Voodoo in Haiti

by Alfred Métraux

  Thanks to the advice of her friend Gabrielle Chauvel, Madame Tulia at last understood that she had been odiously duped and exploited by a gang of scoundrels. She then decided to complain to the police. On May 15, 1943, she got in touch with Lieutenant Jacques Etienne who asked for a written statement which she immediately provided. Subsequently the police put themselves at the disposal of the plaintiff. Traps were laid for the miscreants and Charité Zephirin was arrested by Detective Clement François, on the evening of May 16, 1943, at 8 o’clock, at a rendezvous which he had given his victims—at the ‘Palmists’, near the water’s edge.

  Zephirin was found to have in his possession several jewels which he admitted belonged to his victim, 207 dollars and fifty cents in cash, a receipt for 395 dollars from Notary Vilmenay, several cabalistic objects such as playing cards, bells, chacha necklace of mal dioc and several other receipts for varying amounts, some in the name of Charité Zephirin, some of Charité Toussaint, some of Antoine Zephirin, etc.

  He freely admitted that he had received a great deal of money from Tulia to throw into the sea; he put the blame for all his ill deeds on to Robert Jean and said the latter had received on one occasion 300, on another 600 dollars—all swindled out of Tulia. He tried to bribe the detectives, offering them the 200 dollars which he had on him. When they refused to listen to him, he asked them to take him at once to Notary Vilmenay where they would get 400 dollars in addition to the 200 already offered; but there was nothing doing; the bribes were refused and he was taken to Etienne. Once he was in the police station he repeated his admissions made earlier to the policemen. He now added that Robert Jean, during the various ceremonies, had taken the part of Maître Agwé, the Master of the Waters, so as to receive the money and jewels thrown into the sea; and the part of Baron-Samedi, Master of Cemeteries, etc., etc.

  Thus ended the sad vicissitudes of Tulia Durand at the hands of the exploiters of superstition.

  IV.—ORDEALS

  All over tribal Africa there exists (as a means of detecting sorcerers) a legal procedure which pertains both to divination and to magic: ordeal. This procedure has disappeared not only in Haiti, but in the majority of black populations in the New World. However, I found in Marbial beliefs and attitudes which show that as far as sorcery is concerned, the custom of ordeal is still very much alive. It was in the course of an argument between two market women that my attention was suddenly attracted by this survival of a purely African tradition. One of the old crones had accused the other of theft, whereupon the accused, choking with rage, rose up in all her outraged dignity, raised her arm and taking the crowd to witness said: ‘I have not done that of which I am accused. If I lie—may I be put in the current.’ By ‘current’ she meant an imaginary ordeal which had been suggested to her by local notions of certain police methods. The peasants were convinced that at the police headquarters in Jacmel there was an electric wire which was used to bring criminals to light—particularly werewolves and sorcerers. Thanks to this device a current was passed into the body of the accused: the innocent were not affected but the guilty, especially sorcerers, experienced such a shock ‘that they spun on their heels and flames came out of every part of their bodies’. Thus I heard the story of a local woman who, suspected of having murdered her husband, managed to prove her innocence by insisting on being submitted to the ‘current’. She survived the ordeal and confounded her accusers. Need it be said that this ordeal of the ‘current’ is an entirely African interpretation of ‘third degree’ questioning.

  At Marbial children suspected of having committed some crime are sometimes submitted to a not very dangerous ordeal: the trial by balai, the name being derived from a plant which is said to have the power of squeezing the neck of a culprit if he does not own up. A theft having been committed in a house at Marbial near which children were playing, the owners decided to have recourse to this ordeal. The principal suspect was an orphan whose unruly behaviour had awakened the deepest misgivings among the peasants.

