American Voudou: Journey into a Hidden World

American Voudou: Journey into a Hidden World

American Voudou: Journey into a Hidden World

American Voudou: Journey into a Hidden World

Excerpt

For most of my life all I knew about voudou was what I saw in the movies: dancing zombies, chicken heads, and pins in dolls. It had something to do with the Caribbean or New Orleans. It was black. Sometimes you'd hear about it in the blues. I didn't go so far as to equate voudou with satanism, though many others did. To me, "voodoo" was mostly a weird name. It wasn't even real and certainly was nothing to take seriously.

How I subsequently came to be standing before an Elegba altar in a South Carolina forest tasting the blood of three roosters sacrificed to my spirit is therefore a tale not just about voudou, but about its effect on one who ventured into what in many ways is one of America's least-traveled frontiers.

For nearly five years before undertaking the odyssey described in this book, I had flirted with the vo-du, the spirits of West Africa (from which voudou, in all its Anglicized variations, derives), but never engaged them fully. A journalistic assignment in New Orleans in 1985 had given me my first real exposure, other than the common bits of voudouesque vocabulary— mojo" (a charm); "hoodoo" (an alteration of voudou common . . .

Author Advanced search

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.