“Erzulie Tocan Freida Dahomey, Ce ou qui faut ce’ ou qui bon
Erzulie Freida Tocan Maitresse m’ap mouter
Ce’ou min qui Maitresse.”
The hounci and the adepts continue to sing all during the consecration of the candidate unassisted by the drums. The drums play after a ceremony to Erzulie, never during the service. While the attendants are chanting, the houngan very carefully parts the hair of the candidate, who is stretched upon the couch. After the parted hair is perfumed, an egg is broken on the head, some Madeira wine, cooked rice placed thereon, and then the head is wrapped in a white handkerchief large enough to hold everything that has been heaped upon the head. The singing keeps up all the while. A chicken is then killed on the candidate’s head and some of the blood is allowed to mingle with the other symbols already there. The candidate is now commanded to rise. This is the last act of the initiation. Sometimes a spirit enters the head of the new-made adept immediately. He is “mounted” by the spirit of Erzulie, who sometimes talks at great length, giving advice and making recommendations. While this is going on a quantity of plain white rice is cooked—a portion sufficient for one person only—and he eats some of it. What he does not eat is buried before the door of his house.
The candidate now produces the ring of silver, because silver is a metal that has wisdom in it, and hands it to the houngan, who takes it and blesses it and places it upon the young man’s finger as in a marriage ceremony. Now, for the first time since the beginning of the ceremony, the priest makes the libation. The five wines are elevated and offered to the spirits at the four cardinal points and finally poured in three places on the earth for the dead, for in this as in everything else in Haiti, the thirst of the dead must be relieved. The financial condition of the applicant gauges the amount and the variety of the wines served on this occasion. It is the wish of all concerned to make it a resplendent occasion and there is no limit to the amount of money spent if it can be obtained by the applicant. Enormous sums have been spent on these initiations into the cult of Erzulie Freida. It is such a moment in the life of a man! More care and talent have gone into the songs for this occasion than any other music in Haiti. Haiti’s greatest musician, Ludovic Lamotte, has worked upon these folk songs. From the evidence, the services to Erzulie are the most idealistic occasions in Haiti. It is a beautiful thing. Visualize a large group of upper class Haitians all in white, their singing voices muted by exaltation doing service to man’s eternal quest, a pure life, the perfect woman, and all in a setting as beautiful and idyllic as money and imagination available can make it. “Erzulie, Nin Nin, Oh!” is Haiti’s favorite folk song.
1.
“Erzulie ninnin, oh! hey! Erzulie ninnim oh, hey!
Moin senti ma pe’ monte’, ce moin minn yagaza.
2.
“General Jean—Baptiste, oh ti parrain
Ou t’entre’ lan caille la, oui parrain
Toutes mesdames yo a genoux, chapelette you
Lan main yo, yo pe’ roule’ mise’ yo
Ti mouns yo a’ genoux, chapelette you
Erzulie ninninm oh, Hey gran Erzulie Freida
Dague, Tocan, Mirorize, nan nan ninnin oh, hey
Movin senti ma pe’ monte’ ce’ moin minn yagaza.”
3.
(Spoken in “Langage” recitative)
“Oh Aziblo, qui dit qui dit ce’ bo yo
Ba houn bloco ita ona yo, Damballah Ouedo
Tocan, Syhrinise o Agoue’, Ouedo, Pap Ogoun oh,
Dambala, O Legba Hypolite, Oh
Ah Brozacaine, Azaca, Neque, nago, nago pique cocur yo
Oh Loco, co loco, bel loco Ouedo, Loco guinea
Ta Manibo, Docu, Doca, D agoue’ moinminn
Negue, candilica calicassague, ata, couine des
Oh mogue’, Clemezie, Clemeille, papa mare’ yo.
4.
“Erzulie, Ninninm oh, hey grann’ Erzulie
Freida dague, Tocan Miroize, maman, ninninm oh, hey!
Moun senti ma pe’ mouti’, ce moin mimm yagaza, Hey!”
