This series has gone through some of the major ports of African spiritual disembarkation: Brazil, Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica and the United States, however, these are not the only locations where Africans were seasoned nor were they the only sites where Ifá developed into syncretic belief systems.   All throughout the Caribbean as well as North and South America there are scores of variant forms of African syncretic religion.  In Guyana for instance there is the Comfa tradition which is a term to generally describe the manipulation of spirits and spiritual energy.[1]  More precisely, Comfa refers to anyone who becomes entranced or possessed by beating drums, a key component of all African syncretic systems.  As well, Comfa was developed not only from the Ifá traditions but as well it was built on diverse religious nuances of both Western and Eastern traditions.

The pantheon of the Comfa religion encapsulates a wide range of ethnic traditions beyond those of West Africa: Amerindian, Chinese, East Indian (Hindu), English, Dutch and Spanish.[2] Accordingly, among the Guyanese, diversity is celebrated.  By extension, the pantheon and structure of the religion is reflective of the highly diverse population.  To explain, the Comfa cosmos is structured as such: Heaven or the Heights is reflective of the Christian ethereal plane, consisting of angels, biblical prophets and the apostles of Jesus.[3]  On the Earthly plane, there are spirits which exist to help guide humanity; they consist of entrees, deities, family and friends.  The entrées are spiritual representatives of the seven ethnic groups of Guyana that make up the highly diverse population.  These beings are ancestral agents and represent the African, Amerindian, Chinese, Dutch, Spanish, English and East Indian ancestors of the country as well they signify the cultural diversity of Guyanese history.[4] 

The deities consist of Hindu and Amerindian Gods and represent the polytheistic nature of East and West Indian religious traditions.  The family and friends of the Comfa tradition are those who are kin or acquaintances of the entrees and deities who may or may not have at one time occupied the Earthly plane.  These spirits are known as the terrestrials as they are Earth bound.  They mainly occupy spaces close to bodies of water – seas, oceans and rivers – and work on behalf of humans and mother Earth herself.[5]  As well, for Comfa practitioners the Earth is an entity of great importance because she provides all that humans need.[6]  Further, Mother Earth is signified as an African woman who is both protective and destructive, exhibiting the necessary duality of the mortal plane.  Kean Gibson, author of the article “Guyana Comfa and Cultural Identity”, elaborates: “Within her bowels are the graveyard spirits, and the wandering spirits (spirits who have been invoked from the grave and not returned) move over her.  Thus Mother Earth is destructive and generative at the same time.”[7]  Mother Earth is not God but a manifestation of God who is the beginning and end of all things ethereal and telluric.

Furthermore, the composition of the Comfa spiritual universe is not necessarily the heavenly bodies (e.g., stars, planets and/or constellations) instead the Comfa universe consists of the plants, animals, trees and bodies of water.[8]  Moreover, within Comfa cosmology humans are the conduits of power (both good and evil) as well as the epicenters of experience on the planet.  To explain, according to Comfa belief humans are endowed with two spirits which illuminate themselves most clearly at high noon when the sun is highest in the sky.  At this time of day two shadows appear: one that walks alongside the person and is a benevolent spirit meant help people through life and one that walks behind a person which is the evil or demonic spirit, known as jumbie(s).[9]  Gibson elaborates, “The demon spirit is capable of good and bad.  It is capable of good by offering assistance, but one has to make pledges for the assistance.  If these promises are not kept the spirits torment, chastise and possibly kill you.”[10]  Both spirits represent the duality of humanity and serve as reminders of the delicate balance of diverging energies on Earth.

Historically, the population of Guyana is slated towards diversity not hegemony, which greatly impacts how the religion is accepted by the populace as well as how other religions interact with Comfa.  To explain, the practice of Voodoo and Obeah had a very particular relationship to their respective colonial governments.  Both of the spiritual systems were an integral element of Haiti and Jamaica’s violent efforts to free themselves from the oppressive French and English colonial governments; Voodoo and Obeah were the weapons of change for the people of those islands.  Comfa practitioners however was able established a relationship with the government as well as the other religious and cultural institutions of the country, allowing the belief system to be practiced openly and recognized as a part of the wondrous diversity of Guyana.   Jeremy Peretz, author of Comfa, Obeah and Emancipation: Celebrating Guyanese Freedoms While Captive in Cultural Politics, elaborates: “Comfa is often equated with Obeah in popular thought, although far fewer people openly identify as practitioners of Obeah, unlike Comfa, of which more are proud to be participants.  Perhaps this comes from years of stigma directed towards Obeah, or because of Comfa’s relationship to more “orthodox” forms of religion under colonial rule, particularly Christianity.”[11]

Moreover, for the Guyanese populace the practice of Comfa is very closely tied their understanding and preservation of memory.[12]  To expound, Guyanese Emancipation is directly connected to the observance and celebration of cultural phenomena like Comfa which was integral to the movement towards freedom for the country’s marginalized population.  Accordingly, a major element of Comfa practice is the observance and reenactment of the events and personalities that helped to establish emancipation in Guyana through dramas, plays, and dances.  Peretz states, “through narrating, and at times through ritual embodying these Guyanese histories of Emancipation and related social processes, new or alternate interpretations and meanings surrounding those events may be generated and employed in understanding and confronting similar social issues today.”[13]  The Guyanese emphasis on memory and its narrative, even when it is manipulated to deal with present day issues, makes Comfa a high functioning spiritual tradition because it helps practitioners to connect to their history and consciously uses that history to deal with contemporary issues. 

Moreover, in Comfa practice unlike Obeah there is a deliberate effort to be as ecumenical as possible.  Peretz states,  “Diverging from a view that forced missionization and forceful Christian proselytization largely account for the prominence of Church-like structures and other features in Comfa and earlier Faithist and Jordanite religions, these movements may have intentionally adopted such features not only in sincere faith, but also as tactics in gaining legitimacy for their practices.”[14]  Comfa, as a collective practice it seems, consciously seeks out diversity as a method of legitimacy as well as a means of adjusting to the great diversity of Guyana.  This is likely the reason why Comfa is practiced by a wide array of people in Guyana.    Simply put, the practice of Comfa provides an example of religious ecumenism that the rest of the planet could learn from and expound upon.


[1] Kean Gibson. Comfa religion and Creole language in a Caribbean community. (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001), 1.  The author argues that there is a close connection to Comfa and Obeah in Guyana. 
[2] Ibid., 1.  Jeremy Jacob Peretz.  Comfa, Obeah and Emancipation: Celebrating Guyanese Freedoms While Captive in Cultural Politics.  (UCLA Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2015).
[3] Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, ed.  Fragments of Bone: Neo-African African Religions in the New World.  Kean Gibson, “Guyana Comfa and Cultural Identity”. (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2005), 209.
[4] Ibid., 209.
[5] Jeremy Jacob Peretz.  Comfa, Obeah and Emancipation: Celebrating Guyanese Freedoms While Captive in Cultural Politics.  (UCLA Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2015), 20-21.
[6] Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, ed.  Fragments of Bone: Neo-African African Religions in the New World.  Kean Gibson, “Guyana Comfa and Cultural Identity”. (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2005), 210.  Bodies of water are extremely important in Comfa practice.  Evidence suggests reverence for water comes from Amerindian beliefs or the Mami Water spirit of West Africa. 
[7] Ibid., 210.
[8] Kean Gibson. Comfa religion and Creole language in a Caribbean community. (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001), 25.
[9] Ibid., 25-26.
[10] Ibid., 26.
[11] Jeremy Jacob Peretz.  Comfa, Obeah and Emancipation: Celebrating Guyanese Freedoms While Captive in Cultural Politics.  (UCLA Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2015), 20.
[12] Ibid., 4.
[13] Ibid., 5.
[14] Ibid., 23.

The isle of Jamaica has a very turbulent history and is one of the most spiritually diverse nations on the planet.[1]  On this small land mass the Anglican church has to share spiritual space with Rastafarianism, variations of Islam, Buddhism, and syncretic African belief systems.[2]  Though the population of this nation is very small slavery, colonization, and immigration have brought a wide range of cultural and spiritual diversity to the island.  As such, there is much to be said about Jamaica’s religious history and spiritual development particularly with regard to African syncretism.  Further, though this series has been an investigation into Ifá traditions of the diaspora, the word Obeah is Ashanti and the Obeah and Myal belief systems are primarily of Ghanaian origin.  However, the Obeah and Myal belief systems are a culmination of a number of different African spiritual traditions which also includes the Ifá tradition.  This essay will examine the foundation of Jamaica’s syncretic systems with a particular focus on the development of Obeah and Myalism and their cultural impact.[3]

Syncretic African religions in the new world share a number of qualities and characteristics that connect them.[4]  That is to say, Jamaican Obeah and Myalism is very similar to Haitian Voodoo, Brazilian Condomblé, and Cuban Santería in that they are centered on belief in a high-God and intermediaries, ancestor veneration, the use of herbs for healing as well as a focus on dance and music.  These qualities connect African religions in the Americas to those in Africa, but they also form a basic structural outline of religion belief among African people regardless of the geographic context.   Additionally, the differences between African syncretic belief systems is more than semantic as each tradition will have their particular nuances that may or may not translate cross-culturally.[5] 

