Being a sangoma: The art of spiritual mathematics

Before one throws bones or ties the red cloth of the initiated, there is the calling – ubizo in isiZulu. And it rarely begins in peace.

It arrives disguised: illness, misfortune, sleeplessness, visions, or an unrelenting restlessness. Some hear voices in languages they’ve never learned, others are haunted by dreams of drums, rivers, or ancestors.

These are not ailments in the traditional sense – they are spiritual signals. A demand for acknowledgment. A beckoning.

Western medicine may misdiagnose it as depression or psychosis. But in African spiritual systems, this is often the first sign of awakening.

A signal that one is being summoned to become a sangoma – a spiritual healer. And resisting the call can have consequences: prolonged suffering, bad luck, even death.

Acceptance, however, leads to ukuthwasa, or initiation. Under the guidance of a seasoned gobela, initiates are trained through ritual, song, ancestral communion and spiritual discipline.

It’s not simply learning a craft. It’s undergoing a transformation. You emerge not just with tools, but with a new identity – a vessel of healing.

This initiation is, in many ways, a form of university – a curriculum rooted in ancient wisdom. It teaches how to read bodies, bones and ancestral patterns.

You learn to hear what is unspoken and to heal what is unseen. It is why I refer to it as spiritual mathematics.

I have long been fascinated by Africa’s spiritual systems. Growing up around sangomas, I witnessed more than just rituals – I witnessed an entire system of logic.

One that is often misunderstood, misrepresented, or dismissed as superstition or witchcraft. But to me, and to many who have seen it at work, it is a refined spiritual science.

There is precision in the way a sangoma names an ancestor causing unrest. There is order in the way dreams are decoded. There is structure in how illness is traced to spiritual imbalance.

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None of this is arbitrary. It follows patterns – ancestral equations passed down across generations. And yet, despite this, spiritual practice is ridiculed.

It is disrespected, especially in South Africa. Christian converts denounce it. The law often fails to protect it. Media trivialises it.

And yet, paradoxically, more than 80% of South Africans – across race, class, and creed – consult sangomas, openly or secretly.

Celebrities seek them. Politicians rely on them. Academics defer to them. The unemployed walk kilometres to consult them. From the township to the suburbs, their counsel is sought.

Unfortunately, spiritual practice has also become trendy. Some celebrities parade their initiation journeys for clout. Others treat it as a costume rather than a calling.

This is dangerous. Because true initiation is sacred – and costly. It demands sacrifice, humility and surrender.

Yes, there are frauds. There are unethical practices. But this is not unique to sangomas. It exists in every profession – lawyers, doctors, preachers. It should not invalidate the entire tradition.

Africans are deeply ritualistic. From birth to death, there are ceremonies marking every transition. Naming rituals, cleansing rituals, puberty rites, funerals.

Each is governed by spiritual laws. Each has a purpose in maintaining balance between the living and the ancestral world.

Many of these rituals are not explained. We are told, “you just do it”. This has created a tension between tradition and modernity.

And yet, when observed properly, these rituals always shift something. They realign us. Behind every ritual is an equation – a spiritual logic that seeks to restore harmony.

That is why sangomas are often present. Not to perform magic, but to help balance unseen forces. To interpret spiritual data. To correct imbalances in the family line, or the individual soul.

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If you are out of alignment, your life feels blocked. No matter how talented or wealthy you are, something feels off. The sangoma reads these patterns and helps you reset.

Western frameworks may now speak of “intergenerational trauma,” or “epigenetic memory”. But our elders have been addressing this for centuries.

They may not have used scientific terms, but their methods were not without logic. They were, and are, scientists of the spirit.

What we call “bones” could just as easily be read as an early algorithm. The sangoma calculates outcomes, interprets dreams and prescribes action – not at random, but through discernment and ancestral consultation.

This is why I believe we must begin to see sangomas not as relics or curiosities, but as carriers of sacred logic. Flawed, like all humans, but gifted with a sight that modern society needs.

Today, we face a spiritual drought. We are disconnected from our roots. Many of our youth are lost. Communities are fractured.

Depression and anxiety rise as we distance ourselves from rituals that once anchored us. Perhaps, in this era, it is the sangoma – the spiritual mathematician – who offers the most urgent intervention.

Not just to heal individuals, but to recalibrate society’s soul. They remind us that the world is not only physical.

That there are equations in the unseen that must be balanced. That behind every illness, conflict, or restlessness, there is a deeper rhythm – waiting to be heard.

In honouring them, we honour ourselves. In listening to them, we remember our own sacred logic. In restoring our rituals, we reclaim our equilibrium.

That is the essence of spiritual mathematics. Not mysticism. But method. Not folklore. But formula. Not myth. But meaning.

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