Rasanblaj | We gather. We assemble. We reclaim.

The Colonial System Unveiled

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March 10, 2025

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Summary

Of the many topics discussed in this interview, none stuck with me more than the Baron de Vastey toast described below.

The year is 1816. The kingdom of Haiti stands diplomatically alone, a beacon of defiance in a world that would rather see it erased. The West will not recognize it. The French whisper of reconquest. The Americans tighten their embargo. And yet, some of the most prominent Black men of Haiti do not beg. They do not slouch, nor bow their heads, nor hold out trembling hands for the recognition of their former masters. They stand upright. Their backs stiff. Their voices firm. Sovereignty personified.

It is August 24th, and Cap Henry is alive with celebration. Queen Marie-Louise Coidavid’s birthday has brought together European and American merchants, men who speak the language of commerce and power. One can imagine that the tables at the Café des Étrangers were laid out in grandeur—fine china, silver goblets, the hum of conversation swirling in the candlelight. The foreign dignitaries drank, their eyes trained on the Haitian court, watching, measuring. And then, a figure rises. Baron de Vastey—scribe, scholar, warrior of words—lifts his glass and said the following:

“To the gratitude that we owe the virtuous philanthropists who have defended our cause with as much enthusiasm as disinterestedness. But if their wishes and their efforts prove ineffective, then let us make use of our swords to cleave the body of the enemies of humanity and preserve the rights that we derive from God, Nature, and Justice.”

I’m guessing the words landed heavy in the room, layered with intent. A toast, yes. But also a warning. T

Later in this interview, Prof. Bongie said that Vastey’s toast was double-edged, laced with both gratitude and forewarning. It reckoned with the truth that humanitarian assistance, no matter how well-intentioned, might prove impotent—a grand performance of righteousness that did nothing to alter the balance of power. And if the limits of charity were reached, then Haiti would look not to foreign hands for salvation, but to the example of its own revolution. The world had already seen what the people of this nation would do when their freedom was threatened. They had no intention of repeating their chains.

Interviews like this—and so many before it—remind me that Haiti’s chains were never truly broken. They were just reforged, made thinner, less visible, but no less binding. The weight of empire did not lift; it simply changed form–neocolonialism.

Dr. Patrick Bellegarde-Smith once put it to me plain: What’s so “neo” about colonialism? Great question. New, old—call it whatever the fuck. The wolf does not change, only the cut of its clothing. Where once there were shackles of iron, now there are debts and embargoes, puppet leaders and foreign troops, development plans written in distant boardrooms with no seats for the people they claim to save.

To Vastey, sovereignty was not just a word, not a desperate plea for recognition. It was posture. It was dignity. It was the stiff-backed refusal to beg, the readiness to trade but never to kneel. He stood in a room full of Europeans and Americans, lifted his glass, and with the same breath that offered gratitude, made it clear that if philanthropy failed, the sword would follow.

Today, that sword is gone. In its place are tin cups and empty hands. Disaster capitalism has hollowed Haiti out, turned every crisis into an opportunity—for someone else. The vultures swoop in when the ground shakes, when the streets flood, when the people starve. Money flows, but not to Haitians. Decisions are made, but not by Haitians. Sovereignty, once a declaration of strength, has become an afterthought, a slogan for leaders who answer not to their people but to their creditors.

And so Haiti stands, bound in a different way but bound all the same. It is the same struggle. The same fight. But the question now is whether there is still a Vastey among us—someone who will remind the world that Haitian sovereignty is not something to be requested. It is something to be taken.

Episode Notes

Study Guide

Simbi and the Coders: When Magic Becomes Automation

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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March 5, 2025

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Simbi and the Coders: When Magic Becomes Automation

There was a time when coding was magic. The engineers, the ones who could summon logic from the ether, who could bend systems to their will—we were the wizards of our age. We spoke in tongues that the rest of the world could not understand, etched symbols onto darkened screens that made things move, think, come alive. There was power in that, a mystery, a wonder. Back then, if you knew how to code, you had access to something sacred, something few could grasp.

But magic doesn’t stay magic forever. Once, Simbi stood at the center of his world. The loa of water, knowledge, and communication, he was the bridge between the unseen and the known, the force that carried wisdom across realms. He whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen, poured understanding into the minds of those worthy to receive it. But then came the machines of a different kind—engines of thought, spells that no longer needed his voice to take shape. The magic still existed, but it no longer required a magician. The role of the sorcerer was shifting. The work of the conjurer was changing. And so, too, is the work of the coder.

The Changing Work of the Developer

The day-to-day life of software engineers is already shifting as AI grows more adept at writing code. Google said that over a quarter of new code there is already AI-generated. That number will rise. The question is not whether AI can write code. It can. The question is what happens to the people who once held that power.

I’ve watched as engineers, once the masters of the machine, are transitioning from writers to reviewers, from builders to overseers. They no longer shape every function by hand; they guide, they edit, they ensure that what the AI produces does not lead to chaos. They are not writing spells anymore. They are judging them. They are deciding what is worth keeping and what is not.

It is not that software engineers are vanishing. It is that their job is becoming something else. They are evolving into something closer to architects—structuring, delegating, ensuring the integrity of what is built. They are learning how to guide machines rather than simply instruct them. They are adapting, because to remain still is to be left behind.

The Last Human Skill

In all of this, one thing remains stubbornly human: alignment. AI can write code, but it does not know what should be built. It does not understand the friction of real-world needs, the subtle trade-offs of usability, the deeper implications of a well-placed button or a streamlined function. These things still require human hands, human minds, human debate.

I see it now, as teams gather in rooms, whiteboards covered in diagrams, designers sketching ideas in Figma, engineers debating over what the right approach should be. This is the work that AI has not yet mastered, the magic that remains ours.

The Future of the Engineer

I think often about Simbi, about what happens when the loa of knowledge is no longer the sole keeper of wisdom. Did he resist? Did he fear the machines that could conjure what once took years of practice to master? Or did he see the shift for what it was—an invitation to evolve, to move beyond the old ways, to redefine what it meant to be powerful?

I do not believe software engineers will disappear. But I do believe the ones who thrive will be those who understand that knowing what to build is now just as important as knowing how to build it. The coders who once worked alone in the dark, crafting their spells in solitude, must now become something else.

Not just sorcerers. Not just builders. But guides, stewards, architects of an intelligence that is still learning what it means to be intelligent.

That is the work now. That is the magic left to us.

Can We Ever Just Be? Black Identity Beyond the Shadow of the West.

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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March 5, 2025

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Can We Ever Just Be? Black Identity Beyond the Shadow of the West.

Can we, as people of African descent, ever exist without the West as our measuring stick, our shadow, our perpetual point of departure? Can we ever shed the counters—counter-narrative, counter-plantation, counter-memory—and simply be? Not in pursuit of some imagined purity, not in the grip of essentialism, but in a space where our being isn’t always defined in opposition to something else.

it’s exhausting.

Toni Morrison described the problem beautifully but didn’t give us an answer: “The very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being.”

I think back to my undergrad years at Berkeley, where I minored in Mandarin. It was the first time I engaged with a language that held no ties to the West, no colonial fingerprints, no historical betrayals that I had to navigate. It was a liberation I hadn’t known I needed—to think, to express, to exist in a structure of meaning that had never been used to define or oppress me. Because the other languages I spoke, the ones I moved through with fluency, all carried the weight of empire. French, English, Haitian—each one, in its own way, a scar. And so I wonder, can we ever reach that place within ourselves? A language, a culture, a selfhood that is not in response to, but simply is?

This dilemma, this burden, is not mine alone. I witnessed it in the literary pages of Aimé Césaire to the streets of Harlem, where James Baldwin wrestled with the same ghost. Césaire, in Discourse on Colonialism, exposes the absurdity of European “civilization,” but he does so in the language of the colonizer, turning French against itself.

Baldwin, exiled in Paris, sought a freedom he was denied in America, only to realize that his Blackness followed him, that the West is still the frame, still the structure he must push against.

Even Chinua Achebe, in Things Fall Apart, presents Okonkwo not as a man simply living his Igbo identity, but as a man resisting—resisting his father, resisting colonialism, resisting the very forces that define him in negation.

And this isn’t just theoretical. We see it in the struggle for post-colonial nations to define themselves. Haiti, the first free Black republic, born in the fire of revolution, could never simply be—it had to be the counter to France, to slavery, to European supremacy. Its very existence was an act of defiance, and it was made to suffer for it. The same could be said of Ghana under Nkrumah, of the Negritude movement, of the Harlem Renaissance—all beautiful, all necessary, but all in some way engaged in the perpetually exhausting work of response.

Even in how we describe ourselves, the West lingers. We say Afro-Caribbean, Afro-Latin, African-American, forever tethering ourselves to some cancerous, cultural pus, something external that invades and attaches itself, as though our identity must always be a hyphenated affair.

Even in music—jazz, reggae, hip-hop, konpa—genres that emerged from Black innovation, the conversation is always framed in how they subvert or reimagine European traditions, rather than how they exist on their own terms.

So the question remains: can we ever just be? Can we ever arrive at a place where our culture, our language, our art, our very identity is not shaped by the gravitational pull of the West? Or are we forever locked in this dialectic, this endless negotiation with the forces that once sought to erase us? And if we can break free, what does that even look like?

Spirals in the Caribbean: Representing Violence and Connection in Haiti and the Dominican Republic

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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March 3, 2025

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This conversation with Dr. Sophie Maríñez is less an interview than a reckoning for me, an excavation of Haitian and Dominican ghosts, of histories silenced and distorted, the way the past never quite stays in the past–“The past is never dead. It’s not even past”. She walks us through the troubled narratives of Haiti and the Dominican Republic—not as distant, separate nations, but as entangled siblings, bound by history, betrayal, and resistance.

At the heart of her book (and this discussion), Spirals in the Caribbean: Representing Violence and Connection in Haiti and the Dominican Republic, is the idea that history is not linear. Instead, it circles back on itself, shifts, adapts, repeats but never in quite the same way. This is Spiralism, a framework born from Haitian literature that seeks to make sense of the cycles of oppression, revolution, and return. The Haitian Revolution, the Parsley Massacre, the decimation of the island’s Indigenous people—these are not separate moments in time but echoes, reverberating through centuries.

Frankètienne, one of the fathers of the framework, said that Spiralism “…defines life at the level of relations (colors, odors, sounds, signs, words) and historical connections (positionings in space and time). Not in a closed circuit but tracing the path of a spiral. So rich that each new curve, wider and higher than the one before, expands the arc of one’s vision.” (From: Ready to Burst.)

Dr. Maríñez dismantles the neat, binary notions of identity and conflict. Hispaniola? That’s a colonizer’s name. Kiskeya? A myth born from a European chronicler who never set foot on the island. Haiti/Ayiti? One. the true Indigenous name, the other, rendered politically fraught by the weight of nationhood. She insists that there is no singular name, no singular story, only a mouthful: “the island shared by Haiti and the Dominican Republic.”

Dominicanidad, she argues, is no less complex. It is a construct, an essentialist shape-shifter, used and abused by political forces to serve shifting agendas. What does it mean to be Dominican, when the definition shifts by geography, race, class, and time? What does it mean to be from a place that has been “ghosted,” rendered illegible by the very scholars and institutions that claim to study the Caribbean? Ouch.

Let’s stay with the ghosts:

The massacre of 1937 was not just an act of violence but an act of memory, or rather, forced forgetting. The rhetoric of the “peaceful invasion” of Haitians into the Dominican Republic is not about immigration but about erasure, a convenient distraction from the economic and political structures that extract Haitian labor while denying Haitian humanity. The elite, the state, and the power brokers of both nations collude in this, enforcing borders not just of land but of belonging. And yet, the past lingers, history an apparition, unresolved, unatoned for, demanding reckoning.

Maríñez sees spiralism as a decolonized way out of the binary nightmare imposed by the Global North–a more liberating way to understand the history of the island occupied by Haiti and the DR, not as a series of conflicts between two nations, but as a struggle between those who hold power and those who resist it. It is the repetition of violence, but also the repetition of rebellion, of solidarity, of culture that refuses to be erased.

She calls for deeper connections, for a rejection of the cliches and stereotypes that keep Haiti and the Dominican Republic estranged. “We need to get to know each other,” she says. “Not just the stories we’ve been told, but the truths that lie beneath.”

And perhaps that is the real challenge she leaves us with in her book and this interview—to reject the easy narratives, to sit with discomfort, to see the spirals, and to break them.