More upper class Haitians “make food” for Erzulie Freida than for any other loa in Haiti. Forever after the consecration, they wear a gold chain about their necks under their shirts and a ring on the finger with the initials E. F. cut inside of it. I have examined several of these rings. I know one man who has combined the two things. He has a ring made of a bit of gold chain. And there is a whole library of tales of how this man and that was “réclamé” by the goddess Erzulie, or how that one came to attach himself to the Cult. I have stood in one of the bedrooms, decorated and furnished for a visit from the invisible perfection. I looked at the little government employee standing there amid the cut flowers, the cakes, the perfumes and the lace covered bed and with the spur of imagination, saw his common clay glow with some borrowed light and his earthiness transfigured as he mated with a goddess that night—with Erzulie, the lady upon the rock whose toes are pretty and flowery.
PAPA LEGBA ATTIBON
Legba Attibon is the god of the gate. He rules the gate of the hounfort, the entrance to the cemetery and he is also Baron Carrefour, Lord of the crossroads. The way to all things is in his hands. Therefore he is the first god in all Haiti in point of service. Every service to whatever loa for whatever purpose must be preceded by a service to Legba. The peasants say he is an old man that moves about with a sac paille (large pouch woven of straw) and therefore the houngan must take everything to be used in his service in the Sac paille called Macout. They say he has a brother, however, who eats his food from a kwee, which is a bowl made from half a calabash.
The picture of John the Baptist is used to represent Papa Legba. The rooster offered to him must be Zinga, what we would call a speckled black and white rooster. All of his food must be roasted. He eats roasted corn, peanuts, bananas, sweet potatoes, chicken, a tobacco pipe for smoking, some tobacco, some soft drinks. All these things must be put in the Macoute and tied to the limb of a tree that has been baptized in the name of Papa Legba.
Of all the Haitian gods, Legba is probably best known to the foreigners for no one can exist in Haiti very long without hearing the drums and the chanting to Papa Legba asking him to open the gate.
“Papa Legba, ouvirier barriere pour moi agoe
Papa Legba, ouvirier barriere pour moi
Attibon Legba, ouvirier barriere pour moi passer
Passer Vrai, loa moi passer m’ a remerci loa moin.”
There are several variations of this prayer-chant. In fact at every different place that I heard the ceremony I heard another version, but always it is that prayer song to the god of the gates to permit them and the loa to pass. The other loa cannot enter to serve them unless Legba permits them to do so. Hence the fervent invocation to him. Another often sung invocation is:
“Legba cli-yan, cli-yan Zandor, Zandor, Attibon Legba, Zander immole’
Legba cli-yan, cli-yan Zand-Zandor Attibon Legba Zander immole’.”
Legba’s altar is a tree near the hounfort, preferably with the branches touching the hounfort. His offering is made in the branches and his repository is at the foot of the tree. Legba is a spirit of the fields, the woods and the general outdoors. There is one important distinction between offering a chicken to Legba and offering it to the other loa. With the others his head is bent back and his throat is cut, but for Legba his neck must be wrung.
Papa Legba has no special day. All of the days are his, since he must go before all of the ceremonies. Loco Atisou follows Legba in the service, and is in fact “saluted” in the Legba ceremony. This is absolutely necessary. If it is not done Loco will be offended and the gods called in the invocation will not come.
Loco Atisou gives knowledge and wisdom to the houngan and indicates to them what should be done. In case clients come to them Loco shows the houngan what leaves and medicaments to use for treating the ailments. Either in the hounfort or anywhere else, the houngan can take his Ascon and call Papa Loco and he will indicate the malady
of the patient if the sickness is natural. If it is unnatural, he will advise the houngan.
Loco is the god of medicine and wisdom, but at the same time a great drinker of rum. Sacrifice to him a gray cock. His day is Wednesday. The image of St. Joseph is used for Loco Atisou.
SONG OF LOCO ATISOU
Va, Loco, Loco Valadi’, Va, Loco, Loco Valadi
Va, Loco, Loco Valadi’, Va, Loco, Loco Valadi
Man, Jean Valou Loco, Loco Valadi.
