‘We are always in the process of making sense of the world’ (Bingley, 2002), a relationship where people influence place and place influences people. In this paper, I explore the complex role of the régulo (community chief) in a forest community (Nhambita) in Central Mozambique. First, however, I briefly consider the concept of lifescapes, which is a relatively recent theory (with a corresponding paucity of literature concerning its application in social science research). The concept of lifescapes has evolved within social anthropology (Nazaarea et al., 1989; Somé & McSweeney, 1996) as a way of framing the complex relationship between people, place and production system. Lifescapes are necessarily interactive, people and places are intimately interconnected (Howorth, 1999). Subsequent work by Howorth & O'Keefe (1999) highlighted the dynamic nature of lifescapes in creating places that offer livelihoods for the community.
As such, lifescapes provides an essentially phenomenological understanding of people – place dynamics. It also links with a substantial body of literature which explores the relationship between people and place. Authors have, for example, focused on the social construction of place, how place meanings develop over time and how people become attached to places (Agnew, 1987, Tuan, 1977, 1991, Massey, 1994, Bender, 2001, Brandenburg & Carroll, 1995, Ingold, 2000). Wilson (2003) has examined the importance of exploring non-physical dimensions of place, in particular those that do not exist solely on the ground, but are embedded within the belief and value systems of different cultural groups, placing emphasis on the social and spiritual aspects of place. Teo & Huang (1996:310) view place as an ‘active setting which is inextricably linked to the lives and activities of its inhabitants. As such places are not abstractions or concepts but are directly experienced phenomena of the lived world.’ As Doreen Massey (1994, 2002) states, rather than thinking of places as areas with boundaries around them, they can be imagined as articulated moments in networks of social relations and understandings. Thus any notion of equating place with local community is highly problematic. Boundaries between persons and things are osmotic and creative of one another, people, places and spaces are intimately linked and dynamic, so that landscapes work and are worked on many different scales (Bender, 2001). What then do forest places mean to individuals, who are also part of lineages and communities, with their own sense of continuity/discontinuity, values, spirituality, meanings and implied shared culture, and what is the role of Régulo in mediating this dynamic?
Research methodology
This paper is based on research1 carried out in Mozambique between 1996-1999 to investigate the differential impacts of forest use at the household level. The research methodology developed for this study has its basis in ethnography and Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA) techniques within an action-research frame. It is thus a mixture of participatory methodologies and social analysis. Ultimately, the goal was to try to understand place, the specificity of local realities in local terms. These techniques are all grounded in a working relationship between the Nhambita community and myself that spanned over two years whilst working as community forester on the GERFFA (Gestão dos Recursos Florestais e Faunisticos) project2 in Sofala Province, Central Mozambique. Slocum et al. (1995) discuss how participatory methodologies identify issues for both the researcher/facilitator and the community, and offer tools which are formulated, operationalised and tested in rural settings. Such an approach can assist long-term capacity building and empowerment for development agencies, local communities, and the individuals, households and institutions within those communities (Slocum et al. 1995).
Community contact began in early 1997 with an opening ceremony for Gorongosa National Park (GNP), and continued through to 1999 culminating with a community project set up between the community, GNP authorities and Si Lda (a private sector forestry company). The ‘formal’ research phase commenced with a community meeting, which served as an introduction to the aims of the project in general, as well as the research programme. Following this meeting, régulo Chicari (his ancestral name) was asked for a list of all households in the community. Numbers were assigned to each household, and then random numbers were generated to determine which households should be sampled (for the questionnaire and interview component of the study). The next phase of research activity included further community meetings, observation work, and open questionnaires/semi-structured interviews.3 During this time the research team (which consisted of two expatriate technical assistants and two Mozambican field technicians who all spoke Sena, the local language) lived in the community for a number of weeks.
