Juju Jamboree
Chapter 22
Frank offered to drop me off and pick me up after the ceremony, saying he had other things to do. Besides, he’d seen the nonsense several times before and it was the same old, same old stuff for naïve tourists, or so he claimed. I wondered what he might be up to by begging off the event. After all, the whole production was being sponsored by our enemies, so I found his vague excuse not to be particularly credible. We were partners, but I didn’t have any choice but to accept it at face value and hope for the best.
We drove about 20 kilometers to a spot already familiar to Frank. In fact, it was a location known to many people in Port-au-Prince since the ceremony was held monthly for followers and skeptics alike. Frank thought it simply free entertainment for the ignorant poor and little else. Although he allowed I might enjoy the performance since I’d never seen such a thing before. We smoked and joked a bit during the drive, although Frank was unusually quiet. I wondered what was bothering him, but didn’t ask. Too intrusive, I guessed. Why all the mystery? Maybe he’d tell me later.
Frank mentioned the large plot of land where the ceremony was to be held was owned by Marie Claire. That again was common knowledge, he claimed. From what he recalled, the ceremonies had started about six years ago and attendance had grown dramatically over the ensuing years. Mama would usually place a small ad in one or more of the papers to announce the next one, alerting her followers as well as the disbelievers. Her aim was to convert as many people as possible. It was good for business. It was also good cover for her family’s illicit activities.
Frank dropped me at the makeshift parking lot and pointed to a small copse of trees in the distance. Just beyond was the site, he mentioned. Couldn’t miss it for my life, he sardonically added. I really didn’t know what to make of his behavior or choice of words, until later. Then his little quip would make sense.
I walked the hundred yards or so and as I exited the woods, I saw many people already sitting in a semicircle on a shallow ridge. The setting resembled a miniature amphitheater where the ground below had been scooped out like a bowl. And it’s large, dirt floor served as the stage. All-in-all, I thought it a pretty good set-up for family entertainment.
A large bonfire, which gave off an eerie glow, illuminated center stage. The lighting was supplemented by the many tall torches ringing the enclosure. Ushers, either zombies or loyal parishioners, guided people to their seats. Most had to sit on the bare ground while the VIPs were escorted to crude, wood benches at the very front. I was one of those things and scored a front row seat.
I was seated next to an elderly woman, a mulatto, who introduced herself as Estelle Le Clerc, a friend of Mama and a fellow voodoo practitioner. She spoke almost flawless English, actually better than mine. And I was chagrined. At least I thought that was the word.
“Welcome Monsieur Avery. Mama asked me to be your spiritual guide for tonight’s ceremony. She said you are a nonbeliever who’s never witnessed such an event before. I will do my humble best to explain what you’re about to see and experience. Perhaps you will feel the powers of our religion or perhaps not if your soul and mind are not open to Bondye. Nonetheless, I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“This is our outdoor temple, a Peristil, as it’s called in our religion. The long wooden tables, either side of the hanging sheets, serve as our altars. Food prepared by the faithful will be placed on the tables after the celebration and offered to everyone. Small votive candles will be placed about the food which will be blessed. No one will be left hungry. It is our way of sharing with the congregants, especially the poor.”
The drumming then started, announcing the opening of the ceremony. The sounds were amplified by a loud speaker system powered by a small generator.
“Now watch. In a few minutes the women in white dresses will enter before us and the service will begin with a series of prayers and songs in French and Creole, followed by a litany that goes through all the European and African saints and Loa honored by the temple. And next is a series of verses for all the main spirits of the temple. This is called the African Prayer. After more introductory songs, the spirit of the drums, the songs for all the individual spirits are sung.”
As if on cue, that’s what happened. I watched as many as fifty women entered the stage from behind the ersatz curtain of bed sheets. They started whirling about and singing and chanting as Ms. Estelle just described. I had no idea as to what was being said or sung, although I enjoyed the lively activity.
“Ms. Estelle, what are the red blotches on some of the dancers’ white dew-rags?” She laughed, understanding the word.
“We call them bandanas here, but it’s the same. What you see is blood, animal blood. It doesn’t make much difference which type of animal. Rather, it is the sacrificial act that’s important. However, the intent of sacrifice is not the death of the animal, but a symbolic transfer or transfusion of its life blood to the many Loa to restore the divine energy of Bondye. The white costumes symbolize death and we revere it in our voodoo culture.”
The drums were getting louder and the dancing more frenzied. I asked if that fact had any particular significance. It did.
“As the songs are sung, participants believe that spirits come to visit the ceremony, by taking possession of them and speaking and acting through them. When a ceremony is made, only the family of those possessed is benefited. So, the dancers are trying to achieve a state of excitement, of ecstasy to connect with the spirits.”
“This will last an hour or two, so be patient. Sometimes the ceremony can last for days, but not tonight. This celebration is for the general public and not just the faithful.”
