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  • Vodou . . . The Soul of the People:An excerpt from Jacques Stephen Alexis's The Musician Trees*
  • Translated by Carrol F. Coates (bio)

General Miracin, the badjikan of the sanctuary at Nan-Remanbrans, had fulfilled his mission. The papalwa, the priests, were hurrying over the roads, paths, and mountain passes leading to Fonds Parisien. Almost all the sanctuaries in the Departments of the West, North, Northwest, and South had found it important to participate in the conclave called by old Bwadòm Letiro, the head of one of the purest Arada Vodou sects. Some representatives from the other side of the border had even arrived.

The night was marked by an exceptional aura—a night that was coal black, sidereal, looming, and sprinkled with stars. Caressing the earth soothingly and without the slightest sound, the nocturnal breeze was almost ethereal. Framing the entrance to the Nan-Remanbrans sanctuary, the bare, swelling boles of two flamboyants formed enormous, athletically muscled thighs. The powerful branches intertwined like pairs of human limbs with massive biceps, knotted knees, twisted calves, herculean bulges—trees that were virtually human, monstrous titans brandishing thirty arms and twenty legs. A crowd of horses and mules snorted along the fences as other animals kept arriving over the creviced roads. The papalwa, priests young and old, kept crowding in with an aura of mystery enveloping their heads.

A great white towel, sparkling immaculately, was displayed in the very middle of the gate. Dressed in a white robe with a blue sash tied around her waist, the "Empress" was welcoming those arriving. This was Madame Ange Desameaux herself, the buxom wife of the tax collector, an ounsi, a servant of Manbo-Nanan, the spirit of wisdom and of azure, the mother of all the Grenadier spirits. Standing in the dust with bare feet, she was silently welcoming them with a double handshake and leading them across the courtyard to the sanctuary. Ayizan—the wife of Atibon Legba and the spirit of sweet water, markets, gateways, and highways, the chief goddess of the orthodox Arada Olympus—was lighting a fire in the great hearth a few steps from the temple. Close by Bwadòm, Dada, his aging wife, was taking care of other business. Their granddaughter Harmonise was blowing on the fire beneath a great humming cauldron of boiling water for coffee. Standing with her black face over the flames, glowing sparks were burning her tender, resplendent face: there were ruddy spots around her delicate, sharp little nose, her swelling cheeks were golden, a blue luminosity shone beneath her almond-shaped eyes, and streams of light played over her bare, skinny little arm, wrapped around Dada's leg.

Beneath the peristyle leading to the House of the Spirits, Aristil Dessin, the "emperor," guardian and decorator of the temple, was standing watch. Dressed in his best trousers and a discolored old tunic, Aristil, the chwal of Atchassou Zangondon—also known as Danbala Wèdo, Alada's servant—was standing erect and calm. With [End Page 621] their drums in hand, the priests headed toward him and Aristil showed them into the inner sanctuary, the badji.

Bwadòm was seated on the ground, just in front of the altar. On the left was the temple guardian, General Miracin, the servant of Sobo Naki Dawome, the Spirit of the jade Indian hatchet and, on his right, was the emaciated, bony old Clèmèsine Dieubalfeuille, an ounsi temerèand the servant of Ayizan of Guinea. Set against the walls around the large hall were the tables of the Spirits: a table covered with a blue cloth was dedicated to Manbò Nannan; other tables honored Papa Lissa, Zanmandòn, Papa Kieviesou Danle, Loko Azagou, Atchassou Zangondon, Damwazo Blan, Kadya Dossou, and Bèl Venis. On the trampled ground, the priests sat forming a circle. There were about eighty of them and others kept arriving. On all their old, calloused, and shaven or bearded faces, tinted all shades of brown and black, a painful uneasiness could be noted along with their usual gravity and ineluctable professional pride. Had they not, for the most part, already lived out their ministry? In their decline, could they begin over? There were...

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