A short history of the Régulo system
Newitt (1995:382) defines the role of régulo as ‘petty chief or village headman’, though the history of the régulo system is rather more complex than this definition implies, rooted in both customary governance and colonial imposition. It has strong links with the system of governance developed by the Muenemutapan Empire,4 and Negrão (1995) outlines the four main Muenemutapan administrative levels: the central administration of the empire; subordinate kings (mambos) who also had religious responsibilities; provincial (muzinda) areas under the control of a fumo; and chieftaincies (mushas), administered by the mwene (also known as mukuro). Assisting the Mambo was a council of elders, composed of the heads of the principal lineages, one or more spirit-mediums and the officers (sapandas).
The Portuguese colonial regime in Mozambique attempted to interact with the existing lineage structures by instituting a system of traditional authority (autoridade gentílica) based on régulos to control and tax the population – each of which had an area of jurisdiction, a régulado (Harrison, 2002:110). Crudely, they saw régulo and régulado equating to the existing systems of musha (chiefdom) and mwene (chief). In actual fact, the musha administered systems were structured upon alliances between rural families and lineages, and the musha area was delineated not by spatial boundaries, but by kin and marriage alliances between lineages (Serra, 1988; Negrão, 1995; Hanlon, 1984; Isaacman & Isaacman, 1983; Newitt, 1995).
Thus whilst to some extent the Portuguese system dovetailed into an older existing heritage (Anstey (2000), the interface between colonial state and lineage society created a range of outcomes.5 For example, régulos did not necessarily occupy the same lineage authority as the mwenes, and in many areas the Portuguese forced Régulos on existing lineages (Harrison, 2002). In the Zambezi delta, for example, the colonial authorities had great problems enforcing local chiefs to assume state administrative roles, and several methods were used to force them to accept their duties, including replacing them with Portuguese farmers, employing a Portuguese supervisor for each chief or discredit the local chief and recruit a local person to be in charge (Serra, 1988; Negrão, 1995). In general, however, the Portuguese were flexible in the application of the régulo system, and there were even some initiatives to understand and codify the customary law system (Negrão, 1995), though these ultimately failed due to objections from the catholic church. Speaking at the High Court of Justice, Archbishop Gouveia stated that:
to codify the barbarian uses and customs of the black race in Mozambique expresses a way of fastening the primitive civilisation, instead of moral raising of the native through the Catholic Missions (Negrão, 1995:164).
Much has been written about the post-independence marginalisation of the régulo system by the newly victorious Frelimo Government (Hanlon, 1984; Negrão, 1995; Serra, 1988; Roesch, 1992; Harrison, 2002). Though very much contested territory, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Frelimo attempted to restructure this arrangement through the introduction of a new system of governance in which the authority of traditional leaders was ‘simply ignored’ (Negrão, 1995). Hanlon (2000) writes that Frelimo's modernisation programme was intended to mean an end to traditional law and the régulos, which were largely seen as colonial constructs. Frelimo assumed that colonial links would make régulos unpopular (and many were). But in some parts of the country many traditional leaders were respected and had important cultural and economic roles.
This situation was to change again with the advent of the civil war, where both Frelimo and Renamo were forced to seek the support of customary authorities. Renamo in particular sought to exploit resentment felt towards Frelimo post-independence by working with traditional systems of governance in rural areas in order to gain support. That people continued to see attending funerals, marriage ceremonies and initiation rites as more relevant to their lives than village Frelimo party meetings produced at least in part fertile ground for Renamo to build support (Harrison, 2002, Hanlon, 1984; Negrão, 1995 & Serra, 1988).
Geffray (1991) argues that Renamo offered to rural communities the promise of ‘recuperation of an insulted identity’, the opportunity to live according to ‘traditional social and cultural norms’ were marginalised by the (Frelimo) State, and according to Cabone (2003:4),
Dhlakama (the leader of Renamo) became an outspoken defender of traditional rules and leadership, of religious beliefs and of (especially non-southerner) rural communities. A self-proclaimed protector of all those who had been penalised or marginalised under Frelimo's rule, which he viewed as ‘a state hostile to African society’.
