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As I spent two weeks in Cyvadier, Haiti working at the Friends of the Children of Haiti (FOTCOH) medical clinic, the place that Vodou (otherwise known as “voodoo”) holds in Haitian culture became readily apparent. Talk of Vodou ceremonies, Vodou priests, and, yes, Vodou curses flows through conversations much as the topics of a church social, service, or fish fry would flow through American conversation. My own knowledge of Vodou prior to traveling to Haiti for the first time five years ago consisted of a fear that someone would stick a pin into a doll that looked like me. In practice, Vodou and its place in Haiti are more complicated.
The religion of Vodou stems from a combination of several African religions and Santeria, a religion in which Catholic saints evolved to become gods. Vodou has one principle god, with whom people cannot communicate. Multiple lesser gods exists, each with various purposes and causes. People pray to the lesser gods, asking for intervention. More darkly, people can pay a Vodou priest to put curses on other people, and these curses may only be lifted by a Vodou priest. No centralization of the Vodou religion exists, so multiple local variances exist; this means that a local Vodou priest need not answer to any governing body within the religion.
I went to a Vodou ceremony during my time in Haiti. In theory, the ceremony consists of a litany of songs asking the various gods to intercede in the lives of those present and can involve possession of people by spirits later in the ceremony. In practice, I really had no idea what was going on, but it did look like fun.
The ceremony occurred at 9 PM on a Saturday night, the usual time for a ceremony. The ceremony frequently lasts until 2-4 in the morning. People gathered at a thatched-roof pavilion, similar to those in a city park. This pavilion had colored streamers adorning the rafters. At the front of the pavilion sat a row of about 6 men, each playing a bongo-type drug. The front half of the pavilion seemed to contain the ceremonial area. The Vodou priest held a sort of rattle in his hand with which he kept the beat. About ten women, each dressing in brightly colored shiny dresses, did simply choreographed dances and sang to the beat. The music, very tribal, with only percussion and harmonizing female voices, impressed me greatly. I couldn’t help but find myself bopping along with the beat after a time.
At one point, the priest drew a floral-type pattern on the dirt floor using sugar, but this provided the only variation I noted to the litany of songs. Around the ceremonial area, people simply milled about. Some watched intently, others talked with their friends. At the back of the pavilion a few vendors sold beer, rum, candy, and snacks out of small cases and coolers. Some men gambled with dice just outside the back of the pavilion.
From the outside, the event looked more like a family reunion than a religious ceremony. I spent ten dollars with one of the vendors at the back, found myself with ten Prestige’s (Haitian beers) and dispersed these to some of the Americans with whom I traveled. I gave the leftovers away and quickly found myself with some new Haitian friends. One of the Haitians, Edmondson, for whom I’d bought a beer tracked me down at the FOTCOH clinic several days later and gave me a stylish-looking bracelet made out of an elastic band and a piece of coconut. He’d meticulously written the word “Jeff” on the coconut piece.
The ceremony showed the fun side of Vodou – dancing, good music, fraternizing, and booze. At the clinic, though, the dark side of Vodou showed itself too many times for me to think that the religion will play a part in progress for Haiti.
We saw a schizophrenic woman with severe burns sustained at a Vodou ceremony. The woman’s family knew nothing of schizophrenia or mental illness; they assumed that the woman’s ramblings represented a Vodou curse or possession, so she had never received care.
A ten-day old baby came to our clinic, nearly starved to death. Since birth the baby had received to eat only a gruel made out of spaghetti to eat. A Vodou priest had told the mother that her breast milk was no good, cursed.
Several years back, a man cared for at the FOTCOH clinic died after he presumed a wound in his groin resulted from a Vodou curse that his wife had placed upon him. Had he received treatment early, he would have survived. By the time he sought medical care the damage had progressed too far.
I saw countless people with red yarn and a charm tied around their abdomens to fix curses which were actually common treatable ailments.
In the end, I am a practicing Roman Catholic and scientist/physician. Truly, I can’t see Vodou as anything but formalized superstitions. I do not believe that Vodou has any real spiritual power. All the same though, I did find myself bopping along to the music at the ceremony, so I have to admit that some kind of power exists there. I won’t try to define that power. I’ll just enjoy the beat and try to fix any future Vodou curses that come my way.
