Certain incidents, which obtain during trances, are such as to engrave themselves on the minds of spectators. At the source of legends concerning the origin of loa there is often an authentic ‘event’ which took place in the presence of dependable witnesses. In other words Voodoo mythology is constantly being enriched by the narration of divine interventions in human affairs, interventions which are in fact ‘played’ by actors, suddenly inspired.
The liturgies intoned during ceremonies to greet loa shed considerable light on the attributes, adventures and character of the spirits. Often, when a member of the Voodoo priesthood is asked about the personality of some loa he will answer with a song or the recitation of a single couplet to prove the reliability of his information. The songs contain not only epithets and ‘sacred names’ (‘noms vaillants’) of loa but also short judgments on their behaviour. A satirical vein is not looked upon as irreverent.
Such are the sources of Voodoo mythology available to us. To them should be added the information which hungan and mambo are always ready to give about the tastes and character of the loa they serve.
The way in which gods are worshipped is the responsibility of autonomous religious groups, therefore divergence and contradictions are inevitably numerous. Still less is coherence to be expected in Voodoo beliefs when the heterogeneity of their origins is taken into account. The main gods, common to all sanctuaries, are almost the only ones whose identities stand out with any precision. Variety would be even more pronounced were it not for the fact that certain well-known hungan educate other priests, whose learning therefore springs from a common source. As long as the general form of ceremonies is not altered, innovations of detail, particularly if they are picturesque, are well received by the public. The idea of tradition, pure or impure, is foreign to Voodoo; it is more a question of a line, often arbitrary, drawn by Haitian intellectuals separating practices which they regard as authentic from those which seem to them to be adulterated. Have I not heard a writer cry out in the middle of a Voodoo ceremony ‘But these rites are contrary to Voodoo philosophy!’ A hungan will pride himself on his ‘knowledge’ and acquire fame by becoming the successor of such and such a priest; but the idea of a pure Voodoo doctrine is entirely alien to him.
Doubtless much could be gained by making a detailed study of the ritual peculiar to each loa. In this way fairly precise outlines of the power and character of the main divinities could be obtained. It would, however, be a long-winded work and the results would not always repay the effort expended. Too often the meaning of ritual has become obscured with the passing of the years. The true nature of Voodoo divinities will become more intelligible if, laying aside these minute details, we are content to recall the main outlines of some of the most representative of the loa.
There is little difference between the supernatural society of the loa and the Haitian peasantry which imagined it. The spirits distinguish themselves from men solely by the extent of their ‘knowledge’, or, which is the same thing, their powers. They are all country people who share the tastes, habits and passions of their servants. Like them they are fond of good living, wily, lascivious, sensitive, jealous and subject to violent attacks of rage which are quickly over; they love or they detest each other, they frequent or avoid each other, as do their worshippers. When they show themselves, by means of possession, their behaviour is not always what might be expected of supernatural beings; indeed, they are capable of speaking coarsely, swearing, drinking too much, quarrelling with other loa, lying or ganging up against each other in a childish manner. We shall be referring to their weaknesses and fads in the following pages which, be it remembered, constitute a mere sketch of Voodoo mythology.
II.—THE POWER OF THE LOA
‘The loa love us, protect us and guard us. They tell us what is happening to our relations who live far away, they suggest to us remedies which bring us relief when we are sick...If we are hungry the loa appear to us in a dream and say: “Take courage: you will earn money” and the promised money comes.’ This profession of faith from the mouth of a Marbial peasant sums up, fairly well, what the devotees of Voodoo expect from the loa. To complete it he should have added: ‘The loa warn us of the machinations of those who wish us harm.’
A regular client of Lorgina’s humfo once told me all the benefits she had received from the loa: she would have been drowned in the sea if Ogu-balindjo had not helped her in time; customs officers would have thrown her into prison if another god had not turned up at ‘the moment when the bayonets were crossed in front of her’, and finally Guédé himself took the trouble to avenge her on a rival by killing the rival’s brother. Such statements, uttered with the emphasis of faith, give some idea of the many forms which the benevolence of the loa can take.