Kenbe la / Aguanta ahi

Dominoes, Dictators, and Human History

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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March 2, 2025

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Last night, the second installment of our monthly dominoes game was in full effect—just men, bonding, exhaling. The tiles slapped the table like punctuation marks in a conversation that wandered, as it always does, from the mundane to the eternal.

And then, like some specter from the old world, dictatorship crept into the room. One of the brothers wouldn’t let it go. Kept pressing. Kept insisting. The only thing that could save our people, he said; the only thing that could save the Global South, the Black Atlantic.

He wasn’t wrong—history nodding in agreement. But being right and being persuasive are not the same thing. One wins arguments. The other wins people.

I didn’t argue then. Distance has given me the time to process what was, in the moment, a fleeting exchange. I kept thinking of that old Histomap you see below—the grand sweep of human history distilled into a single visual, a tapestry of conquest and empire, of dominion and submission. Look at it long enough, and you start to see the pattern: for most of the 4,000 years that we have been arranging ourselves into groups, we have called our leaders kings, emperors, monarchs. Democracy, in comparison, is a newborn, still learning to walk.

So when I hear Haitians say, Bring back Duvalier, he’ll fix the gang problem, I don’t clutch my pearls. I don’t gasp in horror. This is what we have known. Not just Haiti, but humanity itself. It is the model that has governed us longer than anything else.

But what always gets me is this: when we speak of strong rulers, of iron-fisted governance, we rarely speak of some grand vision for our people. We often are speaking of solving something now, of the immediate, of the gang terrorizing the block, of greedy elites raiding the treasury, of the crumbling schools and empty bellies growling in the night. We want a problem fixed, and we often reach for the oldest tool in the box.

But dictatorships, as history reminds us, are blunt instruments. There is no fine-tuning option for the governed, no delicate hands to adjust the oppression dial to just the right amount. No, it is all or nothing. And once power is seized from the people, it is rarely returned.

But here’s where I land: I don’t care what we call it. I don’t care what structure we drape over the bones of a society. Just give me four things—shelter, full bellies, security, education. Guarantee me that. Do that from the bottom up, not the top down. Build a world where the people are not afterthoughts to power. Do that and you can call it whatever you want.

Rejecting the Tin-Cup Cycle of ‘Helping’ Haiti

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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February 24, 2025

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Rejecting the Tin-Cup Cycle of ‘Helping’ Haiti

A dear friend—well-meaning yet so profoundly detached from Haiti’s enduring wounds—asked me recently if I might leverage my connections for her church’s missionary project. In that suspended moment over the phone, a silent exasperation stirred within me—a private roll of the eyes that would have been impossible to hide had she been present. Her heart, undoubtedly tender and compassionate, bore the weight of a naive presumption: that Haiti exists in a state of perpetual need, a country waiting to be rescued by benevolent outsiders.

I explained, gently but firmly, that although my ties to Haiti run deep, many of us—those who have weathered generations of exploitation—are deeply skeptical of foreign intervention. Who, I wondered, could claim the right to determine how Haiti should be aided when such decisions are made in the comfort of American privilege? The wounds of our nation were not inflicted by the masses but by a select few who have hollowed out our resources and spirit. Haiti must, in its own time and on its own terms, reclaim its future without the heavy hand of institutions like the IMF, USAID, or the World Bank.

The disdain I harbor for outsider aid extends beyond Haiti’s borders. It mirrors the revulsion I feel when I encounter the spectacle of academic non-profits in the United States—organizations that parade their benevolence while perpetuating dependency. I cringe each time an online announcement proclaims that yet another grant from the Ford Foundation has filled a tin-cup for a Haitian nonprofit. It is as if another clanging tin-cup is offered to the world—a paltry gesture that underscores our persistent reliance on the generosity of strangers. How revolting it is to watch a cycle where genuine need is met with hollow largesse!

I ask myself: why do Haitians with means—of whom I know are many—not band together to fund and sustain institutions that truly serve our community? Why must we continue to lean on the empty promises of outsiders? Even more, there is an irony in the way such charity is delivered; behind the public display of generosity, there is often a contemptuous silence—a disdain for the very people whose lives are reduced to a statistic, a ledger entry for someone else’s quota of benevolence. Haitian nonprofits should be the creation and the endeavor of Haitians alone. No more handouts, no more token aid. If we cannot support our own institutions, then perhaps those organizations should not exist at all.

In the quiet spaces of reflection, I remain convinced that true liberation comes not from the charity of outsiders but from the fierce, unyielding resolve of a people determined to forge their own path.

The Road is Made by Walking It: Why No One Can Give You the Answer

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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February 23, 2025

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The Road is Made by Walking It: Why No One Can Give You the Answer

People think wisdom can be bottled, labeled, and sold. They believe that a professor can give them knowledge, not just about a subject, but about life itself. That a life coach can unlock the secret to success. That inspiration is something you can buy by the hour. But most often, all you learn from a professor is how to be a professor. All you learn from a motivational speaker is how to work a crowd.

Lately, I find myself on the other side of the table—people asking me for advice, looking for the roadmap, the foolproof recipe. And I get it. There’s comfort in believing that if you just follow the right steps, you can sidestep failure, outrun the uncertainty.

But my journey is mine. I can tell you what I’ve seen, what I’ve learned, where I stumbled, where I soared. But I cannot give you a formula.

There is no universal smoothie that you can just gulp down and poof–you’ve “made it.” Forgive the mixed metaphors, but there is no magic blend of secret herbs and spices that will carry you to where you want to be. The road I took was not paved before me—I laid it brick by brick, decision by decision, failure by failure.

You don’t need more guidance. You need more doing.

A great teacher, if they’re worth anything, can give you one great thing. A single lesson that sharpens your instincts, refines your vision. And once you have it, lingering is death. You must move forward. (We can still be friends, but don’t put me on that pedestal in perpetuity. I’m no sage.)

So stop waiting for the hand that will pull you up. Stop seeking the map. The way is made by walking. Dive in. Take the hit. Let the world push back, let it test you, let it break you if it must. Because reality is the best bullshit detector.

By all means, dream. But let your dreams face reality. Mike Tyson said everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face. Another mixed metaphor: Let life be the sculptor that gives shapes to your dreams, let it chip away at what doesn’t belong until there is nothing left, until the true essence of where you need to be is revealed.

A dream that cannot survive the fire–one that bends, breaks, and is consumed under the forging–was never real to begin with.

The Code Noir

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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February 22, 2025

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The Code Noir was more than law—it was a script for suffering, a doctrine of domination dressed in the language of governance. Issued in 1685 under King Louis XIV, it was not merely a set of rules but an architecture of control, regulating the lives of our ancestors, whether free or enslaved, across the French Empire. It was an extractive decree that sought to define Blackness itself—not as a birthright of humanity, but as a condition to be managed, disciplined, and exploited.

On the Governance of the Islands of French America

March 1685

Recorded at the Sovereign Council of Saint-Domingue, 6 May 1687.

Louis, by the grace of God, King of France and Navarre— to those who now hear these words and to those yet to come, we extend our GREETINGS.

It is the duty of a sovereign not only to govern but to shepherd, to extend his grace and order even to the most distant corners of his empire. Divine Providence has placed all people under our dominion, and with that dominion comes the burden of discipline and justice. It is in this spirit that we have summoned the reports of our officers from the islands of the Americas, where our subjects, far removed from the reach of our court, look to us for structure, for rule, for the firm hand of the crown.

Their reports lay before us an undeniable truth: the necessity of our authority in maintaining the discipline of the Roman, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith in these territories. Further, the condition of the enslaved—those who labor upon the land, those whose bodies are bound to the prosperity of our realm—demands our judgment. And though they reside at a great and immeasurable distance from our throne, let it be known that our power extends still, that our justice moves swiftly, that our will is present even where our person is absent.

Thus, with the counsel of our advisors, with the certainty of our knowledge, and by the absolute power and sovereign authority granted to us by divine right, we now decree, order, and command the following laws, which shall be our pleasure to enforce:

Articles: 1-5

Article I. It is our will and command that the Edict of 23 April 1615, issued by the late King—our most honored lord and father, whose memory remains glorious—be enforced without exception in our islands. To this end, we charge all our officers with the task of expelling from our territories all Jews who have established residence therein. As they are enemies of Christianity, we decree that they must depart within three months from the issuance of this [order], failing which their persons and property shall be seized and confiscated.

Article II. All slaves present within our islands shall be baptized and instructed in the Roman, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith. We command all settlers who purchase newly arrived Negroes to report this acquisition to the Governor and Intendant of the islands within no more than eight days, under penalty of a fine to be determined at our discretion. Upon notification, the necessary arrangements must be made to ensure that these Negroes receive religious instruction and baptism within an appropriate timeframe.

Article III. We expressly forbid the public practice of any religion other than the Roman, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith. Those who violate this decree shall be punished as rebels and enemies of our authority. Furthermore, we forbid any unauthorized religious gatherings, which we declare to be clandestine, unlawful, and seditious, and we order that such transgressions be met with the same severity as any master who tolerates or permits such actions among his slaves.

Article IV. No person shall be permitted to hold authority over Negroes unless they are members of the Roman, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith. Any master who appoints a non-Catholic to such a position shall risk the confiscation of their Negroes, and those who accept such positions despite their religious status shall be subject to punishment at our discretion.

Article V. We forbid all subjects who adhere to the so-called “Reformed” religion from interfering in any manner—whether through obstruction or discord—with the free practice of the Roman, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith, either among our subjects or their own slaves. Any violation of this command shall be met with the most severe and exemplary punishment.

Rituals and Resonance: Exploring the Tapestry of Haitian Vodou

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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February 22, 2025

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Rituals and Resonance: Exploring the Tapestry of Haitian Vodou

Summary

Under the watchful gaze of our ancestors and to the beat of sacred drums, I journeyed here into the mystical realm of Haitian Vodou and African spiritual traditions with the always radiant Dr. Kyrah Malika Daniels.

In that enchanted dialogue, we unraveled the deep roots where Catholic saints and Vodou spirits entwine—echoes of a history imposed on African descendants in Saint-Domingue and nurtured by the antifragile heart of Central Africa and the Kongo Kingdom.

We celebrated the diverse voices of northern and southern Haitian Vodou and honored the ritual order that guides our oral traditions, urging us to embrace research with both reverence and vigilance.

This episode is a call to witness the vibrant tapestry of our past and present, a conversation where ancient wisdom and contemporary insight dance as one, inviting every seeker to explore the profound depths of our culture and history.

Episode Notes

Understanding Haitian Vodou: Scholarly Insights and Cultural Nuances This episode delves into the rich and complex traditions of Haitian Vodou, featuring an in-depth conversation with Professor Kira Malika Daniels. The discussion highlights the importance of cultural respect in Vodou scholarship, the underrepresentation of Haitian scholars, and the significant differences between Southern and Northern Vodou practices. It also explores the importance of ritual order, the role of ancestral spirits, and the integration of Catholic saints in Vodou practices. Additionally, the conversation touches on the influence of historical figures such as Kimpa Vita and the unique numerological significance in Vodou.

00:00 Introduction to Vodou and Its Cultural Significance
01:17 The Importance of Haitian Scholars in Vodou Studies
03:27 Ritual Order in Vodou Ceremonies
09:10 The Evolution and Terminology of Vodou
16:48 Numerology and Symbolism in Vodou
22:50 The Role of Ati and Prominent Figures in Vodou
31:41 Understanding Ancestral Principles
33:17 The Role of Catholic Saints in Vodou
33:35 Syncretism and Blended Religions
34:34 Historical Context of Christianity in Africa
35:12 The Congo Kingdom’s Conversion to Catholicism
36:19 The Influence of Africanized Catholicism
41:18 The Story of Kimpa Vita
47:44 The Four Potomitan Nations in Haitian Vodou
51:17 Northern vs. Southern Haitian Vodou Practices
57:20 The Importance of Language in Vodou

Study Guide

Quiz

What is regleman in Vodou, and why is it important in ceremonies?
Explain the distinction between “nation” (N-A-S-Y-O-N) and “nation” (N-A-S-I-O-N) as discussed in the source.
What is the origin of the word “Vodou,” and what does it mean in its language of origin?
Why do many Haitian Vodou devotees prefer to say “M’wase bilwa” (I serve the spirits) rather than identifying themselves as “Vodouist”?
Describe the significance of the number 21 in Haitian Vodou numerology, as explained in the source.
What is the meaning and importance of the “plus one principle” in Vodou cosmology, related to the number of spirits?
Identify the four “Potomitan” nations in Southern Haitian Vodou, according to the source.
Who was Donna Beatrice (Kimpa Vita), and what was her significance in the history of Catholicism in the Congo Kingdom and its connection to Haitian Vodou?
Explain how Catholic saints became associated with Vodou spirits, distinguishing between a “top-down” and “bottom-up” approach.
What is langaj, and what is believed to be its origin and significance in Vodou ritual?