Historically in Jamaica, English colonizers and enslavers considered the practice of Obeah as a ‘black’ or malevolent religious practice.[6]  To be clear however, Obeah was used as a weapon against the cruelties of the enslavers.  Meaning, the violence of Obeah was merely a reactive phenomenon to environment circumstances, not an innate element of the culture.  Nevertheless, the Obeah belief system was forced into the shadows and could not be practiced openly because of its use during the Tacky Rebellion.  Due to this, the belief system was not able to establish the necessary religiosity (substantive religious rites and/or a community of believers) that other syncretic African belief systems were able to establish.  Olmos and Paravisini-Gilbert’s text Creole Religions of the Caribbean speaks to this: they argue that Obeah “differs from Vodou and Santería in lacking the established liturgy and community rituals that mark [them] as recognized organized religions, although certain communities in Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago are working on the recovery of communal practices [of] Obeah.”[7] 

Furthermore, Obeah was such a powerful belief system in Jamaica that it is citied as the reason for Tacky’s Rebellion.  This rebellion was organized and executed by a Fanti Chief named Takyi (Akan spelling) and Queen Akua in order to take control of the island-nation.[8]  The brutality of this rebellion is eclipsed only by the Haitian Rebellion that occurred thirty years later.  During the rebellion, Takyi and his cohort slaughtered a number of English planters, commandeered weapons and recruited hundreds across the Island.  Olmos and Paravisini-Gilbert state: “From the Obeahmen, slaves had learned the usefulness of poison (particularly that of the manchenil tree) to bring about death in a broad variety of injuries and illnesses, the use of slivers of glass or ground glass in the master’s food or drink, and the production of fetishes for luck and protection.”[9]  Though the rebellion was not successful, it lasted for weeks.  As well, it took months for the British authorities to capture all of the rebels.  Accordingly, the fact that the uprising was led by Obeahmen was cause for great concern to the English colonists and led to the practice of Obeah to be outlawed under penalty of death.[10] 

However, on the other side of the spiritual spectrum Myal or Myalism for many on the island of Jamaica represents ‘good magic’ to Obeah’s ‘bad magic.’  Myal is a by-product of Obeah and Christian revivalism of Jamaica.[11]  It features many of the same attributes of Obeah but Myal is more centered on the interplay between the spirits and the people.  To explain, Olmos and Paravisini-Gilbert argue Myal dance is much more community oriented than Obeah.  They state: “The ritual of the Myal dance, a hypnotic dancing in circles under the leader’s direction, involved as well a mesmerizing opening for the entrance of the spirit in the body of the initiate, providing a bridge between the spirit possession characteristic of Afro-Creole practices and the filling with the Holy Spirit found in some variants of New World Christianity.”[12]  For Myal, the Lao and the Holy Spirit serve very similar functions: conduits between the creator and humanity. 

Further, during the enslavement period there was a clear distinction between Myalism and Obeah.  Joseph J. Williams, author of Voodoo and Obeahs: Phases of West Indian Witchcraft argues that “even the masters saw that the two classes were not identical, and so they called the latter 'Myal men' and 'Myal women'-the people who cured those whom the Obeah man had injured.”[13]    While Obeah was believed to be a nefarious cult, Myalism represented the cool or benevolent side of syncretic African religions in Jamaica.  As well, with Myalism being the benevolent system it was not proscribed like Obeah was.  However, it is more prudent to understand both syncretic systems as neutral by nature because human spiritual systems are only reflective of the people and their circumstances.[14]  Meaning, Obeah only served the needs of oppressed Africans whom were seeking freedom by any means necessary; the violence of the belief system and its practitioners is only symptomatic of the brutal environment. 


[1] Leonard E. Barrett.  The Rastafarians.  (Boston: Beacon Press, 1997), 4.
[2] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011).  Ivor Morrish. Obeah, Christ, and Rastaman: Jamaica and its religion. (James Clarke & Co., 1982). 
[3] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 155.  Kwasi Konadu.  The Akan Diaspora in the Americas.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 139-140.  In this text the author also argues that Obeah has roots in Ghanaian culture.
[4] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 12-13.
[5] Ibid., 155-158.  For example, there are two methods of religious practice for Jamaican Obeah.  The first involves ritualized spells that can be used for either benevolent or nefarious purposes depending on the user and their intentions; the second involves herbal healing practices not unlike Hoodoo and Lucumí
[6] Nick Davis.  Obeah: Resurgence of Jamaican ‘Voodoo’.  BBC News. www.bbc.com, August 13, 2013.  Accessed February 2017. 
[7] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 158.
[8] Alan Richardson.  “Romantic Voodoo: Obeah and British Culture 1797-1807.”  Studies in Romanticism (Boston University, 1993), Vol. 32, No. 1, 3-28.
[9] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 157.
[10] D.A. Bisnauth.  History of Religions in the Caribbean.  (Trenton:  Africa World Press, Inc.  1996), 83.  Nick Davis.  Obeah: Resurgence of Jamaican ‘Voodoo’.  BBC News. www.bbc.com, August 13, 2013.  Accessed February 2017.  This article discussed the history of Obeah prohibition and the possibility that its forbidden status may soon be abolished.
[11] D.A. Bisnauth.  History of Religions in the Caribbean.  (Trenton:  Africa World Press, Inc.  1996), 96.
[12] Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert and Margarite Fernandez Olmos. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 145.
[13] Joseph J. Williams.  Voodoo and Obeahs: Phases of West Indian Witchcraft.  (New York: Dial Press, 1932), 145.
[14] Dianne M. Stewart.  Three eyes for the journey: African dimensions of the Jamaican religious experience. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 10-11.

In New Orleans there is a trinity of cultural expression that has been shaped into a neat pocket of ethnic convergence that contributes to the maintenance of African religious belief in the diaspora.  This triad consists of: Native American (which represent as many as 50 particular ethnic/religious groups), European (Spanish and French Catholicism) and African culture (focused mainly on the Yoruba Ifa’ tradition but also includes Ewe, Fon, Kongo and Akan religious sensibilities).[1]  These three traditions form a point of convergence in New Orleans that makes the culture of the city (its art, music, architecture and cuisine) extremely unique.  By extension, this tripod has blended together to form a spiritual tradition that is both enigmatic and utterly exposed in American culture, known as Voodoo.

​To explain, most in the American populace have familiarity with Voodoo as the infamous mystery cult of Black magic however, what most people do not know or choose not to acknowledge is that Voodoo is a rich American religious tradition that has philosophically impacted and culturally shaped the American South.  Appropriately, American author and researcher Zora Neale Hurston worked hard to demonstrate the beauty of Voodoo culture.  To elaborate, Hurston consistently used Voodoo in her writing to display the mystery and beauty of the religious system.  As well, she studied anthropology at Columbia University in order to gain the necessary skill to study how Haitian and Jamaican Voodoo were practiced in the Caribbean context.  To compliment this effort Hurston also was initiated at several Voodoo ceremonies, providing her with the necessary insight not only to write creatively on the subject but critically as well.[2]  Based on her experiences she wrote Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica.[3]  This offering fell short academically; nevertheless, she gave the practice of Voodoo a degree of academic seriousness at a time when most regarded the belief system as little more than cult.[4]  Furthermore, Hurston understood that researching the practice of Voodoo in the Western Hemisphere is an analysis of the connective tissue that culturally unites African people in the Americas.

To elaborate, in her travels, Hurston also spent a considerable amount of time in New Orleans, researching on, writing about, and participating in Voodoo ceremonies.  One of the people she became familiar with through popular narrative is Marie Laveau, a well-known New Orleans Voodoo Queen of the nineteenth century.  Laveau, and her daughter by the same name, were legendary Voodoo priestesses with a following that was not just centered on Louisiana’s African population instead their influence was broadly multicultural.[5]  Laveau the first was born of creole woman and European man of French ancestry in the late 18th century; her daughter, Laveau the second, was born in 1827 and also was well known for her mystical prowess.  These two women controlled the spiritual life of New Orleans collectively for decades during the 19th century as well their spirit is still summoned by thousands of the faithful in New Orleans during annual pilgrimages.[6] 

On the other side of the gender spectrum there are a number of Voodoo Kings that dominated New Orleans spiritual life.  Jean Montaigne (also known as Doctor John, Bayou John and/or Prince John) is one of New Orleans most well-known Voodoo Kings and a late contemporary of Queen Laveau the first.[7]  Voodoo legend claims that he was originally from Senegal and was brought to the American South sometime in the mid to late 19th century.  He learned the mystical arts in Senegal and continued his practice in New Orleans with an already well established Voodoo community.  He passed his art down to Fred “Chicken Man” Staten, another key personality of the New Orleans conjure community.  The Chicken Man was born in Haiti 1937 and traveled with his family to New Orleans at a very young age.[8]  His family believed he had particular gifts in the mystical arts, a point he validated by studying under Doctor John in New Orleans.  Staten also made many trips to Haiti to perfect his supernatural craft again demonstrating the cultural connectedness of African religious culture in the Western Hemisphere.

