Voodoo in Haiti

  The ceremony ends with the ‘sending back of the spirit’ of the assoto. As we have so far had no opportunity of describing the rites by which a spirit is at one and the same time appeased and driven out, we shall follow Jacques Roumain’s text{76} as closely as possible. ‘The hungan mixes some cooked and some raw food in a basket; adds victuals, needles, cotton, linen, pipe, tobacco, matches, plates, spoons, knives, forks, small change, all sorts of blood known as tchiman-assoto. All members of the family sign a paper witnessing that they have offered something to the assoto to eat and have sent him away until the next ceremony, owing him nothing more. This document is put in the basket.

  ‘At midnight a good strong man is chosen to accomplish the actual send-off. The hungan rubs his limbs with a magic ointment and puts a special powder in his nose to protect him from the ‘evil spirit’ of the assoto. His clothes are turned inside out. Three times the basket is alternately put down and raised. Finally it is balanced on the head of the strong man and all the congregation sing.

  ‘The drums beat mournfully. The sacred rattles are sounded with intensity. It is the rumblé. The hunsi weep with lowered heads. There is great sadness, for it is a god.

  ‘A whip is cracked three times behind the strong man. Thus is he sent off. He goes and throws his sacred burden into the sea or into the depths of a wood. A certain sum of money has been paid him because he is thought to run a serious risk. The send-off rite is finished.

  ‘The ceremony continues with songs and dances. Many are possessed by rada loa. The assoto is beaten alternately by seven hunsi until—with a special stick with a nail in the end—its diaphragm is burst.’

  SONGS

  All dances and even the main ritual acts are accompanied by songs. These are short musical compositions sometimes with a melody that is European though sung rather stridently. They are ‘launched’ by the hungenikon who, rattle in hand, fulfils the function of choirmaster and intones the first strophes which the hunsi choir takes up in unison.

  The many quotations from song texts which sprinkle this work will suffice to give an idea of their style and content. They are often short invocations to supernatural beings or brief descriptions of what the officiant is doing, added to a nominal roll of the loa for whom the ceremony is being held. Here for instance, is a song which is intoned at the moment when food offerings are being prepared:

  I am making ready a meal for the Twins of Guinea

  O—may they come!

  I am making ready a meal, it is for the dead, agoé

  I am making ready a meal, it is for the Saints.

  Come eat this food

  Rada, Mondongue, Don Petro, Mussondi, Ammine

  Come, come and eat this food,

  Motokolo, the earth is shaking, where are you?

  Judging by their wide diffusion most of the songs heard during ceremonies belong to a repertoire of long ago; though a contemporary incident, connected with the intervention of a spirit, can also give birth to a new song full of allusions to the circumstances which inspired it. At Marbial I had an opportunity of attending the improvisation of a religious song; a woman possessed by Zaka, who was on her way to Marbial market, came and asked alms of me. Dancing all the time, she made up a song for the occasion and kept repeating it: it told of her ‘nudity’, of a curé who was hostile to us, and of the power of the loa Zaka. The theme of her nakedness and of our quarrel with this clergyman got so mixed up that the text of this song would have been quite incomprehensible to anyone not acquainted with the niceties of the whole situation. There is no doubt that in this way were born many of the Voodoo songs which, through obscurity or insignificance, put us on false scents. The unknown artist who made them up managed to impose them on the hunsi of his sanctuary; their subsequent diffusion was due either to the prestige of a particular sanctuary, or to their intrinsic musical merit, which the profane cannot easily assess.