Essay Questions

Analyze the tension between tradition and innovation in Vodou as discussed in the source, particularly in relation to oral traditions versus written texts and continuous revelation.
Discuss the arguments presented for the importance of Haitian scholars studying Vodou, considering factors such as language access, cultural nuances, and differing perspectives.
Evaluate the historical context provided regarding the Congo Kingdom’s early conversion to Catholicism and its potential influence on the development of Haitian Vodou’s relationship with Catholic saints.
Compare and contrast the characteristics of Southern and Northern Haitian Vodou practices, focusing on lakou, initiation systems, and the use of ritual instruments as described in the source.
Explore the role of “organic intellectuals” in Vodou, such as Mambo and Ougan, and how their knowledge and contributions compare to those of formally educated scholars.

Glossary of Key Terms

Regleman: The established ritual order, sequence of actions, and prohibitions within Vodou ceremonies. It refers to how things should be conducted ritually.
Loa (Lwa): The spirits or divine energies in Haitian Vodou. Also referred to as “mysteries” (mistèyo) or “invisibles” (invisib).
Nation (N-A-S-Y-O-N): Refers to geopolitical nations or countries.
Nation (N-A-S-I-O-N): Refers to spiritual families or lineages of spirits within Vodou.
Langaj: A coded ritual language of West African origins, often spoken by spirits during possession. Its meanings are sometimes forgotten but are believed to be rooted in specific African languages.
Vodun: The Fongbay term from which the word “Vodou” originates. It means “spirit” and refers to the spirits worshipped in the tradition of Benin and the ancient kingdom of Dahomey.
M’wase bilwa: A common refrain among Vodou devotees meaning “I serve the spirits.”
Voodoovi: A term often used in Northern Haitian Vodou to refer to devotees.
Vodouisants: A term often used in Southern Haitian Vodou to refer to devotees.
Ifa tradition / Ixeshe tradition: A religious tradition from Southwestern Nigeria, associated with Yoruba cosmology and the concept of 401 spirits (orisha).
Orisha: The spirits in the Yoruba tradition, equivalent to the Loa in Vodou.
Continuous revelation: The idea that spiritual knowledge and ritual practices are not entirely fixed but can be revealed or adapted over time, often through the spirits.
Gede: A nation or family of spirits often associated with the dead and speaking in a nasal fashion.
Makaya: An initiatory society mentioned in the source, distinct from but connected to Vodou.
Bizango: Another initiatory society discussed in the source, distinct from but deeply connected to Vodou.
Gada: One of the four Potomitan nations in Southern Haitian Vodou.
Juba: A nation of spirits often invoked in Vodou ceremonies.
Nago: A nation of spirits often invoked in Vodou ceremonies, connected to Yoruba traditions.
Petwo: One of the four Potomitan nations in Southern Haitian Vodou, often associated with fiery or intense spirits.
Congo: One of the four Potomitan nations in Southern Haitian Vodou, connected to traditions from the Congo Kingdom. Often grouped with Petwo as Petro-Congo.
Potomitan: Referring to the main central pillar in a Vodou temple; metaphorically used here to describe the four primary spiritual nations in Southern Haitian Vodou.
Bon Dieu: (French: Good God) The common name for the High Creator God in Haitian Vodou.
Olorun / Olodumare / Oluwam: Names for the High God in the Ifa tradition of Nigeria, sometimes associated with Bon Dieu in Vodou.
Mysteries (Mistèyo): Another term for the Loa or spirits.
Invisibles (Invisib): Another term for the Loa or spirits.
Anges (Senj): (French: Angels) Used in the North to refer to spirits, reflecting influence from Catholicism.
Ancestors (Ancèt): Spirits of those who have passed away, including known and unknown lineage.
Evesibio: Refers to ancestors whose names are not known.
Blended religions: A term preferred by the source to describe traditions like Vodou that incorporate elements from different religious systems, rather than the term “syncretic,” which is seen as often used in a biased way.
Kudiamungwa: (Kikongo) Meaning “to eat salt,” a practice tied to baptism in Africanized Catholicism in the Congo Kingdom, understood as warding off negative spirits.
Simbi / Basimbi: The name for spirits in the Congo region, equivalent to Loa or Orisha.
Donna Beatrice (Kimpa Vita): A Kongolese healer and prophetess in the early 1700s who incorporated Catholic elements into her indigenous religion and believed she was mounted by St. Anthony.
Antonians: Followers of Donna Beatrice.
Saint-Jacques-Majeur: Saint James the Greater, a Catholic saint associated with the Vodou spirit Ogou, believed to have played a significant role in the Congo Kingdom.
Chromolithographs: Printed images of Catholic saints often used in Vodou to represent or hide Vodou spirits.
Gamboa: A forest mystic healer spirit, associated with Saint Sebastian due to similar iconography.
Lakou: Spiritual centers or temple complexes in Haitian Vodou, particularly important in the North. Examples include Laku Sukri, Laku Bajo, and La Koussouvenas.
Asogwe lineage: A formal and hierarchical system of initiation found in Southern Haitian Vodou.
Ounsi: Entry-level initiates in the Asogwe lineage, literally meaning “brides of the spirit.”
Supwe: The first priesthood level of initiation in the Asogwe lineage.
Ougan / Mambo: The highest level of priesthood initiation in the Asogwe lineage, allowing one to conduct ceremonies and potentially start their own temple.
Kwakwa / Chacha: Ritual rattles used in Vodou ceremonies. The Chacha is often used in the North, while the Aso and Chacha are used in the South for different nations.
Afuta: A langaj term, meaning to salute the earth, potentially from the Fongbe language where “ai” means earth.
Bila Bila Kongo: A response in langaj, meaning great praises to the Kongo lineage or spirits.
Dogwe: A ritual salutation or prostration gesture in Vodou, similar to the Yoruba dobale.

Quiz Answer Key

Regleman refers to the ritual order, sequence of events, and prohibitions within Vodou ceremonies. It is important because following the regleman is seen as conducting things ceremonially and respectfully, which is believed to keep the spirits (loa) content and ensure the efficacy of the ritual.
“Nation” (N-A-S-Y-O-N) refers to geopolitical countries or states, while “nation” (N-A-S-I-O-N) refers to the spiritual families or lineages of spirits within Vodou cosmology. This distinction highlights the difference between the physical world and the spiritual realm.
The word “Vodou” originates from the Fongbay term “Vodun,” spoken in present-day Benin. In the Fongbay language, “Vodun” means “spirit.”
Many devotees prefer “M’wase bilwa” because it reflects the Vodou philosophy that religion is not separate from everyday life. Saying “I serve the spirits” indicates that serving the spirits is an integral part of their existence, not just a distinct religious identity.
The significance of 21 is seen as three times seven. Three is a mystic number connected to the Christian Holy Trinity, and seven is a mystic prime number representing wholeness. 21 is also suggested to be connected to the “plus one principle,” signifying that the number of spirits is not fixed.
The “plus one principle” is the idea that the number of spirits (often cited as 101 or 401) is not a final count. The “+1” indicates that more spirits can always reveal themselves, reflecting the dimension of continuous revelation in Vodou and other African and African diaspora religions.
According to the source, the four “Potomitan” nations in Southern Haitian Vodou are Gada, Nago, Petwo, and Congo (often grouped as Petro-Congo).
Donna Beatrice, born Kimpa Vita, was a Kongolese healer and priestess in the early 1700s. After a vision, she converted to Catholicism and believed she was a medium for Saint Anthony. She was significant for advocating for peace and healing in the divided Congo Kingdom and for Africanizing Catholicism, believing God, Mary, and Jesus were black.
Catholic saints became associated with Vodou spirits through a “bottom-up” approach, meaning it was the African descendants who made these connections, not the church imposing them. This was often done by aligning the iconography or characteristics of the saints with those of African spirits, sometimes as a way to hide the practice of indigenous religion under colonial rule.
Langaj is a coded ritual language used in Vodou, often spoken by spirits during possession. It is believed to originate from a blend of West African languages, though the specific meanings of many terms have been lost over time due to the trauma of slavery. It is a significant part of ritual communication with the spirits.

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Transkripsyon an Kreyòl

ep68-Kyrah Malika Daniels

[00:00:00] Yonjou lwa ginen waptounen. Puyo vini ne tye pe ya me te diabyo deyo pou pep voyan kapab rebati lakay. Se mesaj sa ak te genan chanteyo. Se mesaj sa ak te genan koutembo yo. Se mesaj sa ki fe tembo pa jom suspon bat. Rive sou mwen! Mey non! Rive sou mwen! Mey non! Racine bazil! Jil pep! Nan deman bre me dale!

Ta zanjou regleman pou met nan bitasyon mwen, ne gyo son di rezon mwen. Bi den lo, nan deman brem talen. Ta zanjou regleman pou met nan bitasyon mwen, ne gyo son di rezon mwen. Dantô te laê[00:01:00]

Larent te la ve mwen Nè gyo son de rizon mwen Nã graximê Are there enough of scholars of your generation in the English -speaking world? You wish there were more. We need more, don’t we? We do. We do. We do need more. Let’s ask for a… We do need more, and we especially need more Haitian scholars of Vodou. And, you know, I believe that everybody can study anything as long as they do it with respect and integrity.

And I believe that very firmly. And we need to be training more Black scholars of Vodou and more Haitian scholars of Vodou because we’re underrepresented. And because I do think that there is something unique that we can bring to the table as a group. You know, those who are coming from the heritage, not only with regards to language, because language is a major component of understanding Vodou and understanding religious heritage, [00:02:00] but also because there are access points that are different for Haitian scholars, you know, and that’s really significant too.

et reconnaissant les moyens dans lesquels, comme vous savez, quand je fais et conduis de l avec différentes communautés vaudou en Haïti, j travaillé dans le Mio Bali, j travaillé dans Bois Prince, j travaillé dans Jacques Mel. Je ne appelle pas les gens par leur premier nom. Ce n pas respectueux. Et je sais ça non pas parce que je suis un chercheur, je sais ça parce que je suis Haitien.

Et je ne suis pas l de quelqu qui a 50 ans, ou même 40 ans. Je ne suis pas leur copain d je ne suis pas leur copain. Donc, en plus de l des titres comme Nga ou Mambo, si c approprié, je dirais Tonton ou Tintin ou Monsieur. Right. Those are cultural nuances that people who are from this culture will be very familiar with.

And that might even come naturally to us, you know. And so I think that there are some valuable perspectives that everybody can bring, you know. [00:03:00] And I also really think that it would be great for us to have more Haitian scholars of Vodou. And there are some that are up and coming, which I’m very, very excited about.

You know, there’s a new generation of Haitian Vodou scholars and Vodou scholar practitioners that is emerging. And we have more work to do. Thank you. Afudayi! Bila bila! Kongo! So, an kama seno, Professor Kira Malika Daniels, uh, Famjam Extraordinaire. No, miss your appeal. Can you talk about regleme, ritual order and its importance in voodoo ceremonies?

Yes, of course. So first of all, thank you so much for having me. Looking forward to the conversation. And the first thing that I would say is that règlements has different meanings in different Vodou communities, but what it always refers to is how things should be conducted. Ritualy speaking, in the context of Southern Vodou, and this [00:04:00] is really important because Southern Vodou and Northern Vodou have a lot of different variations.

There are a lot of different genealogies of Vodou equally valuable lineages, but different ways of manifesting devotion and pursuing practice and worship of the law of the spirits. So in the context of Règlement in the South in particular, when people are referring to Règlement, they’re talking about certain things that are, Ça peut inclure des prohibitions.

Ils parlent d séquence de choses qui doivent se passer dans un ordre particulier pour que la loi, la loi Kagé, soit contente. Et en plus, ils verront que vous gardez les choses dans une manière cérémoniale respectueuse. Donc, je vais donner un exemple. Dans le contexte de l à la loi pendant la service, la danse ou la fête, c -à -dire une cérémonie, c -à -dire une cérémonie, There is a particular order in which you will call the spirits.