Study community: Nhambita
Nhambita régulado is situated in Sofala Province, Central Mozambique Nhambita régulado was established as a relocation area for inhabitants of the GNP who were resettled in 1948 as human settlements were considered by the Portuguese to conflict with wildlife management. It covers an area of about 2,500 ha and is situated within the southern ‘buffer zone’6 of GNP in the administrative district of Gorongosa.
There are approximately 700 people living in Nhambita, mostly made up of locals and returnees post-civil war, although there are some immigrants. Within the régulado there are three administrative zones: Nhambita, Mussinhawa and Nhanganha. The Nhambita zone includes a small region known as Boa Maria, which was previously a cotton production and export area. Access to the régulado and the main administrative zone of Nhambita is via a minor road leading from the main Inchope road to Gorongosa Town road. The boundaries of the régulado are formed by the Pungue River, GNP and the road branching from the main Gorongosa Town/Inchope road leading to Chitengo (GNP headquarters) and the neighbouring régulado situated to the west of Nhambita.
However, whilst Nhambita régulado is characterised by natural boundaries, the régulo emphasised that there was no definite boundary to the régulado; ‘it is more important that families are here, it is not just rivers and roads’ (field notes, 5 August 1997). People living in the neighbouring régulado could come to him for advice if they had kinship ties to Nhambita régulado (highlighting again that community does not simply equate with place, but is embedded in social, cultural relations and kinship ties). The main ethnic group (and main language spoken) in the study areas was Sena (often referred to as Cisena), which is linked to the Shona7 ethnic group. The Sena ethnic group dominates much of central Mozambique. Tinnion (1973) states that the Sena (Kararga – Shona) tribes arrived in Sofala around 1130 BP, as part of the trading Muenemutapan Empire.
In terms of settlement structure, individual family homesteads8 are spread out rather than concentrated in a specific ‘village area’. This is partly a result of the traditional fallow-farming practices that require larger areas of land, but is also linked to colonial times where people used this dispersed settlement pattern to help escape Portuguese taxes and forced labour (Finnegan, 1992). Confirming this, the régulo of Nhambita stated that ‘people live separately as a system of survival [during Portuguese times] and for cropping, you need space for machamba’.
The régulado and the régulo represent the highest level of an administrative system delineated by complex socio-cultural conventions and laws. Régulados were typically broken down into smaller zonas, presided over by m'fumos. A range of other spatial and administrative actors may or may not be present, depending upon the size, location, histories and lineages of the régulado. Aside from administrative tasks, the régulo typically fulfills two main (linked) roles; conflict resolution and religious/ spiritual leadership. Traditional leaders9from different levels of the political hierarchy held official meetings on a regular basis to resolve ‘community problems’. These tended to be male-dominated, with women usually only present if they (or a relative) have direct involvement in the issue being discussed.10
As would perhaps be expected given the ambiguous position of the régulo system in contemporary Mozambique, régulos (and other traditional leaders) do not receive official payment for their du ties from the State administration. However, they do receive payment from the local community, in the form of cash, agricultural produce, alcoholic drinks and livestock. According to the régulo, if two people come to him with a serious dispute – for example, theft, violence, adultery or witchcraft:
They must first give a chicken, some maize and MT 20,000 (MT 10,000 each). When the dispute is resolved, they must each pay 20 kg of maize, 5 litres of neepa alcohol and one large chicken. One part of this fee is for me, for my work … the rest is given to all those attending the hearing [usually other members of the leadership].
There is sometimes also a feast [using some or all of this produce, the régulo can stay and eat or take home as much of the feast as he likes].
My orders come from the District of Gorongosa, I report problems back to the district. Serious problems such as stabbing are addressed at a higher level. The most common problems involve stealing from other peoples machambas. If the chief can't resolve this – in many ways it depends on the size of the problem, the m'fumo may sort it out and submit a report to the chief and it then comes to me. If a problem comes to me then we would all meet together with the person causing the problem. During droughts, people ask me to bring rain (they must bring régulo gifts of maize or sorghum), I must do a ceremony to bring rain (field notes, 10 August 1997).