The personalities of New Orleans Voodoo help define the craft.  Meaning, the individuals discussed above are well known because of a very grassroots following that comes from a Voodoo Queen or King’s reputation.  Without a reputation there is no power to speak of and no legends that will attract the faithful.  Given this, one of the major ways a Voodoo Queen or King can build their reputation is through healing.  To elaborate, within Voodoo, as with other conjure traditions of the Western Hemisphere, there is an herbalist or pharmacopeic element called Hoodoo.[9]  Practitioners of Voodoo use Hoodoo for any and all medicinal needs that their devotees might need or desire, everything from a lonely heart to cancer.  Hoodoo as a component of Voodoo is sometimes practiced independently or in conjunction with Christianity.  Hence, one can be Christian and practice Hoodoo without contradiction.   

As well, New Orleans Voodoo is an extremely unique religious manifestation, not just because it is a syncretic belief system, but also because it is an element of the syncretic belief structure of Spiritual Churches.  The first spiritual church was founded by Mother Leafy Anderson in Chicago during the early 1920s, but Claude Jacobs and Andrew Kaslow in the text The Spiritual Churches of New Orleans, argue that Anderson did not actually found the spiritual movement, because the Spiritual Church movement was already a key component of New Orleans religious culture.[10]  Instead, they argue Anderson founded the institutionalization of the Spiritual Church movement that was already well established throughout Louisiana.  Meaning, Anderson established the physical church for worshipers and lifted the movement out of New Orleans so that people across the country could be exposed the spiritual system. 

Interestingly, New Orleans Voodoo molded the Spiritual Churches into a syncretic Christian belief system derived from a syncretic Ifá tradition.  Jacobs and Klaslow argue that “It was within the context of south Louisiana’s diverse religious traditions, Europeans and African, Catholics and Protestant, orthodox and unorthodox institutional and popular, that the Spiritual Churches came into being.”[11]  New Orleans Voodoo is compiled of the same religious material as Spiritual Churches, and both religions would not be what they are without its diverse components.  Unfortunately, today New Orleans Voodoo has been reduced to a tourist attraction and trinkets in gift shops as well it heroes/heroines have been reduced to rumors and some of its legends such as the “seven sisters” have all but disappeared entirely from history.[12]  Nevertheless, the religion has shaped the culture of New Orleans in beautiful ways and stands as an eternal reminder of the splendor and dynamic nature of African religion.
 


[1] Claude F. Jacobs and Andrew J. Kaslow.  The Spiritual Churches of New Orleans: Origins, Beliefs, and Rituals of an African-American Religion.  (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 21.  Though I argue that the Yoruba Ifá tradition is most prominent in New Orleans Voodoo, it must be noted that just as the city was an amalgam of diverging ethnicities, there are a number of African traditions that stand out beyond the Yoruba.  The authors state: “While slaves destine for Louisiana were taken from several regions of Africa, linguistic and cultural evidence along with the designations used by eighteenth-century slave traders place the primary sources as ‘Guinea, the Gold Coast and Angola’: the main groups initially were identified as ‘Mandinkas, Fon, Bambara, Fanti, Gambians and Senegalese’; later arrivals included large numbers said to be ‘Guineans, Yorubas, Igbo and Angolans.’”  From: Thomas Marc Fiehrer.  “The African Presence in Colonial Louisiana: An Essay on the Continuity of Caribbean Culture.”  Louisiana’s Black Heritage, ed. Robert R. Macdonald, John R. Kemp and Edward F. Hass, 3-31.  New Orleans: Louisiana State Museum.
[2] Wendy Dutton.  “The Problem of Invisibility: Voodoo and Zora Neale Hurston.”  Journal of Women Studies, Vol. 13, No. 2, 131.
[3] Zora Neale Hurston.  Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Hait and Jamaica.  (New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 1990).
[4] Wendy Dutton.  “The Problem of Invisibility: Voodoo and Zora Neale Hurston.”  Journal of Women Studies, Vol. 13, No. 2, 132.
[5] Martha Ward. Voodoo Queen: The Spirited Lives of Marie Laveau. (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2009) ix.
[6] Ibid., xii-xii.  Ina J. Fandrich. The Mysterious Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveaux: A Study of Powerful Female Leadership in Nineteenth Century New Orleans. (New York: Routledge, 2016).
[7] John W. Blassingame.  Black New Orleans, 1860-1880. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 23.
[8] Kenaz Filan.  The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook.  (Inner Traditions/Bear & Co, 2011), 98-107.
[9] Hoodoo is to Voodoo, what Lucumí is to Santería.
[10] Claude F. Jacobs and Andrew J. Kaslow.  The Spiritual Churches of New Orleans: Origins, Beliefs, and Rituals of an African-American Religion.  (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 32.
[11] Ibid., 31.
[12] Investigation into the seven sisters brings up a myriad of conflicting information from the name brand of voodoo products in New Orleans (i.e., sacred ceremonial oils) to a cult group of seven Voodoo priestesses (including the Laveaus) who dominated the Voodoo underground throughout 19th century New Orleans.

One of the most popular and infamous Ifá traditions in the New World is Voodoo.  In the minds of many, the word Voodoo conjures up images of human sacrifice and pin laden human effigies used to torture unsuspecting victims, making it one of the most misunderstood and highly villainized religious traditions on the planet.  This essay will focus on Haitian Voodoo which is rooted in a combination of Yoruba Ifá, French Catholicism, charismatic Christianity and the indigenous belief system of the island collectively known as Hispaniola.[1]  Again, the common element that strings together the Ifá tradition in the New World is the effortlessness with which syncretism shapes the belief systems.  Yoruba Ifá made syncretism not only possible but easy for those under the yoke of European oppression to retain their cultural expressions and traditions.[2]  Maya Deren, author of Divine Horseman: The Living Gods of Haiti, elaborates on this point; she states, “Voudoun was a collective creation, it did not exact the abandonment of one tribal deity in favor of another.  On the contrary, it seemed rather to delight in as generous an inclusion as possible.”[3]      
     
The word Vodu has origins in the Ewe and Fon languages and has a very generic meaning: spirit or deity.[4]  There is also a French version of the word, Vodou, which loosely translated means “servants of the spirits”.[5]  These translations provide clues as to how practitioners of Haitian Voodoo interact with the religion.  That is to say, within Haitian Voodoo there is a pronounced give-and-take that must take place between humans and deities for the spiritual system to be effective.  Meaning, Voodoo practitioners must serve the Gods they implore for favors and blessings; if they pray for something or appeal to the Gods to intervene on their behalf, they must be prepared to provide equitable service to the spirits in order to balance the scales.  It is understood that many of the Gods will not even begin to move on a person’s behalf until tribute is paid. 

Within Haitian Voodoo there is focused attention given to two particular families or methods of religious practice: Rada and Petra.[6]  Rada Voodoo represents the protective posture of the Loa who are more easygoing and cool in their temperament.  The Petra Loa, on the other hand are “more hard, more tough, more stern; less tolerant and forgiving, more practical and demanding.”[7]  Together these two groups form the yin and yang of Haitian Voodoo.  However, not only are there two philosophical families within Haitian Voodoo, each of the Lao also have their own distinct personality and style.  One way to recognize the distinctions between the Lao and their personalities is through music and dance.  To explain, there are opposing drumming styles which signify the Rada and Petra elements of Voodoo.  Rada drumming, for instance, is on-beat using an even time measure; whereas, Petra drumming is off-beat (idiosyncratic) using an odd time signature.  So, when drumming begins within a Voodoo ceremony devotees can easily recognize the Lao family from the time measure of the beat.  Moreover, through drumming devotees can also identify which specific Gods are being called by the tempo of the rhythm.  This point illuminates a very unique aspect of Haitian Voodoo, in that it is the rhythm of the drums that call forth the Gods. 

Further, whereas other religions verbally call on a specific saint or use certain totems/idols to address particular deities, Voodoo practitioners use the time measure and tempo of the drum to call forth the Lao.  As well, during Voodoo ceremonies when the drumming develops into a syncopated rhythm it is an indication that multiple Lao are being called forth.  The Lao’s presence is evident when the faithful begin to dance.  Further, during the ceremony, when movements speed up and get more feverish, it is an indication that devotees have been mounted by the Lao becoming horses to be ridden by the Gods.  Rhythmically and spiritually these human steeds must be up to the task of carrying their respective Lao, as the Haitian proverb suggests: “Great Gods cannot ride little horses”.[8] 

Structurally, certain traditions of the Ifá diaspora, like Candomblé, use the same name for the primary deity, Oludumaré, as Yoruba Ifá.  However, within the paradigm of Haitian Voodoo the expression Bondye, derived from the French Bon Dieu, signifies the name of the all-encompassing God.  Consequently, this deity has all the same the attributes as Oludumare, that is, a high-god who is unapproachable by humans and requires intermediaries, the Loa, to communicate and interact with humanity.  The Lao are a very active component of Haitian Voodoo and it is for Yoruba Ifá; they are summoned through music and dance but also through the drawing of vevers: sacred symbols of the Lao drawn by devotees as a method of communicating the sacredness of a particular space.  To elaborate, vevers are usually drawn on the ground and in close proximity to an area or space that is deemed holy by the Loa.[9]  In construction of vevers flour or ashes are used in making the sacred designs contrast with the dark soil upon which the language is drawn; Deren elaborates on the process: “The drawing of vevers requires real technical skill.  A small amount of flour is picked up between the thumb and forefinger and let sift on the ground while the hand moves in the line of the form which the vever is to take.”[10]  Each of the Loa has their own particular vever which require certain features.  For example, a cross, a symbol of the boundary between this spiritual plane and the next, is necessary for Ghede’s vever because he is the lord of life and death.[11] 

Evidence suggests that the origin of vevers is not in the Yoruba Ifá culture, but in the cryptograms of Kongolese (Congo) cultures of central Africa.[12]  These cryptograms are used to symbolize the dynamics of the cosmos as well as provide a narrative of a human being’s position in and trek through life.  Within the structure of Haitian Voodoo they serve the same function with added attention to the Lao who themselves are the governors of human life within the cosmos.  Robert Farris Thompson, author of Flash of the Spirit, elaborates on the construction and purpose of vevers: “Symmetrically disposed and symmetrically rendered, they praise, summon and incarnate all at once the Vodun deities of Haiti.”[13]  Overall, the practice of Haitian Voodoo provides very strong examples of the maintenance of African culture outside of the salt water borders of the continent.  As well it provides clear examples of Pan-African cultural development through incorporation of particular expressions that are not strictly Yoruba.  Consequently, it has a firm place within the pantheon of world religions.   