You don’t just call them out of any which way, haphazardly or, you know, [00:05:00] randomly. You start with a particular sequence. So that means that you’re starting with spirits like Avadra, Grand Chemin. Everybody knows that Legba. est, vous savez, le premier, mais en fait, très intéressant, il y a quelques esprits dont vous appelez même avant l qui inclut le sacré tambour pourquoi est -ce important c important parce que en suivant la prière guinée qui ouvre la plupart des cérémonies de voodoo une série de prières catholiques récitées en tant que français et en créole en suivant les tambours can begin and for the drums to begin you have to salute who is the sacred drum itself and also the spirit of the sacred drum and then after you’ve called you can sing to you know who are like the openers of the roads and then you arrive at like back following like back you go to my Following Maasa, you go to Papa Loko, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.[00:06:00]

And so there’s a whole sequence of things. And part of the reason that that is important is because each family might do things a little differently, but each family, meaning spiritual family, each temple will have its own way of conducting reglema. So people would generally agree in the Southern lineage of Vodou that you start with the Gada spirits, then you move to Juba spirits, then you move to Nago spirits, you see.

And so the research that I did about the Nashon was really fascinating to me because it wasn’t just something that was theoretical, I realized. It has meaning and ways in which you can see that being manifested. Dans la cérémonie à travers le règlement. Le règlement peut aussi signifier des prohibitions rituelles.

Donc, par exemple, quand les gens sont initiés lors des rites de conso, qui est l il y a certaines choses que les gens peuvent et ne peuvent pas faire. Vous n pas censé vous engager dans l sexuelle, par exemple, [00:07:00] quand vous travaillez pour préparer les gens à leur initiation. Vous abstenez de cela, c vrai?

Il y a, vous savez, Règlement que les gens suivent après qu ont traversé l de Kanzo dans la lignée du sud, vous savez, vous ne pouvez pas boire de l vous ne pouvez pas manger du poivre, vous ne pouvez pas manger, vous savez ce que je veux dire, donc il y a toutes ces différentes façons dans lesquelles différentes lignées de famille et différentes lignées de temple se conduiront et le règlement réfère à la séquence de rituels des choses et la façon de conduire soi -même et la communauté.

I mean, I think that that’s something that’s not unique to voodoo. That’s religions all over the world, right? I mean, people are very familiar with the way, you know, the Catholic rituals go, there’s a sequence, there’s an order, there’s how things are done. And at a certain point, you might be able to say, Oh, well, we do these things, you know, we offer, for instance, you might say, we offer, you know, champagne to metagui, the captain of the seas, because he likes champagne.

And we offer, you [00:08:00] know, um, conceivable to this spirit and we offer clear a to this way because they like them that’s what they prefer but at a certain point when you keep asking that question the answer is just going to be its tradition c quand ça sans cet autre effet ou bien c quand ça comme on y a des faits right and so I think that that’s something that’s true of all world religions across the world that there’s a way in which people establish themselves that doesn’t mean that these traditions can’t be innovated upon and I think that that’s probably one of the primary differences with a lot of African and African diaspora religions.

This is something that certain scholars refer to like john Thornton as continuous revelation, and this is a very fancy way of saying that Our code of ritual conduct is not set entirely in stone, whereas traditions of the book, like the Bible for Christianity, the Quran for Islam, um, Hasidic texts, or, [00:09:00] you know, the Torah for Jewish communities, they indicate that there’s a certain way that things must be done, and people typically will say, You know, you can’t divert from that path.

Vodou, Congo religions, Yoruba traditions, it’s not that we have nothing written down, but historically, these have been oral traditions. And so, at times, things may change, but by and large, we adhere to traditions because se konsagra monyo te fel. You mentioned, uh, the difference between nation and nation.

Am I being too extra with the nasal there? No, that’s a very important distinction. Yeah, I think so. I’m going to say that I really appreciated the distinction because I had written this whole essay as nation, nation, nation, nation. And, you know, I will be very transparent here. I am of Haitian descent. Um, I am a heritage [00:10:00] speaker, but I also studied Haitian Creole in school because I wanted to learn how to write it and to read it.

And I didn’t always speak Creole. You know, my mother is Haitian. My father is African American. So it’s something that I learned in a formal context as well. And, um, I knew that the word for country or nation was nation, N -A -S -Y -O -N, and I shared the essay, because I think this is really important, with elders in the field, with my spiritual mother, um, and also with elders such as Ongar Jean Daniel Lafontaine, Ongar Giardès Fleurin, and, um, C un Gaujean Daniel qui a dit, vous savez, nous devons être clairs qu y a une distinction entre l géopolitique, Nation, et les nations spirituelles, Nation, et c très illuminant parce que quand j confié avec plusieurs autres, ils ont absolument agi, ils ont dit, oh oui, certainement, et je veux dire les pratiquants ainsi que les écrivains, comme oui, il y a une [00:11:00] différence et je pense qu y a des raisons Of a number.

I think that there are a number of different reasons as to why this might be including the fact on a cosmological level when spirits come in ceremony. One of the ways that often they can be distinguished is because they come speaking differently than humans do. They often will come speaking langage, which is a coded ritual language.

Of West African origins, a blend of different West African languages, some of whose meaning we have forgotten, some of whose meanings we still know, um, but they also come speaking in a very nasal fashion. The spirits come speaking in a very nasally fashion. This is especially true of the Gede Nation or family of spirits.

Y a pas les poissons avec yon voix très nasal, right? And that’s one way of distinguishing. You know, spirit voice from human [00:12:00] voice. Not all the spirits speak in exactly the same fashion, but many spirits come speaking with more of a nasal sound, especially the gay day spirits, the etymology of the word voodoo.

I asked one of my, uh, my cousins. She, she’s a mumbo. And she told me like, she just calls it more savvy. She’s like, she was really it at as voodoo. What’s the, what’s the origin of, of that word. It’s not just a scholarly word is it? No, it’s not just a scholarly word. Voodoo comes from the Fongbay term Vodun and the Fongbay language is spoken in current day Benin.

And it comes from the Vodun tradition of Benin and of the ancient kingdom of Dahomey, where there were multiple different ethnic groups, religious Um, Alada peoples, and Fon peoples, and Dahomean peoples, all of Umahi peoples in the north, and all of these different nations of people. And I [00:13:00] really encourage us to think about the importance of language when we refer to African peoples.

I don’t use the term tribes. It’s a deeply racist term, and mostly it’s only used to refer to black and brown peoples, but we had our own nations. We had our own geopolitical states. So these different ethnic groups, these different nations coming from the kingdom of Dahomey practiced a tradition known as Vodun.

Now, once upon a time, it wasn’t called Vodun, but Vodun was the term that referred to the spirit. So the way that we use the term loi. translated to English in Haitian Voodoo to refer to the spirits or the way that Yoruba practitioners use the term orisha. The Dahomian peoples referred to their spirits as Vodoon.

So it means spirit. And there are some people who have broken that etymology down even further to say that Um is the term for spirit. Um, and you can see this because a lot of the terms that we have remembered and continue to use today are either the [00:14:00] same terms from Fongbe or slight alterations. So all of those words in Vodou that start with those um, like um gun, Honto, um, quand on parle de l il y a beaucoup de termes que nous pouvons toujours tracer aujourd au Fongbe et beaucoup d eux ont ce prefix honto, qui signifie esprit, et cela vient du terme Vodun lui -même.

Maintenant, je serais d avec votre cousin en notant que beaucoup de Haitiens et beaucoup de Vodouïs ne disent pas I am a voodoo. That’s what they would say in the South and the term in the North that people more often uses Vodoo V. But many people don’t say that. They say most every law, most every day.

Why I am one who serves the spirits. That’s a very common refrain. Um, it doesn’t mean that people don’t recognize new language. I think now people are starting to, I think devotees in Haiti are starting to use Voodoo V a little bit more. Um, but many, many, many people who are devotees. [00:15:00] Typically, je sais moi c vie, c vie de l So, vous de vie is the plural, right?

For vous de vie, in the sense, right? No, they’re two different. No, they’re actually two different, um, etymologies. So, vie, um, is also fondée and it comes from small. It means small. So, vous de vie is like plural. The small one of the spirits, meaning like child of the spirits, but so we’ll do V is typically the term that people use in the north to refer to themselves as devotees.

Vodoo V means the same thing as what do we saw in the sense that what we saw is the way that devotees would refer to themselves in the south. But again, many people would just say. Um, and why is that? That’s because of the philosophy of many African religions, which is that religion is not something that is separate from everyday life.

Religion doesn’t exist in this little pocket or this little corner of the house. It is the whole experience. And so, I think that that is reflected when people say, Mwase bilwa, it’s just what I [00:16:00] do. It’s, it’s when people say, oh, vodou is not a religion, it’s a way of life. I say, well, it’s both. You know, and I think that the reason that people push back against that, um, notion of voodoo being a religion is because they associate religion with very formal doctrine and biblical texts and religion has to only look this way.

But I use Charles Long’s definition of religion, which I think is very illuminating. He says religion. I love that because it allows us to understand religion as both faith and practice, as both belief and ritual. And so if it’s about how we orient ourselves in the world, then a way of life includes that and can also be religion.

So Vodou for me is definitely a religion. And it is a way of life numerology and Haitian voodoo. What’s the significance of the number 21? Um, if I may just add one more thing, I think one thing that’s [00:17:00] really helpful when I talk to my students to an identifying the origins of the term voodoo versus voodoo versus voodoo.

I always tell them voodoo is Hollywood. Voodoo is Hollywood. It’s the zombies. It’s the dolls. It’s not the tradition that we’re talking about. When we’re talking about voodoo in Haiti, it’s V -O -D -O -U. Voodoo. And I think that, um, that’s important because it allows us to differentiate the actual lived experience of people versus the sort of Hollywood imaginaries.

So, okay, please, um, pose your question again. Numerology. Right. With regards to 21, I think that, um, Again, many different societies, many different world traditions believe that different numbers play different functions and different roles. Three seems to be a very powerful mystic number in a lot of different societies.

Of course, we know in Christianity, three refers to the Holy Trinity, the three wise men. Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost. Um, in Haitian Vodou, when I ask about the number three, people will [00:18:00] typically say, Oh, Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Some people will also say it’s the three graces. Um, so I think that’s faith, charity, and hope, if I’m not mistaken.

I could be wrong about that. I wasn’t a good Catholic kid. So I could be wrong. But I, I know that three carries an important number. Uh, uh, numerological quality because of its connection to Christianity, seven also is a considered a very mystic number. And then, you know, when you think about numbers in terms of their manifestations in the real world, seven is regarded, first of all, it’s a prime number.

So a lot of times prime numbers are regarded very highly in different societies. Um, But in addition to that, like if you were to take, you know, dominoes, for instance, since, you know, size, the way that seven is portrayed is, you know, three sets of dots facing each other, mirroring each other with one dot up high, it almost looks like a house.

Mm hmm. You see what I’m saying? It almost looks like a [00:19:00] structure. So there’s a way in which seven represents wholeness or completeness as well. So 21 is three times seven. There is one more thing I want to talk about with, at least with regards to numbers. So many people, when they talk about how many lua there are, we’ll say that there are 101 spirits.

Or 401 spirits, and that number is really significant for a few different reasons because in Yoruba cosmology of the Ifa tradition or the Isheshe tradition of southwestern Nigeria understands that there are 401 spirits, 401 orisha. And they say specifically that there are 200 destructive spirits. and 200 creative spirits, meaning there’s a balance and that plus one is very, very important.

So there are scholars such as Fulaya Wood who have talked about this, um, uh, Wande Abimbola’s son, Gola Abimbola has also discussed the importance of this plus [00:20:00] one principle, means that it’s ad infinitum, More spirits can also can always reveal themselves. This goes back to the dimension of continuous revelation, that the spirits can always come and manifest or bring new messages to people and bring new messages to religious devotees.

And so the whether it’s 101 or whether it’s 401, There’s always going to be a signaling of that plus one principle indicating that Mordewa can reveal themselves to us. This is the case for instance with Dessalines, right? And Boukman historically played very important roles in the Haitian fight for freedom and they have become deified.

You know, and so they became inducted, if you will, into the voodoo pantheon and their songs for a bookman, you know, there are ways of acknowledging that that principle. So I also think that 21 might be connected to that idea of the plus one principle. It’s not 20, which is a nice round number. It’s not 30.

