Vodou Child

"I [had] to bring Haiti to America," he says. "I want[ed] to show the real face of Haiti, that Haiti is not just poverty and vodou dolls and magie noire."

It's 4:30 a.m., and Erol ties a red scarf on his head, a striking contrast to his all-white outfit and caramel-color skin. He is singing loudly, summoning Ogou, the warrior god who also represents politics and magic. It is believed he gave power to the slaves in Haiti when they rebelled against the French government, and bestowed power again when Aristide took over in 1994. Ogou likes weapons and chaos.

In front of the altar, Huguette sits on the floor, her arms floppy and her legs stretched out in front like a Raggedy Ann doll. Her satiny skirt billows around her ample hips, and a white scarf wraps around her head. Her face is soaked with sweat. Eyes half-closed, she's in a trance. She holds an avocado in her hands. She takes a giant, sloppy bite of the fruit, skin and all.

Chantal, her eyes round and unfocused, slowly steps toward the altar. She lifts the machete from the offering table. Erol removes the red scarf from his head and ties it around the knife's handle. He sways and sings, his voice rising above the low hum of the others, who are having their own private conversations with the spirit. Erol summons Ogou in Kreyol:

Ogou fe

Se neg Jakomel

Ki danse anba tonel male li

Bon tan se li

Move tan se li.

(Ogou, the iron man/Is from Jacmel/Is always dancing even when stricken with misfortune/He is always present, in good times/And in bad times.)

Erol finishes the song and Chantal steps to the altar. Still clutching the machete in one hand, she grabs a bottle of Barbancourt rum with the other, pours half of it over her head, and then carefully kneels down. Setting the machete atop two rocks on the floor, she pours the rum on the two-inch-wide blade and reaches toward the altar for a pack of matches. Chantal strikes one and ignites the machete; a soft blue flame flickers. She begins to chant. Her words get louder as she jumps up and tries to stamp out the flame with her bare feet.

In one motion Chantal grabs the machete by the handle and brandishes it above her head. She screams, angry, her eyes wide and clear.

Chantal's 18-year-old daughter, a slip of a girl with her mother's wide smile, appears at the doorway to watch. She has been sitting in front of the wide-screen TV set upstairs in the family room but heard the noise and wandered downstairs. Dressed like a typical teenager — she's in a pink Baby Phat tank top and tiny shorts — the girl looks like a time traveler, strangely modern compared to the women in long, flowing skirts. Chantal screams loudly, and the room suddenly feels uncomfortably small and crowded. The other five women stand before the altar, swaying in unison and singing. They pay no attention to Chantal or the machete she's clutching with both hands.

Then the women push the teen forward, in front of her mother. Chantal gently touches the girl's shoulders with the blade, as if knighting her, and then looks deep into her eyes while chanting.

By this time it's almost 5:00 a.m. Ogou has also possessed Erol.

If Erol danced in Paris, he sang in New York. In 2004 he began working on a CD, which would be called Regleman. In Kreyol it means the rules, or protocol, of vodou.

At night he performed in clubs, meeting other artists and dancers and collaborating on eclectic projects. Through his shows — and the vodou ceremonies he led in Brooklyn — Erol introduced a new genre to the world music scene: vodou-roots-rock-electronica-jazz. He played in a Manhattan club called SOB, in Boston at a place called Johnny D's, and at Yale University for the Frederick Douglass Book Prize dinner, where a friend named Laurent Dubois received the honor for his writings about Haiti.