A loa’s solicitude sometimes goes as far as to procure employment for his protégé: a trader or official may be suddenly accosted in the middle of a fête by a loa, who demands through the mouth of someone possessed, a post—for the possessed person. The god answers for the zeal and honesty of the candidate and even promises to help him in his work. Believers hesitate to reject such recommendations. This is not all: there are banker loa—even usurers—who lend money to devotees in need; though Haitians do not like to have a ‘mystery’ as creditor. The loa are known to be pitiless in money-matters: you take a heavy risk if you fail to meet your loa creditors. A taste for speculation will sometimes drive a loa to invest money with a merchant from whom good dividends may be expected. For reasons which have just been set down, believers will only accept such sums under duress. Few are they who simply pay no attention. Money, however, which a loa gives through the hand of someone possessed, is holy money and brings luck. I heard of a woman who received ten centimes from the hand of a woman possessed by Zaka. She bought a few leaves of tobacco which she resold at a profit, and so was able to buy other articles. In this way she earned 35 gourdes. She gave half of them to Zaka but he advised her to use the whole sum to buy goats and then breed from them.
The fees received by a priest for a treatment which he has accomplished with the assistance of a loa belong by rights to the latter. They must be employed on the god’s behalf although any interest which accrues may be used for personal ends. I was told of a hungan who invested the money of Ogu in a haulage business, that of Zaka in the sale of peas and finally that of the Guédé in loans at interest. When a hungan negotiates a deal he is possessed by the god who goes into the terms. An animal offered as a sacrifice and spared at the god’s request remains the property of that god. The priest scrupulously shares the progeny of the animal which he has taken into his keeping.
The good offices of the loa are never obtained for nothing. Whoever is benefited contracts definite ‘obligations’, the most important being the sacrifices and offerings which have to be carried out at more or less regular intervals; but the ‘obligation’ can also be a ‘promise’ (a vow made at a special ceremony), or participation in certain rites or finally compliance with orders which the loa transmit by dreams or through the medium of possession.
To resist the will of a supernatural being is an act of ‘rebellion’. So, in every Haitian family the rage of parents knows no limits when they suspect their children of ‘rebelling’, that is to say of disobeying purposely in order to defy.
A loa’s book-keeping is as meticulous as that of a wayside stallholder. He enters presents received against favours granted, and never forgets promises made. In the course of an invocation of loa I heard most revealing remarks in this respect: spirits had been called by Lorgina who wished to consult them about the illness of Tullius, her adopted son. When Ogu-balindjo heard the young man’s name he cried out: ‘Who? Tullius? I don’t know him. Who are you talking about?’ When told the invocation concerned his protégé, who was ill and praying for help, the loa said disdainfully: ‘That man never gave me anything. Although he earned a lot of money he never gave me a present. He doesn’t seem to me to care much for the loa.’ Then it was Ezili-batala’s
turn to complain: ‘I am root-loa of Tullius,’ she said, ‘he hasn’t bought me or even offered me the least little spree. Sak vid pa kâpé (an empty sack doesn’t stand up).’ With this proverb she let it be understood that the loa, offended by the negligence of Tullius, had abandoned him and refused to come down ‘into his head’ to protect him from harmful spells.
Loa become the proprietors of whatever they receive in the way of presents: they alone have the right to make use of them. The following story, about a woman I had met with Lorgina, shows how much they resent their effects being disposed of without their permission. The woman in question had a prosperous business and had offered an evening dress decorated with lace to her patron spirit, Mambo Grande Maîtresse Batala. Before leaving for Cuba where she had important matters to attend to, she was imprudent enough to give this dress to a relation, promising Batala, whose permission she had not asked, to bring her a prettier one. The goddess thought this behaviour cavalier and decided her servant must be punished. The woman, who was a bit of a smuggler, was soon ‘sold’ to the police and thrown into prison. Her goods were confiscated and she sank into the most dismal poverty. She had not, however, given up hope of reconciliation with Mambo Batala and a return to happier times.