  A woman who was something of a magician asked for a sheaf of the balai (Corchorus siliquosush) plant which was duly brought. She sprinkled it with ash, and uttered some spells over it and then squirted water over it from her mouth. She put the children in a long line. Then with a bunch of the balai in each hand she went up behind each child in turn, moved the bunches three times round before his eyes, and then put them caressingly against the nape of his neck. When it was the turn of the suspected orphan the two sheaves interlocked round his neck like a garrot.{97} Terrified, the poor wretch let out piercing screams; but when pressed to admit his guilt, he refused. At this I insisted the ordeal be stopped—much to the disgust of the peasants who reproached me for having let the culprit off too easily. It was later discovered the children were completely innocent and that the money had been taken by a servant. This ordeal is much feared and many young culprits prefer to admit their guilt rather than be unmasked by the plant.

  Madame Mennesson-Rigaud told me a variant of this ordeal: Whoever holds the two sheaves of balai stands behind a chair and utters the following formula: ‘So and so has taken something...let the little chair stick fast.’ Then the speaker goes through the names of everyone present who is suspect. At the name of the thief, the balai branches seize the back of the chair which may then be raised.

  V.—DIVINATION

  In tribal Africa divination is one of the aspects of religion most intimately tied up with daily life. Fate is interrogated before the least venture and invests the smallest incident with omens which inspire fear or doubt. It is the same in Haiti but the methods used to discover the workings of occult powers are much less refined and complex than they are in Africa.

  We have already discovered how loa are interrogated. The hungan and mambo bring down a spirit into a pitcher, which then replies to the questions put to the spirits. This is the more usual kind of oracle—so much so that it represents an important source of revenue in a sanctuary’s budget.

  The questioning of fate with shells is still done in a few sanctuaries but is tending to give place to more modern techniques. Some hungan fall back on it to trace the cause of illnesses and to help them choose the most suitable treatment. Unfortunately no one either could, or would, explain to me the combinations which provide the desired answer. My account therefore is limited to the way in which the seer proceeds. The seven shells which he uses have been ‘mounted’ in the course of a special ceremony which includes the sacrifice of a cock. (The skull and tibias of this bird Lorgina kept in a wallet with the shells.) Having uttered a few invocations and consecrated the shells with a libation of rum, the hungan shakes them in the hollow of his hand and throws them into a sieve containing a necklace, a magic stone and a lighted candle. After examining at length the pattern of the lots he gives his reply.

  Divination by gembo is also of African origin. The gembo is a sort of shell often decorated with a mirror, stuck on its level side—the whole threaded, along with china beads or other decorations, on to a string which finishes at each end with a little buckle. To consult the gembo the hungan inserts both his thumbs and holds the string upright. He begins by calling on Simbi, ‘Pa puvwa Mèt Simbi Yâpaka nèg twa ilè ilè, maza, Simba zâzusi nèg eskalyé bumba, nèg kêbwa salay, nêg kéké bra...’ then he questions the gembo, phrasing his questions so the answers can only be ‘yes’ or ‘no’. If the shell comes down, the answer is ‘yes’, if it stays where it is, ‘no’. Sometimes it moves slightly and the string oscillates. These vague movements are also interpreted by the hungan. This type of divination belongs to the petro ritual and the hungan who practise it are usually servants of the loa of that family.

  All the mambo I ever knew were able to tell fortunes by cards. Thus they ensured themselves a small income. Their clients were not only women of the people but also well-to-do women of the bourgeoisie. This art, which is doubtless of recent introduction to Haiti, has been incorporated in Voodoo so thoroughly that among the accessories of the priest and priestess kept
on sanctuary altars there is nearly always a pack of cards. Many mambo tell fortunes while entranced, which naturally gives their predictions a supernatural character.

