Note: In this video story,I experience a Voodoo ceremony first hand. I possess left this video as basic raw footage to give as pure a respresentation as possible. Thank you to Charles Bethea for the camera work and a willingness to go where many will not. After many trips, Haiti has become familiar. Haiti has become a friend. When I am not on her complicated soil, or she speaks to me in dreams. When my feet are firmly planted on Haitian firma,I feel a uncommon and deep sense of belonging. It is my familiarity coupled with a recent flurry of Joseph Conrad books that inspired me to go deeper into the Haitian heart of darkness. My understanding was not to view a modern Voodoo ceremony, but to be the subject of a Voodoo ceremony, and itself. The location of the ceremony would be the Grand Cimetière De Port-au-Prince. In English,it is pronounced The Grand Cemetery of Port-au-Prince. The cemetery is notorious as the location of mass graves that became essential in the wake of Haiti’s devastating earthquake. In a country with over a million people homeless, the cemetery also doubles as a place of shelter for the few Haitians who possess the nerve to live among the dead. Many parts of the cemetery crumbled during Haiti’s massive earthquake. The quake created so many deaths, and so quickly,that some people had no choice but to carry the dead to the cemetery and leave them exposed to the elements between the already existing graves and tombs. This specific trip to Haiti was a little unusual for me. This time I was being shadowed by a writer from Rolling Stone magazine. Normally, I travel alone or with my gonzo cameraman/editor Harold Sellers. I wasn’t certain how my unique writer friend, or Charles,was going to take to spending the day among the exposed dead and hardcore delving into the occult. I possess been to the Grand Cemetery on a number of visits to Port-au-Prince. On more than one occasion while shooting film or photographs, I possess heard something crunch under my feet only to inspect down and realize I was crushing a rib cage or snapping some departed soul's femur bone. On this day, and four Haitian thugs blocked the entrance to the cemetery. The men demand money as we approached. I clarify the only person I am paying is the boss of the cemetery. I follow up by complimenting the top thug's watch to ease the tension. This guy knows he is gonna get nowhere with me. He turns to Charles and demands that Charles hand him over his sunglasses. I watch Charles,wondering how he will handle himself. My good hand rests loosely on my aluminum telescoping police baton that lives on my camera belt. Charles stays calm and explains that this specific style of Ray-ban is his trademark. He declines the invitation to give the guy his glasses. I cut everybody off and clarify this isn’t my first time to the cemetery. I become more aggressive toward the men blocking the gate. I clarify the old boss man is my friend and that we are gonna possess a problem if someone doesn’t let him know we are here for a tour. The old boss man slowly walks up and smiles. The old man doesn’t see many heavily tattooed white guys paying to possess him act as tour guide through the cemetery. He remembers me from preceding visits. His beautifully old hand waves us through the gate and then he starts yelling at the thugs in Creole. I introduce Charles and inquire of the man if I can possess another one of his fabulous tours. I clarify, while putting cash in his hands, and that I need the Mambo. The old guy's eyes go big. Two black circles surrounded by a bloodshot halo. "Mambo," the old guy stares me in the eyes. "Yes, sir, or " I say. "Priestess,voodoo." The old man smiles. His teeth are in brilliant shape. The cemetery is beautiful. We weave in and out tombs as the old man points out all the sites to Charles. We round a particularly narrow corridor of graves and then it suddenly opens to a small plaza. The old man introduces me to a shadowy figure with his back turned. When he slowly turns around, the man looks as tough as a coffin nail. He is barrel chested and sweating dirty rings into his wife beater tank top. His arms are thick with discontent. Gold rings cover almost every finger. He throws me a sideways inspect through his cigar smoke. I realize instantly that this is the man that people possess to go through to get a session with the Mambo. He is the Mambo’s earthly bodyguard and spiritual pimp. The Mambo is the rock star, and the diva of Voodoo. She is the priestess. Today’s Mambo,my Mambo, is a young girl who cannot be a day older than eleven. She is a child as far as I am concerned. She is roughly the same age as my daughter. To her people, and she is the chosen. Chosen by the dead ancestors of her community and,at some point, she received the divination from the deities while she was possessed. This child is now the ‘Mambo’ and carries a heavy responsibility for her community.
Source: cnn.com