Most of the other gods of national importance will be briefly explained as they occur in ceremonies. This work does not pretend to give a full account of either Voodoo or Voodoo gods. It would require several volumes to attempt to cover completely the gods and Voodoo practices of one vicinity alone. Voodoo in Haiti has gathered about itself more detail of gods and rites than the Catholic church has in Rome.
A study of the Marassas and the Dossou or Dossa, the twin gods represented by the little joined plates, is worthy of a volume in itself. The same could be said of the Ogouns, the Cimbys, and the ramifications of Agoue’ta-Royo, the Master of Waters, the Erzulies, the Damballas and the Locos. I am merely attempting to give an effect of the whole in the round. It is unfortunate for the social sciences that an intelligent man like Dr. Dorsainville has not seen fit to do something with Haitian mysticism comparable to Frazer’s The Golden Bough. The history of the Ascon would be a most interesting thing in itself. The layman as well as the scientist would like to know how this gourd sheathed in beads and snake vertebrae, and sometimes containing a human bone, came to be the fixed and honored object that it is. It has its commandments as the voice of the gods and certainly it is hallowed. How did it get that way? Who began it? Where exactly?
CHAPTER 11
ISLE DE LA GONAVE
Everybody knows that La Gonave is a whale that lingered so long in Haitian waters that he became an island. He bears a sleeping woman on his back. Any late afternoon anyone in Port-au-Prince who looks out to sea can see her lying there on her back with her hands folded across her middle sleeping peacefully. It is said that the Haitians prayed to Damballa for peace and prosperity. Damballa was away on a journey accompanied by his suite, including two wives, Aida and Cilia. When the invocations reached Damballa where he was travelling in the sky, he sent his woman Cilia with a message to his beloved Haitians. He commanded Agoue’ta-Royo to provide a boat for his wife and to transport her safely to Port-au-Prince so that she could give the people the formula for peace. Papa Agoue’ sent a great whale to bear Cilia and instructed him to transport the woman of Damballa with safety and speed and comfort. The whale performed everything that the Master of Waters commanded him. He rode Madame Cilia so quickly and so gently that she fell asleep, and did not know that she arrived at her destination. The whale dared not wake her to tell her that she was in Haiti. So every day he swims far out to sea and visits with his friends. But at sundown he creeps back into the harbor so that Madame Cilia may land if she should awake. She has the formula of peace in her sleeping hand. When she wakes up, she will give it to the people.
From the house of George de Lespinasse high in Pacot I watched the island of La Gonave float out of the harbor with the sun each day and return at sundown. And I wanted to go out there where it was. William Seabrook in his Magic Island had fired my imagination with his account of The White King of La Gonave. I wanted to see the Kingdom of Faustin Wirkus. Then two weeks before Christmas of 1936 a friend of mine, Frank Crumbie, Jr., of Nyack, New York, suggested that we go over together and do some investigation. He knew people and Creole and I knew methods. So we made preparations to go.
Frank Crumbie, or Junior, as he was known among his intimates, knew where to find a boat. He engaged a small sailing boat known as a shallop to take us across the eighteen miles of bay water to La Gonave. The captain told us to be ready to sail between eight and nine at night because the wind would be right then. Then is the only time a sailing vessel can put out from Port-au-Prince for La Gonave. Mr. and Mrs. Scott drove us down to the waterfront with our army cots and other paraphernalia and saw us off. The captain and his crew of one other man poled the boat out into deep water and we began our all night voyage to the island of the sleeping woman.
The wind did not catch the sails at once. The men rowed and rowed. I looked at the big stars blazing so near overhead sunk in a sky that was itself luminous. Junior was already getting sea sick and trying to get comfortable. The men began a song and I asked Junior what it was they were singing so earnestly. He said, “A song to Papa Agoue’, the Master of the Waters. They are asking him for a wind.” The wind rose and soon we swept past the Bissotone Navy Yard and on our way. The stars soon lost themselves in clouds and down came a heavy shower of rain. I put on my rain coat and big straw hat. Junior took refuge in his sleeping bag, but we got dampish just the same. The men took no notice of the downpour. The lights of Port-au-Prince had faded when the sky cleared. Then we saw the luminous sea! It glowed like one vast jewel. It glittered like bushels and bushels of gems poured into the casket that God keeps right behind His throne for beauty. The moving fish put on their gilding. It was a privilege to move upon this liquid radiance. Junior was sick by this time but the men who were used to Haitian night seas did not pay attention. I had the feeling of being adrift in a boat alone.
