GUÉDÉ

On Thursday 1 November, the Haitian feast of Guédé began (mentioned in Baron Samedi section) – it would continue to Friday with a national holiday and over the weekend. During this time the sound of voodoo drums filled the dense Haitian atmosphere over mountain, field and sea. It was told to me that Haitians are 80% Catholic and 100% Vodou (Haitian spelling of voodoo) which would explain why everyone celebrates Guédé. There is a small group however – the Baptist and Evangelical population – who consider the Vodou feasts as pagan rituals to be shunned and avoided. Papa Guédé represents the first man who ever died – a sort of version or alter ego of the psychopomp, Baron Samedi with a similar look – high hat, cigar, but with an apple in his left hand. The feast of Guédé celebrates death and fertility – seemingly opposing forces that are repeatedly compatible in Haitian vodou culture. At school during the Thursday lunch break, a small table was set up and a sunny fete featuring a table of offerings to the spirit consisting of breads, fish sauce and a measure of alcoholic beverage was undertaken. Apparently the spirits are aficionados of rum – so at first, a liberal amount is poured out on the ground around the table by a devotee or “initié” who subsequently takes a healthy swig before placing the bottle on the table as an offering. With high-powered drums (in this case a sound system) providing the rhythm, the students broke out dancing and making lewd movements to invoke the fertility spirits. This brief ceremony was to me, an indication that Haitian Vodou had a lighter side – a way to celebrate without invoking the entire Guédé family spirits and their respective roles in the ceremony.

Later that night I went with two of my colleagues to three authentic ceremonies. We had to have a local connection to be allowed entry to the first. We met at a hilly part of Jacmel city off the main road – up obscure streets half destroyed by flooding – impassable by car but abuzz with motos and people traffic passing in and out of dim lights and the odd bright publicity light. We were led by our contact into a narrow alleyway sandwiched between two houses with families lounging on their front porches. The alleyway became a dirt path as we wound around non-descript buildings at times passing others who would appear and quickly disappear. Our guide delivered us to a small hut made of corrugated aluminum with a bamboo roof where a crowd of about seventy persons had gathered for the ceremony – under dim exposed light bulbs and filled with smoke (the spirits enjoy smoking cigars and cigarettes). In a corner the altar was set up with a crude statue of Papa Guédé surrounded by food and drink. While two drummers pounded out infectious rhythmical patterns, a Houngoun (Vodou priest) directed the “sèvité” (servants of the spirits) comprised of, as far as I could see, a circle of women dressed in white bandanas and white dresses – slave costumes from colonial days.

I don’t know whether or not they had prepared themselves for the ritual according to custom – by rubbing their sex with hot peppers – but they gyrated and danced to the beat. The Houngoun would call out phrases while the women would sing back in unison an elaborate chant to invoke the spirits. If my feet were not planted to the dirt floor of Jacmel, I could have been transported through time and space to Africa where this ceremony was first carried out – so powerful was the impression left by the music and dancing. Now and again one dancer would break away in trance, eyes buried in her head, falling backwards to be caught by the Houngoun or one of the spectators. This is evidence they believe, that spirits have come to visit and are acting through the dancer. It was impossible to determine whether this possession was real or play-acting – and in fact, it didn’t matter – the cause and effect of the ritual made sense. We were then taken to another ceremony outside of town – off the main road as usual (the main road called Route Départementale 41 is the one and only artery along the coast), we fought through crowds on their way to or coming from what appeared at first to be a rock concert. Concession stands selling spirit-pleasing rum and cigarettes were set up and an elaborate performance was taking place under an open-air hut featuring a larger array of dancers, Houngouns and also Mambos (female priests).

Hundreds of people swarmed the main area and the throngs on the perimeter listened to the drumming over loudspeakers. The drumming is at a high professional level – apparently special rhythmic patterns for the Vodou rituals are handed down through generations and built upon by the new players. We couldn’t get close to see the show due to the multitudes so we were taken to a third ceremony, further down the main road to another open area. Again hundreds of people blocked our way but our guide got us close to the action. The drumming and dancing were electric – we felt part of the collective energy – teenagers, some drunk, some feigning possession, had to be controlled by the Houngoun or the performance would have been disrupted. I got claustrophobic and had to leave – I was told later that the performance ended up in a nearby cemetery where the ritual is brought to its symbolic conclusion.