Sssssscripture: Rise of snake rituals in Kenyan churches

In the heart of Kenya’s Western region, a disturbing trend has taken hold, one that blurs the line between faith, folklore, and fatal consequences.

Over the past year, a string of bizarre, sometimes deadly, incidents involving spiritual healings and snake-related exorcisms has thrust the region into the spotlight.

It is a phenomenon both chilling and perplexing: serpents slithering their way into sanctuaries, cloaked in the language of deliverance and healing, but leaving behind confusion, fear, and, in some cases, corpses.

The most recent episode unfolded at the Busia border post, when a 26-year-old self-proclaimed pastor was intercepted by authorities while attempting to cross into Kenya from Uganda, carrying a live snake in a bag.

The man, Fanish Ramsey Maloba, was stopped by border police at the Malenya crossing point. Officers from Mayenje Police Post, acting on suspicion, searched his luggage—a black, oddly shaped bag.

Inside, they discovered a two-metre-long black and brown serpent, coiled and hissing, concealed within what appeared to be a Nigerian bag.

Maloba’s explanation was as strange as the discovery itself.

He claimed to have travelled to Uganda for prayers and spiritual purification. During one of the sessions, he said, the five-kilogram snake appeared.

But rather than fear or destroy it, Maloba believed the reptile carried a divine message. He decided to transport it to his church, Apostle Ministries Church in Matayos, Busia, for what he termed “further divine intervention”.

His narrative, however, failed to convince the authorities.

Border seizure

Officers from the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS), along with detectives from the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI), were summoned to the scene. Maloba was arrested, booked under OB number 07/04/05/2025, and detained. The snake was transferred into the custody of KWS.

Investigations quickly revealed that Maloba had no legal documentation permitting him to handle or transport wild animals—a clear violation of the Wildlife Conservation and Management Act, which stipulates harsh penalties for such infractions, including fines exceeding Sh1 million or up to five years’ imprisonment.

But beyond the legal implications, the case has reignited long-standing fears and whispered conversations about snake-related rituals and superstitions in churches and spiritual gatherings across the region. In some parts of Western Kenya, snakes are no longer seen simply as wildlife—but as powerful, mystical symbols used in spiritual warfare and faith healing.

Earlier this year, a similarly troubling case happened at Mrende village in Matayos Constituency.

Margaret Agutu, a mother and devout Christian, joined neighbours for a prayer session at the home of a local spiritual healer. The gathering, described by witnesses as a blend of traditional and Pentecostal rites, featured chanting, Bible verses—and a live snake. It was meant to symbolise the spirit of affliction.

During the session, Margaret was bitten on the finger by the serpent. According to her daughter, Stella Athieno, and husband, Alloyce Ouma Okumu, Margaret alerted the spiritual healer, who allegedly dismissed her pleas.

As her condition worsened, panic gripped the gathering. Realising the woman’s life was in danger, the spiritual leader hastily stuffed the snake and ritual items into a sack and disappeared into the night. Margaret died en route to the hospital.

“My mother was a believer. She went there for prayers. We had no idea she’d encounter a snake and die,” Stella said tearfully. The tragedy sent shock waves through the village—and raised broader questions about the alarming convergence of Pentecostalism and occult practices in parts of rural Kenya.

The symbolism of snakes in African spiritual traditions is not new. In some cultures, serpents are seen as representations of healing, wisdom, or ancestral communication. But their intrusion into Christian religious spaces—especially those aligned with Pentecostal or charismatic traditions—has created a moral and theological conundrum. 

Dr Miriam Ayuma, a sociologist at Maseno University who has studied the intersection of religion and traditional beliefs, says the trend reflects deeper societal anxieties.

“In areas where access to healthcare, education, and economic opportunity is limited, people often seek hope and solutions from spiritual alternatives,” she explains.

“Healers and pastors use dramatic symbols—snakes, flames, trance states—to reinforce their authority and demonstrate power over evil,” she continues.

This visual and emotional theatre, Ayuma notes, plays into long-standing fears and beliefs, heightening the sense of spiritual urgency and dependence. But in churches, such as Apostle Ministries, where Maloba claimed he worshipped, reactions to his arrest have been mixed.

Beatrice Akinyi, a church elder, was quick to distance the congregation from the controversy.

“Maloba is not one of our pastors,” she insisted.

“He would come to pray with us occasionally, but he was never given any leadership position. We do not use snakes in our worship. We believe in the Bible and in the power of faith,” she added.

Other members, however, painted a murkier picture. One woman, requesting anonymity, claimed she had seen Maloba lead intense prayer sessions. He once shouted at a congregant while brandishing a walking stick and speaking in strange tongues.

“We thought he was just filled with the Spirit and passionate. Now we don’t know what to believe,” she said.

A youth leader at the church admitted the incident had shaken the faith of some congregants.

“People are scared. They’re asking whether we’ve been hiding things from them. Some are too afraid to come to church, thinking snakes might be hiding beneath the pulpit.”

Growing trend

The fear is not entirely unfounded. In 2019, a viral video emerged showing a Ugandan preacher using a python in a healing ritual, wrapping it around a woman’s neck as congregants sang in ecstasy.

A year later, in Kakamega County, a pastor was reportedly hospitalised after being bitten by a snake he had claimed to be exorcising from a bewitched child.

And in 2018, Busia authorities intercepted another man—Ugandan national Joshua Bumba—at the Malaba border post, in possession of a 5.5-foot cobra. He, too, claimed to be a traditional healer on a mission to treat a mentally ill patient in Bungoma County.

A KWS official said such incidents are becoming alarmingly frequent.

“These are not isolated cases,” he said.

“We’re seeing a worrying pattern of individuals crossing into Kenya with wildlife for religious or ritualistic purposes. This is illegal, dangerous, and deeply concerning from a conservation and public safety perspective,” he added.

The clandestine trade in snakes and snake products, he added, is likely tied to a growing black market that caters to spiritual practitioners in both Kenya and Uganda.

Yet despite the frequency and severity of these incidents, few religious leaders are publicly condemning the practice.

Many fear alienating congregants who still hold traditional beliefs or risk being accused of hypocrisy themselves. Others simply do not know how to address what one pastor described as “the snake in the sanctuary.”

Bishop Thomas Wanyama, chair of the Busia Interfaith Council, has called for urgent intervention and introspection.

“The Gospel of Christ is one of life, healing, and peace—not fear, death, and deceit,” he said, adding; “If snakes are being used to create illusions of miracles or to manipulate believers, then we are moving dangerously far from the teachings of Christ.”

Wanyama called on churches to strengthen internal oversight, establish codes of conduct for spiritual leaders, and sensitise congregants on distinguishing genuine Christian teachings from manipulative theatrics.

“Faith should not involve tricks. Healing should not involve death. It’s time churches confronted this madness,” he said firmly.

As for Maloba,  investigations are still ongoing. Whether his actions stemmed from genuine conviction or cunning deception, one thing is clear: the line between deliverance and danger has never felt thinner.

And in the villages and border towns of Western Kenya, where belief runs deep and fear even deeper, serpents still slither not just through the undergrowth, but into the hearts of sanctuaries.