  Interpretation of these songs is often complicated by the difficulty of knowing whether they express the sentiments of the faithful or if they are supposed to be the words of the god. Within the same melody the utterances of the loa and of the human heart can alternate without any clue being given as to when a change of subject took place. Little attention is paid to what the words mean. Many are incomprehensible, particularly when the song contains passages in ‘langage’. Hungan and mambo make no attempt to hide their embarrassment when asked to interpret them. They get out of it by making things up. What is most important in ceremonies is the celebration of loa by song and dance and not by phrases, often meaningless, foolish or absurd, which merely serve as vehicle for the vocal music. Nevertheless some of these songs are far from being insignificant; some of them have a certain lyric power which they owe to unexpected imagery or even to the simplicity with which they proclaim the attributes of the loa whom they celebrate. In its very bareness the account of some state or action of a god takes on a certain religious majesty.

  In spite of their impoverished content some songs formulate a moral judgement in an elliptical way as might a proverb. They are even used in quarrels and arguments; a hunsi or a mambo will begin chanting the song which has a bearing on a situation emphasizing the verses which express her thought. Thus at the time of a quarrel between the hungan Tullius and his rival Joseph, the former only agreed to make it up after the hunsi had intervened, all singing to him in turn a hymn about harmony and the forgiveness of injuries.

  Many of the liturgical songs originate from a chant point, that is to say a satirical song improvised during some ceremony by someone possessed. These songs are taken up by the choir who memorize them and if they are in some way exceptional, either for their malice or their knack of sententiousness, they will be adopted and sung again in honour of the same loa. The following song was quoted to me as an example of a chant point composed by a loa:

  Z-âmi lwê sé ajâ séré

  Z-âmi pré sé kuto dé bò

  (Friends far away are like money laid on one side, friends near are knives which cut both ways, they can help you and harm you too.)

  These songs are no different from those improvised during communal work by the samba or simido. Repeated in chorus by the workers, they, too, are inspired by small incidents of country life and are usually meaningless for those not ‘in the know’.

  DANCES

  Dance is so closely linked with the worship of loa that Voodoo can be regarded as one of the ‘danced religions’. Dancing is a ritual act from which emanates a power that affects the supernatural world. Drum rhythms and dances attract the spirits. That is why they are assigned a predominating role in nearly all ceremonies. If the music and dancing pleases the spirits to such an extent that they are affected, even against their will, then it is because they themselves are dancers who allow themselves to be carried away by the supernatural power of rhythm. They prefer to make their appearance when dances are done specially in their honour and they generally use incarnation as an opportunity to make their ‘horse’ dance. Spurred on by the god within him, the devotee who a few moments earlier was dancing without gusto, throws himself into a series of brilliant improvisations and shows a suppleness, a grace and imagination which often did not seem possible. The audience is not taken in: it is to the loa and not to the loa’s servant that their admiration goes out.

  Each loa nanchon (nation) has its own batteries of drums and dances. That is why you hear of Dahomey, Congo, Petro and Ibo dances though this classification by race includes, in each case, different kinds of dances. Thus under the heading Dahomey or Voodoo are bracketed the yanvalu, the Dahomey-z’epaules, the mahi etc. The Petro dances comprise the petro proper, the kita, the bumba etc.

  The classical distinction between dances sacred and profane is not always very clear. Some, which are merely entertainments, can work their way into a ceremony simply because they are regarded as pleasing to the god or because the god particularly asked for them through the mouth of his ‘horse’. Similarly at certain public jollifications dances are done
which differ little or not at all from ritual dances. This is particularly the case with the Congo dances. Finally there are some dances such as the gabienne and the mascort which are not addressed to the spirits but merely fitted into services to fill in blank periods and provide a certain relief.

  In trying to portray, as many authors have, the principal Voodoo dances I have resigned myself to giving only a very brief outline of them. A more complete description would have been wearisome and would only have made for confusion. I would have tried to list and classify them if that task had not been made superfluous by the excellent monograph of Courlander, Haiti Singing.

