Voodoo in Haiti

  The symptoms of the opening phase of trance are clearly psychopathological. They conform exactly, in their main features, to the stock clinical conception of hysteria. People possessed start by giving an impression of having lost control of their motor system. Shaken by spasmodic convulsions, they pitch forward, as though projected by a spring, turn frantically round and round, stiffen and stay still with body bent forward, sway, stagger, save themselves, again lose balance, only to fall finally in a state of semi-consciousness. Sometimes such attacks are sudden, sometimes they are heralded by preliminary signs: a vacant or anguished expression, mild tremblings, panting breath or drops of sweat on the brow; the face becomes tense or suffering.

  In certain cases trance is preceded by a sleepy condition. The possessed cannot keep his eyes open and seems overcome with a vague languor. This does not last long: it suddenly gives place to a rough awakening accompanied by convulsive movements.

  This preliminary phase can soon end. People who are used to possession pass quickly through the whole range of nervous symptoms. They quake, stagger, make a few mechanical movements, and then, suddenly—there they are: in full trance. Even as much preamble as this may be dispensed with when a ceremony is in full swing and demands instantaneous entries on the part of the gods.

  The intensity of this crisis varies according to the character of the spirit who is seeking incarnation. The great and terrible loa rush into their fleshly envelope with the violence of a hurricane. Those of a gentler nature spare their mount. The nervous attack also varies with the ritualistic status of the possessed: the less experienced he is, the more he will throw himself about. As long as his head has not been washed,{59} that is to say as long as his loa has not been formally installed in his head, he behaves wildly. His chaotic leaps and gestures are like the bucking of a wild horse, who feels the weight of a rider on his back. Is not initiation the breaking-in which prepares the faithful as mounts for the deities? The horse which at first rears becomes accustomed to its master and at last scarcely moves when ridden and guided by an invisible hand. Such metaphors are not out of place in a system which continually makes use of equestrian terminology.

  The possessed are protected from the possible effects of their own frenzy by the crowd which surrounds them. They are prevented from struggling too furiously and if they fall, arms are ready to catch them. Even their modesty is shielded: a woman rolling on the ground, convulsed, is followed by other women, who see to the disorders of her dress. This sympathetic concern on the part of the crowd for the gambols of the possessed certainly provides an atmosphere of moral and physical security which is conducive to total abandon in the state of trance.

  Sometimes—though not often, it is true—the person possessed seems unable to come out of his stupor. I remember one woman, seized by the loa Agassu, who remained a long time on her back with eyes closed, her arms flung out like a cross. She might have been thought to have fainted, had she not thrown her head from side to side and had her body not been subject to mild spasms, gradually reaching her shoulders which she shook rhythmically. With great difficulty she managed to kneel. She then opened her eyes: they were fixed and estranged. She kissed the earth and got up with the heavy movements of a person weighed down by pain. Like a sleepwalker she went and kissed the poteau-mitan. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Losing balance she fell to the ground, where she resumed her previous position. The hungan, rushing up to her, alternately cajoled and entreated her gently. She wiped her tears, got up and went and sat on a seat where she remained motionless, her face fixed in a sad, farouche stare.

  A person emerging from trance remembers nothing of what he did or said while possessed. Even if the trance seemed obviously ‘put on’, he will deny it categorically. No possessed person is supposed to know that he has been the receptacle for a spirit, unless he has learnt as much from someone else. Many, when informed, seem to disbelieve the account of their words and actions. A woman whose dress had been torn while she was in trance, came and asked me the reason for the damage by which she was much vexed. Her pained surprise radiated good faith.

  Such amnesia, or more exactly reserve, does not embrace the initial stages of trance. Some informants say that before darkness engulfs their brain, they feel pins and needles in their legs or a strange heaviness which glues their feet to the earth. Some compare the first inrush of the spirit to a blow on the nape of the neck. Then all sense of time vanishes.

  Possession may last any time; and sometimes, when the subject is what is known as ‘saoule’, that is to say slightly dazed, it only lasts a few seconds. This state of drunkenness results from any contact with a spirit or a sacred object. Thus, a possessed person may cause mild intoxication in others if he spins them around as a gesture of courtesy. The priest who carries the necklaces of the hunsi staggers as if overcome by the sacred energy contained in these ornaments. It is then said that they have been brushed by the loa whom for a moment they approached.

  With some people trance lasts several hours or even whole days. I was told of a woman who was ridden by Ezili for fifteen days in succession. Throughout this time she wore the clothes of the goddess and remained powdered and made-up. From time to time the goddess gave up her seat on her chual to her friend the Siren. A person visited by a loa for as long as this usually experiences difficulty in sustaining the condition of trance. Oversights and omissions betray his weariness and obscure the personality of the god incarnate in him. Unless warned, a visitor may fail to realize the situation and so address the possessed as though he were in his normal condition. The unrecognized loa then takes offence and scolds. To avoid such confusion loa usually have the good grace to withdraw their essence if their minions forget to establish their identity for them. Mistakes of this kind are more excusable when a god deserts his ‘horse’ in mid-conversation. A visitor imagines he is talking to a god...and finds himself face to face with a man or woman, who listens gaping with astonishment.