As a kid, I thought protestant services were long enough. But this one was going to be a ball-buster! So I sat back and bided my time, still waiting for Mama Mambo’s grand entrance and this fete accompli to end.
Suddenly, the drumming stopped and the dancers took up positions around the stage. The main event was about to begin and I couldn’t wait for the show starring Mama Mambo, the Voodoo Queen of Port-au-Prince!
The audience remained still and quiet, anticipating what was coming next.
The sheets parted and Mama was carried forward on an ornate sedan chair held high by four very stout men. It appeared they strained to keep her aloft. Mama and the chair slowly moved around the stage so the spectators could get a good look. She held a calabash rattle in one hand and a bell in the other, trappings of her office according to Estelle. The chair was then set to the ground in the very center facing the onlookers. The dancers remained stationary, but the drums began to beat again. So far, I thought the choreography and theatrics were pretty decent. But they got much better as the night wore on. It would a performance I’d never forget.
Mama chanted, prayed and pontificated for the better part of an hour. I didn’t understand a word since she was speaking Creole. Estelle did her best to bring me up to speed, but it was all meaningless to me. Ho humbuggery and nothing more. I was getting bored and starting to doze.
The commotion in the audience snapped me awake. An angry someone was shouting at Mama from two rows behind me. Harsh sounding words were being exchanged and I asked Estelle to interpret.
“Oh, that’s just Jacques. He regularly attends the ceremonies and challenges Mama and the whole concept of voodoo. He’s an atheist and a bit of a character in Port-au-Prince. He heads a group of likeminded souls and is considered an eccentric, well that’s the polite word for him.”
“He regularly harassed and taunted the Catholics and Protestants during services until they took out restraining orders. He’s a disruptive oddball, but doesn’t seem violent, only vehement. He rails against the purported evil of all organized religions. If he gets out of hand, the ushers will escort him off the property. We haven’t taken any legal action against him and don’t plan to, at least for now. All are welcome to attend our ceremony.”
However, the exchange was getting more heated by the minute and Estelle became serious. It seemed Jacques had thrown down a challenge that Mama couldn’t ignore, especially in front of her followers. This was now a serious matter. He’d commanded her to work her magic, white or black, on him, right in front of the crowd. It made no difference which since it was all superstitious nonsense. He would demonstrate the falseness of voodoo powers once and forever. Estelle thought Jacques had gone too far this time and needed to leave. Mama thought otherwise.
“Jacques, you have offended me and my religion too often. You have asked and you shall receive. It is on your head what happens this night. Come forward and let’s begin the ritual. You will become a believer.”
“You will become a zombie, my zombie,” she dramatically announced. The audience gave out a collective gasp at hearing the words. They knew it was serious juju, extremely dangerous and nothing to be trifled with. Yet no one left.
Jacques laughed at the whole notion of becoming a zombie, mentioning something akin to give it your best shot Mama.
“But don’t expect me to drink any potions. I won’t play into your game by slipping me a hallucinogen. Also, don’t touch my skin. I know the tricks of your wicked trade so you can’t fool me, old woman.”
“I promise neither I nor my people will come near you.”
The audience was silent, caught up in the drama before them. Jacques then walked forward towards center stage.
“How dare you defile this temple? Take off your shoes you disrespectful man!” He did as told and one of the dancers placed the sneakers behind the curtain for safekeeping.
Mama spent the next 15 minutes entranced; chanting, praying and shaking her gourd, while still sitting on her throne. Jacques stood quietly, smirking as he did. The hocus pocus wasn’t working and Mama was going to lose serious credibility and that’s exactly what he hoped for. The Catholics and Protestants would be more difficult to discredit, but he’d still try.
The tension was mounting and Jacques was becoming annoyed. He asked for his shoes and they were promptly returned.
He walked back to his seat, but stood, pointing a finger directly at Mama.
“I denounce you and your religion as frauds! You’re nothing more than a charlatan who deceives the innocent and naïve. I am unharmed as everyone can see. Your magic is a myth!”
As he spoke, he became woozy and collapsed to the ground. He was immobilized. Pulse and breathing had stopped or so it seemed and he was now in a catatonic state.
Mama eased herself out of the chair and proclaimed: “You mocked our faith and now you’ve paid the price! May Lord Bondye bless and keep you.”
***
Desmond had worked his magic well behind the scene. Inside Jacques’s shoes, he’d secreted a paste of the livers of puffer fish. It was a fast acting, powerful nerve agent and there was no known antidote. But Desmond only applied enough to incapacitate and not kill. The livers contained the greatest concentration of tetrododoxin, its active ingredient. The fish species, especially the Tiger Blow Fish, was a delicacy in Japan.
The symptoms from ingesting a lethal dose of tetrodotoxin would include dizziness, exhaustion, headache, nausea, or difficulty breathing. The person remained conscious, but can’t speak or move. Breathing stops and asphyxiation quickly follows. The neurotoxin had been absorbed into Jacques skin through the soles of his feet and he’d be a dead man walking, but only for a few minutes. Fortunately, Jacques didn’t wear socks and that greatly sped up the process.
