Not long after Uganda made the world's headlines with the discovery of the mass graves of some 400 religious zealots, the headless bodies of three babies were found in western Kenya -- apparent victims of some religious sacrifice. PNS commentator Ware Omamo looks at what's fueling an upsurge in religious extremism in Africa.

NAIROBI -- Just when we were beginning to find ways to forget the ghastly story from Kanungu in western Uganda -- the one about human sacrifices and mass graves, about more than 400 radical Christians dying in a church inferno -- scores of bodies, apparently also those of Christian zealots, were discovered underneath a house on the outskirts of Kampala, Uganda's

capital.

Yet a story that did not receive much attention somehow hit me much harder. The week of the Kanungu tragedy, the headless bodies of three babies were found buried behind a house in western Kenya, apparently victims of some kind of religious sacrifice.

Maybe this story moved me because I am a Kenyan father of two young sons, age 3 and 4. Our rural homeland is not too far from the village where the little bodies were found.

I have been talking about these stories, trying to make sense of them. My wife, who is American, wonders if the extremism says something about this particular time in Uganda, in Kenya, in Africa. Is it a symptom, she asks, of deep despair from a people grabbing for anything that will give them hope in troubled times?

Stroll through Nairobi, Kenya's capital, during any lunch hour and you will see throngs of people listening to unkempt prophets stridently preaching hope, usually complete with Swahili-English translations.

One of my sisters and my wife also think the extremism is linked to efforts to retain traditional African beliefs and practices. The Kanungu victims were part of the Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments. This is no mainstream church -- nor are the several other increasingly popular churches emerging throughout the region.

What sets them apart is that all mix Christian teachings with traditional African beliefs. My sister wonders if the extremism has something to do with a strange over-respect that we Africans seem to have for authority in general, and for divine authority in particular, even when common sense rebels.

I agree, yet I feel there is more to it than our psychology and our culture.

Religion looms large in national politics here as it does elsewhere. It is often used to mobilize us. It is also used to confuse and divide us. I think that money and power -- and thus politics -- are contributing to the sharpened religious identities, the heightened religious tensions, and thus to the growing religious extremism in this region.

Joseph Kibwetere, the self-styled leader of the Movement for the Restoration -- who many believe did not die in the inferno -- was not poor. None of the leaders of these new religious movements are poor.

Their followers, for whom they reveal alternative sources of identity and hope, often generously open not only their hearts but their wallets and purses. And it seems that the more extreme and exclusive the message, the more money and possessions new converts are willing to part with.

Kibwetere was also powerful, because alternative sources of identity imply alternative centers of power.

Enter politics. For alternative centers of power tend to unsettle governments, especially if, like several in this region, they are insecure about their popularity.

Most political activity in Uganda currently revolves around an up-coming referendum on multi-partyism. President Museveni's government prefers the current single-party system and is campaigning hard. But that position is not universally popular. The outcome is far from clear -- the government might just lose and is therefore treading very carefully. Its response to the Kanungu crisis must be interpreted in this light.

A few days after the Kanungu massacre, the government warned it would withdraw the licenses of any non-mainstream -- also called "born-agains" -- churches involved in suspicious activities. This was clearly intended to demonstrate a no-nonsense response and score political points, but may be backfiring. For it has polarized the country's traumatized Christian community in a way unlikely to benefit the government.

At a high-profile meeting in Kampala several leaders of the increasingly popular born-again churches threatened to sue the government if it interferes with freedom of worship. They reminded their fellow Ugandans that the dictator Idi Amin banned all religious groupings other than mainstream Catholicism, Protestantism, and Islam.

Meanwhile, mainstream Catholics and Protestants -- who still claim a majority of Uganda's Christians -- argue that the Kanungu calamity damaged the status of Christianity, and may even affect its long-term sustainability in the country. They blame the born-against, whom they label "cultists," and approve of government control of their activities.

The battle lines have been drawn and everyone stands to lose.

Whatever comes of the political maneuverings, the horrible facts of the killings remain. Almost certainly, others will be discovered. Religious extremism is very real. And, with the help of our governments, it is growing.

But how does it all start, I keep asking myself? When and where do the curious become zealots? At street corners, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with others also looking for answers to their problems? Or does it happen much closer to home?

The other week, our four year-old loudly and unexpectedly proclaimed, "Shaitan lives under the ground, daddy! Shaitan is bad, daddy! He's very bad!"

I was dumbfounded. By "Shaitan" he meant Satan. Neither I nor his mother had ever mentioned Satan to him or his brother.

A few days later, our three year-old gave me an even bigger surprise.

"Daddy, say ba," he said, starting one of his favorite word games.

"Ba," I obeyed.

"Ba is for bag! Say ca," he continued.

"Ca."

"Ca is for cat! Say jee."

"Jee."

"Jee is for Jeezes!"

We had never mentioned Jesus either.