  It would be indiscreet to ask a mambo what the cards and their various combinations mean, because this is all part of a science learnt during initiation. However, I can give some account of the rites which accompany any consultation. The cards are laid out in a sieve on the edge of which a candle is stuck. Loa-stones which have been put through clairin flames are also in the sieve. A mambo whom I once consulted out of curiosity told me that white loa were favourable to me and I could count on their protection. Then, after a more detailed inspection of the lay-out of the cards she added carelessly that if I wanted to perpetuate their favourable feelings I must offer them a ‘smell’ (odeur i.e.—some scent), rice pudding and some dessert—white in colour. Her attention was further taken by cards which indicated my offerings should be rounded off with the sacrifice of a white chicken and a white pigeon. Remembering my sympathy for the Guédé loa, she told me the latter wished me well but desired a sacrifice to themselves, separate from that of the white loa. In short, one thing led to another and from my visit transpired the fact that my luck depended on my providing an expensive ‘service’ for the loa—a ‘service’ moreover which only Mme X was in a position to organize.

  Hungan and mambo practise many other forms of divination. They watch over the future by examining leaves, coffee grounds, cinders in a glass or the flame of a candle. L’ange Conducteur—a pious book published in France—has become an instrument of Satan in the eyes of the clergy on account of the use it is put to for the purposes of divination. Hungan use it for ‘turn the leaves’ (passer pages) or ‘dot book’ (piquer livre) which merely consists of turning up at random some passage which then gives the answer to the question asked.

  6—VOODOO AND CHRISTIANITY

  ‘To serve the loa you have to be a Catholic...’ These words—of a Marbial peasant—deserve to stand as epigraph to this chapter for they express, very precisely, the paradoxical ties between Voodoo and Christianity. The peasant who sacrifices to the loa, who is possessed by them, who every Saturday answers the call of the drums, does not believe (or did not believe fifteen years ago) that he is behaving like a pagan and offending the Church. On the contrary—he likes to think of himself as a good Catholic and contributes to the salary of his curé without hesitation. This ‘idolater’ would be wretched if he were excluded from the Communion or if he were forbidden to marry or baptize his children in church. Not always for truly Catholic reasons does he adhere to such rites, but because he attributes magic virtues to them and fears that if he were deprived of them, he would lose his respectability. Even while scrupulously observing Catholic rites, the Haitian peasant has remained little touched by the spirit and doctrine of Catholicism; chiefly out of ignorance, since such religious instruction as he may have received is rudimentary to say the least. He knows little of the lives of Jesus or the saints. Besides, he feels more at ease with gods and spirits which maintain friendly or hostile relationships with him, in the same way as he does with neighbours. Voodoo is for him a familiar personal religion whereas Catholicism often shares the cold nature of the cement chapels which crown the crests of the hills. Once when I asked a fervent Catholic whether he had finally finished with Voodoo, he replied that he would always be faithful to the Catholic Church but nothing could make him give up the worship of loa who had always protected his family. The hunsi of Lorgina saw nothing wrong in attending Mass after dancing all night for the loa. It takes a white man’s mentality to be shocked that a hungan or mambo can march beside a curé at the head of a procession without a trace of shame.

  The equivocal reputation which Voodoo has acquired is in fact due to just this very syncretic quality by which it mixes together, in almost equal proportions, African rites and Christian observances. All who have concerned themselves with Voodoo have been pleased to list the many things it has borrowed from Catholicism. The clergy has denounced these same things as so many abominations but no systematic attempt has been made to define, with any precision, the connection between these disparate elements nor the way in which they integrate themselves in the whole system of Voodoo religious values. In other words, no one has raised the question whether the Voodooist ranks the beliefs which he holds from his African ancestors on the same level as those he has derived from the Whites. An example usually cited of the fusion of the two cults is the identification of African gods and spirits with Catholic saints. Authors drawing up lists of loa have taken care to mention only the saints which correspond with the most important of the spirits, and have never tried to pin down how this phenomenon works, or establish its real significance. This was a mistake, for in most cases there has been no real assimilation or common identity. The equivalence of gods and saints only exists in so far as the Voodooist has used pictures of saints to represent his own gods.

  The walls of humfo and sanctuary living-rooms are plastered with posters printed in Germany, Czechoslovakia, Italy or Cuba showing various saints equipped with their attributes or in the act of living some key episode of their legend.{98} Merely by being pinned up in a place sacred to the cult of Voodoo, these personages lose their identity as Catholic saints and become loa. But this mutation does not happen in an arbitrary way. It proceeds from some resemblance, in certain particulars, of the picture to the conception which the Voodooists have formed of their loa and his attributes.

