Most Popular

"Most Popular" tools sponsored by:

Recent Articles

Recent Articles by Tamara Lush

National Features >

  • Houston Press

    A Dirty Picture

    What mainstream publishers don't want you to know about door-to-door magazine sales.

    By Craig Malisow

  • Riverfront Times

    Welcome to Cougar Heaven

    When these huntresses on are on the prowl, the prey very much wants to be caught.

    By Unreal

  • Broward-Palm Beach New Times

    Sweet Deal

    How rumored McCain veep choice Charlie Crist wants to bail out Big Sugar.

    By Bob Norman

  • SF Weekly

    All-American Girls

    Are Asian women getting their jawbones cut to look whiter?

    By Lauren Smiley

Vodou Child

Continued from page 2

Published on September 06, 2007

One by one, Erol and the others greet the spirits. Each supernatural being receives a similar ritual: a song, an offering (usually rum or some other liquid), a lit candle. Everyone kneels on the floor at least once. Occasionally Erol dances with one or two of the women — mostly with Florence, whom he calls his "spiritual sister." It's sensual, but not sexy. Hollywood's version of vodou is nothing like these rituals — no pentagrams, animal sacrifices, skeletons, or zombies in sight. There's actually a lot of laughter and easygoing banter during the ceremony; it's a loose atmosphere. People walk in and out, use the bathroom, and sip water throughout.

Chantal is the most moved by the ceremony. Around midnight she cries as she sings. Her tears and words turn to high-pitch babble — she is speaking in tongues. She faints into the arms of two women. Erol gently but quickly walks over to help ease her onto the floor and then covers her with a white sheet. Perfume is sprayed into the air, so the room now smells like roses, sweat, and fried fish. Chantal rises and staggers into a small room off the main basement area, where she flops down, exhausted, on a bed for 15 minutes.

Around 1:00 a.m. Chantal returns to the altar. Another spirit possesses her — it's Damballah, the snake god. At first she careens around the room as if drunk, out of control. Then she falls to the floor, writhing, belly down, contorting her body and rolling her eyes back into her skull. She hisses in time with Erol's chanting. After a few minutes, Chantal rolls onto her back and passes out. Erol covers her — tenderly.

When she comes to about a minute later, she gets up and groggily walks out of the room, as if rising after a deep sleep. When she returns a few moments later, she asks if anyone wants coffee. And if they do, would they like cream or sugar?

With the ceremony momentarily on hold, Erol steps outside. It's hot in the basement, and the fresh air, which smells like cut grass, energizes the houngan.


In 1987 Erol's stepfather had some news: The spirits had decreed that Erol should become a priest. At first his parents were reluctant. It seemed the boy, age 16, was too young. But soon they relented, especially when others in Haiti began to witness Erol's gift of speaking with the spirits. He could slip into trances with ease and clearly heard their messages.

Indeed other houngans had spoken to Erol and all agreed his knowledge of vodou was well beyond his years, and he could handle the often physically demanding role of being dominated by the gods. "He could move in and out of the spiritual plane in a matter of seconds, in and out," recalls Max Beauvoir, one of Haiti's pre-eminent vodou priests and scholars.

Erol spent 45 days in prayer, and then his stepfather took him to a secret forest near Port-au-Prince. There his parents and other priests bathed him in herbs. He spent weeks studying the traditions of the religion, including the healing properties of prayer and herbs such as basil, lemongrass, and mint. He learned how to sing and chant the words that would summon the spirits. At age 17, he became a houngan.

Although Erol devoted most of his time to his faith — he was the president of a vodou youth group that defended the ancient rituals — he found time for music and dance. He and his mother loved to listen to jazz and disco records. Boney M.'s "Daddy Cool" single was the first record he bought. Erol also remembers seeing the video for Michael Jackson's 1982 hit "Thriller" on television and trying to imitate the singer's moves in his living room. To improve, he took dance lessons after school.

At age 19, Erol felt the stirrings of wanderlust. His country's relentless poverty was the biggest obstacle to his dream — to sing and dance professionally. "I had a vision," Erol says. "What I wanted to do, I wasn't going to in Haiti."

Erol had one option: go to Paris. It was the easiest path for middle-class Haitians with an artistic bent. Unlike his poorer brethren, Erol had been schooled in the French language — so there wouldn't be a language barrier. His family obtained a tourist visa for him and then scraped together cash for the plane ticket and some spending money.

Paris was an awakening. Within a few years, Erol had formed his own 13-member dance troupe, Compagnie Shango, named for a powerful saint. He choreographed the performances, which relied heavily on traditional African music and some of the steps he had used during vodou ceremonies. He also dabbled in acting, appearing in a 2002 movie called Royal Bonbon, directed by French director and screenwriter Charles Najman. It is a magical tale of the reincarnation of the first king of Haiti; it was also one of the first full-length feature films to be shot on the island.

Show All« Previous Page   1   2   3   4   5   6   Next Page »

Miami New Times Insiders

  • Local food, music and news blasts
  • Free Stuff