[1] Madison Smartt Bell.  Toussaint Louverture: A Biography.  (New York: Pantheon, 2007), 6.
[2] Carolyn E. Fick.  The Making of Haiti: The Saint Dominque Revolution from Below.  (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2004), 43.  All religious practice, except for Catholicism, was outlawed in the colony.  By extension, those enslaved were baptized in the Catholic church.  However, the religious, as well as the educational instruction of the slaves was never seriously or widely undertaken, either by the masters or by the church.  Thus, superficially, many of the ritualistic aspects of Catholicism appeared in voodoo, but consciously adapted and reinterpreted by enslaved Africans to accord with their own religious beliefs.
[3] Maya Deren.  Divine Horseman: The Living Gods of Haiti.  (New York: McPherson & Company, 1970), 59.
[4] Online Etymology Dictionary.  http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=voodoo.  (accessed December 2016).
[5] Donald J. Cosentino. Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou. (Los Angeles: UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History), 25-55.
[6] Maya Deren.  Divine Horseman: The Living Gods of Haiti.  (New York: McPherson & Company,1970), 60.
[7] Ibid., 61.
[8] Ibid.  This proverb appeared in the opening pages of the book before the contents.
[9] Maya Deren.  Divine Horseman: The Living Gods of Haiti.  (New York: McPherson & Company, 1970), 204-205.
[10] Ibid., 204.
[11] Ibid., 36-38.  There are several examples of other vevers throughout this text.
[12] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art & Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 188.  Kimbwandende Kia Bunseki Fu-Kiau.  African Cosmology of the Bântu-Kôngo, Tying the Spiritual Knot: Principles of Life and Living.  (Athelia Henrietta Press, 2001), 127-150.
[13] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art & Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 188.  It is likely that vevers were introduced to the Ifá tradition before Europeans encroached upon Africans lands due to the proximity that the Kongo and Yoruba share, however, blending of the cultures was definitely intensified as a result of the Transatlantic slave trade because African peoples were many times lumped together.

     The Ifá tradition did not just survive the Maafa it adapted and thrived as a consequence of the brutal experience, becoming a diverse tradition with multiple manifestations throughout the Americas and the Caribbean.  Margarite Fernández Olmos and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert authors of Creole Religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo argue that “the development of religious and healing practices allowed enslaved African communities that had already suffered devastating cultural loss to preserve a sense of group and personal identity.  Having lost the connection between the spirits and Africa during the middle passage, they strove to adapt their spiritual environment to suit their new Caribbean space.”[1]  This adaptation took place over centuries, solidifying the cultural link between African people and their culture.  Meaning, given all the horrors of the Maafa one thing that it did ensure is the spreading of African religion and philosophy in many diverse forms across the globe.
While it would be foolish to argue that Africans retained all of their respective cultures throughout the enslavement experience, I do however contend that the Yoruba were prepared for displacement.  To explain, the Yoruba divided the world into five cardinal axes of which they view and understand human history and culture, the regions are as follows: Ike Awusi (the Americas), Idoromu Awuse (Africa), Mereetelu, Mesin Akraaruba (Europe and Asia), Iwonran nibi ojumoti I moo wa (Australasia).[2]   By this it seems the Yoruba have a keen understanding of the larger world that surrounds them and see themselves as a global entity.  Such a perspective may provide clues as to how the Ifá tradition was able to survive the process of enslavement in the manner that it did.  Meaning, the Yoruba religion is highly adaptable as a syncretic belief system that allows practitioners to easily acclimate to any given religious environment.  Cultural capitulation therefore was at a minimum for those of the Yoruba belief system.  Olmos and Paravisini-Gebert agree: “The flexibility, eclecticism, and malleability of African religions allowed practitioners to adapt to their new environments drawing spiritual power from wherever it originated.”[3] 
To elaborate further, each of the small land masses throughout the Caribbean basin as well as various locales in South and Central America developed their own unique manifestations of Yoruba Ifá.  As previously discussed, the Brazilian Candomblé and Umbanda traditions are just two manifestations of the Yoruba Ifá religious system in the New World; Santería and Lucumí are two expressions of Ifá which occupy the island nation of Cuba.  Santeria, or “way of the Saints”, is a syncretic spiritual system often referred to as La Regla de Ifá, or The Rule of Ifá.  Like Candomblé and Umbanda, Santería combines Catholicism with the Ifá tradition as well as other philosophical and religious elements.  Its’ pharmacopeic branch, Lucumí, centers on the art of traditional healing practices with herbs called ethnomedicine.[4] The indigenous Yoruba healing art is called Egbogi; Lucumí is the same healing practice of the Yoruba tradition but in the Cuban context.  By all indications it is the same type of healing discipline, save for the fact that Lucumí practitioners do not have the same herbs at their disposal as they would have had in Yorubaland.[5]  Egbogi healing practices were adapted to the New World context using the available herbs of the Cuban countryside as well as the botanical knowledge of Spanish and French colonists, resulting in what is now known as Lucumí.[6]  This method of syncretic herbalism reinforces the notion that Yoruba Ifá is a highly adaptable belief system with a built-in mechanism for self-preservation. 
In league with Yoruba Ifá and Spanish Catholicism, French Spiritism is also an element of the Santería mystical system.  French Spiritism was developed in the 19th century by Allan Kardec and centers on the belief that human beings are eternal souls that reincarnate numerous times in human bodies in order to gain spiritual perfection.[7]  Spiritism’s synergy with Ifá is quite congruent with this notion as both belief systems are centered on the understanding that human experience is what’s most valuable within a human life.  That is to say, it makes sense that there is a syncretic connection with Spiritism and Ifá as is the case with Catholicism.  Furthermore, this is also congruent with the history of the region.  To explain, French Spiritism in Cuba is a by-product of the mid-19th century and was developed several decades after the Haitian revolution which ousted thousands of French colonists.  Consequently, not all of the French who fled Haiti went back to France or escaped to New Orleans, many (about twenty thousand people) simply went to the closest island nation who would have them, Cuba. 
            Given this, Santería of Cuba is a unique manifestation of the Yoruba Ifá belief system because it incorporates different elements than Candomblé for its syncretic base.  Once the Ifá tradition became a parcel of European exploitation that moved human cargo, it was inexorably set on a path of syncretic collision with different religions and cultures that would ultimately create a diverse array of spiritual philosophies.  Moreover, though Candomblé and Santeriá both have a Yoruba base they are entirely different believe systems because one was set in a colonial Portuguese context in South America, while the other was set in a colonial Spanish and French context in the Caribbean Basin.  What this demonstrates is the development of Yoruba Ifá as a religious system with a global presence.  George Brandon, author of Santeria from Africa to the New World: The Dead Sell Memories, states: “In global context Santeria belongs to the transatlantic tradition of Yoruba religion, a religious tradition with millions of adherents in Africa and in the Americas, and should be seen as a variant of that tradition, just as there are regional and doctrinal variants within the Christian, Buddhist and Islamic religious traditions.”[8]  Furthermore, occupying this space as a variant tradition of syncretic molding Santeriá, as well as all other manifestations of the Yoruba Ifá religion, is a regional manifestation of Ifá just as the American Southern Baptist tradition is a regional (and temporal) manifestation of the ancient middle-eastern sun cult commonly known as Christianity.
            Interestingly, while Santería has a dominant presence in Cuba, over many decades the movement has grown to encompass parts of the US as well as particular locales in the Caribbean and Latin America, due in large part to the migration of exiles out of the Cuban populace during Castro’s regime.[9]  This makes for an interesting development within the religion itself because it allows for the creation of a syncretic religion from one that is already syncretic thereby developing “a complex fusion of religious cultures.”[10]  Meaning, American Santería will have a different look and feel than Cuban Santería as it grows and adapts to the American context with American sensibilities and philosophies.  Thus, the ease with which Yoruba Ifá survives and adapts again demonstrates a functional malleability which promotes growth and diversity.    