Family composition in Nhambita was found to vary considerably, and included male-headed households, female-headed households and households without an adult head. The average family size per household for the study area was six individuals, and there were typically more females than males, a common characteristic of families living in rural areas of Mozambique (Boyd et al. 2000), particularly where polygamy is practised. Community demographics were influenced by the civil war period, as evidenced by the number of female-headed and ‘adult-less’ households (elsewhere in Gorongosa District (effectively the epicentre of the civil war), the war reduced the relative size of the adult male population, either through the forced conscription of adults and elder children into the armed forces, or by the movement of males of working age out of the areas in search of employment and education). Nhambita is also a very young community; young children (under 10 years) represented approximately one-third of the total population and over 60 per cent of family members were between 10 to 55 years old.
Respondents were also asked about the length of time they had lived in the régulado. Most (68%) had lived in the régulado for more than 10 years, though for many this had meant moving deeper into the forest during the worst periods of the war: ‘During the war we just moved deeper into the forest, we did not move away’ (field notes, 1997). There was a relatively small number of new settlers in Nhambita, most of whom had moved to the area to farm.
We moved here after the fighting stopped … I could not grow anything in Beira. Here I grow papaya and try to sell in Beira, but it is not easy because of transport.
It is not possible to have a good machamba in Beira, and there are no jobs anyway, so why stay there? Better to move here … my father's family came from here so it was a good place to come to (field notes, 1997).
postwar recovery of communities and land use systems that have been dislocated from established resource use arrangements can involve a convulsive period as such arrangements are reconfigured, with an associated change in how people see themselves and their relationships with others.
However, whilst there may be considerable variation in terms of family structure and experience, the forest plays a pivotal role in the community lifescape, providing (at least in part) food, medicines, energy, housing, economic opportunity, recreation, socio-cultural functions and spiritual health. Earlier work (Howell & Convery, 1997) has discussed this relationship in some detail and highlighted the complexity and interconnectedness of forest place – people dynamics, emphasising that forest resources do not have discrete ‘end-uses’ but rather represent a nexus of interacting resources and needs.
Leach et al. (1997:233), have adapted the entitlements approach developed by Sen to explain how the consequences of environmental change and access and control over natural resources are socially differentiated. They argue that that resource claims are often contested, and within existing power relations some actor's claims are likely to prevail over others. As already discussed, régulos hold an important role in managing resource claims and, under the system proposed by Leach et al. (1997), they effectively act as brokers for environmental entitlements. However, entitlements are also influenced by institutional structures, and in the recent history of Mozambique, have been subject to dynamic change. Forster (1999) highlights the reduced role after independence of the régulo system, which up to then had provided community discipline over natural resources through enforcement of customary law, spiritual principles and formal law, and Nhantumbo (2000:4) describes the existence of two parallel land tenure systems in the country: the formal system, which limited access and control over the use of the resources, especially in productive and protected areas, and the traditional (where it survived after independence) which establishes the collective rules still guiding resource allocation and use.
Given such a dynamic scenario, respondents were asked for their understanding of resource access rules and, in particular, their perception of land ownership. During community meetings there was a general level of bewilderment that the land could actually belong to anybody, though a number of people suggested that the land belonged to the régulo. The fact that the ancestors were buried in the area was of utmost importance to the community. Others believed that the land and forest belonged to the Government and the local communities ‘looked after’ the land on behalf of the Government. In most cases there was no perception of legal recognition of land rights or ownership by local communities.12 As part of the questionnaire study, respondents were asked ‘ to whom does the land belong?’ The majority of respondents said that the land belonged to the ancestors, followed by God (23%) the Government (19%) and the régulo (10%). Whilst only a minority of respondents thought that the land actually belonged to régulo, it was clear from informal discussions that he was viewed as the central political figure within the régulado, and that his authority extended to the control, management and resolution of resource conflicts (Howell & Convery, 1997).
