Zombies

by Bob Curran

  Such beliefs fired up the slaves and inspired them to commit “terrible and heathenish atrocities” against good Christians. They had also used “dead men” or “zombies” in their rebel forces. Whether this referred to the actual walking dead or to some ordinary people whose senses had been taken away by arcane means is unclear, but these outlandish tales were actually believed back in France (and elsewhere) and were ascribed to “native magic,” giving voodoo an even darker name. Although it is unlikely that either Dessalines (who became the new Haitian President) or a former slave leader, Toussaint L’Ouverture, were voodoo houngans, as has been suggested by some writers such as Michael S. Laguerre, or that they had the power to raise the dead, there is little doubt that, beneath the political surface, the power of voodoo still lingered on.

  Politics

  Indeed such power lay beneath the political surface until recent times, due to the rise to power of Francois “Papa Doc” Duvalier in 1957. Duvalier, who would rule Haiti dictatorially until 1971, was considered by many to be a great voodoo magician with a direct line to the loa and ruled his country by fear. Those who met with him in the presidential rooms in Port-au-Prince state that he kept a human skull on his desk as a symbol of his power and in order to cultivate that image. His secret police, through which he suppressed any dissent, were widely known as the Tonton Macoute, which ironically was a nickname representing something much more friendly. Tonton Macoute or Uncle Gunnysack in Caribbean folklore referred to a gift-bringer who came to young children—almost like a Haitian Santa Claus; later in the Duvalier era it became a standard nickname for a bogeyman.

  The Macoute, correctly named the MVSN (Milice de Voluntaires de Securite Nationale) and under the command of Duvalier’s longtime friend Luckner Carnbronne, were greatly feared and according to local lore, because their ranks contained some dead men whom Duvalier had personally raised from the grave. This idea, of course, added to the sinister reputation of the Macoute and to that of the Duvalier regime, serving to keep it in power. When Francois died in 1971, he was succeeded as ruler of Haiti by his son, Jean-Claude or “Baby Doc,” who was allegedly not such a great a voodoo master; some time afterward the House of Duvalier collapsed in a popular revolt. In 1986, Baby Doc fled into exile in France and the Macoute faded away—some said that some of them had returned to their graves awaiting “Baby Doc’s” return. This remains the case today with the House of Duvalier still in exile, unlikely to establish itself in Haiti again.

  American Establishments

  Many of the precepts of Haitian voodoo also established themselves in America—particularly around some of the coastal cities of Louisiana, which was a massive slave area. Many slaves also found their way to South Carolina to work on the rice plantations, and the city of Charleston also became something of a voodoo center. But it was cities such as New Orleans—a mysterious, colourful, and turbulent city even at the best of times—and the bayou country surrounding it where the voodoo flourished. And it was, in many respects, the more ferocious form of Petro voodoo that flourished there, concerning itself with curses and charms (gris-gris). There were also hints of cannibalism out in the swamps and bayous where voodoo cannibal cults such as le cochon gris (the grey pig—human flesh) were supposed to thrive. The inaccessibility of the swamps led an element of mystery to such beliefs. They provided a dark haven for slaves who had managed to escape from the ports or from some of the plantations, and it was thought that a Creole community, vastly opposed to white people, now lived deep in the bayou heartland, ready to strike against civilized society at any time. It was said that in hidden graveyards in the depths of the bayous, mambos, and houngans, and the descendants of runaway slaves raised cadavers to some form of life in order to do their evil bidding by calling on ancient African gods. This would later become the stuff of fiction and cinema, but in the 19th century it was considered a reality.

  Le Baron

  And in America, some relatively new loa were added to the voodoo pantheon. One of these was rather significant with regard to the dead. This was Baron Cimetière, Lord of the Cemeteries, and, according to some accounts, master of the zombie. Le Baron, as he is known, is unquestionably an American voodoo adaptation of the Haitian Baron Samedi, who in turn was supposedly an adaptation of Papa Legba. He is also known in some parts of New Orleans as Baron La Croix.