The meat of the fish was called Fugu and a chef had to undergo years of training and certification before he could legally prepare the dish. A number of people died each year by improper preparation.
Desmond didn’t have a specific target in mind, but with Jacques’s challenge, it was a perfect opportunity to act. He’d actually planned to use it at carnival, but why pass up the chance to eliminate someone who’d been a vocal critic of The Family? He’d been a pest, a nuisance for several years, so good riddance.
Oh, but he wouldn’t die. That trick was too easy. Like Lazarus, he’d later rise from the dead with a shot of epinephrine.
Dick Avery would get his deliverance from this life shortly, but not in the same manner. Whatever Mama wants, Mama got and then some.
***
The show was over and the last act was a doozey, as I might say after a few bottles of beer. I was convinced Jacques wasn’t a shill. He’d simply paid a terrible price for his criticisms of Mama and voodoo. How he died was a mystery. I didn’t see any slight-of-hand on Mama’s part or anyone else, so I couldn’t explain what I’d just witnessed with my very own eyes, as the expression goes. Maybe I needed a new pair of glasses, yet I still was unable to suspend my disbelief. Something fishy was going on, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe Frank could remove the scales from my eyes.
Miss Estelle invited me to partake of the food and libations now on the altars. I demurred, saying I was tired and needed to hit the hay, the rack or go to bed; however those things might be said in Creole. I also worried that the food would upset my stomach. But I worried more about the libations since I didn’t have a clue what they might be. Maybe the food was simply Haitian-style jambalaya or gumbo. Maybe they were something much worse and unpronounceable. Regardless, I wasn’t about to take a chance with voodoo cuisine.
She laughed at my silly response and wished me a good night. I did the same and headed to the parking lot to meet Frank. It’d been a long, but fascinating night and I was bushed. But I was about to be ambushed, although I didn’t realize it at the time.
I trudged back the same way I came. It was dark so I had to watch my step so as not to stumble. The uneven ground made the walk difficult. I’d forgotten to bring a flashlight so I navigated my way as best I could. I saw the trees before me and knew I was on the right course. The path ahead was well worn and I had no difficulty finding my way. That was the good news. But it wasn’t to be a pleasant walk in the park, not by a long shot.
Suddenly, the attacker grabbed me from behind and threw a rope noose around my neck, a makeshift garrote. It wasn’t an elegant way to die, I thought, as I struggled against the rope with its cords cutting into my neck. I dropped to the ground with my attacker falling on top of me. I was having trouble breathing. And knew I’d would soon pass out and die on this godforsaken spot in the middle of nowhere in a shithole country. What a way to go, I thought.
With my last breath and bit of strength, I reached into my shoe and withdrew the gravity knife I’d secreted there. I wasn’t quite as naked as Jersey had earlier suggested. I made several, quick backhanded stabs to the side of my adversary. One struck flesh and the man howled in pain. But it was a Hail Mary effort and little more. My attacker still had me firmly pinned to the ground.
As I was about to lose consciousness, I heard two muffled pops. My would-be assassin lay completely still atop me. Frank pulled off the body and helped me stand. I was coughing and trying to catch my breath, too choked up to properly thank him. However, I would later. I not only owed him dinner, but my life. Now I knew what he d been doing, protecting me by watching my back: a true blue partner and now a lifelong friend.
“The guy’s likely one of Desmond’s zombies ordered to take you out. I thought you were in danger so that’s why I begged off the ceremony. We’ve been extremely successful in our efforts to smear Mama and The Family reputations. The tide of public opinion has turned against them and they’re feeling the pain. So it seemed logical they’d come after you at some point, believing you’re the one responsible for their troubles. And they guessed right. Let’s get out of here. I need a drink...or two.”
We drove to the hotel in silence. Frank had a faraway look in his eyes, probably thinking of what he’d just done. Maybe his conscience was bothering him.
That idiot Desmond, Frank thought as he drove into the city. He almost spoiled the plan, not The Family’s plan, not the U.S. government’s plan, but his own. He knew Desmond would never act on his own. He was a namby-pamby mama’s boy. So Mama must have sanctioned the killing. However, the murder of Dick Avery would only make a bad situation even worse.
He thought the whole idea of taking money from the Cubans was foolish. The money was good, but the risk to The Family was too great. He’d argued against the operation from the very beginning. Going after the Americans was just plain stupid. It would be like poking a stick into a hornet’s nest. One couldn’t be sure of the results. And that’s exactly what happened. I told you so Mama! With your poor decisions, you’re getting too old to lead us anymore.
As expected, the Americans were hitting back hard, using its many resources to discredit The Family and bring it unwanted attention from the authorities. He had some thoughts about what to do with the situation which he kept to himself since no one could be trusted.