The régulos perception of land tenure was that the ‘Government owns the land, I control it on behalf of the Government, but they can take it back at any time.’ For example, if a new family decide that they wish to settle within the régulado, under customary law they must seek permission from a member of the traditional hierarchy – normally the régulo or sapanda. Papers or a reference must be presented from the régulo where the family previously resided, providing information regarding the behaviour, participation and workmanship of the family. The matter is then discussed through the hierarchy with the Chiefs and the régulo and a decision is made as to whether the family may settle. The régulo will take the family to the edge of occupied machambas to an area where they can clear the forest and begin cultivation.
During the first community meeting, respondents differentiated between forest resources and machamba resources. Forest resources were perceived as common property and could be freely used by any member of the local community. Resources found within individual homestead or machamba areas were, however, perceived to belong to the family living on that homestead and/or working the machamba. Consequently, such resources can only be used with permission from that family. Aside from this, the régulo stated that there was no rigid system defining control of natural resources within the régulado, and that ‘it is only forbidden to use resources inside the National Park’. Though new families must gain permission from the régulo to settle in the régulado and clear land for a machamba, if an established member of the community wanted to extend their machamba area into the forest, this could be done without having to seek permission from the régulo.
Spirit world – sacred forests
Landscape has served as a repository for religious, magico-spiritual beliefs over many centuries (Cosgrove, 1993; Eliade, 1957/1987; Tilley, 1994). Recent work by Bingley (2002) has indicated how trees in particular have been drawn upon in literature, art and oral myth and history as reflections of the numinous. People are known to have traditionally associated particular places such as woodland groves and springs with the magical and the spiritual, creating shrines to deities and various sacred entities in these places (Morphy, 1995; Bord & Bord, 1995). Mircea Eliade (1957/1987) notes that in many cultures trees and stones, amongst other elements in the landscape, are traditionally invested with the sacred. Trees symbolise the connection between ‘heaven and earth’ as the axis mundi, with roots in the earth and branches reaching into the sky. In acknowledging how vital trees have been historically both as essential providers of fuel and shelter, and as powerful sacred symbols, it is perhaps not surprising to find that trees assume such significance for individuals and are readily mythologised culturally (Bingley, 2002).
As prominent features in a place, trees appear for some people to be an object upon which they can confer significance (Spirn, 1998). Rival (1998) notes the propensity for humans to confer profound symbolism upon trees, and argues that trees are not chosen randomly as objects to be projected upon; trees are part of a nature which is as independent of human life as much as human life is dependent upon it and vice versa. The practice of tree marriage, common of many Hindu in India (Parkin, 1997; Dumont, 1972; Greenwold, 1981) provides a uselful example of the nature – culture nexus. Tree marriage serves a number of purposes; it may allow subsequent marriage between humans in order to bypass religious or cultural restrictions, or as a fertility cult linked to the reincarnation of souls (there are often strong associations between the dead and trees, as growth and decay are united, unlike in the modern world where the living are separated from the dead).
The spiritual significance of trees in India is also highlighted by Jena et al. (1997), who studied the importance of the sago palm tree to the Kuttia Konda of Orissa (India). The tree has a pivotal role in Kuttia Konda society; it provides both palm wine, which is important both economically and socially, and a belief that there is a strong emotional and supernatural link between a tree and its owner. The yield of a deceased owner's tree is important in determining social position, and sago palms are inherited only with the consent of ancestral spirits. Gurung (1997), in a study of indigenous knowledge and an ethnic group's (the Rai) perception of its environment in East Nepal, writes that mountain farmers have developed substantial knowledge systems based on their cultural approximation of the real workings of nature, defined in part by their relationship with the supernatural – the Rai do not distinguish between the sacred and the secular.