It’s 21. I think that part of that [00:21:00] is in introducing or continuing with that notion of the plus one principle. A little bird. You told me you have a photographic memory. Is that true? That’s really funny. I’d be very curious to know who said that. I don’t think I have a photographic memory, but I study art.

So I, I, I would like to say that I have a sharp eye, but I don’t think I have a photographic memory. Oh, okay. Okay. Well, that goes my whole question because I was going to ask you to write off. All 21 nations. Oh, but you see that’s a good exercise because you can’t because there are different people who have different lists of 21 nations, right?

And so not everybody agrees on them. But what I will say is that was one of the things that really fascinated me about this research study is most people whom I spoke with couldn’t list all 21 because First of all, 21 is a lot to remember off the top of one’s head. But in addition to that, because not everybody agrees.

Some people, for instance, don’t say that Gede is its own nation. [00:22:00] They say that it’s actually like a family. And then, there are many people who agree that Gede spirits are related to Bawon spirits, but they’re not exactly the same. Some people say you have to think about it. I believe this is true of Gachel Beauvoir Dominique, the great late anthropologist and voodoo priestess who argued that was its own entity.

There are others who say that Makaya is an initiatory society. Um, so it would be difficult to list all 21 because not everybody agrees on them. I mean, I would say people agree on, like, maybe seven or eight. You know, people would agree on Gada, Juba, Nagu. For the most part, Gede, Petwo, many people would say Petwo -Congo can go together.

And then after that, it starts to be tied to your lineage and your temple, which other nations are included. You just mentioned, uh, Lachelle, Beauvoir, Dominique. What’s the role, uh, and function of Ati and Vodou? Uh, [00:23:00] while you were at it, talk about Ati, Max, Beauvoir. the father of Russia how how instrumental are their works daughter and father in the study of asian voodoo like you well their work is very very important and I would say foundational and I wish that more of us sighted them I know that even myself, I have more to read of Beauvoir Dominique’s work.

I have more to read of Beauvoir’s work. I don’t want to suggest that I’ve been exhaustive in my readings. I know that part of it is language access. Um, you know, many of their works were written in French. Um, but I think that that it behooves us to engage with their work because they had some very So, that’s why I’m going to finish my reading and then I’m going to be back with a new So, thank you so much for listening and I will see you next time!

Bye! Bye! Sous -titres réalisés para la communauté d .org Contributions to make as scholar practitioners and, you know, Haitian voodoo. I think that there are all different types of intellectuals. I think many mobile and are some of the wisest people that I’ve ever met, you know, from their knowledge of pharmacology to their familiarity with navigating [00:24:00] mediating.

social relationships, providing counsel for devotees, orchestrating enormous ceremonies and FETs. I mean, they’re some of the wisest and most knowledgeable people I know, and they haven’t necessarily all gotten PhDs, but they’re organic intellectuals. So knowledge doesn’t always come from a classroom and the classroom can be in multiple places.

It can be in the forest. It can be in the temple. Um, and in addition to that, there is something quite remarkable about the fact that we actually move while Dominique and her father Max Bovois were both scholar practitioners who had studied history culture. I mean, I’d see Max Bovois was a biochemist.

That’s remarkable because he understood not only the Transcription by ESO. Translation by role of plants on a religious level, but on a chemical level, you know, what types of properties could be activated through medicinal plant baths and through the ingestion of leaves and things of this nature. Um, I think that, you [00:25:00] know, the role of Atsi is a word.

It’s etymology can help us understand the role that it is aimed to play in Haitian Vodou today. So Ati, people are suggesting, scholars are suggesting that Ati comes from the notion of the tree being a site lipozoa. Not only a residence of the spirits, but also, um, a pillar of support for the community.

And there are spirits, the spirit, or the vodun of Beni known as Iroko is a spirit of a great tree, a magisterial tree. And some suggest that it’s the cottonwood silk tree, which is for us in Vodou, the mapu. And so Iroko became for us loko. But the term Atsi, I believe in one of these languages, perhaps it’s Sfongbe, refers to great tree.

And so that was what the role [00:26:00] was supposed to represent for us. And you know, people have colloquially called it like, Oh, the Atsi is the Pope of Haitian Vodou. And in a way, you know, he was supposed to be a unifying force. But again, I will mention that I think it’s really important that we recognize that, largely speaking, Vodou is a decentralized religion, like many other African and African diaspora religions.

So it’s not as if one person could make a decree that every other temple would follow, because we all have our own different genealogies within these traditions. And different families practice differently than Asogui lineages, you know, the, the, the… lineage of Asogwe is its own very particular thing. So he comes from the Asogwe lineage, um, and he had two daughters.

I believe the entire family was initiated and Gachara Bovoie -Dominique really was, I think, ready to carry the baton, if you will, um, with her scholarship. She also had done some really important work on, so he had done really important, you know, publications with Publishing Puyegine, which [00:27:00] very few people had seen in written format before he had published it outside of their own personal temple, you know, and that some people said that that was brave.

Some people said that that was not something that was wise because you shouldn’t be sharing something so sacred and particular to one temple with a larger audience. But I think that that was the role that he wanted to play. You know, my mother, who. Her name is Claudine Michel, but she grew up in Haiti and she said she always remembered in the 1970s, you know, Hugo Max Beauvoir would be interviewed on television and they said, And he replied, and she was floored, you know, that somebody with a PhD in biochemistry would reply that their profession or that your career is voodoo priest.

It made quite an impression on her, you know, and I think a generation, several generations of people. Now, Dominique, in addition to her really important work. Connecting and identifying and studying [00:28:00] Taino lineages and roots of Haitian Vodou. She also did some really fascinating work on Bizango, the initiatory society.

And I actually remember I had, you know, the privilege to interview them. And I remember one conversation with Clashé Bouvoie -Douinique where she said, you know, you need to do some work on Bizango. And I was like, ah, c un travail qui est vraiment important, oui. But it, I felt like there was still so much work to be done on Vodou itself in terms of demystifying it and making sure that people understand this is not a demonic tradition.

I feel like we have a ways to go with Vodou first before I felt like I would be comfortable doing work on an initiatory society such as Bizan -Gol. But I do hope that there are more Haitian scholars who will begin doing that work on initiatory societies because it’s deeply important. They have.

Profound connections to voodoo, but they are not the same thing. Let’s dive a little deep, but not too much into Into the sort of scaffolding is kind of more fluid than [00:29:00] solid, right? It will regionally vary, but give us a sort of a basic understanding of how it’s structured. What is the shape of the pantheon?

So we have The High Creator God, who is known by many names. The most common name that I’m familiar with is Bon Dieu, which is from the French, Good God. Um, there are others who indicate that the name of Bon Dieu is Olorun, which is quite profound because Olorun, Oluwam is the name of or Olodumare is the name of the high god in the Ifa tradition or the Ixéxé tradition of Nigeria.

So again, there are these linkages and these connections that we can make directly to specific ethnic lineages and religious traditions on the continent. So Oluwum coming from, uh, Olodumare and in the Cuban tradition, the high god is known as Olorun. and Underneath the High Creator God who put the world into [00:30:00] motion and who, I would say, is not gendered.

Many people use the term he, but as we know in Haitian Creole, there is no gender. On ne dit pas qu ou elle est identifié par la gendre, on dit juste que c lui. Donc, je ne pense pas que le High God est gendré. En dessous, mon Dieu, sont les esprits, les loyaux, qui ont de nombreux noms. Ils peuvent être appelés mystérieux, les mystères, lesquels j Ils peuvent être appelés invisibles, les invisibles.

Ils peuvent être appelés, dans le Nord, en particulier, singes. Of course, we can imagine that this comes from the introduction of Catholicism, where we understood that there were angels who do the work of God. So underneath the High Creator God, who frankly is very occupied with high order functions, doesn’t really have time for the everyday realities of humans.

And that’s what the Loa are for. One can hold up different domains. Some live in the sky, some live in the sea, some live in the forest, some live in caves. [00:31:00] And they take multiple forms. By and large, people would say that they have, you know, an ephemeral quality, but they can manifest in human mediums, or they can manifest in a tree, or in a rock, or in a wave, or in a person.

There are also, after that, You know, uh, realm of the spirits, meaning the loi, there are the ancestors and the ancestors come in a few different forms. There are those whose names we know and we remember our grandmothers who have passed our great grandfathers who have passed our aunts, our uncles, our cousins.

But there are those whose names we do not know who are far, far, far back in our genealogy. So for those of you who are doing the 23 and me’s, You know, who are finding out that you may have had ancestors who come from this place or that place. You know, these are the ancestors who really, and Maya Deren says this, I really like this language.

The ancestor at a certain point becomes a principle, right? And no longer is an individual person whom you knew and who knew you. It [00:32:00] is now a sort of concept. Um, they become abstracted. So a lot of times in La prière Guinée, people will say, um, you know, we don’t have the prayer for unknown ancestors. Les noms, les noms desquels nous savons et les noms desquels nous ne savons pas.

Et puis, il y a les humains. Donc, nous avons Bon Dieu ou Ologum. Nous avons Lwayo. Les mystères, Mystèyo. Et les ancêtres, lesquels comprennent Evesibio. Donc, les esprits et les ancêtres travaillent main dans la main. And then you have humans and in the human realm, there are animals, there are plants, all of them have a sort of divine energy that connects all of us together.

Humans are not regarded as necessarily being more important than animals. But we have free will and we have agency. And so we pray to Saint -Sétu, we pray to the loi for guidance, for direction. And we might also pray to bon Dieu. We might also pray to Oluwum. [00:33:00] Um, but typically for everyday matters, if you’re asking for healing, if you’re asking for strength, if you’re asking for courage, if you’re asking for hope, if you’re asking for everyday things of human experience, you would pray to the loi and to the Saint -Sétu.

Excellent, excellent. So where do the Catholic priests or Catholic saints fit into this pantheon? Where do they, where do the practitioners put them? Great question. The Catholic saints have been associated with different lots. And the different divine energies. Now, the term that people often use to refer to Vodou and to other Caribbean religions is syncretic.

These are syncretic traditions. I really don’t like using that term to refer to these traditions because, again, just like the term tribe, syncretic is only used to refer to basically black and brown people’s religions. As if Christianity, Islam, Judaism were not also blended traditions. I mean, in fact, scholars indicate that Jesus was [00:34:00] probably born in August, but the reason that they chose December 25th as the date of Jesus’ birthday is because the Romans, who were trying to convert the kingdom at a certain point in the 4th century, realized, hmm, the winter solstice is a really big holiday for these Greek quote -unquote pagans.

And so if we align it at the same time with the winter solstice festival, then we’re more likely to be able to convert more people to Christianity. So to me, that’s an example of a syncretic faith. So if we talk about all world religions as syncretic, no problem. But if you’re gonna just talk about African -derived religions, no.

So I call them blended religions. One of the things that we have to understand, of course, is that Christianity was imposed upon African descendants in the Americas. There’s no doubt about it. And Africans, by and large, and African descendants were forbidden from practicing African religions. Now there is an important historical nuance that we have to incorporate here, and that refers to, or that must incorporate our understanding of the Congo Kingdom.[00:35:00]

And I promise I’m going somewhere there with this, Patrick, don’t think I’ve lost my train of thought. Oh no, no, you’re good. You have photographic memory, remember? Right, supposedly, I better live up to that. In 1486, the Portuguese arrived in what is the Kingdom of Congo. Today, this is the regions of Gabon, the Republic of Congo, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Angola.

There is a sliver about the size of California in these coastal regions that was known as the Congo Kingdom. And… The king at the time who met. I’m sorry. And that’s Congo with a K. Sorry. That’s Congo with a K. That’s absolutely correct. Yeah, there was no C in the orthography. Yes, exactly. So Congo Kingdom, they were met at the time by King Nzinga Angku and King Nzinga Angku Um.

Each of the African nationals Converts to Catholicism. And so, the Portuguese brought More missionaries, Capuchin missionaries in particular, [00:36:00] And in 1491, King Nzinga Ayn Kul converts to Catholicism. He becomes baptized as King Shwau the first. So this is a year before Columbus arrives At the Americas To cause all the devastation that he did.