  Such mix-ups are rare. Usually signs of fatigue in the subject give clear indication that trance is ending. He loses momentum and if he does not collapse in a corner, he falls semi-conscious on the knees of spectators. Motionless and dazed for a few minutes, he at last opens his eyes and looks round him with the astonished air of a person waking in unfamiliar surroundings. Often out of respect for the departing god, the face of his ‘horse’, during this phase, is covered with a cloth.

  Once the acute stage of the crisis has passed, the footwear, necklaces, rings, hairpins—in short any form of dress or adornment that could get broken or lost, or might put the loa off and so ‘stop’ him—are removed. When a subject has difficulty in mastering his convulsions a priest goes up to him and soothes him by shaking his rattle softly, close to his ear. Sometimes, too, if the subject is rolling on the ground the officiating priest will keep him still by straddling and gripping him.

  The frenzy of the criseur wears off gradually. Suddenly a new person takes shape: it is the god. At once his attributes are brought to him: hat, sword, stick, bottle, cigars—or if he has to be dressed up he is escorted to one of the sanctuary rooms used as a dressing-room. The spirits, whatever their sex, incarnate themselves in men or women as they please. Subjects must indicate by dress, or simply manner, whatever change of sex may have taken place in them. In the chapter devoted to mythology we tried to characterize the principal loa by the dress or behaviour of their ‘horses’. We must here take the liberty of referring the reader to those descriptions. But let it not be forgotten that such impersonation is achieved with degrees of success which vary according to the imagination or resources of the hungan or the mambo concerned.

  The appearance of a grand loa is greeted by a special rhythm called aux champs (flourish): singers, men and women alike, burst out with redoubled enthusiasm. The god is fanned and his face is wiped free of sweat. If he is one of the accredited, guardian spirits of the sanctuary he is given an escort with banners in front. Such adulation does not exempt him from observing strict Voodoo proce
dure. Admittedly the ‘ground is kissed’ in front of him—but he, in his turn, prostrates himself before the resident priest or priestess, before the drums and before the Poteau-mitan. Usually he dispenses small favours among the onlookers—clasping both hands of some rather roughly, anointing the faces of others with his sweat, or shaking their clothes to bring them luck. He lifts in his arms those whom he wishes to favour, or he wriggles between their open legs. He is expected to effect cures, so he must touch the sick and improvise treatment. This can miscarry—as when a man possessed by Agwé tried to cure Lorgina of rheumatism...and bit her cruelly in the leg.

  The possessed—or to be more precise, the gods—prophesy, threaten sinners and gladly give advice. What is more they give advice to themselves, for often a loa will ask the spectators to tell his ‘horse’ to behave differently or follow his advice. These messages are faithfully transmitted to the person concerned as soon as he is in a fit state to receive them.

  A description of one of the many possessions which I witnessed will give a clearer picture of this essential aspect of Voodoo than any amount of general observations. The following passage is from notes taken on the spot: ‘The hunsi, with red cloths round their heads and coloured dresses, dance in honour of Ogu. At the very first dance mambo Lorgina is possessed by this god. In spite of her age, her infirmities and her weight, she dances nimbly in front of the drums, hands on hips, shaking her shoulders in time to the music. She then fetches a sabre and jams the hilt of it against the poteau-mitan and the point against her stomach. Now, by pushing with all her strength, she bends the blade. She repeats this dangerous practice, this time basing the hilt on the post’s concrete plinth. A hungan sprays rum from his mouth on to her stomach and rubs her legs. Lorgina in a sudden frenzy fences with the la-place; he, too, being armed with a sabre. The ceremonial duel degenerates into a real fight, so that spectators, fearing an accident, have to intervene. Lorgina is then seized by another wave of bellicose frenzy. She hacks the poteau-mitan with her sabre and chases the hunsi who flee in terror. She is on the point of catching them when prevented by the shafts of the sacred flags which two women cross in her path. At once she becomes calm—and thus will it always be whenever Lorgina-Ogu gives way to an attack of rage. A priest comes up to talk to her, keeping prudently in the safety-zone of the banners. The mambo winds up by going back to the hunsi whom she beats violently with the fiat of her sabre; and this outlet has a soothing effect upon her. Suddenly all smiles, she salutes everyone present and overflows with politeness in every direction. She has a cigar brought to her which she smokes in a nonchalant way. Then she gives orders that the meat-safe hanging on the poteau-mitan should be placed before her. She eats heartily and distributes what is left among the hunsi. She calls up a trembling and excited little girl whom she has already spanked hard with the flat of her sword: she gives her a long lecture on her future behaviour and foretells a terrible fate for her unless she takes the warning to heart. Having forced the little girl to prostrate herself before her, Lorgina—still in the tones of Ogu—lectures her hunsi, giving them detailed advice on dress. Then, speaking of herself in the third person, she boasts of her own labours, and tells how she managed to save up to build the sanctuary. The hunsi listen with respect. Shortly afterwards the god leaves the mambo, who then returns to herself.