  In many respects, Baron Samedi (and by connection, his other incarnations) is the Haitian embodiment of death. The name Samedi is taken to mean “Saturday,” although a number of other interpretations have also been offered. He is usually represented as a tall figure, in a European long black dress coat with a tall, black top hat, but with the face of a skull. Sometimes his face is shriveled and mummified, with the nose plugged, the mouth sewn shut, and wearing dark glasses (in other words, the face of a corpse prepared for burial Haitian-style). He carries a cigar in a long holder in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other, making him the epitome of European sophistication. He often loiters in the gateways of churchyards as if waiting for the arrival of the latest burial, which he then brings under his power unless the proper ceremonies are conducted by the dead person’s family. This usually involves leaving offerings of libations (mainly rum), cigars, and money in order to distract the powerful guede. In many Petro pantheons, Le Baron is married to Maman Brigitt or Le Gran Brigette, who is the embodiment of approaching death and who frequently takes the form of a black rooster. She collects souls on his behalf over which he then has great power. And should he choose, Baron Samedi has the power of resurrection, and can call cadavers from the grave at any time to enforce his will. Similar to many of the other guede, Le Baron communicates with his followers through a string of expletives and obscenities. When in power in Haiti, Francois Duvalier frequently adopted the appearance and persona of Baron Samedi, which served to increase the fear and awe with which he was viewed by the Haitian peoples.

  Baron Samedi

  Babalu Aye

  Although Baron Cimetière is usually portrayed as a sophisticated European, some older incarnations of him exist. One of these is Babalu Aye who often appears wearing more traditional native garb. Babalu is a loa from Yoruba and Fon traditions (although he also appears in Bantu folklore) who presides over fatal diseases, life, and death. He is one of the spirits who appears in Cuban Palo Mayombe, which is an orisha (spirit) religion that is found in Latin America and some Caribbean islands. He also appears in some Puerto Rican forms of Santaria, where is he is known as St. Lazarus, emphasizing his power over the dead and his partial connections to the Christian religion. Similar to Baron Cimetière, Babalu can call the dead from their graves and bend them to his will.

  Voodoo Practitioners

  In New Orleans, voodoo was carried out by a number of recognized practitioners, all of whom claimed to have direct contact with the loa or the guide, and many of whom added their individual and idiosyncratic bits and pieces to the central core of belief.

  Marie Laveau

  The most famous of all these practitioners was the celebrated Marie Laveau, the self-styled gran Mambo and “witch queen of New Orleans.” Marie Laveau is hard to date in the history of the city, because she may not have been a single woman at all, but three (or perhaps even four) different women (one of whom was her daughter) who took the established name (a bit like a voodoo trade name). Her dates are therefore given alternately as 1801–1881 and 1794–1897. It was, however, the figure of Marie who allegedly established the wild Petro form of voodoo in the city, attracting not only the New Orleans black community, but many respectable whites as well. In actual fact, all the Maries might be counted as brothel-keepers or “madams,” and there was little doubt that prostitution went on at some of her gatherings in a house on Ann Street, but it was mixed with voodoo ritual and belief.

  However, it was also said that one of the Maries, perhaps the first one—Marie Glapion Laveau (she had a common-law marriage to one Christophe Glapion)—conducted “special gatherings” out in the swamplands where b
lack men and white women danced naked and interacted in some way with snakes. Indeed the first Marie was supposed to have kept a snake that slithered about her house, and which she called “Zombi.” This, she claimed, was named after Damballah Wedo whom she referred to as “Le Gran Zombi”; the creature was supposed to be the embodiment of the loa. This may have been the first connection of the name to that of the walking dead, because Marie was supposed to have had the power to raise cadavers from their tombs. The gatherings at her house on Ann Street were usually very drunken affairs where copious amounts of rum (allegedly mixed with gunpowder, Petro style) were consumed.