And, um, You have a Congo king On the African continent Converting to Catholicism. Now, we know that Christianity has a very long legacy in Egypt and in Ethiopia, and in fact, Ethiopia is like the second nation to become Christian in the world, and Africans were Christian before Europeans, you know, the King Ezana converts his Aksum kingdom in Ethiopia to Christianity, and they became Ethiopian Orthodox Christians in the fourth century before our Constantine converts Rome to Christianity, but on the western side of the continent, you have a very early introduction to Christianity as well.

So in 1491, King Joao I becomes baptized. Now here’s the part that they don’t tell you. He reverts back to indigenous religion. He tries it on for a little while. He says, I don’t like this. I’m going back to my [00:37:00] ancestral religion, but he has two sons. who battle over the kingdom when he died one son was for indigenous religion one son was for catholicism and the son who had converted to catholicism and wanted to convert the kingdom won the battle for the throne so king afonso the first konverte the kingdom of congo to catholicism as a whole now it’s really important to recognize that this would be an africanizing of christianity a congo -ization if you will of catholicism that takes place so people were becoming baptized they would do what’s called kudiamungwa Which means to eat salt, but it’s important to know that parts of these baptisms were also tied to indigenous religion.

People would eat salt because they understood it as a way to ward off negative evil forces or negative spirits. They would become baptized because the simbi, which is the name for spirits, [00:38:00] it’s the equivalent of loa or orisha, the basimbi in the plural, would initiate you in the waters so they were engaged in this catholicism but they were simultaneously engaging with their ancestral indigenous religion of congo as well why is that important that’s important because that means that congo as a region has been catholic for 500 years but it has definitely been an africanized catholicism and this is also important because the About 60 to 70 percent of those who were fighting during the Revolutionary War.

And at the time that the Revolutionary War broke out in Haiti in 1791, about 60 to 70 percent of those enslaved were African -born. 60 to 70 percent of them were African -born. And of those, roughly 60 to 70 percent were coming from Central Africa. And that’s out of, excuse me, that’s out of about 500.

thousand [00:39:00] enslaved coming if i remember correctly right by 1791 yeah so i and out of that 60 70 percent of them came from from that region yep and it’s important to note that different regions had different um population Uh, demographics. So for instance, earlier on, we had more Senegambians who were brought at different periods of historical, uh, junctures.

You had more people coming from Yoruba land, more people coming from the Gambia, you know, so different times, but at the time of the Haitian revolution, 60 to 70 percent of those born on the continent were coming from Central Africa. And many of them were coming from Congo kingdom or the neighboring Ndongo kingdom.

So I raised that. Why? Because. From so early on, yes, it is important that we recognize the devastating colonial realities of imposing Catholicism on African descendants. But there was also a large population who would have already been used to an African Catholicism. And in [00:40:00] fact, King Afonso I, right in the final battle that he fights against his brother, he says that a vision came to him.

And the vision was that. Saint George appeared, or excuse me, Saint James, that’s important, Saint James appeared to him in a vision, whom we know as Saint Jacques, who is associated with Ogou, and the Virgin Mary, whom we know has many manifestations, as the Auxilie Fouet d as the Auxilie Dantois, as the Auxilie Chez Rouge, and so that’s important because, While it is true that Africans did have to hide their spirits behind the Catholic saints, not all Africans were being introduced to Christianity and to Catholicism for the first time in the Americas.

Congolese citizens would have already been familiar with the saints and would have understood them as being Africanized themselves. I’ll give that historical context. Okay, I’ll tell one more story and you can decide how much of it you’re going to put in this podcast. Oh, please, you tell all of it. And if you could talk about Beatrice, was it Beatrice?

[00:41:00] Oh, you see, that’s a perfect segue. That’s exactly who I was going to mention right now. Look at you, Patrick, you have done your homework. I could listen to you all day. Oh, very kind. So I’m so glad you mentioned that because that’s actually, again, a really important part of understanding Transcribed by https://otter .ai Who was coming to Saint -Domingue during this period.

So in the late 1690s, probably in 1684 or 1686, a woman was born named Kimpavita. She was initiated as a healer and as a priestess. The term that they used at the time in that region was Nganga Marinda. And Nganga means healer. Nganga means healer and typically diviner. When you say, for instance, Nganga Ngombo in the regions where I do my work in Congo, it means diviner.

So Nganga Merinda was somebody who could be a spiritual medium. So she was first involved in indigenous religion. When she became about 17, 18, she [00:42:00] fell ill with a horrible, horrible, horrible ailment. She became bedridden. And during that time, she experienced a vision. And… The vision was of St. Anthony who came to her and shared that she would be healed.

It was him who would heal her and he would come to her through what we know as ritual mountings or visitations to spread the word of peace because the Kongo Kingdom at the time was divided and was experiencing deep conflict. political conflicts and civil war. He would come to usher in peace and to provide healing to the citizens of Congo.

She was healed. She converted to Catholicism. And so Kimpa Vita became baptized as Donna Beatrice. Donna Beatrice became a magnificent and powerful healer. She traveled all over the world. all over the Congo kingdom on foot [00:43:00] trying to negotiate peace deals between warring political factions. She was successful in some places, not as successful in other places, and she was a great healer.

She healed like hundreds of people who were suffering from this condition or this. She was kind of like a female Jesus, you know, and in fact, as part of her Proselytizing, if you will, as part of her message to convey to people, she explained that she was mounted by St. Anthony, that she was an incarnation of St.

Anthony, and she explained, this is a part that I love, God was black, Mary was black, Jesus was black, and guess what? Bethlehem was Mbanza Congo, the capital of the Congo kingdom. This is what we’re referring to when we’re talking about the Africanization of Catholicism. And, She had disciples who worked alongside her, but the story, the narrative that she explained was that I am continually mounted by St.

Anthony. [00:44:00] One of her and her disciples became physically close, I should say emotionally close, and then physically close followed. They knew each other in the biblical way, as we might say. She became pregnant. Several of the warring political leaders used this as an excuse to attack her. They had already decided that she was a political threat because she was trying to unite the kingdom.

And many of the political leaders at the time who were part of these warring factions wanted to have their own jurisdictions and their own kingdoms. So it was not in their best interest to have the Congo kingdom united again. At this time the The kingdom of Congo is being ravaged by European slave traders who are coming and who are taking advantage and manipulating these warring political factions to obtain more enslaved peoples to bring to the Americas.

This is the Portuguese and the French and the Congo kingdom and. She’s a political threat and so they use the fact that she became [00:45:00] pregnant as a way of trying to debunk her narrative as I am an incarnation of St. Anthony to say, well, St. Anthony is a male saint and a saint wouldn’t be having carnal relations.

And so they took her as a pregnant, you know, woman who was incarnating St. Anthony and her disciple partner and burned them at the stake. This was in 1701 or 1702, something like this, the first few years of the 1700s. Now all of those who had devoted themselves to following the path of Kimpa Vita, now known as Donna Beatrice, called themselves Antonians.

They regarded themselves as Congolese and as Catholics. Many, now we know that so many of those who were African born at the time of the Haitian revolution were coming from Congo Kingdom. So we can imagine that many of them were very likely to have been Antonians, right? So I say all of this to say, like, I think that it’s very possible that one of the reasons that Saint -Jacques -Majeur is such a major Catholic presence [00:46:00] in Haiti, whom we associate with Ogu, is because from the beginning.

Almost 500 years ago, St. Jacques as St. James played such a prominent role in the Congo kingdom. I don’t think that’s the only reason, don’t get me wrong, but it is to suggest that the alli the alliances or the associations that the Catholic saints have with Vodou spirits who, let me be clear, are African spirits.

It is not something that was exclusively done, it was, this wasn’t a top -down approach. This wasn’t the church who said, ah, well, you know, that, um, that St. George of ours, he seems an awful lot like your ogu, and so you should connect them. No, this was a bottom -up approach of cosmological infrastructure. If you will, of people saying, these depictions of these saints, this mother Mary, or this Saint Sebastian is a really wonderful example because he is portrayed in the chromolithographs as you know, a saint who became a martyr and who’s riddled with arrows tied to a tree.

So he became associated with [00:47:00] Gamboa, who is a great forest mystic healer, who is Associated and depicted as being connected to and even having limbs that are branches, a trunk, you know, that is his torso and then a heart shaped face. So the iconography at times is very aligned with the representations of these saints.

And I really want to make clear that that is something that. African descendants had to do because they were forced to practice Catholicism, but also that, especially for Central Africans and Congolese citizens, they would have already been used to making those connections between their indigenous spirits, their Basimbi, or their Orisha, or their Vodun, and that they started doing with these, uh, Catholic saints that they were being introduced to in the Americas.

So let’s go over the The four, you call them the four Potomita nation. Yes. Raida, Nago, Petro -Congo, and Gede. How did you come to the conclusion [00:48:00] that these are in fact, the four, uh, spiritual pillars in Haitian voodoo. Is that a scholarly classification? Or did you derive that from from your interactions with the practitioners or studying the practitioners overall?

Both, both. And I think that that’s how all good research should be done. You know, this is, yeah, it’s an argument that I’m making. It’s an assertion. It’s an assertion that I’m putting forth, but it’s based off of many years of research, many conversations and interviews The reason that I call them the Potomitan is because while there are some houses for whom Juba nations, for instance, may play a more prominent role, other houses for whom Senegal nations might play a more prominent role, by and large, most Vodou temples of the southern lineage, You would be hard -pressed to go to a fete or a ceremony where these four nations are not being invoked.

It would be very [00:49:00] difficult to attend a fete and to see these four nations not being invoked. Even if not every single one of the 21 nations is being called, you will still be invoked. Definitely hear these four nations being called. So that’s how I identified him as the Potomitan. But if I’m really, you know, if we’re keeping in line with this language that I like that you’ve introduced for us of superstructure or the structure, I would say that these are like the four biggest masts, the largest Potomitan, and then there are other smaller Potomitan because many Vodou lineages would also Absolutely call Juba.

You have to call Kuznets -Aka. Like, I don’t know very many southern houses where you could not call Kuznets -Aka, you know, but I don’t know very many temples where they always call Senegal nations, for instance, or they also call Wongol nations. And of course here we can think about the sound where these nations originating from Senegal.

Senegal and one goal coming from Angola and what’s really interesting there is like I’ve, I’ve read and it’s very hard to find any information about the Senegal nation. This is something I’d really like to do more research on, [00:50:00] but my research has indicated that those who come as Senegal spirits purportedly speak a language that sounds like Arabic.

They use salutations that sound like assalamu alaikum, assalamu alaikum, which is peace be upon you and to you may peace be upon you, which is the greeting and the response that you give to Muslim brothers, sisters, and siblings. And then in addition to that, that they refuse to eat pork. Now we know, tut aisi nge me po, tut aisi nge me guyu.

So if you have spirits who are coming who are not eating pork, That’s quite significant. It stands out. Of course, we understand that Muslims do not eat pork, um, as part of their devotion, as part of their prohibitions, as part of their leglima, we could say. Um, and it’s also said that they perform what looks like a bowing gesture of prayer.

In a particular direction, which looks like Salat, the five daily prayers that Muslims will engage in throughout the day facing Mecca. And so these different [00:51:00] nations, I think, could play different supporting roles, depending on the temple and the location and the Vodou genealogy that each spiritual family has.

But I would say that these four in southern Vodou, you can’t have a ceremony without calling Ghada, Petro -Congo. On the Northern, uh, Northern Haiti practices and Southern Haiti practices, can you dive a little deeper into the, the contrast and differences that you saw that you laid out in the, in the article about just, just a few words, comparing contrasts?

You know, compare and contrast. And here I will say I’m not a scholar of Northern Vodou. I have done some research in the north. Um, but there are other scholars, including some up and coming scholars whose work I’m very excited about who are doing work in Northern, uh, Vodou temples. So in my understanding, Gwanaiv is a real base.

Um, suffering. Aw, don’t know. Um, it’s a pilgrimage [00:52:00] site. It is uh, a site of spiritual center. So this is something that you see very commonly in other world traditions. For instance, in the Yoruba tradition, it’s understood that Ilé Yife is the center of the world, the cosmological center of the world, you know, in the context of, um, uh, Christianity and Islam.

And to a certain extent, You know, or I should say Christianity and Judaism, and to a certain extent, Islam, Jerusalem is a sacred city center. Gwanaiv is a sacred city center for northern Vodouiza, and we can say for all Vodouiza, so for Vodouvi in the north. Why? Because there are several major pillar temples in or surrounding Gwanaiv.