As I spent two weeks in Cyvadier, Haiti working at the Friends of the Children of Haiti (FOTCOH) medical clinic, the place that Vodou (otherwise known as “voodoo”) holds in Haitian culture became readily apparent. Talk of Vodou ceremonies, Vodou priests, and, yes, Vodou curses flows through conversations much as the topics of a church social, service, or fish fry would flow through American conversation. My own knowledge of Vodou prior to traveling to Haiti for the first time five years ago consisted of a fear that someone would stick a pin into a doll that looked like me. In practice, Vodou and its place in Haiti are more complicated.
The religion of Vodou stems from a combination of several African religions and Santeria, a religion in which Catholic saints evolved to become gods. Vodou has one principle god, with whom people cannot communicate. Multiple lesser gods exists, each with various purposes and causes. People pray to the lesser gods, asking for intervention. More darkly, people can pay a Vodou priest to put curses on other people, and these curses may only be lifted by a Vodou priest. No centralization of the Vodou religion exists, so multiple local variances exist; this means that a local Vodou priest need not answer to any governing body within the religion.
I went to a Vodou ceremony during my time in Haiti. In theory, the ceremony consists of a litany of songs asking the various gods to intercede in the lives of those present and can involve possession of people by spirits later in the ceremony. In practice, I really had no idea what was going on, but it did look like fun.
The ceremony occurred at 9 PM on a Saturday night, the usual time for a ceremony. The ceremony frequently lasts until 2-4 in the morning. People gathered at a thatched-roof pavilion, similar to those in a city park. This pavilion had colored streamers adorning the rafters. At the front of the pavilion sat a row of about 6 men, each playing a bongo-type drug. The front half of the pavilion seemed to contain the ceremonial area. The Vodou priest held a sort of rattle in his hand with which he kept the beat. About ten women, each dressing in brightly colored shiny dresses, did simply choreographed dances and sang to the beat. The music, very tribal, with only percussion and harmonizing female voices, impressed me greatly. I couldn’t help but find myself bopping along with the beat after a time.
At one point, the priest drew a floral-type pattern on the dirt floor using sugar, but this provided the only variation I noted to the litany of songs. Around the ceremonial area, people simply milled about. Some watched intently, others talked with their friends. At the back of the pavilion a few vendors sold beer, rum, candy, and snacks out of small cases and coolers. Some men gambled with dice just outside the back of the pavilion.
From the outside, the event looked more like a family reunion than a religious ceremony. I spent ten dollars with one of the vendors at the back, found myself with ten Prestige’s (Haitian beers) and dispersed these to some of the Americans with whom I traveled. I gave the leftovers away and quickly found myself with some new Haitian friends. One of the Haitians, Edmondson, for whom I’d bought a beer tracked me down at the FOTCOH clinic several days later and gave me a stylish-looking bracelet made out of an elastic band and a piece of coconut. He’d meticulously written the word “Jeff” on the coconut piece.
The ceremony showed the fun side of Vodou – dancing, good music, fraternizing, and booze. At the clinic, though, the dark side of Vodou showed itself too many times for me to think that the religion will play a part in progress for Haiti.
We saw a schizophrenic woman with severe burns sustained at a Vodou ceremony. The woman’s family knew nothing of schizophrenia or mental illness; they assumed that the woman’s ramblings represented a Vodou curse or possession, so she had never received care.
A ten-day old baby came to our clinic, nearly starved to death. Since birth the baby had received to eat only a gruel made out of spaghetti to eat. A Vodou priest had told the mother that her breast milk was no good, cursed.
Several years back, a man cared for at the FOTCOH clinic died after he presumed a wound in his groin resulted from a Vodou curse that his wife had placed upon him. Had he received treatment early, he would have survived. By the time he sought medical care the damage had progressed too far.
I saw countless people with red yarn and a charm tied around their abdomens to fix curses which were actually common treatable ailments.
In the end, I am a practicing Roman Catholic and scientist/physician. Truly, I can’t see Vodou as anything but formalized superstitions. I do not believe that Vodou has any real spiritual power. All the same though, I did find myself bopping along to the music at the ceremony, so I have to admit that some kind of power exists there. I won’t try to define that power. I’ll just enjoy the beat and try to fix any future Vodou curses that come my way.
