It happened finally: I put my feet in the oil of the Niger Delta. This took place in a now deserted fishing village where oil spills have made life impossible. 

An otherwise idyllic scenery, were it not for the stench that immediately assaults you as you get near the shore and the sight of the black gold invading the shores, making it impossible to fish, if there are any fish left. The intensive scrubbing it took me to remove the thick stuff from my feet was just a tiny reminder of the time it is said it will take to clean up places like this: one generation.

In another village devastated by serious oil spills,  we were welcomed by a crowd of women standing outside the community hall. They were not waiting for us but for the outcome of a trial that was taking place inside. A young woman was being charged with witchcraft. Since I had written about this phenomenon before, I asked the chief–cum judge what it was all about.
 
The sad looking young woman who was now sitting alone on one of the wooden benches of the courtroom had been abandoned by her husband. Later he accused her of killing his second wife and their children through witchcraft. The young woman, let’s call her the first wife, had predicted that her rival would give birth to triplets and that they would all die, and it came true.
 
It was believed she cast a spell on them and the jury of traditional chiefs in full attire found her guilty, I heard later. But it was not that simple: they gave her the option of taking a traditional juju oath in the forest, and to swear her innocence. If after many years nothing bad happened to her, that would be the proof that she was indeed innocent.
 
Witchcraft? The chief told me that the customary court had found sufficient evidence it was, indeed, witchcraft.
 
Incomprehensible for me, but an impromptu encounter that confronted me with other realities in Nigeria.