In Qardho, Puntland, north‑eastern Somalia, a 17‑year‑old Somali‑American boy, Ammar Abdulhamid Abdurrahman, died after being tortured at the Al‑Fajr Treatment and Rehabilitation Centre. Ammar, who was born and raised in Minnesota by his immigrant parents, had been sent to Somalia to explore his culture and visit relatives, a practice widely known as dhaqan celis. Intelligent, open‑minded, stubborn and rebellious, he asked many questions, which confused the centre’s administration and led them to adopt systematic physical abuse.

“My son was beaten to death by five people, including the director, when he protested against the centre’s inappropriate methods of treatment,” Ammar’s mother, Shukri Hirsi, told Fox9 TV. “Because of his stubborn nature, they tortured and killed him, and shocking photographs show severe whip marks on his body.”

Centres offering ruqyah—the practice of reciting specific verses from the Qur’an and supplications (duʿāʾ) to seek healing and protection from various ailments and negative influences—have been proliferating in Mogadishu and other Somali cities at an unprecedented rate, sparking widespread debate. Some regard ruqyah as an effective form of spiritual treatment, while others fear it can be misleading or exploited by unscrupulous individuals who present themselves as healers in order to profit financially and prey on vulnerable people.

The phenomenon continues to grow, although the rate of increase varies from city to city. United Nations statistics indicate that one in every three Somalis suffers from a severe mental‑health crisis, leading to serious disruption of social cohesion. This alarming figure demands specialised interventions to contain the problem and alleviate its severity.

In a life full of pressures, troubles and conflicts, many Somalis turn to ruqyah to rid themselves of worry and sorrow amid difficult living conditions, widespread anxiety and depression, and the recent rise of mental illness. According to Dr Mohamed Dahir Abdulkareem, a lecturer at Somali National University, isolation, poverty, high unemployment and deteriorating living standards all encourage the spread of the practice. A significant shortage of mental‑health specialists in the country also plays a role, making ruqyah an accessible recourse, especially for women, who are the most frequent visitors to ruqyah centres and healers claiming to remove “magic, the evil eye and envy” from their bodies under various names.

The Somali intellectual Farah Biniin Boos considers ruqyah to be one of the oldest and most traditional forms of treatment, with its roots dating back to the arrival of Islam in Somalia, although its means and methods of practice have varied over time. The raqi (healer) traditionally enjoyed sanctity, respect and a prominent social standing, often being a ḥāfiẓ (memoriser) of the Qur’an. His role in treating illnesses earned him payment—either money or livestock—as a gesture of gratitude for his services. Locally, he is known as Af Ku Tufle (Spitter from the mouth, in English): he recites verses from the Qur’an, then blows onto the patient and makes supplications. He also 'diagnoses’ the patient’s condition, offers psychological guidance, and may engage in other practices commonly found in villages and rural communities.

Farah Biniin Boos attributes the political and security instability that followed the civil war in the 1990s as one of the key factors contributing to the rise in mental health disorders in Somalia. Alongside widespread unemployment, substance use—especially khat and other drugs—and social hardship, these conditions have driven many Somalis, particularly women, to seek healing through ruqyah treatment centres in an effort to alleviate their suffering.

Somali society is characterised by its traditional and conservative nature, which has made ruqyah an entrenched part of the country’s religious and cultural fabric. Many people turn to it in search of healing for both physical and mental illnesses. As a result, ruqyah is regarded by some as a legitimate treatment option for various conditions, rooted in religious belief and faith in its spiritual efficacy.

In this context, Dr Mohamed Dahir Abdulkareem highlights that the resurgence of ruqyah in Somalia is closely tied to the community’s cultural and religious norms. While no one denies that the Qur’an offers guidance and healing, he cautions that some ruqyah practitioners have exploited it for personal gain, preying on the suffering, faith, and sincere intentions of citizens to achieve financial benefit. This includes manipulating patients’ emotions and encouraging them to purchase herbal concoctions marketed as effective remedies.

Moreover, some so-called healers engage in disturbing and abusive practices. These include administering electric shocks, strangulation, dousing patients with water, and using loudspeakers, all of which can cause serious harm. Others have been known to film and publish images of patients on social media without the consent of their families. Unscrupulous individuals and opportunists have turned this practice into a form of exploitation, resulting in devastating consequences for vulnerable patients.