All night the captain and the crew talked, smoked cigarettes we gave them and sailed and talked so that daylight found us off the coast of La Gonave. We saw two or three little thatched houses. The captain told the crew to announce our arrival. He took a conk shell and stood up on the prow and blew several mingled rhythms and tones, “Tell them two ti blancs (unimportant whites or mulattoes) are coming.” The crew blew again and sat down as the sun was rising. At 11:00 o’clock we landed at Ansa-a-galets.
La Gonave’s well advertised mosquitoes met us at the landing. That same landing that Faustin Wirkus had built during his reign. But away from the mangrove swamps the town rose high and dry and the mosquitoes ceased to be important.
The days went by and we made acquaintances. The chief of police there and his subordinates were very kind and entertaining. I saw Haitian folk games played and began to hear the folk tales about Ti Malice and Bouke’. For the first time I heard about the sacred stones of Voodoo. I found on this remote island a peace I have never known anywhere else on earth. La Gonave is the mother of peace. Its outlines which from Port-au-Prince look like a sleeping woman are prophetic. And the moonlight tasted like wine.
One of the Lieutenants of the Garde d’Haiti was collecting sacred stones for Faustin Wirkus. He was telling Junior about it in my presence so I asked questions. The Haitian peasants come upon the stone implements of the dead and gone aborigines and think that they are stones inhabited by the loa. In Africa they have a god of thunder called Shango or Shangor. He hurls his bolts and makes stones that are full of power. They think that these stones in Haiti were made by their god Shango and that the various gods of Voodoo reside in them. The moment that they see a stone of a certain shape and color they say that it belongs to a certain god because they have come to be associated that way. This one is Damballa. That one is Agoue’. Another is Ogoun. And so on. When one finds one of these stones it is considered very lucky. It is said, “You have found a loa.” When the finder acquires enough money to pay for the ceremony, the stone is baptized in the rites of the god to whom it is dedicated and placed upon the little shrine in the home upon a white plate and treated with the greatest respect. At stated times it is bathed in oil and little things are offered to it. Some of these stones have been in certain families for generations. No amount of money could buy them. The way to tell whether a stone has a loa or not is to cup it in the hand and breathe upon it. If it sweats then it has a spirit in it. If not, then it is useless.
We heard about one famous stone that had so much power that it urinated. It was identified as Papa Guedé, who had ordered it to be clothed, so it wore a dress. It attracted so many people and caused so much disturbance indoors that
the owner had it chained outside the door. One of the American officers of the Occupation named Whitney saw it and finally got it for himself. It was a curious idol and he wanted it for his desk. The Haitian guard attached to Whitney’s station told him that it would urinate and not to put it on his desk but he did so in spite of warning and on several occasions he found his desk wet and then he removed it to the outdoors again. They said he took it away to the United States with him when he left.
At Ansa-a-galets I met the black marine. A sergeant of the Garde d’Haiti lived in the house beside mine and I kept hearing “Jesus Christ!” and “God Damn!” mixed up with whatever he was saying in Creole. When we became friendly enough to converse, I told him that I had heard him and said that it was remarkable to hear the ejaculations from him.
“Oh,” he said, “I served with the Marines when they were here.”
“I see,” I replied facetiously, “then you are a black Marine.”
“But yes,” he replied proudly, “I am a black Marine. I speak like one always. Perhaps you would like me to kill something for you. I kill that dog for you.” It was a half-starved dog that had taken to hanging around me.
“No, no, don’t kill it. Poor thing!” He put his pistol back into its holster. “Jesus Christ! God Damn! I kill something,” he swaggered. I learned afterwards that he had told all his friends and associates that he must be just like an American Marine because the femme American had recognized the likeness at once. Perhaps by this time he has promoted himself to Colonel Little.