Allegations of Ritual Killings and Trade in Human Body Parts Shake Sierra Leone

Warning: This report contains descriptions that some readers may find disturbing.

Sierra Leone, already grappling with international scrutiny over drug trafficking and political controversy, is now confronting another grim set of allegations: that people are being abducted and killed so their body parts can be sold for so-called “juju” or magic rituals. A BBC Africa Eye investigation has exposed claims that networks of illicit practitioners and intermediaries operate to supply human remains to clients who believe such parts confer power, wealth or political advantage. Families across the country say they have been left traumatised and that little has been done to bring perpetrators to justice.

The human stories behind the headlines are devastating and personal. Four years ago, an 11-year-old boy named Papayo vanished while selling fish at the market in Makeni, in central Sierra Leone. Two weeks later, his family found his body at the bottom of a well; parts of his body had been removed, including what relatives described as vital organs, his eyes and one arm. “Today I’m in pain. They killed my child, and now there is just silence,” his mother, Sallay Kalokoh, told BBC Africa Eye. The lack of confirmation from police that his death was a ritual killing — and the absence of any arrests — has compounded the family’s grief.

Such alleged “ritual killings” are difficult to define, investigate and record. The term is commonly used to describe murders committed so body parts can be harvested and incorporated into charms or other ritual objects. Practitioners who traffic in human remains promise clients outcomes ranging from prosperity and political success to protection. According to the BBC, the outlet’s reporters found people who openly claimed to be able to obtain body parts for ritual purposes, and some of those claimed to be part of larger, cross-border networks. The BBC was unable to independently verify all those claims; nevertheless, the testimonies in the investigation paint a consistent picture of a clandestine trade that preys on vulnerable people.

Resource constraints hamper official responses. Sierra Leone experienced a brutal civil war in the 1990s and later bore the brunt of the Ebola epidemic, events that strained its institutions. The country reportedly has only one pathologist for a population of about 8.9 million, making comprehensive forensic investigations extremely challenging. Without sufficient medicaland legal capacity to perform detailed post-mortems and forensic analyses, many suspicious deaths cannot be conclusively classified or used as the basis for criminal prosecutions. That technical gap, combined with cultural factors, helps explain why many cases go unsolved.

Belief in witchcraft and spiritual remedies is widespread in Sierra Leone and across much of West Africa. Traditional healers — often referred to as herbalists — provide a range of services, from supplying plant-based medicines to addressing mental health and offering spiritual guidance. World Health Organisation data cited by the BBC estimates roughly 1,000 registered doctors in Sierra Leone in 2022, compared with an estimated 45,000 traditional healers. For many people, these practitioners are the first or only point of care. But the boundary between legitimate traditional healing and criminal activity can be blurred, and some who call themselves healers are accused of exploiting cultural beliefs to commit or facilitate crimes.

In their investigation, BBC reporters posed as clients and found two men who described providing body parts. One, who identified himself as Kanu, met the undercover reporter in a secluded shrine in dense bush in Kambia district, near the Guinean border. Wearing a red ceremonial mask to conceal his identity, he boasted of ties to influential politicians in neighbouring countries and claimed his shrine was busy during election seasons when clients were allegedly seeking power. On a later visit, Kanu reportedly showed what he said was a human skull and pointed to a pit behind the shrine that he described as a site where body parts were hung and where sacrifices were made. When asked for a female limb for ritual use, he allegedly named a price — 70 million leones, roughly £2,500 or $3,000.

Another alleged supplier, known as Idara, operated in Waterloo, a suburb of the capital, Freetown, that is often associated with drug use and crime. Idara told the undercover reporter he had a network of up to 250 herbalists working under him and that there were “no human parts that we don’t work with.” He claimed some collaborators were adept at capturing victims, and during a meeting, the reporters say they heard a voice message from one associate who boasted about going out nightly to find people. The BBC passed this intelligence to the police.

The authorities did take action in at least one case. Following the tip regarding Idara, Police Commissioner Ibrahim Sama organised a raid, but requested the involvement of Sheku Tarawallie, president of Sierra Leone’s Council of Traditional Healers, to assist officers in the operation. Tarawallie, who is trying to distance legitimate traditional healing from the criminals who exploit the system, often works with police on such matters. During the raid, officers found what Tarawallie described as human bones, hair and soil taken from cemeteries; Idara was arrested hiding in the roof, clutching a knife. He and two others were charged in June with practising sorcery and possession of traditional implements associated with ritual killings. They pleaded not guilty and were granted bail while investigations continue.