  Dancers revolve in no particular formation anti-clockwise round the poteau-mitan. Each of them dances as the whim takes him without regard for his neighbours, except when, as quite frequently happens, two or more dancers face each other and compete in agility and improvisation. The whole art of the dance is expressed less in the play of the feet than in the shoulders and hips. It is above all in feints that a dancer’s virtuosity is revealed. Such is the term given to the improvisations which are permitted whenever the manman, beaten with redoubled energy, introduces a ‘break’—off-beat—into the orchestra rhythm. These cassés which interrupt the flow of the dance throw people into a state of paroxysm propitious to ‘attacks’ of loa. In the short confusion which follows the dancers try to adapt their movements to the new beat by doing pirouettes or sudden strides. Often while dancing, women grasp the hem of their dress with both hands and raise and lower it gently in strict time to the music; the men let their arms hang slightly bent as though to maintain their balance. Some of them, with their heads hanging, pull the two ends of a cloth thrown round their necks.

  Among those who dance in honour of Agwé, god of the sea, movements may be observed which suggest the undulation of waves or the motions of a swimmer. In the same way to please Zaka, the god of the soil, hunsi take on the heavy gait of the peasant and try to evoke the labour of the fields by their positions.

  The yanvalu is danced with the body leaning forward, knees bent, and with undulations which seem to spread from the shoulders all down the back. Movement is effected by sliding the feet sideways with a pause on the fourth beat. The undulations of the yanvalu are much more pronounced in the yanvalu-dosbas; to such an extent, indeed, that it is taken for an imitation of waves or a serpent. Thus it is often danced in honour of Agwé or Damballah-wédo. In this dance the body is considerably bent and the dancer goes gradually lower until he is virtually squatting with hands on knees.

  Another version of the yanvalu is the yanvalu-debout or Dahomey-z’epaules which, as its name indicates, is a dance characterized by the play of the shoulders. The dancer, body upright, rolls his shoulders ever more rapidly following the beat of the drums.

  The nago-chaud is particularly for warrior-spirits. It is akin to the yanvalu but distinguished by its rapidity and violence. The steps are short and hurried, the pirouettes numerous, the shoulders seeming to be shaken by a continuous trembling accompanied by a certain swinging of the hips requiring an unbelievable muscular suppleness.

  Maya Deren{77} describes the nago-grand-coup as a sort of salutation to Ogu, characterized by rotating the shoulders alternately. Nothing is more lively than the gay mahi with its crossings and twirlings.

  The petro rhythm—rest-two-three—has such a special quality that even an untrained ear can pick it out. Beaten on two drums, it is regarded as particularly exciting. In it the play of the feet is more important than other movements of the body. In one of the typical petro attitudes, found also in the Congo dances, the dancer stretches one hand in front of him while the other rests on his hip.

  The Congo dances are perhaps the hardest of all to describe, if not to carry out. The dancer moves his feet imperceptibly and gives small shakes to his shoulders while gently undulating his loins. From this controlled pulsation he suddenly changes to the more violent movements during which he turns round and round.

  The only dances which are frankly obscene are those carried out in honour of the Guédé or by devotees possessed by them. The rhythm is brisk and gay and the dancers sway their hips as much as they please. The dance of the Guédé-fatras was the speciality of the hungan Tullius. Wearing a police hat and leaning on a coco-macaque (walking stick), bent double, he rolled his buttocks in time to the drum-rhythm. Then he raised and lowered his head mechanically with an idiotic smile. Sucking in his cheeks to give his face an even sillier aspect he threw the upper part of his body backwards and danced rapidly throwing up his legs as high as possible. He was accompanied by the hunsi who weaved their bottoms in and out and sang an improper parody of a Catholic psalm. When they came to the refrain they stretched out one arm with the index finger raised and prolonged the last note as long as possible.

  The banda too is a Guédé dance and marvellously indecent. Nevertheless it also has a sacred aspect for it is danced at funerals to dismiss a dead person’s spirit to the other world, and it occurs in ceremonies to provide relief in the wake of dire and awful loa.

  The mazone, the crabigné and the gragement have the power of making loa go away either when they have not been invited or when they are outstaying their welcome. They provide a tactful means of hinting to a loa that he is de trop. With their gay and lively rhythm they break the tension which possesses dancers or spectators after a terrifying loa has spread fear all round.