Although generalisations are problematic, in many forest dwelling communities, indigenous knowledge about forests represents the principle of sociality, as social and cultural life is reflected in the forest surroundings (Seland, 1997). In such communities, the forest is not an environment and in a technical sense should not be considered in terms of natural sciences; they represent a local world. The forest is the people, in the same way that the ancestors are, in a sense, extensions of the living (Croll and Parkin, 1992).
In the context of many African cultures the concept of community includes both the living and the dead, and the spiritual is as much part of reality as the material. In this sense a sacred grove is not just a cultural relic, but an alternative way to transcend the divide between the local (or visible) and the universal (or invisible) (Virtanen, 2002:229). Virtanen states that traditionally protected forests can be divided into a number of socio-cultural categories according to burial grounds; places where deities or spirits are believed to reside; places for ritual; sites linked to special historical events or populations; and forests that surround natural sacred features like rocks, caves or ponds.
Forest symbolism was correspondingly strong in Nhambita. Many respondents stated that the land belonged to the ancestors, and there was a perception that ancestral linkages gave them customary rights of access to the land. The fact that the ancestors of many people were buried in the area was of utmost importance to those attending community meetings, and these sites were very much embedded in local cultural systems. Similar to the system described by Virtanen (2002:231) for the Shona, in Nhambita the spirits of the dead are preserved in a burial ceremony, and the burial place is considered to be sacred site.
The spirits of dead chiefs and other members of the ruling elite have a special status, as they are considered as the founding spirits of the community, who act as custodians of the land and its fertility.
In Nhambita, the sacred forest was very close to magi mapissa – hot springs which can only be accessed through the scared forest. The vegetation of the sacred forest area is different from that of surrounding areas, influenced by the geology and geothermal properties of the hot springs. Only men are allowed to enter the sacred forest, and resource use is generally forbidden as ‘it is a burial site for ancestors, including those who died during the civil war’ (régulo Chicari, field notes 15 August 1997). Only the traditional healer may visit the site and take medicines, as ‘some of the most powerful medicines are found here’ – including the most potent remedies relating to male sexual power. According to the régulo, people were buried here in order to stay in touch with the community; ‘people are buried with some possessions, but their money is given to the family’ (field notes, 15 August 1997).
During a women's meeting, respondents were asked about the traditional laws associated with the forest. One woman stated that ‘it was bad for men and women to be in the forest at the same time, particularly if the woman was menstruating’; when questioned further, she stated that this was because it might offend the spirits, and that it was even ‘worse for men and women to have sex in the forest’. A meeting with elders also identified that it was unlawful to:
‘defecate on fallen or cut branches’ and that ‘if you are walking through the forest at night and you are tired, you must clap your hands, then you can sleep by the side of the path safely … but you must not climb up trees’.
It is better to get back before sunset, that way we will not offend the ancestors … If we have to walk through the forest at night it is important to clap hands all the way through the forest until we reach home … they might undo all the work from the health post and we would have to return (field notes, 14 September 1997).
when someone commits a crime in the forest, the spirits (in the form of a lion) will seek vengeance. If someone mates in the forest, the lion may come and take grass from his roof during the night while he sleeps … the lion will not bite that person, only scare them.
The lion is a spirit lion who lives nearby [Gorongosa National Park]. The lion has ‘colours around it's neck, it is lucky’ and will only come out if there are problems; there are different kinds of lion, bad and good spirits, but the good lion protects … long ago, when the (good spirit) lion used to attack and kill buffalo, it would push the carcass close to families who needed it (field notes, 15 August 1997).
Similarly, Serra (2001:13) identified that violation of spiritual and customary rules and norms were mostly sanctioned or mediated through ancestors. Serra found that sanctions varied from individual punishments, such as making the culprit lose their way within the forest, to collective responses where, according to respondents, the spirits are ‘very angry’. In such cases, drought may be sent, or large numbers of insect pests or baboons sent to invade fields. To solve such problems, ceremonies would be organised in order to seek ancestral pardon.