Tarawallie has been vocal in condemning those he called “diabolical” juju men, arguing that they tarnish the reputation of genuine herbalists. “We are healers, we are not killers,” he told BBC Africa Eye. He said he is trying to professionalise parts of the sector and is working on initiatives with the government and NGOs, including a proposed traditional medicine clinic. Still, he also acknowledged that some clients seeking power or influence drive demand for the most extreme services: “When somebody wants to become a leader… they remove parts from human beings. They use that one as a sacrifice.”

Even when potential suspects are identified, cases can stall. The BBC investigation reported that its lead on Kanu in Kambia did not yield a follow-up connection; attempts to contact him directly were unsuccessful. In another incident, the body of a university lecturer was found buried in what police said was a herbalist’s shrine in Waterloo. The case was referred to the High Court by a magistrate in August 2023, but sources told the BBC it had not advanced and those detained had been released on bail. For families and communities, such delays deepen suspicion that justice will not be delivered.

The reporter’s own family experienced this helplessness firsthand during the BBC probe. In May, the journalist’s 28-year-old cousin, Fatmata Conteh — a hairdresser and mother of two — was murdered in Makeni. Her body was dumped beside a road where locals reported other bodies had been found in recent weeks. Several of her front teeth were missing, leading the community to suspect a ritual motive. Because the authorities could not afford an autopsy, the family paid for the body to be transported to Freetown for a post-mortem, but the examination was inconclusive, and no arrests have been made. Relatives say the lack of closure and what they view as police inaction has fuelled fear and a sense of abandonment in their neighbourhood.

Experts who study ritual murders note that the phenomenon is hard to quantify. Emmanuel Sarpong Owusu, a lecturer at Arden University in the UK, told the BBC that in many African countries, ritual murders are not logged as a distinct category of homicide. Cases can be misreported as accidents, animal attacks, suicide or natural deaths. “Most perpetrators — possibly 90% — are not apprehended,” he said. Cultural beliefs, investigative weaknesses and limited forensic resources are all factors that make detection and prosecution difficult.

There is also a reported seasonal dimension to the problem. Some people say election periods are particularly dangerous, with parents warned to keep children safe because the demand for juju to secure political advantage allegedly spikes. Whether or not those claims can be verified systematically, the perception alone causes alarm and alters community behaviour: parents advising children not to accept gifts from strangers, businesses worrying about safety, and a broader mistrust of strangers and healers.

Sierra Leone faces difficult choices in responding to these allegations. Strengthening forensic capacity — increasing the number of trained pathologists, improving morgue facilities and building investigative skills within the police — is an obvious technical need. So is a clearer legal categorisation, so ritual killings are recognised, documented and pursued effectively. Equally important, however, is a culturally informed approach that distinguishes between legitimate traditional healers and criminal actors who exploit belief systems for profit. Partnerships between reputable traditional healer organisations and law enforcement, like the one Tarawallie is trying to develop, may be part of that solution.

For ordinary Sierra Leoneans, the priorities are immediate and personal: protection for children, transparent investigations and prosecutions that deliver justice and deter would-be perpetrators. For grieving families such as the Kalokohs and the Contehs, the silence of the state and the slow plod of the justice system feel like a second harm following the original loss. Until authorities can demonstrate they are capable of investigating and prosecuting these crimes reliably, rumours and fear are likely to persist.

The BBC Africa Eye investigation did not claim to have mapped the full scope of the alleged trade or to have independently corroborated every claim made by those it encountered. Some people they met may have been fabricating stories to extort money or to enhance their reputations. But the offensive pattern that emerges from multiple testimonies — mutilated bodies recovered in wells and by roadsides, shrines where human remains are displayed, men claiming cross-border political clients, and networks said to procure victims — demands serious public attention.

Sierra Leone’s government, civil society and traditional healer organisations face a complex task: to protect citizens and prosecute criminality while preserving legitimate cultural practices. For now, many communities remain fearful, and families continue to seek answers. The alleged trade in human body parts, whether thriving or limited to a few criminalised individuals, has already inflicted profound damage on trust between citizens and the institutions charged with their safety. That damage will not be repaired until those institutions can show they are capable of finding the truth and delivering justice.