[1] Margarite Fernández Olmos, and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert. Creole Religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 3.
[2] Ọlabiyi Babalọla Yai.  “In Praise of Metonymy: The Concepts of Tradition and Creativity in the Transmission of Yoruba Artistry over Time and Space.”  Research in African Literatures. (1993) 24, No. 2, 30.   This perspective was developed before colonial entities began to interact with the Yoruba people. 
[3] Margarite Fernández Olmos, and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert. Creole religions of the Caribbean: An introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 3.  While the authors use the very general term “African” to describe the efforts of syncretism  evident in the Americas and the Caribbean basin, I contend that each of the belief systems named in the title and described throughout the text were either greatly influence or firmly anchored by the Ifá tradition. 
[4] Brian M. du Toit. "Ethnomedical (Folk) Healing in the Caribbean". In Margarite Fernandez Olmos and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gerbert. Healing Cultures: Art and Religion as Curative Practices in the Caribbean and its Diaspora. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001), 19-28.
[5] Tariq Sawandi.  Yorubic Medicine: The Art of Divine Herbology.  African Journal of Agricultural Research. (2008) 3, No. 6.
[6] Jacob Kehinde Olupona and Terry Rey.  Ōríşá Devotion as World Religion: The Globalization of Yorùbá Culture. (Madison: University of Wisconsin, 2008), 359.  “In the Yoruba religion, the use medicinal herbs and plants for magical and curative purposes is important… In many instances, contemporary access to modern medicine has detracted from the exclusive use of plants for curative purposes.” 
[7] David J. Hess.  Spirits and scientists: Ideology, Spiritism and Brazilian culture. (State College: Penn State Press, 2010).
[8] George Brandon.  Santeria from Africa to the New World: The Dead Sell Memories. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 1.
[9] Ibid., 355.
[10] Ibid., 356.

            There is and always has been great diversity regarding culture and religious belief on the African continent.  However, as Africans were taken from the continent to the New World a great intra-ethnic mixing began to take place.  That is to say, due to intra-ethnic mixing during the Maafa, many of the enslaved encountered a number of other African languages and cultures they had never experienced before.[1]  As a result, involuntary African migrants began to blend into racial and geographic minorities rather than ethnic groups.  Further, as these racial and geographic groups formed another type of diversity began to emerge, African people started to identify as African Americans, Jamaicans, Haitians, Cubans and so forth.  Consequently, new types of diversity developed in the New World creating different manifestations of African religious traditions that were established outside the continent of Africa.[2]
            One tradition in particular seems to have dominated among the African Traditional Religions (ATR) that survived the middle passage: the Ifa’ tradition.  Unfortunately, much of the narrative surrounding the Ifa’ tradition is centered around negative aspects of Voodoo and/or Hoodoo.[3]  Yet, the Ifa’ religious system is focused on the oneness of existence and the greatness of human harmony, without which the world would not be able to sustain itself.  Moreover, Ifa’ Karade, author of The Handbook of Yoruba Religious Concepts, argues that the only major difference between the practice and perception of the Ifa’ tradition in the Old World (Africa) and the New World is confusion regarding the concepts of mysticism and occultism.[4]  That is to say, mysticism is a concrete element of the Ifa’ tradition, but in the Americas the narrative of Ifa’/Vodun centered on the occult and its malicious intent.  Still, a more open-minded perspective understands the Yoruba Ifa’ religion simply as part of a divine journey into the innerself or spirit.[5]
            This is not to say that other African religious traditions did not survive the Maafa because there is evidence of a number of African religious systems carving out their respective sacred space in the New World.[6]  However, this is to suggest that because of the expansive nature of the Yoruba people/culture on the continent of Africa and the malleability of the Ifa’ tradition, the Yoruba religion stands out as a spiritual system with widespread influence in the Americas.  This is evidenced by a number of Yoruba words and expressions that appear through the Americas: what was once Vodun in medieval Yorubaland became Voodoo in New Orleans or Vodu in Haiti.[7]  As well, what was once Ase’ for the Ifa’ became Axe’ in Brazil in the povo do santo.[8]  Simply put, the Yoruba religion, as a survivor of the transatlantic trade, is the most pervasive African religion in the world.
            To elaborate, outside of the continent of Africa, Brazil has the largest population of Africans anywhere on the planet.  Further, within the populace there is the preservation of rich elements of African culture, from the practice of Capoeira to the preservation of African conjure traditions in the form of Candomble’ and Umbanda.  These particular spiritual systems combine Yoruba Ifa’ and Portuguese Catholicism in a New World framework.  In this context involuntary African migrants developed a powerful belief system that functions both as historical narrative and formidable pharmacopeia.  Furthermore, in the Brazilian context, Africans developed entire communities centered on Ifa’ traditional belief, dances, and herbs rather than fully convert to Christianity.[9]
            To expound further, the two major religions of Brazil which feature traits of the Yoruba religion are Candomble’ and Umbanda.[10]  However, what distinguishes them from one another is that fact that Umbanda uses the Portuguese language in its worship structure, while Candomble’ uses the Yoruba language.[11]  These religious structures are not simply Africanisms,[12] they are the Yoruba religion that has expanded as a result of involuntary migration.   Obviously, there are differences between the practice of Candomble’/Umbanda and Ifa’ as they are separated by the Atlantic Ocean and centuries of interaction, nevertheless the practice of Ifa’ in Brazil in the forms of Candomble’ and Umbanda represent perhaps the most widespread examples of African religious practice in the Americas. 
            Candomble’ like the Ifa’ tradition is an oral tradition that does not rely on written scripture as Christianity and Islam does. The supreme creator or high god in Candomble’ is Oludumare, the same as the Yoruba religion.  As well, Candomble’ practitioners, like those of Ifa’, are reliant on the Orisha to commune with Oludumare.  Yet, it is with the Orisha that the differences start illuminating themselves between Yoruba Ifa’ and Brazilian Candomble’.  Meaning, in order to keep the tradition in tact some of the names of the Orisha were substituted for Catholic Saints.  For instance, Papa Legba is a powerful Loa[13] who is master of the ethereal crossroads and a messenger that can move between the earthly plane and the realm of Oludumare.  Through syncretism with Catholicism Legba is represented as Saint Peter because he guards the gates of Heaven, the crossroads between the earthly and heavenly planes.
            Furthermore, the Catholic religion, despite its fixed veneer, is particularly conducive to syncretism with perceived polytheistic religions because Catholicism itself is somewhat polytheistic.  Meaning, for the Catholic belief system there is the supreme God and underneath this primary deity is a host of male and female Saints who act as intermediaries for God.  Consequently, it takes very little mental effort of substitute Saint Peter for Legba because of their respective positions in their pantheons.  Similarly, Saint Mary, the mother of Jesus, also has a clear counterpart in Candomble’: Yemoja.  Yemoja, like Mary, is the mother-figure, giving birth to a number of deities in the Ifa’ pantheon, as well she is the Saint of mothers, pregnant women and the Goddess of rivers and oceans.[14]
            Umbanda is very similar to Candomble’ save for the region it is practiced (southern Brazil, Uruguay and Argentina) and the language used in worship (Portuguese).  Despite the differences in the worship language, Umbanda, like Candomble’ uses Yoruba deities within its pantheon as syncretic subjects; for example, Xango (Shango, the God of Thunder) is John the Baptist and Oxala (Obatala, the creator of the Human form) is Jesus.[15]  Furthermore, while the belief system is centered on syncretism much like Candomble’, there is a strong belief in reincarnation within Umbanda that is not as prominent in Candomble’.   Regardless of the similarities, both of these traditions have unique traits all their own, adding to the diverse religious landscape of Brazil.
            Syncretism in Candomble’ and Umbanda is much more widespread that just two corresponding deities, however, the point here is to illuminate the intimate connection between Candomble’/Umbanda and Ifa’.  Again, Africans in Brazil adapted their belief system to fit within the schema of European Catholicism for survival, physical survival as well as cultural survival.  Many did convert, but many still simply camouflaged their belief, creating new religious systems by merely combining older ones.  Candomble’ and Umbanda practitioners of Brazil are not unique in this process as syncretism is a widely observed phenomenon among Africans in the New World.


[1] Marimba Ani.  Let the Circle Be Unbroken: The Implications of African Spirituality in the Diaspora.  (Nkonimfo Publications, 2004).  Maafa is a Swahili expression that means “great disaster”.
[2] Yvonne P. Chireau.  Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Traditions.  (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006).
[3] Ifa Karade.  The Handbook of Yoruba Religious Concepts.  (Weiser Books, 1994), xi.
[4] Ibid., xii.
[5] Ibid., xii.
[6] Micheal Gomez.  Exchanging Our Country Marks: The Transformation of African Identities in the Colonial and Antebellum South. (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1998).
[7] J. Lorand Matory.  Black Atlantic Religion: Tradition, Transnationalism and Matriarchy in the Afro-Brazilian Candomble’. (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2005), 123.
[8] Ibid., 123.  Candomble’ is mainly an oral religious tradition.  However, Umbanda has centered itself as a written tradition developing what is known as the povo do santo.
[9] Robert A. Voeks.  Sacred Leaves of Candomble’: African Magic, Medicine and Religion in Brazil.  (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997).
[10] Jim Wafer.  The Taste of Blood: Spirit Possession in Brazilian Candomble’.  (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), 5.
[11] Ibid., 5.
[12] Joseph E. Holloway.  Africanisms in American culture.  (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005).
[13] Spirit.
[14] It is not clear if the Piscean persona of Jesus has anything to do with the Candomble’ connection between Yemoja and St. Mary, however it may be a possibility since they share so many other characteristics. 
[15] Graham Dann. “Religion and Cultural Identity: The Case of Umbanda.” Sociological Analysis 30.3 (1979): 213.

