Hunting down those who kill for human organs

With families left traumatized by killings apparently linked to alleged magical rituals in Sierra Leone, BBC Africa Eye investigates those behind the human organ trade.

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

The mother of an 11-year-old boy murdered four years ago on suspicion of black magic killings is shocked that no one has yet been brought to justice for his death.

“I am in pain today. They killed my child and now there is only silence,” Sallay Kalokoh told BBC Africa Eye, explaining how her son Papayo was found with parts of his body removed, including vital organs, eyes and an arm.

He went out to sell fish in the market and never came back.

His family searched for him for two weeks before finally discovering his mutilated body at the bottom of a well.

“We always tell our children to be careful. If you are going to sell something, don’t go to the corner or accept gifts from strangers. This happens all the time in this country,” Ms Kaloko said.

This murder in my hometown of Makeni in central Sierra Leone has always troubled me because we often hear reports of black magic (also known as juju) killings, but the authorities never follow up or investigate properly.

In Papaio’s case, police did not even confirm that it was a “ritual killing” – where illegal jiu-jitsu practitioners are murdered in order to have parts of their bodies used in purported magical rituals.

They promise things like prosperity and power to clients who pay large sums of money, in the mistaken belief that human body parts can make these charms even more powerful.

But with authorities severely under-resourced – there is only one pathologist in a country of 8.9 million – it is often impossible to gather the evidence needed to track down the culprits.

Belief in witchcraft is also so deeply ingrained in Sierra Leone, even among many police officers, that people are often afraid to pursue cases further and most cases go unsolved.

But I wanted to know more about this underground trade in human body parts that has resulted in tragedy.

Our BBC Africa Eye team found two people who claimed to be Jiu-Jitsu practitioners and offered to harvest body parts for ritual purposes.

Both said they were part of a larger network, with one bragging about having strong clients in West Africa. The BBC was unable to confirm these claims.

One member of our team went undercover, using the name Osman, posing as a politician seeking to gain power through human sacrifice.

We first traveled to a remote area in the Kambia district in the north of the country, near the Guinean border, to meet Juju at his secret shrine – a place in the dense bush where he consults with his clients.

He calls himself Kanu, wears a ceremonial red mask that covers his entire face to hide his identity, and brags about his political connections.

“I’m working with some big politicians in Guinea, Senegal and Nigeria. We have our team. Sometimes during the elections, at night, the place is packed with people,” he claimed.

Some see election season as a particularly dangerous time Parents warned to take extra care of their children as risk of kidnapping increases.

On his second visit, Kanu became more confident and showed Osman what he said was evidence of his trade – a human skull.

“Did you see this? It belonged to someone. I helped dry them. It’s a woman’s skull. I hope the person picks it up today or tomorrow.”

He also pointed to a tunnel behind the shrine: “This is where we hang human organs. We slaughter here and the blood flows there… Even the great chiefs, when they want power, come here. I give them what they want.”

When Osman made it clear that he wanted a woman’s body to be used in the ceremony, Kanu got down to business: “The price of a woman is 70 million leones (£2,500; $3,000).”

We didn’t see Kanu again out of concern about not putting anyone at risk. He may be a liar, but we have turned the evidence over to local police for further investigation.

These juju men sometimes call themselves herbalists, a name that refers to healers who use traditional medicines, often made from local plants, to treat common ailments.

World Health Organization data Sierra Leone had about 1,000 registered doctors in 2022, while there were reportedly an estimated 45,000 traditional healers.

Most people in the West African country rely on these healers, who also help with mental health issues and treat patients at shrines that are culturally associated with their craft and the remedies they sell, with elements of mysticism and spiritualism.

Sheku Tarawallie, chairman of the Sierra Leone Council of Traditional Healers, is convinced that “evil” shamans like Kanu give healers a bad name.

“We are working very hard to clean up our image. Ordinary people don’t understand, so they classify us (all) as bad herbalists. One rotten fish can ruin a batch of fish… We are healers, we are not killers,” he told BBC Africa Eye.

In fact, Mr. Taravalli is trying to open a traditional medicine clinic in partnership with the government and another NGO to treat patients.

He believed that those with a lust for power and money were often behind ritual killings.

“When someone wants to be a leader… they remove parts of the human body. They use them as sacrifices. Burn people, trade their ashes for power. Trade their oil for power.”

Most people in Sierra Leone identify themselves as Muslims or Christians, but the number of ritual killings in Sierra Leone is unclear.

“In most African countries, ritual murder is not officially recorded as a separate category or subcategory of homicide,” Emmanuel Sarpong Owusu, a researcher at Aberystwyth University in the UK, told the BBC.

“Some are misclassified or misreported as accidents, deaths from wildlife attacks, suicides, natural deaths… Most perpetrators – probably 90 per cent – are not arrested.”

When we discovered another shady supplier of body parts, he was located in a suburb of the capital Freetown called Waterloo, an area notorious for drug use and other crime.

“I am not alone, I have as many as 250 herbalists working under my banner,” the man, who gave his name as Idala, told Osman. Osman is once again undercover, wearing a secret camera.

“There’s no body part that we don’t use. Once we need a specific body part, they bring it. We share the work,” Idala said.

He went on to explain how some of his collaborators were good at catching people – during Osman’s second visit, a voice message from one of the collaborators was played, claiming they were about to start going out every night to find victims.

Osman told him not to continue, but when he later received a call from Idala claiming his team had identified a victim, police chief Ibrahim Sama was contacted.

He decided to organize a raid but said his officers would not do so without the involvement of Mr Taravalli, who often assists police in such operations.

“When we get intelligence that a particularly dangerous witch doctor is running a shrine, we work with traditional healers,” said Assistant Superintendent Aliu Jallo, one of the police officers involved in the raid.

He went on to express the superstition some officers have about dealing with rogue herbalists: “I’m not going to provoke. I know they have powers beyond my knowledge.”

After Idala was found hiding on the roof with a knife, Mr Taravalli began searching the property for evidence, saying there were bones, hair and piles of what looked like cemetery soil.

That was enough for police to arrest Idala and two other men, who were charged in June with practicing witchcraft and possessing traditional weapons used in ritual killings. They have pleaded not guilty to the charges and have been granted bail pending further inquiries.

As we never heard back from Kambia police about Kanu, I tried to call him personally to question his allegations directly but was unable to reach him.

Sometimes, even high-profile cases can stall. Two years ago, a university lecturer disappeared in Freetown and his body was later found buried in what police said was the shrine of a herbalist in Waterloo.

The case was referred to the High Court by a magistrate in August 2023, but two sources told the BBC that the case has not been pursued so far and those in police custody have been released on bail.

My family has faced similar obstacles in seeking justice. In May, my 28-year-old cousin Fatmata Conteh was murdered in Makeni during a BBC investigation.

The body of the hairdresser and mother-of-two was dumped on the roadside the day after her birthday, and a resident told the BBC that two other bodies had been found in recent weeks.

Several of her front teeth were missing, leading the community to believe it was a ritual killing.

“She was a woman who never hurt anyone. She was very calm and hard-working,” one mourner said as family, friends and colleagues gathered at a local mosque for the large funeral.

We may never know the true motive for Fatmata’s murder. The family paid for her body to be flown to Freetown for an autopsy – a cost that authorities could not afford – but the results were inconclusive and no arrests have been made.

As in the case of Papayo’s mother, a lack of police closure and a feeling of abandonment fuels fear and terror in poor communities like Makani.

Additional reporting by Chris Alcock and Luis Barucho