  Dr. John

  Nor was Marie Laveau the only “voodoo queen” in New Orleans, for there were many other practitioners—both men and women—throughout the city. One of the most famous was Dr. John or Ol’ John Bayou, from whom Marie was supposed to have inherited her powers. He was allegedly a severe, elderly “man of color,” leaning on a cane with piercing eyes and formidable powers. He was a maker of gris-gris—parts of dead bodies ground to a poudre (powder) and tied up in a small muslin bag. This could either be a charm or a curse. It also had the power to raise the dead by drawing loa to occupy a cadaver at the behest of the voodoo magician. Consequently, Dr. John was also said to have the power of resurrection. Similar to Marie Laveau, Dr. John was said to have a great snake called a “zombie,” which was supposedly the source of at least part of his powers.

  He set himself up as babalawo (conjure man, the name being taken from the Yoruba word for “priest”) and zombie master in a house on a plot of land that he had bought on Bayou Road. The place was full of animal and human skulls—the latter stolen from local graveyards—along with stuffed lizards and embalmed scorpions—all of which gave an air of mystery and menace to the man, and encouraged the zombie myth. Dr. John was important in the world of voodoo magic that the well-known writer Lafcadio Hearn, who may have been a lover of one of the Marie Laveaus, mentioned the passing of John Montenant (said to be Dr. John’s real name). Hearne claimed extravagantly that Dr. John was more than 100 years old and that he had power to raise the dead (although he was probably around 81). The New Orleans R&B musician Malcolm Rebennac, who played in the early 1970s with Professor Longhair and his Shuffling Hungarians, later took the name Dr. John, which he still uses today. He claims to have been possessed by the loa of the Doctor to carry out his work in the world.

  Joe Goodness

  Dr. John, of course, had many rivals all across New Orleans, all claiming miraculous powers to match the doctor himself, and a number of them were just as colourful, such as Joe Goodness, Hoodoo Meg, Maman Calliba, Doctor Yah-Yah, and Zozo LeBrique. All of these people plied their voodoo trade in various parts of the city, claiming to cure ills and raise the dead. The intriguingly named Joe Goodness (the name was reputedly something of a misnomer, as there seems to have been little good about him) conducted secretive rites in the New Orleans of the 1850s. He claimed to be a zombie master and allegedly tore live chickens to pieces in order to be able to call forth cadavers from their graves. Dolls made from human skin—puppe—were supposedly used at some of the gatherings, and were reputedly imbued with a horrendous life, which gave greater impetus to the zombie legend.

  Voodoo Doll

  John Domingo

  Outside of New Orleans, another bustling voodoo city was Charleston, South Carolina. Here, the equivalent of Dr. John was John Domingo, or the Black Constable, who, in the late 1880s, presided over a reign of terror that ran far beyond the city itself. He had allegedly been a slave in the South Carolina Low Country, but had come to Charleston, where he had taken over a queerly shaped, shabby old house on Magazine Street on the corner of Mazyck Street (although it doesn’t bear that name now). This place already had a questionable history, having formerly been a shop run by a Dutchman who had been forced back to Holland for some unmentionable crime. Some said that he, too, had been a black magician. Soon the Black Constable, as he styled himself, had become one of the foremost voodoo men in Charleston, allegedly more powerful than all his contemporaries, such as Dicky Breaux, Voodoo King of the Dorchester Road, or Cut Bread Jack, who lived on Charlotte Street.

  Domingo was certainly an impressive-looking man, tall and powerfully built, and usually wrapped in a heavy Union greatcoat during the winter months. His hair was long and dirty with greasy strands that hung down onto his face. On the fourth finger of his right hand, he wore a large silver ring, carved in the shape of a snake, which he referred to as “Le Gran Zombi,” claiming that it had been forged in the Congo and that contained the power to raise the dead. It was said that in the old house on Mazyck Street (which was once extremely fashionable area, but, at the time Domingo dwelt there, became extremely run, down), Domingo performed terrible voodoo rites, which raised the dead and sent them out against his enemies. In fact several of those who spoke out against him came to rather suspicious ends.