  Often it has needed a mere detail, to our eyes an unimportant one, though important in the context of Voodoo mythology, for a poster to be selected as a representation of this or that African divinity. For instance the snakes chased out of Ireland, which are seen at the feet of St. Patrick, have suggested a link between him and Damballah-wèdo, the snake-god. In the same way Our Lady of the Sorrows has come to represent Ezili-Freda-Dahomey because the jewellery with which she is decked and the sword transpiercing her heart evoke the riches and love which are the attributes of the Voodoo goddess. Saint Jacques le Majeur, James the elder, who is shown as a knight encased in steel, has naturally been identified with Ogu-feraille, the blacksmith and warrior god. On the same poster the person armed from head to foot is for some Ogu-badagri, for others one of the Guédé because of his lowered vizor which vaguely recalls the sling put under the chins of corpses.

  The cases of common identity which we have just given are, in the apt phrase of Michel Leiris, ‘concrete puns’. The same poster can represent different loa, according to whatever detail may have struck the attention of the faithful or, reciprocally, the same loa can be represented by several different pictures. Thus the name of Legba is applied not only to Saint Lazarus but also to Saint Anthony the Hermit, who in Catholic iconography is traditionally shown as an old man. Agwé, the great sea god, has for long been borrowing the traits of Saint Ulrich because on one poster the latter is shown with a fish in his hand. In the war years, when this picture became rare, it was replaced by that of Saint Amboise. Certain pictures which are completely unreligious in character have been put to the same use. Thus sometimes in a humfo, among the sacred pictures you come upon a poster depicting the sad fate of a debauché—a caved-in young man in evening dress. On account of his dark clothes and rather sinister expression he has sometimes been taken for Baron-Samedi or some other member of the Guédé family.

  The Catholic clergy seem at first to have had no inkling that the holy pictures and crosses which they were required to bless were to be used as idols. Finally the truth dawned on them. During the anti-superstition campaign, which we will discuss later, the curés felt no qualm of conscience when they burnt every picture they could lay their hands on in sanctuary rooms—although these were the same pictures as were being put up in Catholic churches and chapels for the adoration of the devout. In a report written a few years ago Monseigneur X denounced the abuse by Voodooists of sacred pictures: ‘They worship the pictures of the saints and one might say no saint in the calendar is excepted fr
om this attention unless it be those whose likenesses have not been imported into the country. In the people’s minds the picture they worship does not represent a saint at all—but the pagan divinity which they have substituted for him and which, from then on, constitutes the identity of that particular picture.’

  Although we cannot really talk of a true assimilation of loa to Catholic saints it remains none the less true that Voodooists have not failed to notice analogies between their respective functions. When they wish to defend, or explain, their beliefs they like to lump loa and saints together and say ‘all the saints are loa which is not to say all loa are saints.’ In the north of Haiti loa are called ‘saints’ which certainly underlines the homology. All the same, even if the two groups do resemble each other in exercising similar powers, they still stand apart and belong to two entirely different religious systems. Whereas all loa reveal themselves in possessions, no one to my knowledge was ever possessed by a saint. In the same way loa do not borrow the attributes and characters of the saints to whom they are supposed to correspond. It is, as we have seen, the other way about: the saint, stripped of his own personality, takes on that of the loa.

  The difference in origin of saints and loa is explained in a myth which I picked up in Port-au-Prince: ‘When He had created the earth and the animals in it, God sent down twelve apostles. Unfortunately they behaved too stiffly and powerfully. In their pride they ended by rebelling against God. He, as a punishment, sent them to Africa where they multiplied. It is they and their descendants who, as loa, help their servants and comfort them when they are unhappy. One of the apostles who refused to leave for Guinea (Africa) gave himself up to sorcery and took the name of Lucifer.