Africa's Rainmakers Face Rising Violence as Climate Change Worsens Droughts

Farmers in eastern Uganda once paid David Nabutsilili to summon rain. When the rains came too heavily and flooded their vegetable gardens, they chased him through the hills until he fell on a rock and broke his femur. Sixteen years later, the rainmaker still feels pain in his leg.

Despite that attack, many of the same people continue to seek his spiritual help during planting season — both to bring rain and to block it. When he fails to meet expectations, Nabutsilili said, he must temporarily leave his home for his own safety.

"People beat us because sometimes the rain is too much, or there is no rain," he said in his village in Namisindwa district.

Rainmakers have long served as spiritual leaders in farming communities across sub-Saharan Africa, performing rituals to ask deities for rain. But their perceived successes have created enormous expectations — and as climate change brings increasingly erratic weather, they are being targeted for presumed failures. In the most extreme cases, they are killed by mobs.

In neighbouring South Sudan, at least two rainmakers have been killed in the past two years. Solomon Oture was buried alive in 2024 in the remote mountain village of Lohobohobo during a dry spell. In June, men abducted a rainmaker named Albino Lobillia and buried him alive in a southeastern area facing a prolonged drought, according to witnesses.

"There was no food, and animals began dying in large numbers because of the drought," said Madelina Tito, a relative of Lobillia and a local chief. "They held meetings and decided he should be killed because, according to them, he had refused to command the rain."

A study published last year in the International Journal of Environment and Climate Change found that the average annual number of rainy days in the Kapoeta region, which borders Lobillia's home area, fell from 90 in the 1980s to 46 by the mid-2010s. When rain does arrive, it is often sudden and intense.

"Communities in the most flood-prone areas have spent the last few years alternating between losing crops to floods and losing them to drought," said Joris Gasper, a researcher for the humanitarian group REACH Initiative.

Millions in Uganda and South Sudan depend on subsistence agriculture. Erratic weather can destroy livelihoods, putting rainmakers on the spot over their perceived inability to deliver.

"It's becoming worse and worse," said Matthew Oromo, a government official in Lobillia's home area. "People are not aware of what is happening. They don't understand this issue of climate change."

No Ugandan rainmakers have been killed, but some have been assaulted or reported to authorities for allegedly obtaining money under false pretenses. Joseph Weyusya, an elder with Inzu ya Masaaba, a traditional institution of the Bagisu people, said rainmakers sometimes succeed — but when the weather is uncooperative, anger turns violent.

"When the rains refuse, people gather around the village and then start looking for them — 'Why are we not having rain?'" he said. "And most times they have beaten such people to almost near death."

Nabutsilili, 45, said he was possessed by the rainmaking spirit at 14 when wounds mysteriously appeared on his legs. His first task came from cabbage transporters who put him atop their truck and asked him to keep rain away. It stayed dry, and he became his village's most relied-upon rainmaker.

Rainmakers in Uganda are consulted at home or in bars, and clients pay fees ranging from about $13 to $260. Nabutsilili received the higher amount to block rain during a campaign visit by President Yoweri Museveni last year. It did not rain that day.

The payment arrangement is said to contribute to violence when rainmakers refuse refunds after perceived failures. Unlike Christian priests and medicine men, who generally command respect, rainmakers are sometimes seen as malicious figures who retaliate against communities.

"Sometimes when you have grown your crops, like this season, and there is no rain and you give them money to bring rain, they bring rain that destroys our crops," said farmer Paul Boyi.

In Namatsokha, Nabutsilili's village, residents recalled a construction site plagued by rain only at the scene. The rain reportedly stopped after several rainmakers were paid, fuelling suspicions they had caused it deliberately.

Nabutsilili walks barefoot and is widely seen as spiritually strong enough to summon rain without visiting the waterfall where others perform rituals. Yet he was accused of failing as recently as November, when he was detained in a neighbouring village over rainfall that disrupted an important ceremony.

"They said bring back the money, because you have failed to deliver," said witness Isaac Watenga. Other punishments include forcing a rainmaker to drink muddy runoff after rain.

At least four rainmakers live in Namatsokha, and rivalries sometimes arise. Kilindon Simiyu, 30, another rainmaker in the village, said competition can lead to sabotage.

"You can give me money to stop the rain. Then my colleague finds out that they have given me money to stop the rain and the colleague brings rain," he said.

One recent morning, Simiyu and Nabutsilili descended into a waterfall and appeared to pray while chewing herbs. The village had gone weeks without rain, one of the driest spells locals could recall. Some onlookers seemed skeptical.

"We are having difficulties because, sometimes when it is supposed to rain, it doesn't rain," Simiyu said afterwards. "So we use our powers to try and bring it, but it doesn't come as it used to come in those days."