The three most well -known Last two include Laku Sukri, sometimes known as Laku Sukri Danash, which is more Kongo based, more connected to the Kongo lineages of Vodou. In addition to Laku Sukri, there is Laku Bajo, which is more connected to [00:53:00] the Nago nation and to the Yodaba traditions of Nigeria, southwestern Nigeria.

et puis vous avez la cousse de noces qui est plus connectée à la gada et à l nation and the Nahomian lineages of Vodou. They all have their different origin stories. So for instance, La Koussouvenas, um, which lost its, um, spiritual leader. They’ve been looking to fill that role. The La Koussouvenas origin story, one of the origin stories is that there were, um, Nahomian soldiers who were conscripted to become part of the royal army pour le roi Henri Christophe au nord de la Haïtie et que certains d eux, les Dahoméens venant de Benin, ont apporté leur religion ancestrale avec eux et pendant les premières années 1800 et qu certains d eux, ont fondé la Coupe Souvenance comme une façon d les traditions de Vaudoune avec lesquelles ils étaient connus.

Donc, c une histoire d Il y a peut -être plus et chaque, vous savez, la coupe a son propre [00:54:00] nombre. Maintenant, je veux être très clair And there’s some exciting new scholars such as, um, Alexandria Saint -Élien, who are doing really exciting research in the North. And there are many others who have done research in the North as well.

Well, I shouldn’t say many others. That’s something that we need to work more on in the United States. There are more Haitian scholars in Haiti doing work in the North. We need more folks doing that work in, in the U .S. Um, but who explain that, um, It is not as if in Lakosukli, for instance, only Kongo spirits are honored, like Mama Chamba or, um, spirits like Lemba.

Um, there are other spirits who are honored as well, so Gede spirits may still be honored, Nago spirits, warrior nations may still be honored, but that that is a primary focus of the pantheon in each of those respective three lakos. And I’ll mention here that in the North, they don’t typically have the same Asogwe lineage.

They use the Kwakwa, which is a different ritual rattle. Now, in Haitian Vodou of the South, you have the Aso, which is used to salute [00:55:00] the Gada spirits, and then certain other spirits, uh, in certain families, like certain Nago spirits, and then the Kwakwa, or the Chacha. Which is also a secular musical instrument, but is used in a ritual context in Vodou, is used in the south to salute like the Pétou spirits, Bawon spirits, things of this nature.

And then in the north, it’s typically one ritual wattle that is used, which is the cha -cha or the kwa -kwa. So that’s another one. You know, initiation happens in these lakou, but it is not quite the same as the Asogwe lineage of the South, which is a very formal and hierarchical system of initiation. You know, there’s like entry level for un -si, so un, once again, coming from fongbe, meaning spirit, and si, meaning bride in fongbe.

So un -si is literally brides of the spirit, and that’s not gender specific. Any initiate is known as un -si. Now, we don’t know and typically say, oh, you become a wife of the spirit or a bride of the spirit, anymore. Onsi Onsi is entry level in the South. It means you’re initiated to a particular [00:56:00] house. And then there is, um, initiation at the priesthood level, which would be known as, um, if you’re doing Konzo, you would be, uh, initiated at the priesthood level.

There’s like that first level. And then the last level is Ougan or Mambo. Meaning that you have been trained in the rites of the rattle. You can conduct ceremony, you can conduct ritual, you can call the spirits, you can send spirits away, and you can start your own temple. When you’re initiated at the first priesthood level, which is known as supwe, it means that you’ve been trained in the ritual rattle.

Uh, language. You can serve the spirits. You can conduct some, but you cannot necessarily open your own temple when you have been initiated as Nga or Mabu, Aso Gwe. Typically, that means that in theory, not everybody should run out and start your own temple. You have a lot to learn when you’re initiated, right?

But in theory, you could one day start your own temple. Temple and your own initiations that’s differentiated in the north where there isn’t such a hierarchical system of initiation and many families just engage in, you know, [00:57:00] this is what my elders did. So this is what I do. You don’t have to be initiated at all.

It’s like, say, soccer gun with a fail. Take one. Get it. Do we get? Okay, my ass, uh, you know, kind of stay and we serve the spirits. We serve the law, but there isn’t necessarily needed a formal initiation. That’s how much of will do in the countryside functions. Um, and many other family lineages. mufudayi What does mafudayi mean?

Like, oh now that’s a great example of langage. That’s a fantastic example of ladge. I have no idea. I have no idea

So some people will say that that comes from like different and this is why langages so okay So if you’re interested in langage a good person for you to reach out to now, she’s young She’s young and she doesn’t have a book out. She’s a graduate student Sous -titres réalisés par la communauté d .org But she is, I mean, brilliant.

She’s a linguist, a linguistic anthropologist studying langage and she is studying African languages because she makes this [00:58:00] excellent argument. She’s my student, you know, transparency, but she’s brilliant. She’s at GSU and she’s applying to doctoral programs right now and she makes an argument like you can, it’s not like this is glossolalia.

That langage is just nonsense words. She says, no, they’re African words whose origin and whose meaning we’ve forgotten because of the trauma of slavery and because of 500 years. But if you study Fongbe, if you study Kikongo, if you study Yoruba, you can find the meanings of these terms, even if they’ve changed a little bit.

Like, for instance, another example is like Dogwe. Ou Dogwe san, Dogwe est la salutation de rituel et la bowing de rituel, la prostration que vous faites. C similaire au Yoruba, ils parlent de dobale. Donc si vous voyez un initiateur nigerien ou même les africains qui sont initiés dans la tradition, quand vous voyez quelqu saluer un ancien dans la tradition, ils font dobale.

Ils font cette salutation de rituel sur le sol. Nous avons un qui est similaire, il s Dogwe katfongbe. Like we [00:59:00] know where it comes from. That’s what that word means, but other ones we don’t know. So mafutayi, that’s, that’s some research that needs to be done. So Alexandra Saint -Élien. Your mentor slash advisor, Dr.

Malika Daniels, Kira Malika Daniels, said you would be the best person to ask. Do you know where my futari comes from? I do. Yeah, cause you know, that’s actually what my whole, basically my whole research is. Um, and that is the linguistic aspect of what we’re doing. For example, there is linguistic variation.

You hear some people say my foot. I, I, I, it’s actually a foot. I, and I is meaning earth. So it’s coming from the language of song beats. Um, the kingdom of down may where I is, is, um, I means earth. Um, and so when you’re saying, I, you’re basically giving a salutation to Waban yon salutation a [01:00:00] la terre, so you salue la terre.

Oh, wow. Mm -hmm. Mm -hmm. Okay. And what about the, the response? Uh, Bilo -Bilo, is it, is it Bilo -Bilo? No, Bila -Bila Kongo. So. Bila -Bila Kongo. Oh, so what’s Bila -Bila? Bila -Bila Kongo basically is great praises to, to the Kong, like great praises to the Kongo lineage. wow so it’s sometimes it changes okay yeah so it’s that whole call and response right it’s the whole call and response yes it’s the call and response and you’ve some linguists or if depending on what sources that you’re using they’ll have bilat which would be meaning to call or to honor but when you put it all together because it’s it’s very contextual actually very very contextual and you find that a lot of you’ll find that a lot of times and A langage, that the meaning changes based on the song, based on the national it’s coming from.

But, but yeah, Afuta wap salue la tete, to honor, to give praises [01:01:00] to, to the earth. And then Bila Bila Kongo, great praises to the Congo kings, to the Congo spirit. So do you find practitioners know the meaning of it, or is this just something they, they, they just say by tradition? Do you think they know the meaning behind it?

So actually that was one of my, my own research question is what are devotees understanding of the African heritage and linguistic connection? And you find that, I mean, some do and some they, they have more of a, what more of a, um, poetic meaning to it, but not the linguistic, like breaking down the words, the morphemes and looking at what does this morpheme mean?

What does this word mean? Thank you. It depends on who the practitioner, who the devotee is. But in my experience, a lot of people don’t have that direct one -to -one correlation, but they can give you more so of a poetic, a more contextual understanding.[01:02:00]

Mwane se mo ide so e pon pala wav la tonde. E ba o monde o, Mwano ki nola kwa, Mwa ma o na fesa amdi se, Gato a pongo. Pwede se mo yi dezo te frekite o kwa mon apesa sane Pwede se mo yi dezo mwapara wap la sane Pwede ba o mante o kwa me mwne ki nyo lakwa Kwa mon apesa mwise kwa sonu ye Ni Yaziwo, Malato, Yaziwo, Malato, Yaziwo, Ohele do ayokue, Yaziwo pope.

Yaziwo, Malato, [01:03:00] Yaziwo,

Yaziwo,

Omononuye,[01:04:00] [01:05:00]

Opewayo akwa,[01:06:00]

Onagami,[01:07:00] [01:08:00]

Obudogon, [01:09:00] [01:10:00] [01:11:00] [01:12:00] [01:13:00] Obudogon,

The Land Remembers: Tourism, Legacy, and the Haitian Future

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Patrick Jean-Baptiste

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February 16, 2025

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The Land Remembers: Tourism, Legacy, and the Haitian Future

Summary

Haiti, land of contradictions they say, where the past is not just remembered but lived. The soil still carries the footprints of revolution, the air thick with the echoes of history. And yet, the world sees it in fragments—a place of struggle, a place of need. But Guerline Emmanuel sees something totally different.

Guerline and her husband, Hogarth, stand at the helm of Belle Vue Tours, not as mere entrepreneurs but as witnesses to possibility, believers in what Haiti is, not just what it has survived. Her journey in particular is not about reinventing the wheel but about honoring what is already there.

Three lessons emerge from her story here, each a call to those who would see Haiti as a whole, as three-dimensional:

Partnership is Power. The old ways of competition and undercutting have no place in true transformation. Guerline speaks of collaboration, of lifting together, of recognizing that the very soul of Haiti’s tourism lies in its people on the ground—the artisans, the fishermen, the innkeepers who have always held this nation upright. Belle Vue Tours is not a lone endeavor but an extension of many hands, many powerful dreams.

The Land Remembers. Before she set her course, Guerline and her husband studied the land—not just the terrain but the pulse of the Haitian people, the rhythm of its needs. Haiti’s tourism is not a blank slate but a layered text, one that must be read with care. To build something real, something lasting, she knew she had to listen first.

Skin in the Game The diaspora has long been asked to give—to send, to donate, to patch wounds that never seem to heal. But Guerline asked for something different. She speaks of investment, of shifting from charity to stakeholding, from temporary relief to enduring presence. Lawd help you if you use the dreaded word “resilient” in the same sentence with Haiti. Haiti, she said, does not need another gift; it needs its sons and daughters to plant roots, to claim what is theirs, to believe not just in homecomings but in homebuilding.

This is not just a business story. It is a meditation on legacy, on a nation’s past and the urgency of its future. The question is not whether Haiti can rise—it always has. The question is whether we will see it, whether we will stand beside it, whether we will learn to build with Haiti rather than for it.

Episode Notes

Overview: This episode note summarizes the key points raised by Guerline T. Emmanuel, founder of Bellevue Tours, regarding the state of tourism in Haiti, the role of the Haitian diaspora, the challenges of development, and the importance of a common-sense approach to engagement with the country. Emmanuel is presented as a passionate advocate for Haiti, particularly frustrated by the lack of progress and the disconnect between the diaspora’s intentions and the reality on the ground.

Key Themes and Ideas:

1. The Potential and Underdevelopment of Haitian Tourism:

Huge Untapped Potential: Emmanuel strongly believes Haiti possesses immense potential for a thriving tourism industry. She argues that the country should have hundreds, if not close to 2000, tour companies, bringing millions of visitors and significantly contributing to the GDP (6-10% or more).
Failure to Capitalize: The current situation with less than 50 tour companies is seen as a failure. Emmanuel emphasizes that in a thriving economy, such a small number would be unacceptable.
Tourism’s Positive Impact: Beyond direct revenue, tourism supports various sectors like agriculture (local food consumption), transportation (bus companies), and local businesses (hotels, restaurants). She cites examples like the D& Blanc event which utilized many local businesses and injected money into the economy.
Global Examples: Emmanuel contrasts Haiti’s situation with countries like New York, China, Brazil, and New Orleans, highlighting how heavily these places invest in and benefit from tourism.
Quote: “For me, we are failing if we have less than a couple hundred tour companies, we are failing. We are a country who need hundreds, if not close 2000 of tour company doing what we are doing.”
Quote: “Your tour industry, your touristic industry support agriculture. So people will be consuming food in Haiti, so will be buying food in Haiti. You’ll be able to impact the agriculture in Haiti, transportation, the tour companies.”