Régulo Chicari thus maintains a system of privileged access to both the ancestral spirits of the régulado and the lion sprit guardian of the régulado, and has a specific role in mediating the relationship between the material world and the spirit world. Thus, the basis of both religious and political power is transcendental (Bourdillon, 1987). Merleau-Ponty (1962) focused on the variable relations between lived and objective space, allowing for a deeper consideration of the relationship between the living and the spirit world, and reinforcing again that there are no fixed boundaries between what Sideris (2003:717) calls the
Mozambican framework of understanding the world' where ‘the individual and the social, the mind and the body, and the visible world and the spirit realm are not rigidly separated … social order, self and body are dialectically linked.
the remedies employed by indigenous doctors are numerous: they use them in many illnesses and at times with notable success. There is much to study in local plants, some of which may be of use (Santos & Barros, 1952:615).
they come for medicines for better erection [nufancori, bango, mucurolangera, scientific names unknown, all tree bark], or to make them attractive to women ‘so they can find wives’ [chungana, scientific name unknown]. ‘I have nothing to improve women's sex drive, but I can give something to make them more fertile [chidsedsi] ’.
Much of the work of curandeiros in Nhambita was linked to reproductive health. Research by Kambizi & Afolayan (2001) has also highlighted the role of traditional herbalists and other knowledgeable rural dwellers in Southern Zimbabwe in treating STDs. At least two plant species identified by Kambizi & Afolayan were also used by curandeiros in Nhambita; acacia nilotica and cassia abbreviata. Water extracts15of both these species were found to inhibit bacterial growth, suggesting both species have broad spectrum antibacterial properties (Kambizi & Afolayan, 2001:7).
The curandeiro in Nhambita was also involved in treating problems related to infertility, a problem sometimes interpreted as having been caused by someone who does not want a woman to stay with her husband (often through the use of curses and witchcraft) and which is important to resolve due to its adverse impact on community ties (Meneses, 2003). Similar to the curandeiros of the Macua in Northern Mozambique (Gerrits, 1997), ‘relationship’ problems were broadly related to either spirit possession or ‘bad blood,16 as the following extract indicates:
I can give something to make them more fertile (chidsedsi), but there are ways of making sure, the sperm of the man can be tested with the woman, but this is not my business … It is the family of the woman, they must do these things, but it might involve a witch … The régulo also performs a ceremony for fertility when people get married. There might also be problems with spirits, possession by bad spirits, but it is the régulo who must solve these problems.
Sometimes the blood of the husband does not go well with the blood of the woman … there are different medicines I can use. tchissio [acacia nilotica] and murumanhama 17 [ cassia sp.] are good for such problems. Sometimes medicines are not strong enough, the blood of the husband and woman are not good for each other and they need to divorce (interview with curandeiro, field notes, 18 August 1997).
Sometimes it is explicitly stated that the man's blood is too hot and poisonous… when the woman suffers a lot of pain after sexual contact she and her family interpret this as confirmation that the blood of the man and the woman do not combine well (Gerrits (1997:44).
One incident during the fieldwork in a régulado some 60km from Nhambita further highlights the seriousness of witchcraft in Sofala Province. Whilst meeting the régulo one evening, there was an old woman working on his machamba. When asked if this was a member of his family, the régulo replied that ‘she was a witch who had been caught making spells … she must work for me as a prisoner … she will eventually be sent back to her family.’ Witchcraft was the second most frequent problem (the first being theft) dealt with by the local ‘court’ which consisted of the régulo, the sapanda, some m'fumos and the cabo de terra. The régulo explained the legal process:
if someone wishes sickness or death on someone else, they go to a local witch and pay around MT 10,000 for a spell … if someone is suspected of consulting a witch, the Cabo de terra is informed, who will find both the person and the witch and bring them back to the régulo.
