, Osman urged Idara not to proceed with his plans. Shortly after, Osman received a call from Idara, who claimed his team had already identified a potential victim. We immediately contacted Police Commissioner Ibrahim Sama, prompting urgent intervention.

Commissioner Ibrahim Sama promptly decided to conduct a raid. However, he emphasized that his officers would not proceed without the involvement of Sheku Tarawallie, who frequently assists the police in such sensitive operations, underscoring the crucial role of traditional leaders.

“When we get information that there is a dangerous juju doctor operating a shrine, we will work with traditional healers,” stated Inspector Aliu Jallo, an officer involved in the raid, revealing the collaborative approach adopted by law enforcement.

Inspector Jallo continued, candidly revealing the superstitious beliefs held by some officers when confronting rogue herbalists: “I will not go and stir up trouble. I know that they have powers that are beyond my knowledge.” This admission highlights the complex cultural dynamics at play.

Following Idara’s arrest—he was found hiding in an attic clutching a knife—Tarawallie began meticulously searching the premises for evidence. He reported discovering human bones, human hair, and piles of soil resembling grave earth, solidifying the case against the practitioner.

This crucial evidence was sufficient for the police to arrest Idara and two other men. They were charged last June with practicing black magic and possessing traditional weapons used in ritual murders. While they denied the allegations and have since been released on bail, the investigation continues.

Conversely, we never received a response from the Kambia police regarding Kanu. Subsequently, I attempted to call Kanu directly to challenge him on the allegations, but he remained unreachable, leaving his claims of influential connections unaddressed and his activities unchecked.

At times, even high-profile cases appear to reach an inexplicable standstill, frustrating the public’s demand for justice. This stagnation often leaves families in despair, struggling to find closure for their loved ones.

Two years ago, a lecturer vanished in Freetown, only for his body to be later discovered buried in what police identified as a herbalist’s shrine in Waterloo. The case garnered significant attention, highlighting the pervasive nature of these ritualistic practices.

Despite being referred by a judge to the High Court for trial in August 2023, two sources have informed the BBC that the case has yet to be actively pursued. Furthermore, those initially detained by the police have since been released on bail, raising concerns about accountability.

My own family faced similar disheartening obstacles in their pursuit of justice. Last May, during the BBC’s investigation, my 28-year-old cousin, Fatmata Conteh—a hairdresser and mother of two—was tragically murdered in Makeni, adding a personal dimension to this ongoing crisis.

Her body was discovered dumped by the roadside just one day after her birthday. At the same location, a local resident chillingly informed the BBC that two other bodies had been found within the preceding weeks, indicating a disturbing pattern of violence in the area.

Several of Fatmata’s front teeth were missing, a detail that immediately led residents to suspect a ritual killing. This specific injury, often associated with such crimes, fueled the community’s fears and suspicions regarding the nature of her death.

“She was a woman who never harmed anyone. She was very peaceful and hardworking,” a mourner shared as family, friends, and colleagues gathered for a large funeral at the local mosque. Their collective grief underscored the profound loss felt by the community.

The true motive behind Fatmata’s murder may never be known. Her family bravely bore the cost of transporting her body to Freetown for an autopsy—an expense the authorities could not afford. However, the autopsy results were inconclusive, and no arrests have yet been made, prolonging their agonizing wait for answers.

Much like Papayo’s case, the lingering uncertainty and the profound sense of abandonment by the police fuel widespread fear and terror in impoverished communities like Makeni. The lack of resolution perpetuates a cycle of anxiety, leaving residents feeling vulnerable and unprotected.

Additional reporting by Chris Alcock and Luis Barrucho

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