In the Americas Africans began to develop their dances collectively.  That is to say, as a Pan-African identity started to develop in the “New World”, due largely to a great lumping of diverse African ethnicities, the involuntary African migrants started to develop a collective identity based more so on land (or region) than ethnicity.[1]  As a result, religious beliefs, customs and mores also began to mix, mingle and ultimately develop into the cultures that are expressed in the present day; this is particularly true with regard to African dance.[2]    Meaning, African dance in the Americas is a result of intra-African ethnic blending that has developed through the generations.   Further, this phenomenon manifests itself in different dynamic forms that essentially still operate as ritualistic spiritual expression.  Yvonne Daniels argues: “the dancing body still functions with in ritual communities as a source of spiritual communication, aesthetic expression, and the site of extraordinary transformation."[3]  Consequently, despite the excruciating inhumanity suffered by Africans in the Americas dance is a powerful example of cultural retentions.

In the 20th century African American music and dance once again began to take on a great variety of expressions.  Due to minor but significant freedoms gained by the turn of the 19th century, African Americans were no longer restricted to hush harbors to more fully express themselves.  Therefore, different types of music and dance were able to flourish.  While dancing in churches in the early 20th century was still restricted to styles that kept legs stiff and uncrossed, other musical forms such as ragtime, jazz and the blues encouraged new innovative corporal movements.  Dances like the One-Step, the Peabody, Tap, the Lindy Hop, the Charleston, the Funky Butt and the Strut demonstrated a high capacity for innovation and improvisation while adhering to African time/meter signature.[4]

Still, the continuity between dance and spirituality in African American life may have lost some of its potency.  Club dances that are performed on Friday and Saturday are not to appear in front of the congregation on Sunday; as well, praise dancing is, for the most part, not performed publicly outside of church.  I would argue this is because the line between a religious life and a secular one in the United States was and continues to be well pronounced.  That is to say, there is a certain continuity that existed between dance and spirit in the most continental African communities; to dance is to express one’s spirit and to dance in a “provocative manner” is to invoke spirit.  Historically however, because there has been such a bold line between the spiritual and secular lives of people in the US, certain dances are for the world but when the spirit moves in church only praise dancing is allowed, if dancing is allowed at all.  Yet, while many African American churches still observe the pronounced margin that has been drawn between a spiritual and a secular life, the line has become somewhat blurred as history progressed.[5] 

This is most true in the case of Hip Hop culture.  Specifically, break dancing encapsulates a number of transcendent traits which connect the continent to the diaspora.[6]  That is, break dancing centers on community collaboration, non-violent conflict resolution, improvisation, poly-rhythmic tempos, and intra-ethnic cooperation.  Further, within the drama of a Hip Hop performance the DJ assumes the role of a drumming Babalao, conjuring spirits that mount break dancers who spin on cardboard boxes and work the audience into a spiritual frenzy, much like what can be witnessed on Sunday mornings or in African conjure traditions.  In these settings the sacred and profane gyrate in unison maintaining the all-important concept of balance with in African spiritual life.[7]

Also, in the Americas many still adhere to the conjure traditions of the African continent therefore the dances of particular deities are still prominent.[8]  Moreover, the dances that are performed are not just for religious purposes but also function as linctus for the ills of the community.  Yvonne Daniel author of Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yoruba, and Bahian Condomble remarks: “Dancing in repetitive ceremonial practice feeds the physical and social body.”[9]  Simply put, African dance works to ensure the health of a person’s body as well as the community body at large.  Furthermore, through dance, the diasporic African community in the Americas has retained memory through the rhythm of swaying hips and stomping feet. 
Essentially, what connects the performance of dance in the Africana worldview is a keen understanding of balance.  As discussed, on the African continent the sacred and profane are recognized and celebrated together.  In the Americas, the oppressed have had to wade through the dichotomous understanding of American interpretations of Christianity in order to retain a sense of balance through dance.  Still, this sense of balance is paramount for Africans in the Americas because by their very existence they have had to mediate contradicting forces.[10]  This is akin to DuBois’ double-consciousness but taken a step further.[11]  Meaning, African Americans have had to balance between being African and American simultaneously, but African dance has presented (and continues to present) the opportunity to balance the sacred and profane, a spiritual double-consciousness. 
In essence, African dance represents a unique space at the crossroads between powerful dichotomies that impact all humans: life and death, sacred and profane, movement and stagnation, active and inert.  American Christianity has amplified this divide, but in doing so it has also demonstrated the weaknesses of division and the strengths of cohesion.  While African dance may be tempered and controlled in certain contexts, the reaffirmation and rise of the practice of African Traditional Religions (ATR) in the Americas has opened many up to the steps and movements of the ancestors.[12] 


[1] As groups of Africans were taken to different locales in the Americas, ethnicities such as Ewe, Akan, Fon, Yoruba, Mande, Igbo, Ngola, Mandinka, etc., began to amalgamate over the course of many generations.  Meaning, what was once separate cultures and ethnicities began blend together to form a collective identity based on the land mass, i.e., Jamaicans, Brazilians, Cubans, Haitians, etc.  This is not to suggest that cultural exchange did not take place on the continent of Africa, because it did.  Instead this is to imply that a more intensified exchange took place in the Americas for a number of reasons: great diversity of cultures in smaller geographic areas, an expediency of exchange due to the oppressive conditions (essentially cultures needed to evolve in order to survive) and an adaptation to a race based consciousness rather than an ethnic consciousness.

[2] Yvonne Daniel.  Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yoruba and Bahian Condomble.  (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2005), 2.

[3] Ibid., 61.

[4] Katrian Hazzard-Gordon.  Jookin’: The Rise of Social Dance Formations in African-American Culture.  (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990), 63-75.

[5] Thomas F. DeFrantz.  "The black beat made visible: hip hop dance and body power." Of the presence of the body: Essays on dance and performance theory (2004): 64-81.  Of particular interest is the discussion of Black social dances and their private versus public meanings.

[6] Cheryl L. Keyes.  “At the Crossroads: Rap Music and Its African Nexus.”  Ethnomusicology vol. 40, no. 2 (1996): 223-248.

[7] Estrelda Y. Alexander.  Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism. (Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 33.

[8] Yvonne Daniel.  Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yoruba, and Bahian Condomble.  (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2005).

[9] Ibid., 5.

[10] Karen McCarthy Brown.  Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn.  (Berkely: University of California Press, 1991), 374.

[11] W.E.B. DuBois.  The Souls of Black Folk.  (Chicago, Illinois, 1903), 2.  “It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”

[12] Elizabeth McAlister.  Rara!: Vodou, Power and Performance in Haiti and Its Diaspora.  (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002).  Karen McCarthy Brown.  Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn.  (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991).  