  XI.—INITIATION RITES IN HAITIAN VOODOO

  THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE INITIATION RITES

  Initiation into Voodoo (kanzo){78} demands much from those who undergo it: financial sacrifice (often considerable), absence for quite a long time from usual occupations, great efforts of memory, patient acceptance of a severe discipline and strict observance of moral obligations. Those who do not recoil from such a mystical adventure are motivated by considerations which, in varying degrees, combine genuine religious aspiration and practical concern for the main chance. Kanzo makes for a more direct contact with the divinity and puts the initiate under the immediate care of a loa. It also acts as a guarantee against the tricks of fate, bad luck and above all, illness. An initiate leaves the kanzo both purified and fortified. Thanks to these rites initiates not only ensure for themselves a supernatural ally, but also steep themselves in beneficent effluvia. Kanzo ‘gives you a nanm’ (soul). Some of the rites have an entirely magical nature and even though superficially they may appear to be tests of endurance and courage, in fact their real function is to increase the luck and health of the novice. Initiation ceremonies are therefore ‘mysteries’, but their salutary effects primarily concern life on this earth—an aspect of kanzo so important that for some ill people it becomes their one supreme hope, makes them expect a cure or have faith that the illness from which they are suffering will not strike them down again. This conception of the kanzo makes sense when we consider how many illnesses are attributed to supernatural causes. A priest prescribes initiation for his patient to appease the loa, whom the patient may have offended, or to obtain a protector to save him from the persecutions of other loa or of sorcerers. Initiation is, let us bear in mind, at the same time both death and resurrection. It gives those who undergo it the chance of rising from the profane state to a new life in which they will be dependent upon—but also in the good graces of—the loa.

  In many cases it is the loa himself who insists that his servant should be initiated. He will appear to him in a dream, or make known his wishes to him in the course of some ceremony, through the intermediary of someone possessed. Woe to him who then turns a deaf ear. A series of disasters will bring home to him that the loa do not speak lightly and that if he wishes to escape worse misfortunes still, he had better make up his mind quickly.

  Whatever may be the mystical reasons given by initiates to explain their candidature, the hope of practical advantage is certainly not far from their minds. In the address given by one mambo whom I knew to the hunsi-kanzo at the end of their novitiate, exhortations to piety and good behaviour were mixed wi
th descriptions of the immediate profit they would derive from their new condition. ‘The kanzo is a ceremony which brings luck’ she declared and gave examples of women who had lived in poverty up to their initiation, but were afterwards loaded with good fortune. Very different was the case of a woman who owned land and houses but was ruined—because she neglected the loa and had not answered their call. The mambo reminded the new hunsi that the humfo was now their home, they were the children of it—the pititt-caye—and that if ever they needed money they could always come there for help and would be given ‘anything from two to fifty gourdes (sic)’ (i.e. from $0.40 to $10). This address of which we have here given merely the main points, shows the emphasis on one important consequence of initiation: a hunsi-kanzo is no longer alone, she has a spiritual mother and father—the hungan and mambo, from whom she can ask help and advice. The humfo is a refuge for people who are weighed down by poverty and have nowhere to lay their head. The priest who made them kanzo has a moral obligation to help them and welcome them in. Think, for a minute, of the isolation and destitution of the proletarianized peasants in a town like Port-au-Prince—then the attraction which the kanzo holds for these uprooted country people becomes easily understandable. There, in the shade of the sacred trees, and in the ‘house of the mysteries’, they find family and home.

  There is another consideration: the title hunsi flatters a person’s vanity. And we know how much store the ordinary people of Haiti set by social distinctions and prestige. Initiates at once acquire rank which separates them from the mass: they are in possession of secrets which they cannot share with just anybody and whenever there is a dance or ceremony in the humfo they appear before the spectators in the coveted role of sacred actors.