The régulado and curandeiro are also likely to work together when there is ‘spirit sickness’. Sideris (2003:716) highlights the importance of spirit sickness in Mozambique: ‘injury to the spirit is worse than those other things … if the spirit is hurt you get thinner and thinner.’ In particular, she describes how the Renamo-Frelimo civil war deprived people of the daily practices, kinship arrangements, social rules and obligations which gave them a sense of purpose and dignity and anchored their sense of who they were (Sideris, 2003:716). This loss of social belonging and sense of dislocation from the world invariably leads to spirit damage, ‘the land from which you were living has been taken away, your people have been killed, you are spiritually dead.’ Loss of social belonging and identity also has resonance with Merleau-Ponty (1962:286) who describes the importance of belonging, of having a place in the world, for one's mental health, ‘they (events) enshroud me like the night and rob me of my individuality and freedom. I can literally no longer breathe; I am possessed’.
Moreover, Schreuder et al. (2001) report a high level of post-traumatic nightmares from a random sample of the population in Gorongosa District linked to the civil war. Many rural areas in the north of Sofala Province were Renamo strongholds, particularly in Gorongosa District, and there remains a fear of recrimination from Frelimo as well as very tangible links to conflict trauma. At times it was difficult to engage people in conversation about such issues; for example, during a community meeting an elder asked, ‘ Why do you ask these questions? Are you from Frelimo? ’ Despite community reluctance to openly discuss the conflict, there was a strong sense that the war cast a shadow over the community. The régulo (field notes, 15 August 1997) stated that people sought refuge from the conflict by hiding in the magi mapissa. Here ‘people died of starvation, we found their bones afterwards.’
Conclusions
At the start of this paper I posed the question of what do forest places mean to individuals, who are also part of lineages and communities, with their own sense of continuity/discontinuity, values, spirituality, meanings and implied shared culture, and what is the role of régulo in mediating this dynamic?
The paper has highlighted the significance of custom and religion in terms of community cohesion, and emphasises the role of forests as synergistic places, where needs and resources, the present and the spirit world, the future and the past coincide. Thus, issues of forest resource use do not sit apart from everyday life but (reflecting the work of Macnaghten & Urry, 1998) are instead accommodated within (and help shape) the social construction of local reality, emphasising the importance of ‘embedded social practices’ in understandings of nature and related local production systems.
Politics, and more specifically local governance, is a contested area in contemporary Mozambique, and there has been much debate regarding the role of the ‘traditional’ régulo system, particularly in relation to state structures of governance. The situation is complex, as the two systems are both connected and polarised by shared histories of colonialism and post-colonial conflict. But as Harrison (2002:115) indicates, it is the social relations which define lineage (and thus traditional governance) that changed in important ways with the advent of colonial rule rather than overt colonial imposition.
Though many people had remained in Nhambita régulado during the war, there had still been internal population movement to safe places within the forest and significant suffering. The research thus occurred during a dynamic time in the history of the régulado, which for many involved the reconfiguring of relationships with each other and with the land. régulo Chicari provided continuity and a link to the community lineage, and as such holds a fundamentally important role within the lifescapes of Nhambita régulado. He simultaneously acts as broker for forest resources and entitlements (particularly in relation to land allocation and conflict resolution), he operates as the spirit guardian of the whole régulo, he mediates the relationship between the material world and the spirit world, the present and the past, and works alongside the curandeiros to provide healing and protection from witchcraft. As Serra (2001:13) indicates, respect for these roles is based on people's belief in the ancestors, and in the legitimacy of the régulo as intermediary between the community and ancestral spirits, principles which are ‘passed from one generation to another through parents and community elders, both through day-to-day practices, and in special ceremonies’.
In Nhambita régulado, systems of governance were bound to a complex web of linkages between the living and the dead, the production system, economy and the landscape, the political and the cultural. Access and control of forest resources has traditionally been mediated through customary laws, and the leadership of the régulo, as representative of, and connection to, the ancestors.