  A hunsi is possessed. She begins by tottering and then flounders doubled-up, strikes her forehead and twists her arms. Very gradually, almost insensibly, her movements fall into rhythm, become more supple, more harmonious until they can only be distinguished from those of the other dancers by a nervous quickness. She comes out of the trance by imperceptible stages.

  Two young girls are possessed by Ogu-balindjo. At the mere sight of this event Lorgina bursts out laughing and with a pretence of impatience chases them from the peristyle. The two women jump into the pool where they romp like children. They come back streaming and the public greets them with gibes and laughter. Proud of their success, they return several times for a bathe. Finally Lorgina orders them back into the sanctuary where they will be given a change of clothes since, says she, ‘the horses of Ogu must not catch cold’.

  Every possession has a theatrical aspect. This is at once apparent in the general concern for disguise. Sanctuary rooms serve to a certain extent as the wings of a stage where the possessed can find all the accessories they need. Unlike an hysteric who shows his own misery and desires by means of a symptom—which is an entirely personal form of expression—the man who is ritually possessed must correspond to the traditional conception of some mythical personage. The hysterics of long ago who thought themselves the victims of devils, also certainly drew the devilish part of their personality from the folklore in which they lived, but they were subject to influences not entirely comparable to those felt by the possessed in Haiti.

  Adepts of Voodoo make a very clear distinction between possession by loa, which is sought after and desired, and possession by evil spirits which is frightening and morbid. In Voodoo there is nothing comparable to the dialogues between the two personalities of the demoniac. With the ritually possessed consciousness is entirely obliterated, at least in appearance, and the individual obeys the loa—perinde ac cadaver. As soon as he has chosen the personality which the folklore mystique suggests to him or, to speak in Voodoo terms, as soon as the loa has, at his own wish, or in response to a call, descended into him, the subject fulfils his rôle by drawing upon the knowledge and memories which have accumulated in the course of a life frequenting cult congregations. The amount left to his own whim will be governed by his relations with other people. He can be benevolent if he wishes or, on the contrary, he can be angry with certain people; but he cannot alter the characteristics or the appearance of the divine personage he incarnates. Some, in the eyes of spectators, succeed better than others in representing such and such a god. That is why you hear in Voodoo circles statements such as ‘You should see her when she’s got Ezili in her head’.

  Similarities of this kind, between possession and the theatre, must not obscure the fact that in the eyes of the public a possessed person is never really an actor. He does not play a character part, he is the character as long as the trance lasts.

  And yet, what else can it be called except ‘theatre’ when the possessed turn the simultaneous manifestation of several gods in different people, into an organized ‘impromptu’? These impromptus, which vary in style, are much appreciated by the audience who yell with laughter, join in the dialogue and noisily show their pleasure or discontent. Take an example: someone possessed by Zaka appears under the peristyle in the get-up of a peasant. By canny movements he mimes the anxiety of a countryman come to town, and who fears to be robbed. Now another possessed person joins him, one might almost say ‘comes on’. It is Guédé-nibo, of the Guédé family, which watches over the dead. Zaka is clearly terrified by the presence of his gloomy colleague and tries to propitiate him, inviting him to have something to eat and to drink some rum. Guédé who is making a show as a townsman exchanges courtesies with him, trying to tease him. He asks him: ‘What have you got in your bag?’; he searches it and examines the contents. Alarmed, Zaka cries ‘Stop, stop’. The bag is returned to him only to be surreptitiously lifted off him while he is examining one of the sick. Zaka, in despair, calls for cards and shells in order to discover the thief by means of divination. The audience chants: ‘Play, Zaka, play.’ Zaka: ‘I have come to complain about Agau-wèdo.’ ‘Play, cousin Zaka, play.’ The objects he has called for are brought.

  Several people are suddenly possessed by Zaka and provoke what in Haiti is so aptly termed ‘a scandal’ (youn escandale). One of them accuses a woman of having stolen certain objects which had been left in her keeping. Protests from the woman; screams, temper and backbiting. It is Zaka who is at last accused of thieving. He has not got an easy conscience and is on edge whenever anyone goes anywhere near his precious bag.

  The following anecdote is also indicative of the theatrical natur
e of possession. During Voodoo ceremonies each divinity is honoured in turn by three dances accompanied by songs; the order of the dances is laid down and cannot very well be changed. During one of them, consecrated to Ogu, a priest was suddenly seized with a loa. At first it was thought to be the expected god. So there was general astonishment when it turned out to be Guédé, making a premature appearance. A priest addressed him and asked him kindly to go away and come when it was his turn. Guédé refused and demanded his paraphernalia. Priests and other dignitaries returned to the attack. From prayers they passed to threats. Guédé laughed at them. Weary of strife they sent for his clothes. He proceeded to dance gaily, took the liberty of a few farcical jokes and then collapsed on a chair. The possession was finished. Returning to his senses the possessed was disconcerted to hear songs and drum-beats which in no way corresponded with the normal order of events. He became angry and sharply reproached the hunsi for this breach of discipline. It was in vain they told him the only person to blame for the deviation was Guédé, who had possessed him. He would not hear of it. In fact he had his work cut out insisting, as do all people possessed, that he knew nothing of what had taken place.