               Both the voice and body are essential in African conjure; the voice is used to call-forth, or to bring into existence, whereas the body reinforces the power of the voice through movement.  Usually, the voice and body are used in tandem (when one sings another dances) which magnifies the power of conjure.  However, dance stands alone as a powerful pharmacopeia that is used to maintain solidarity in continental and diasporic African communities.  That is to say, within dance, rhythm reigns supreme and serves as the adhesive that connects the African world. 
There are an innumerable amount of dances on the African continent.  Each ethnic group (of which there are hundreds) has their own collection of kinetic conjuration (dance(s)), as well, even within certain ethnicities dance may be broken down into gender and/or age groups.[1]   Spiritually, while immersed in dance, the body is taken over by unseen forces and the subject (dancer) believes they are no longer in control of their actions, instead they are being ridden (or have been mounted) by divine forces that are communicating with the material world.  For the subject, it can bring a sense of freedom that cannot be experienced in what we know as normal time/space, yet this phenomenon is a normative element of the African community; in fact, it is essential to the natural ebb and flow of a community’s well-being.  Meaning, dance as ritual is essential to the normal functioning of African people, as it is vital for communing with the divine. 
               On the continent of Africa and in the Americas, dance is a means of celebration, conjuration and combat.[2]  Styles of dance involve masked dances, stilt walking, foot-stomping, shuffling, Rumba, ring shouts and various other manifestations.[3]  Further, African dance is polyrhythmic and holistic, centering on complex rhythms and freedom of movement/expression rather than postural formations.[4]  Also, improvisation is critical to African dance.  Dancers are not expected to mimic specific steps but instead are encouraged to submit to the tempo and rhythm provided by the drums in an effort to engage the energies present and to fully express themselves.  By submitting, dancers are seized by the Gods, Albert Raboteau remarks: “Among the Yoruba and the Fon, the orisha and the vodun are called to take possession of their devotees by the songs and the drumming of the cult group each of the gods having his or her own songs and rhythms.”[5]  Further, dancers add their individual essence to any dance;[6] an extra wind of the hips here or flick of the wrist there, and the dance becomes their personal gift to the gods.
               African dance is also not wholly a spiritual endeavor because in many African traditions what is spiritual and profane are many times recognized and celebrated together.  Estrelda Alexander author of Black Fire argues that “African spirituality infuses all life within a ritual component” and at the same time “all religious practice contain a profanely secular element.”[7]  Furthermore, dance is an extremely communal affair; when hands pound drums and rattles begin to shake, bodies are forced into retreat or rhythmic motion.[8]  One does not simply observe dance or dance alone, the phenomenon is meant to be felt and experienced throughout the community.  It is the heartbeat that allows free flow of all energies.  Additionally, dance is used both for celebration and conflict resolution.  Within a dance circle, mates will be courted and grievances will be aired out to be dealt with on a communal level.  Without dance, a community may become static and worn down under the weight of its own torpor.
In the early Americas, it is clear that Africans brought their culture with them evidenced largely by the preservation and continuation of dance.[9]  Raboteau supports: “Perhaps the most obvious continuity between African and Afro-American religions is the style of performance in ritual action.”[10]  However, European Americans attempted to control and subvert dance in a number of ways.  First, those of African descent were not allowed to meet in large groups without the supervision of the land owner or the overseer.  Second, the drum, as a musical instrument was suppressed and sometimes forbidden for those yoked to the plantation.  Third, when enslaved Africans were allowed to dance, certain movements, such as the crossing of feet, were not allowed.  These restrictions made it increasingly difficult to dance freely and communally. 
               Despite efforts to suppress African culture by demonizing dance, many found ways to preserve dance in different forms.  Particularly, in the evangelical Christian tradition enslaved Africans found space where they could dance the dances of their foremothers and fathers due to the highly ecstatic nature of the religious practice.  Meaning, for many African Americans, Pentecostalism displayed many similarities in religious practice from what was experienced in the hush harbors.  Raboteau states: “In the ring shout and allied patterns of ecstatic behavior, the African heritage of dance found expression in the evangelical religion of American slaves.”[11]  Though, during the early years of Pentecostalism, this similarity was labeled as something nefarious that only demonstrated the primitive nature of African Americans.[12]  Still, through the evangelical tradition African Americans found a place where they could dance without fear of reprisal.  This could not be done in non-charismatic traditions because dancing was discouraged and sometimes strictly forbidden.   Furthermore, African American Pentecostal religious traditions in many ways resemble the dance circles of the continent.[13]  That is to say, “catching the spirit” in church is no different from being mounted or ridden by the orisha.  Both states of being require the subject to surrender their body to the spirit and community.  Also, within both contexts, as the spirit moves, the tempo of the music gets faster, hands clap harder, feet move quicker and the community acts as one organism focused on harnessing divine energy. 
               Disguising African dance in darkness or within the design of an accepted charismatic religious tradition is a deliberate effort of cultural retention.[14]  What is being retained, despite differences in steps and/or movements, is the ontological import of dance for African people in the Americas.  Meaning, through dance enslaved (and later systematically oppressed) Africans were able to retain memory of their culture.  Welsh-Asante in the article, “Commonalities in African Dance: An Aesthetic Foundation” remarks: “The ontological aspect of African aesthetics is memory.  The blues, the presence of memory recreated in the southern United States environment of Africans, and the samba, a 6/8 rhythm in dance is continued and expanded from memory.”[15]  In essence, Africans, by maintaining the same rhythms of indigenous African music and dance, retain memory of the cultural nuances of their forbearers.


[1] Molefi Kete and Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Culture: The Rhythms of Unity.  (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 1996), 72. 
[2] T. J. Desch-Obi.  Fighting for Honor: The History of African Martial Art in the Atlantic World.  (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2008), See: Capoiera.
[3] Molefi Kete and Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Culture: The Rhythms of Unity.  (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 1996), 71.
[4] Ibid., 71.
[5] Albert J. Raboteau.  Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” and the Antebellum South.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 15.
[6] Molefi Kete and Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Culture: The Rhythms of Unity.  (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 1996), 73.  Welsh-Asante remarks, “…it is the dancer to breathes new life into the dance…”
[7] Estrelda Y. Alexander.  Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism. (Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 33.
[8] Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Dance: An Artistic, Historical and Philosophical Inquiry.  (Trenton: Africa World Press, 1997), 3.
[9] Estrelda Y. Alexander.  Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism. (Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 32.
[10] Albert J. Raboteau.  Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” and the Antebellum South.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 35.
[11] Ibid., 78.
[12] Estrelda Y. Alexander.  Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism. (Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 22.
[13] Ibid., 16.
[14] T. J. Desch-Obi.  Fighting for Honor: The History of African Martial Art in the Atlantic World.  (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2008).  Within dance fight styles, or Martial Arts was also cloaked.
[15] Molefi Kete and Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Culture: The Rhythms of Unity.  (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 1996), 79.

 There are innumerable religious traditions on the continent of Africa, and within a great number of them is the power to ‘call-forth’ or the ability to use the body and voice as a conduit to focus the spiritual powers of the unseen world to impact upon the realm of the living.  In the Yoruba tradition this ability can be summed up in the word: ashe’.[1]  Ashe’ like the word ‘amen’ provides emphasis to any and all spiritual conversations.  As well it represents the embodiment of the divine life force that exists within and throughout all things in the seen and unseen worlds.  Will Coleman in the article “‘Amen’ and ‘Ashe’’: African American Protestant Worship and Its West African Ancestor”, states: “‘Ashe’’ is something like an all-pervasive spiritual energy. But it is also a term comparable to ‘Amen.’ It could be translated as ‘so be it.’”[2]   For the Yoruba, ashe’ is the divine word handed down from the supreme deity Olorun[3] its’ self, which enables communication between deities and mortals. 

The Yoruba belief system is ancient with no clear origin date.  Yoruba people believe they are descendants of the Goddesses and Gods of their pantheon whom are themselves mere manifestations of Olorun.  The deities of their pantheon, of which there are hundreds, each embody aspects of the material world.[4]  For instance, Eshu is the spirit of change and individuality, Ogun is the God of iron, Oshun is the Goddess of love and so forth.[5]  Further, Yoruba deities are equipped with the looks and personalities of humanity, which makes them accessible to humans, unlike Olorun.  That is to say, the supremacy of Olorun is so much that It cannot be reached by humans, which is why intermediaries or lessor Goddesses and Gods are necessary for the Yoruba people. 

Furthermore, each of the lessor deities has certain requisites for humans who wish to connect with them, such as particular dances, items, costumes and/or gifts.  The offerings are dependent on the particular personality of the specific deity being revered.  For example, Legba, a trickster, requires an offering of tobacco, while iron must be present for Ogun to make his presence felt.[6]  Failure to acknowledge the specific requisites of a particular deity is blasphemous and may be met with divine justice: crop failures, disease, death of family members, loss of prestige, etc.  The lessor deities were created through the ashe’ of Olorun as It has the ultimate power to bring into existence or make-things-happen.   However, to be clear, ashe’ power by itself is inherently neutral, and can only become good or evil at the will of the user.   

Also, ashe’ was given to particular avatars on Earth as conduits for human empowerment, specifically, the royal python (ere), the gaboon viper (oka olushere), the earthworm (ekolo), the white snail (lakoshe) and the woodpecker (akoko).[7]  Other representations of ashe’ for the Yoruba exist within inanimate objects such as certain sculptures and other works of art.[8]  Moreover, for the Yoruba, when human personality is combined with the power of ashe’ a sense of certainty or coolness (itutu) is born.[9]  Coolness is the gentle but serious nature that exists within human beings as a result of strong character and a keen understanding of ashe’ power.
In the New World, the Yoruba belief system did not expire during the process of enslavement, instead it evolved as the Yoruba people did.[10]  Many Yoruba deities began to appear in various folk belief systems of enslaved Africans in the Americas and the Caribbean.  Meaning, the Yoruba belief system took on (and maintains) a number of different identities in the Western Hemisphere, such as: Vodun, Condomble’, Santeria, Macumba and Umbanda.[11]   This phenomenon was made possible because of the strong philosophic foundation of the Yoruba.  That is to say, the Yoruba developed their belief system in such a manner that it is conceptually grounded and not dependent on conversion.  Thompson explains, “The Yoruba remain the Yoruba precisely because their culture provides them with ample philosophic means for comprehending and ultimately transcending, the powers that periodically threaten to dissolve them.”[12]  During the middle passage and settlement in the Americas, the Yoruba religion simply evolved and took on a number of different names and diverse manifestation, but is still essentially governed by the power of ashe’.

To explain further, through syncretism many of the Yoruba Goddesses and Gods were easily replaced with Catholic saints because of the many parallelisms that exist between the Saints and the Orishas.[13]  For instance, the Virgin Mary can be worshipped and adorned the same way Oshun is because they share a gentle nature.[14]  Or, Eshu becomes ‘the Devil’ upon Catholic conversion because they share a precarious disposition.  This syncretic process was not made possible simply because the deities share similar characteristics, but instead by the ability to “make it so” through the signification of words and symbols, through ashe’.  That is, the use of ashe’, to name, to call-forth, or to create through voice and action, provided the parameters to ease the conversion of Africans in the New World.

In North American Christian Churches, ashe’ became amen, but the idea behind the expression was never lost on Africans who were converted to the religion of their masters.  More precisely, the difference between the expressions is merely semantic, nothing more.  Amen like ashe’ provides emphasis to the preacher’s words on Sunday, strengthens individual prayers, as well it accompanies shouts of jubilation for African Americans attempting to make manifest the desires of the soul.  Both expressions ensure that the messages of mortals will be heard by the Divine.  Like the Yoruba, African Americans depend heavily on the ability to bring-forth through the word, and amen allows that, just as ashe’ does. 