The growing popularity of ruqyah can be attributed to several factors: deteriorating living conditions, rapid social and cultural change, and the lack of accessible or trusted alternatives in conventional medicine. These circumstances have led to the proliferation of ruqyah centres, which have become, for some, a primary recourse for addressing mental health issues. This rising demand has also opened the door for exploitation by certain practitioners, turning ruqyah into a source of income, particularly for the unemployed.

Fatima Mohamed Hosh, an expert in educational psychology, points to a number of reasons why people continue to seek ruqyah treatment in Somalia. Chief among them is the deep-rooted religious, historical, and societal legacy that normalises and even encourages the practice. Many patients reportedly try ruqyah before seeking help from hospitals. She also notes that the community often overlooks or tolerates the misconduct of some of these so-called healers, compounded by the absence of clear policies to regulate the operation of ruqyah centres.

Using social media for promotion

The use of social media platforms has become one of the most effective tools for ruqyah centre owners to reach a wide audience. Many use these platforms to post photos and video clips, and sometimes even stream live ruqyah sessions involving patients, one example is the ad video of the center of Sheikh Abdurahman Erigabo Sheekh Rusheeye, one of the most prominent practitioners, in which he lists the diseases he claims to heal. These often feature scenes that blatantly disregard privacy, intended to promote the healer’s work and showcase supposed “supernatural” powers to expel jinn, break spells, remove envy, and more—all with the aim of gaining money and fame. The pages, usually bearing the raqi’s (practitioner’s) name, display contact information including phone numbers and email addresses, encouraging potential clients to book appointments.

These centres have become a breeding ground for anyone and everyone, stresses Dr Mohamed Dahir Abdulkareem. “Ruqyah has become a profession for those with no profession. Some of these so‑called practitioners have no real religious knowledge. Numerous deviations have emerged, what was once a legitimate treatment involving the Qur’an has been turned into a commercial venture. In the past, genuine ruqyah practitioners were known for their wisdom, dignity, and deep religious and moral integrity.”

Ruqyah as a means of draining patients' money

Rawda Mohamed Elmi, one of the victims of these centres, had difficulty getting married, always bailing out on suitors at the last moment. “I would try to convince myself that I was right in doing so, even my family was surprised by the matter,” Elmi says. “A relative advised me to go to the ruqyah practitioners for treatment, and without hesitation, I decided to go to the ruqyah practitioners after booking a session, and the sheikh began to diagnose my condition and listen to me.” Elmi adds: “These symptoms indicate that you are afflicted with possession and envy.”

Rawda confirms that she continued the sessions amidst a large group of people sitting in the centre's courtyard, where the raqi would play loud Qur’anic recitations over large speakers and sprinkle water that had been recited upon; with a stick, he would strike those who resisted the jinn’s exit.

Rawda adds that she was subjected to beating with a stick, electric shocks, finger tying, and strangulation during the treatment period, and sometimes she would hear crying, screaming, and pleas for help from patients, and there was no way to escape except to wait for the allotted time to end, due to guards at the main gate. Crying and screaming were the only way to alleviate the severity of the beating on parts of the body, under the pretext of expelling and frightening jinn and devils or undoing magic.

These practitioners justify this by saying that it is permissible to use every legitimate means to expel jinn from the body, and that those sounds emanate from the jinn, not from the patient. “After a month and a half, I did not find any significant improvement, I felt anxious about losing money and health, as the total costs amounted to $1500, which included the raqi’s fee, herbs, and transportation.” says Rawda.

The details of the victims do not differ much; they are almost similar in terms of negative repercussions, as some ruqyah practitioners exploit the suffering of citizens. As Abdulrahman Abdullah, one of the victims of ruqyah centres, told Geeska: “I took the herbs prescribed by a raqi named Sheekh Rusheeye Yare in Mogadishu, which caused me to suffer from sudden high blood pressure and headache for three months, and I moved from one hospital to another, after all attempts at treatment failed. Doctors diagnosed me with paralysis in the legs and inability to walk. For nearly four years, I have been unable to urinate except through a thin rubber tube to remove retained urine after taking the herbal mixtures which caused me serious complications, bringing me into another world of suffering and pain. I can no longer stand, or even walk, I still suffer from severe pain in the urinary tract.”

Furthermore, these practitioners go far enough to threaten their victims when they attempt to expose them. Abdurrahman continues: “I received threats from the 'Sheekh,' the primary accused, and his group who brought me into this level of suffering and pain, and they asked me to stop talking to the media, and my response was rejection and confrontation no matter what it cost me, and I still receive threats, and I hide from neighbourhood to neighbourhood until I lost hope, saying: 'Allah is sufficient for me, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.’”