2. Bellevue Tours’ Business Model and Approach:

Experience and Research: Bellevue Tours has been operating for 12 years, conducting three years of extensive research before their first tour. This research focused on understanding the existing landscape and identifying partners.
Partnership Model: Instead of owning assets like buses, Bellevue Tours partners with existing businesses and operators on the ground in Haiti. ViaGen is mentioned as a key partner.
Focus on Groups: They primarily cater to groups of 10 or more.
On-the-Ground Due Diligence: A crucial aspect of their process is visiting and vetting every location and service provider before including it in a tour. They conduct site visits to assess logistical challenges and ensure the suitability of locations, even if they are listed in official tourism brochures.
Investing in Research: Emmanuel highlights their investment in research and legwork to understand the reality of the terrain and service quality, rather than relying solely on remote information.
Supporting Local Businesses: They prioritize working with Haitian-owned businesses, particularly in rural areas, where hotels and restaurants are often mom-and-pop operations, ensuring money directly impacts the local economy.
Quote: “Our business model is basically working with others that are on the ground in the industry already, and we partner with them.”
Quote: “There isn’t a tour that we have done. We don’t go and visit the place first to see if it’s someplace we could bring you. We visit the sites, we do the research, we do the legwork. We invest in the research part, because I can’t find it sitting here.”

3. Critiquing the Diaspora’s Engagement with Haiti:

Verbal Pride vs. Action: Emmanuel expresses frustration with the Haitian diaspora, suggesting they use Haiti as a source of verbal pride but often lack concrete action or engagement with the country.
Disconnectedness and Lack of Understanding: A significant issue is the diaspora’s lack of understanding of the reality on the ground in Haiti. Many offer solutions without ever having been to the country or conducting adequate research.
“American Stamp” and Imposing Ideas: There’s a tendency for the diaspora to want to impose their “American stamp” or ideas based on their experiences abroad, without acknowledging Haiti’s distinct culture, history, and existing structures.
Taking the Place of Government: The diaspora often attempts to fill the void left by an underperforming government, rather than focusing on how to support and strengthen existing (albeit fragile) government entities.
Not-for-Profit Basket Case: Emmanuel criticizes the tendency to view Haiti primarily as a “not-for-profit basket case” requiring only aid and donation, arguing that this hinders development.
Hypocrisy Regarding Rule of Law: A major point of frustration is the perceived hypocrisy of diaspora members who demand rule of law and stability in their adopted countries (like the US) but tolerate or even advocate for chaos and a disregard for legal processes in Haiti.
“Soft Bigotry of Low Expectation”: This phrase is used to describe the lower standards applied to Haiti compared to other countries, particularly regarding governance and the rule of law.
Quote: “We use Haiti. As a avenue of pride verbally, and then that’s it. If we are honest with each other, if we wanna be honest with each other.”
Quote: “I cannot come to Haiti and want to in input my American stamp in Haiti because Haiti, even though I’m outside of Haiti, I’m Haitian. I grew up predominantly here, Haiti. I have a culture, I have a history.”
Quote: “I have a big problem with, is that we all see Haiti as a, as a not-for-profit basket case area. To assist. No country developed by, not-for-profit only.”
Quote: “You ask for rule of law here and then you have for chaos at home. That’s a hypocrisy that I cannot deal with.”

4. The Importance of Government and Local Structures:

Government’s Essential Role: Emmanuel emphasizes that certain functions, such as providing basic protection and establishing a foundation for development, are the inherent role of the government. She argues that individuals and businesses cannot fully compensate for the government’s shortcomings.
Understanding Existing Structures: Despite perceived fragility, government entities (like local mayors, disaster response units) exist. The diaspora should seek to understand how these structures function and how they can work with them, rather than replacing them.
Decentralization is Crucial: The over-centralization of power and resources in Port-au-Prince is a major impediment. Emmanuel uses the example of earthquake relief, highlighting the inefficiency of relying on Port-au-Prince when resources and expertise might be closer to the affected areas. Developing and empowering regional centers is essential.
Moving Beyond Port-au-Prince: Haiti should not be viewed as a monolithic entity. The diaspora needs to understand the different regions and their specific needs and realities.
Quote: “What is your role as a citizen and what is the role of your government? Because you, what is lacking in your government that they need to show up so that you as the citizen can engage and be successful?”
Quote: “The perception is that we have a democracy and you have different depart, okay? The reality is you are in the Republic of Haiti where one central department that is the gatekeeper of everything.”

5. Investment vs. Donation:

Tired of Donating: Emmanuel is weary of the constant emphasis on donation as the primary mode of engagement for the diaspora. She argues that years of donating have not led to improvement, suggesting it’s a failed strategy for meaningful change.
Need for Investment: She advocates for investment in Haitian businesses and industries, emphasizing the diaspora’s desire for generational wealth and economic participation.
Quote: “Why are we always donating? Why are we always donating? We have to ask ourselves what’s wrong with other people coming into our country? Investing in our country, but when it come to the Jasper hour, we are giving them the opportunity to donate.”
Quote: “I am tired of donating. Donating will take us far. We have been donating for years and we have gotten worse. So if we are looking at our return on donating, it’s a failure.”

6. The Role and Navigating of Gatekeepers:

Purpose of Gatekeepers: Gatekeepers often emerge because of the diaspora’s disconnection from the ground reality. They can facilitate access and navigation.
Potential Pitfalls: Emmanuel warns that gatekeepers have their own agendas, which may not always align with the investor’s or the country’s best interests.
Need for Due Diligence: It is crucial for individuals to conduct their own research and due diligence to understand the terrain and the areas they wish to impact, reducing their reliance on gatekeepers.
Not Always Bad: Gatekeepers aren’t inherently negative, but relying solely on them without independent understanding cedes control and increases vulnerability.
Refusal to be Told “You Cannot”: Emmanuel firmly rejects the idea that gatekeepers have the right to tell diaspora members they cannot do something in Haiti, especially when foreigners are actively operating there.
Quote: “Your gatekeepers is because you are disconnected is because you don’t know the lay of the land. You don’t know the country, you don’t know the areas that you want to impact. So your gatekeepers make it easy for you, but you have to understand that everyone have an agenda.”
Quote: “Gatekeepers are not always a hundred percent bad. But the one thing that I refuse for someone to do for me is to tell me that, oh, I’m able to do something in Haiti because no, what give you that? Right? You don’t have that right.”

7. Civic Responsibility:

New Focus: Emmanuel mentions her new focus on “civic response,” aiming to find ways to interact with Haiti in a civically responsible manner, applying her knowledge and experience to assist and work with people in Haiti.

Most Important Facts and Ideas:

Haiti’s tourism potential is vastly underdeveloped.
The current state of the tourism industry is seen as a failure.
Tourism has significant ripple effects on other sectors like agriculture and transportation.
Bellevue Tours’ success is attributed to extensive research, partnership with local businesses, and on-the-ground vetting.
A key criticism of the diaspora is the disconnect between verbal pride and concrete action/understanding of Haiti’s reality.
The diaspora often attempts to replace government functions instead of supporting existing structures.
Viewing Haiti as a “not-for-profit basket case” is detrimental to development.
There is a perceived hypocrisy in demanding rule of law abroad but accepting chaos in Haiti.
Decentralization and empowering regional areas outside of Port-au-Prince are essential for development.
Investment, not just donation, is crucial for sustainable change.
While gatekeepers can be helpful, individuals need to do their own research and be aware of potential conflicting agendas.

This briefing document summarizes the core arguments and perspectives of Guerline T. Emmanuel as presented in the provided excerpts. Her passionate advocacy for a more informed, engaged, and investment-focused approach from the Haitian diaspora, coupled with a realistic understanding of Haiti’s challenges and existing structures, forms the basis of her message.

Study Guide

A Study Guide: Understanding Haitian Tourism and Diaspora Engagement

Quiz

What research process did Guerline Emmanuel and her husband undertake before starting Bellevue Tours, and how long did it take?
How does Bellevue Tours’ business model differ from having their own buses, and who is their biggest partner?
Besides Bellevue Tours, name at least two other Haitian-focused travel companies mentioned in the interview.
According to Guerline Emmanuel, what is the ideal number of tour companies Haiti should have to support a thriving tourism industry?
How does the tourism industry in Haiti potentially support other sectors like agriculture and transportation?
What is Guerline Emmanuel’s primary frustration regarding how tourism in Haiti is perceived and discussed?
What does Guerline Emmanuel believe is missing in the discussions and actions of the Haitian diaspora regarding impactful change in Haiti?
Why does Guerline Emmanuel take issue with the perception of Haiti primarily as a “not-for-profit basket”?
According to Guerline Emmanuel, what is the key difference between the perception and reality of governance and structure in Haiti?
What is Guerline Emmanuel’s main concern regarding the role of “gatekeepers” for those in the diaspora looking to invest or engage in Haiti?

Answer Key

They conducted three years of research to understand the situation on the ground before doing their first tour.
Their model is to partner with others already in the industry. Their biggest partner is ViaGen.
My Haiti Travel, Haitian Nomads, Safe Trip Haiti, and Culture Travel are mentioned. (Any two are acceptable).
She believes Haiti should have hundreds, if not close to a thousand, tour companies.
Tourists consume food, supporting agriculture, and tour companies utilize transportation services like bus companies, injecting money into that sector.
Her frustration stems from the lack of understanding and appreciation for the immense possibilities of tourism in Haiti and the failure to prioritize its development.
She believes the diaspora often lacks a reality-based understanding of Haiti, attempting to impose external ideas without knowing the local context or working with existing structures.
She feels Haiti is often viewed solely as a place for charitable assistance, when she believes development should also be driven by investment and business.
The perception is a democracy with different departments, but the reality is often a “Republic of Port-au-Prince,” with a centralized structure controlling everything.
She is concerned that gatekeepers might exploit those who are disconnected from the reality on the ground in Haiti and might not always align their agenda with the investor’s or the country’s best interests.

Essay Format Questions

Analyze Guerline Emmanuel’s perspective on the Haitian diaspora’s engagement with Haiti. What criticisms does she level, and what solutions or alternative approaches does she suggest?
Discuss the importance of understanding the “reality on the ground” in Haiti, as highlighted by Guerline Emmanuel, for both tourism development and diaspora involvement. How does this understanding differ from perceptions formed from abroad?
Explore the tension between “donating” and “investing” in Haiti, as presented in the interview. What are the potential benefits and drawbacks of each approach, according to Guerline Emmanuel?
Examine the role of government and existing local structures in Haiti, based on Guerline Emmanuel’s remarks. How does she believe the diaspora should interact with these entities, and what are the consequences of bypassing them?
Discuss the significance of local knowledge and partnerships in the Haitian tourism industry, using Bellevue Tours’ approach as an example. How does working with Haitian-owned businesses contribute to the local economy and a more authentic experience?

Glossary of Key Terms

Civic Responsibility: The duties and obligations of a citizen to their community and country. Mentioned by Guerline Emmanuel as a new area of focus for her engagement with Haiti.

BV Tours (Bellevue Tours): A tour company founded by Guerline T Emmanuel and her husband, focused on organizing tours in Haiti.

Clubhouse: A social audio app mentioned as the platform where the interviewer and interviewee connected.

ViaGen: A partnering company that works with Bellevue Tours, described as an English woman (Jacqueline Lebaum) who has been in Haiti for over 30 years and works with transportation.

D and Blanc: An event mentioned where Bellevue Tours served as the touristic company, highlighting the large-scale transportation needs for such events.

GDP (Gross Domestic Product): A measure of the total value of goods and services produced in a country, mentioned in the context of tourism’s potential contribution to Haiti’s economy.

Diaspora: People who have spread or been dispersed from their homeland. In this context, it refers to Haitians living outside of Haiti.

Brain Drain: The emigration of highly trained or intelligent people from a particular country. Mentioned in the context of skilled Haitians leaving the country.

Republic of Port-au-Prince: A phrase used to describe the centralization of power and resources in the capital city of Port-au-Prince, suggesting that other regions of Haiti are often overlooked.

Gatekeepers: Individuals or entities who control access to information, resources, or opportunities. In the context of the interview, it refers to people the diaspora might rely on to navigate or invest in Haiti, with potential concerns about their motives.