  His own end was extremely sudden and spectacular. In the late 1800s, he had become something akin to an unofficial lawman in the district (hence his nickname of the Black Constable) and people approached him to sort out their problems by magical means before going to the official law enforcement authorities. One evening he pursued two villains who were suspected of robbing a local resident. They tried to escape, but Domingo caught them and brought them back to Market Street, where a large crowd of onlookers had gathered.

  “See...” he told them. “I am just like Jesus with a thief in either hand.” He paused to consider something. “Only,” he added, “I am much more powerful than Jesus.” He seemed to want to say something else, but stopped and then straightened like a rod. A look of baffled bewilderment crossed his face and foam ran down from the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, he rose up on his toes as if something was dragging him upward; some bystanders swore that they saw the marks of long and inhuman fingers on his windpipe. The Black Constable gurgled before being thrown backward to the ground and before anybody could reach him he seemed to age and die; his face was said to have been the color of a withered cucumber.

  He was carried into a local butcher shop and laid on the counter, where unsuccessful attempts were made to revive him; later a doctor was called and he was officially pronounced dead. As he lay there, his body seemed to shrivel and wither, becoming a fraction of its original size. It is therefore difficult to tell what became of the corpse, for by the time the police arrived it had gone. However, after those events nobody would buy meat from the butcher shop where his body had lain—they were afraid that it might be “touched” by John Domingo—and the butcher himself was later reduced to being a pauper with his business gone. No one knows where John Domingo is buried.

  He was certainly far too wealthy from all his charms, poudres, and gris-gris, to be laid to rest in the paupers’ field with the destitute of Charleston. Afterward, his eldest son hanged himself in a cowshed off Gadesden’s Green, and his youngest son was poisoned in a house on Archdale Street. His ghost was often reported to be seen striding along Mazyck Street, the silver Congo ring flashing, but this was all probably just an old folktale told to frighten credulous people. Nevertheless, such tales left the area with a rather sinister spin, and with a connection to the walking dead. It was the dead, so the stories ran, who had killed John Domingo in retaliation for his abuse of their cadavers, and for his blasphemy. They had been invisible, but they had been physical nonetheless—how else would they have throttled the Black Constable?

  Denmark Vassey

  As in New Orleans, Charleston and the South Carolina Low Country boasted their fair share of voodoo practitioners, hoodoo Queens, and conjure men, and danger always lay just below the surface of society. As in Haiti, voodoo and politics became linked. It was said that Denmark Vassey led the largest and most serious slave revolt in Charleston in the early 19th century. In the late 1700s, he won $1,500 in a charity lottery and used it to purchase his own freedom, setting himself up as a carpenter in Charleston. Inspired by the 1804 slave revolts in Haiti,
which ended with the island being declared a republic, Vassey planned a similar rebellion in Charleston, which would free many of the slaves and overthrow the city authorities. In the panning of this revolt, he was reputedly aided by a voodoo houngan named Gullah Jack (Gullah being a contraction of the term Angola, denoting his African origins) who was supposed to have promised him an army of the dead to supplement his numbers. The revolt was due to take place on July 4, 1822 (which is Bastille Day in France), but details of the plans were leaked by two slaves who disagreed with Vassey’s motives, and the authorities arrested 131 people in total.

  In the end 67 persons were convicted and 35 hanged, including Denmark Vassey and Gullah Jack. However, there were whispers that the latter was not actually dead, but was ready to rise again from the grave, bringing an army of the Undead with him. Indeed, during the late 1920s and part of the 1930s a voodoo man practiced in Charleston under the name of Gullah Jack Pritchard, claiming to have been possessed of the loa of the original Gullah Jack, and also claiming to be able to raise the dead. He sprang to prominence during a trial for extortion, after which he was sent to jail—his trial, however, drew a fair amount of press attention and speculation due to his alleged “possession” and some of his claims regarding the dead.