The Curious Shop of Mama Mambo
Chapter 11
“Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,”
I perhaps unknowingly glimpsed some of those things in apothecary jars sitting on the shelves of Mama’s voodoo shop. It was hard to tell given the dimness of the large room which held her wares. Moreover, I wasn’t sure what such tchotchkes looked like in the first place. But I was still intrigued by what I saw and recognized; the brightly painted paper Mache masks hanging from the ceiling, the many voodoo dolls of different shapes and sizes adorning the walls and the dried snake skins lying on a counter. The desiccated roosters over the door added a nice touch. It was all rather bizarre and bazaar at the same time. Otherwise, the place looked like your typical 7-11 without the CCTV cameras, florescent lighting, a Slurpee machine and many consumer delights.
I turned and saw something part the beaded curtain at the rear of the shop. Good God, it was a huge woman who had to negotiate the doorway sideways! I was taken aback by her imposing size and now understood Frank’s laughter about meeting Mama Mambo in the flesh.
“Welcome to my humble shop, monsieur. How may I help you on this fine day?”
“Good morning Madame. You must be Mama Mambo. My name’s Richard Avery, a tourist and freelance writer doing a story on voodoo. With carnival coming soon, I thought the backdrop of the festival mixed with the voodoo culture would make for a great read. I asked around and everyone mentioned you were the person I should speak to if I wanted to understand the religion. It seems you’re the expert authority on the subject around here.”
“That’s really too kind. I’m merely a servant of our lord Bondye. However, I’m happy to help you in any way I can. Voodoo has been much maligned in the media and perhaps your story will enlighten the ignorant. I’ll do my best to show you the truth about my religion.”
“By the way, I believe your thesis for the story is a good one because carnival contains many elements of the voodoo faith. It’s a joyous, free spirited event before Lent which mixes many religious themes into one raucous party that lasts for four days. Your Mardi gras in New Orleans is a fine example of the revelry.”
“However, it pales to the partying that goes on here. Ours is the largest celebration of carnival in North America, but probably the least known. Virtually everyone participates in the parades, music, dancing, floats, competitions and the like. It’s a huge street party in the final days. No one works and it seems everyone carouses and gets drunk. We also overeat since gluttony is expected before we fast for Lent. You can see by my size I’ve attended many carnivals over the years,” laughing at her self-deprecating joke. “And everyone sows his or her wild oats as you Americans might say. You’re lucky to see it and participate as well. You’ll have a grand time, my friend.”
“It sounds exciting and I look forward to it. So tell me about yourself and your role as a voodoo high priestess. I hope you don’t mind, but you just might be the centerpiece of my story, a little local color to add to the context.”
She laughed at my off-color joke since she was as black as the darkest hole of old Calcutta and suspected she was proud of her lineage. Obviously, no white bwanas ever got into her distant ancestors loincloths.
“Come sit with me. I don’t mind telling my story, but it may bore you to death.”
I didn’t like the death reference much. It was too close for comfort since I was sitting across from my new best friend. One who was my target, adversary and enemy.