Due to the fact that the Yoruba religion was able to survive the conversion experience of Africans in the New World, it is likely the only traditional African religion that not only survived the Maafa (African Holocaust) intact but continues to thrive outside the continent of Africa.  This speaks to the strength and versatility of the Yoruba belief system.  In that, the tradition survived the middle passage but did so by evolving to fit the temporal and spatial context in which it found itself in the New World.  This is not to say that other African traditions and cultures did not survive the Maafa, such a perspective would be rather shortsighted.  Instead this is to argue that the versatility of the Yoruba tradition, which emphasizes the power to “make it so” through ashe’, has enabled the tradition to grow in the Americas.  In essence, I am proposing that ashe’ is the same as ‘amen’: the basis of all conjuring power for Africans in the New World where the human voice becomes a conduit of supernatural power in the natural world, thereby allowing Africans in the Americas to continue to develop and nurture a sense of identity and being-ness.



[1] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 5. 
[2] Will Coleman. ""Amen" and "Ashe": African American Protestant Worship and Its West African Ancestor." CrossCurrents 52, no. 2 (2002): 158. http://www.jstor.org/stable/24460537.
[3] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 5.  Olorun is neither male nor female, and is the quintessential embodiment of Ashe’.
[4] Molefi Kete and Kariamu Welsh Asante.  African Culture: The Rhythms of Unity.  (New Jersey: Africa World Press, 1996), 53.
[5] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), xv.
[6] Will Coleman.  Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/American Way of “Telling the Story.”  (University Park, Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), 7-12.
[7] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 5.
[8] Ibid., 6-7.
[9] Ibid., 13.
[10] Maya Deren.  Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti.  (New York: Documentext, McPherson & Company, 1970),
[11] Stefania Capone.  Searching for Africa in Brazil: Power and Tradition in Condomble’.  (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010).  Jacob U. Gordon " Yoruba Cosmology And Culture in Brazil: A Study of African Survivals in the New World." Journal of Black Studies 10, no 2. (December 1979): 231- 244.
[12] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 16. 
[13] Maya Deren.  Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti.  (New York: Documentext, McPherson & Company, 1970), 55-56.
[14] Robert Farris Thompson.  Flash of the Spirit: African & Afro-American Art and Philosophy.  (New York: Vintage Books, 1984), 17.

 The processes and methods of a culture’s ability to survive in a hostile environment is the essence of an African centered analysis.  Marimba Ani (formerly Dona Richards) in the article “The Implications of African-American Spirituality”, proclaims, “I shall maintain that Africa survived the middle passage, the slave experience and other trials in America because of the depth and strength of African spirituality and humanism.  The spirituality allowed the survival of African-Americans as a distinctive cultural entity in New Europe.”[1]  This sentiment is in stark contrast to the belief that Africans were tabula rasa (a blank slate) when encountered by Europeans and therefore needed to be taught culture and were in effect not quite human.  However, since Africans were forcefully brought to the shores of the Americas, it is clear they had a firm grip and keen understanding of their culture and the power of their spiritual belief through the phenomenon known as conjure.   
               The word conjure is not limited to any particular religious belief.  Instead, conjure has been known to encompass everything from the practice of Voodoo, to Spiritual Churches and includes innocuous day-to-day individual efforts to control and manipulate the immediate environment.  Theophus Smith argues that conjure is a metaphor for the “ritual, figural and therapeutic transformations of culture”; or more simply, conjure is a method of communication, using symbols and symbolic phenomena to interpret, understand and shape the physical and spiritual world.[2]  Further, conjure can be employed as a pharmacopoeic agent as well as a mode of prophecy to help predict or control future events.  In other words, conjure is an African method of spiritual agency.
               Popular understandings of conjure focus almost exclusively on the practice of Voodoo in New Orleans and/or Haiti.[3]  However, conjure as a spiritual system encompasses much more than a folksy superstition and can be traced to a variety of belief systems indigenous to the continent of Africa.  Moreover, it is a belief system that is practiced in the home, where people (particularly women) use specific items (animal bones, human hair, bottles, crucifixes, and certain metals) combined with distinctive words and gestures for a desired response or outcome.[4]  These responses or outcomes are not always as grandiose as prophecy, many times it may include something as trivial as re-growing hair for balding men, being able to get a love interest to take notice or some extra luck at the local gambling establishment.  The point of conjure is to make the spiritual world work for you and to form a symbiotic bond with the unseen world.
               Historically, the connection between conjure practices and the rituals of mainstream religious belief (Christianity and/or Islam) is undeniable among African Americans.  Those forced across the Atlantic brought their beliefs with them and many times maintained knowledge and practice of traditional belief systems by cloaking them behind a veil of Christianity or Islam.[5]  This was done because open practice of traditional African belief systems was met by a vicious effort to convert the enslaved.[6]  Conversion was nothing less than a mandate to violently strip African peoples of any visages of their culture in an effort to create more docile and manageable individuals who capitulated to authority.   However, this effort was quite unsuccessful as African Americans have maintained their beliefs and allowed them to evolve despite the attempts to suppress the African spirit.  Albert Raboteau supports: “despite discontinuity and innovation the fundamental religious perspectives of Africa have continued to orient the lives of the descendants of slaves in the New World.”[7]
               In order to retain their culture and humanity, enslaved Africans wove their beliefs into the tapestry of their oppressor’s religion as a mode of survival.  Africans caught practicing their religions or speaking their language, were many times met with violence.  Violence, for European enslavers and settlers, was primarily a method of conversion and control.  Despite this, however, Africans created amalgamated religious systems, which synthesized the beliefs of their foremothers and fathers, the philosophies of their enslaved comrades from other African nations and the dogmas of their oppressors in order to simply survive the violent conversion experience.  As a result, what exists now in many conjure traditions is a language of religious belief that is thick with complexity.
               Further, conjure traditions took on many different forms.  Participants use dance, food, songs, masks and spells as methods to communicate with the ethereal world.  Some conjure traditions such as Rumba focus on conjuration through dance.[8]  Whereas, certain Vodun traditions serve particular deities whom had individual necessities that had to be met before they would act on behalf of an individual or community.[9]  Charles Long discusses another type of conjure within his outline of cargo cults in the Americas.[10]  In these cults, particular items had to be procured to build and maintain a sense of power.  Specifically, cargo cults acquired items from Europeans believing they had certain power that came from the ancestors.[11]  Regardless of the specific lineage of a particular tradition, conjure, as a cultural phenomenon, is a dynamic and ever evolving method of spiritual communication that is not restricted to a monolithic approach.  As well it is a tool that is used in tandem with other religious beliefs, not only for subterfuge, but to increase the power or effectiveness of the belief. 
As African people were being torn from their land and families, culture was all there was to sustain them.  More specifically, language, the foundation of all human culture, survived the process of enslavement.  This is not an argument for Ebonics (although that perspective is valid),[12] instead, I submit that conjure is a language that allows Africans to communicate amongst themselves as well as the natural and supernatural worlds.  This form of communication can be verbal as well as nonverbal (where the body, through dance, gestures and postures communicates certain ideas and/or moods) and ethnically unique from group to group.  Further, as a language it has a syntax and vocabulary that has evolved through the experiences of African people and has taken on a variety of forms that support African practitioners in their particular environment.  The following series of essays will analyze and discuss different forms of conjure that have grown from West African traditions, through Haiti and New Orleans, to modern day manifestations in North American urban centers.


[1] Dona Richards (Marimba Ani).  “The Implications of African-American Spirituality.” African Culture: Rhythms of Unity.  (African World Press: Trenton, New Jersey, 1996), 207. 
[2] Theophus Smith.  Conjuring Culture: Biblical Formations of Black America.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 4.
[3] Albert J. Raboteau.  Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” and the Antebellum South.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 75.
[4] Claude F. Jacobs and Andrew J. Kaslow.  Spiritual Churches of New Orleans: Origins, Beliefs and Rituals of an African-American Religion.  (The University of Tennessee Press: Knoxville, 2001), 11.
[5] Melville J. Herskovits.  The Myth of the Negro Past.  (Boston: Beacon Press, 1990). 
[6] Albert J. Raboteau.  Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” and the Antebellum South.  (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 67.
[7] Ibid., 42.
[8] Janheinz Jahn. Muntu: African Culture and the Western World.  (New York: Grove Press, 1990), 62.
[9] Karen McCarthy Brown.  Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn.  (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001.
[10] Charles Long.  Significations: Signs, Symbols and Images in the Interpretation of Religion.  (Davies Publishing Group: Colorado, 1995), 125-137.
[11] Ibid., 128-129.  This does not suggest that Africans understood or viewed Europeans as deities.  Instead, it is congruent with the fact that people (particularly people of color) loose much of their pigment upon death.  It is a natural biological process of the cessation of the movement of blood in the body, which causes skin to become pale.  Moreover, the coming of the Europeans was seen as a process of renewal.  However, Long understands this phenomena as an expectation of the Africans that was never met by Europeans.  He states, “The beliefs of the Westerners insofar as they speak of the sacred seem hypocritical, for not only do they not fulfill the structure of expectations related to cosmic renewal but they also fail in the minds of the indigenous people to live up to the new strange beliefs that they teach.”
[12] Molefi Asante.  “The African Essence in African-American Language.” African Culture: Rhythms of Unity.  (African World Press: Trenton, New Jersey, 1996), 233.