In Haiti the sensitivity of the loa is as raw as that of the men. The least little thing offends them. Particularly in matters of ritual are they touchy: if they do not get their allotted number of rounds danced for them, or if they are given food they do not like, or if people pretend to be possessed by them when they are not—that’s that: they are angry and ready to behave cruelly. They even object to imprudent words spoken by their devotees in an access of rage. My friend Tullius, having fallen ill, began wondering if he had not been punished by loa for having said, in a moment of anger, that he wanted to have done with them and be converted to Protestantism. Lorgina thought it wise to beg forgiveness from the loa on his behalf. ‘His crime is not great,’ she explained to them, ‘he only said he would become an adventist. Have mercy on him, take pity! Loa, you know well that he doesn’t like Protestants.’
Not quite all the loa are so sensitive. There are some who put up with teasing and take in good part the not very respectful remarks of their servants, provided these are not intended to hurt. Other loa, on the contrary, will not tolerate the least impertinence. Thus a woman who was talking to Ezili (that is to say with another woman possessed by Ezili) and who was having difficulty in understanding her, asked her to speak more clearly and added, ‘If you were a man you would speak better.’ The goddess replied in French: ‘Madam, it seems to me that you are lacking in respect: kindly repeat what you said.’ The woman did so and received a bang on the head.
When a person becomes the butt of an angry loa the spirit is said to have ‘seized’ him. Supernatural punishments take many different forms. They vary to a certain extent with the sex, character and type of the offended spirit. These considerations shape justice more than the nature or seriousness of the offence. Some loa are more severe than others; what for one is a venial sin, for another is an unforgivable wrong. The great loa of African Guinea are regarded as more moderate and just than those which consort with the evil genius of the petro. The root-loa who are, as it were, members of the families which worship them, are indulgent and show great patience. If a man ‘picks up’ his root-loa and is unable to offer them the feasts to which they are accustomed, they are prepared to wait, sometimes many years, until his financial situation is improved. When they think their servant is in a position to acquit himself of his obligations, then they warn him in a dream, or by the mouth of someone possessed, that the moment has come to ‘feed’ them. If, even then, he persists in refusing them satisfaction or invents false excuses, their demands become more and more pressing until the moment they decide to strike. According to the code which governs relations between men and spirits, the loa, having been informed that a fete is to be offered them at a certain date, must trust their servant and allow him time for preparation. It is only if he breaks his word knowingly that they have the right to treat him severely. Supernatural punishments take many different forms: usually loa afflict the culprit with an illness the gravity of which is not always in proportion to the offence. The spirits are more passionate than just. True, some of the more moderate loa treat considerately those with whom they have found fault. They start by sending a man some slight ailment and this only becomes serious, or even mortal, if he still does not take their warnings to heart.
Madness is nearly always a supernatural punishment. A hungan even told me that ‘only those who resisted the will of the “mysteries” go mad’. At Marbial someone pointed out to me a certain Florilius who, because he had neglected the cult of his ancestral spirits, had become subject to attacks of madness during which he tore his clothes, scratched his flesh and accused himself of having cast spells on his relations, in particular on his sister.
Loa often visit the sins of parents upon their children. The death of a little girl who was being treated at the sanctuary of mambo Lorgina, was attributed to Linglessu. In this way the god was thought to have punished the girl’s mother for some sacrilegious theft.
Persistent bad luck is nearly always put down to some transgression which has roused the wrath of a loa. That is why a person whose business falls into a bad way is advised to consult a hungan. The priest with his technique of divination is the only person in a position to reveal the name of the offended loa and the nature of the offence. On the other hand the hostility of the ‘invisible ones’ does not necessarily take an active form. A loa can also punish his erring servant simply by showing indifference to his lot and withdrawing his protection. A man deserted by loa is at the mercy of ‘poisons’. Before actually suffering in his flesh he is weighed down by a feeling of helplessness in face of the various dangers by which he is beset.
The touchy and arbitrary nature attributed to loa ensures their punishments will be accepted without too much recrimination. Victims usually appeal not to their justice but to their mercy. It can, however, happen that in times of great misfortune, people do complain of their severity and vindictive spirit. I heard Lorgina accuse the rada loa of having abused their power in making one of her clients ill.
III.—THE VOODOO PANTHEON
A complete list of all loa known and ‘served’ is, as I have already remarked, out of the question and would anyhow only interest those who are looking for old African divinities in Haiti. My purpose being solely to give a general idea of Voodoo mythology, I will limit myself to describing the principal gods worshipped throughout the sanctuaries of the republic, and who, by general consent, are regarded as the ‘great loa’. These are, moreover, the gods whose personalities and qualities it is easiest to define. In this inevitably brief presentation of the Voodoo pantheon, it seems to me useless to keep to the various classifications which have been adopted by the faithful, or to enumerate the loa in the order in which they are summoned during ceremonies. I prefer to divide them, roughly, into nature gods and functional spirits. This approach, which has no other advantage than classical precedent, is inevitably arbitrary in a syncretic religion in which, in the last resort, one is repeatedly faced with the overlapping of the powers of the various divinities and a chaotic distribution of their attributes and scope. The Voodoo pantheon includes no less than six storm gods. It would be easy to draw up long lists of loa fulfilling the same functions or personifying the same natural forces. Moreover the term ‘nature gods’ must not be taken too literally or be allowed to give the impression that loa grouped under this heading are regarded as the exclusive masters of the one aspect of nature or phenomenon with which they are associated. Anthropomorphism is so highly developed in Voodoo that the character of the god is far more important than his often tenuous link with nature.
In any catalogue of Voodoo divinities first place must certainly be given to Legba—the god who ‘removes the barrier’ and who is saluted first of all loa.
Atibô-Legba, I’uvri bayé
pu mwé, agoé!
Papa-Legba, I’uvri bayé pu mwé
Pu mwé pasé
Lo m’a tunê, m’salié loa-yo
Vodu Legba, I’uvri bayé pu mwé
Pu mwé sa râtré
Lo m’a tunê m’a rémèsyé loa-yo, Abobo.
Atibon-Legba, remove the barrier for me, agoé!
Papa Legba remove the barrier
So I may pass through
When I come back I will salute the loa
Vodoo Legba, remove the barrier for me
So that I may come back;
When I come back, I will thank the loa, Abobo.
In Dahomey, Legba acts as interpreter to the gods. Without him they could not communicate with each other nor could human beings communicate with them. A vestige of this function is preserved in Voodoo. No loa dares show itself without Legba’s permission. Whoever has offended him finds himself unable to address his loa and deprived of their protection. Care must therefore be taken not to offend him. He holds the ‘key of the spiritual world and for this reason he has been identified with St. Peter.
Master of the mystic ‘barrier’ which divides men from spirits, Legba is also the guardian of the gates and of the fences which surround houses and, by extension, he is the protector of the home. In this latter rôle he is invoked under the name of Maît’-bitasyon (Master of the habitation). He is also the god of roads and paths. As ‘Master of Crossroads’ he is the god of every parting of the way—a favourite haunt of evil spirits and propitious to magic devices; and it is at crossroads that he receives the homage of sorcerers and presides over their incantations and spells. Many magic formulae begin with the words: ‘By thy power, Master of Crossroads.’
Legba is represented as a feeble old man in rags. Pipe in mouth and haversack slung over his shoulder, he moves painfully, leaning on a crutch. (On most sanctuary walls there is a crutch, the symbol of Legba.) His pitiful appearance has earned him the nickname of Legba-pied-cassé (Legba of the broken foot), but conceals the terrific strength which becomes apparent in the violence of possessions induced by him. Anyone who receives Legba into his body is thrown on the ground and there struggles frantically or lies motionless, as though struck by lightning.
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