We spent the morning after the hurricane hanging out with a witch doctor. (I thoroughly enjoyed writing that sentence FYI)
His name is Kisio and he's our neighbor. He lives just down the road with his wife and 9 of his 33 kids. That wasn't a typo - and he also thinks it's crazy.
You hear a lot about VuDoo and witch craft in Haiti but I'd never actually met a witch doctor. I had a pretty vivid picture built up in my head of what one might look like if I did though. He'd have long hair and a scraggly beard with toe nails that had never been cut. And he'd walk hunched over with a cane that he'd shake at little children while he spoke in rhymes. He most definitely didn't wear Reeboks and a Yankees shirt, or farm tobacco, or smile a lot.
But that was Kisio. Shattering stereotypes one toothy laugh at a time. Hank and I met and talked with his family for a bit before he led us across the road to his office. We walked along a dirt path lined with cactus, and passed by the fields he grows corn and tobacco in. At the end of the path stood two sheds made from stones. Inside the first were rows of tobacco leaves hanging to dry. They were sticky and smelled like tobacco. We walked to the second and he had us wait while he circled building knocking on each door and window and saying loud things in Creole. Jean Robert translated and told us he was letting the spirits know we were there and coming in.
All morning I'd been waiting to sense some dark presence or evil. I'd felt nothing up to this point but figured that this was the moment. Kisio took the lock off the door and opened it before disappearing inside. Jean told us to go in and that it was okay to take pictures and ask questions. I stepped in slowly. I Immediately noted a lack of cauldrons and pointy hats. Once I got over this disappointment I realized I felt nothing. No chill or eeriness of any kind. It was just a room. It was small and dark and had a few bottles and strands of beads hanging from the ceiling. There were a couple knives scattered about, some stuff that looked like soap, and a few bowls on the ground. I think one was a skull. A Jansport fanny pack hung in the corner.
He offered us a seat and we sat in this room that had held countless spiritual and physical healings and he told us about himself. He told us that his grandparents were witch doctors and he was by the spirits to practice the art when he was just a child. He laughed and sniffed tobacco as he told us about the animal sacrifice party's he held to please Satan; chickens, goats, dogs, and pigs, but now cows. Not yet. He named some of the 101 spirits that he calls upon to heal the people that come to him for help.
The whole experience was uncanny in its casualness. The dark and satanic things this man was talking to us just did not match the person sitting in front of me. He was just a guy. And I understand there was a different and darker side to him that we weren't being shown. I know there was spiritual battles that had been fought in the very place I was sitting. But it helped me remember that a person is never just one thing. They can't be defined by their jobs or beliefs are on one bad decision they made in the past. People can be bad but also have a little good in them.
As we left Jean invited him to come to his church, like he said he had many times before. I wondered how my church back in America would accept a witch doctor. I imagined everyone joining hands and circling him in prayer while he sat in the middle texting his daughter wondering why he came.
We spent the rest of the day visiting with families in the community, checking to ensure the made it through the storm unharmed. Many dealt with the normal effects rain has an unsound structures and mud floors. But these were things they've grown accustomed to dealing with here. Many have family and friends living in affected areas and have yet to here from them. Please continue to pray.
-John
His name is Kisio and he's our neighbor. He lives just down the road with his wife and 9 of his 33 kids. That wasn't a typo - and he also thinks it's crazy.
You hear a lot about VuDoo and witch craft in Haiti but I'd never actually met a witch doctor. I had a pretty vivid picture built up in my head of what one might look like if I did though. He'd have long hair and a scraggly beard with toe nails that had never been cut. And he'd walk hunched over with a cane that he'd shake at little children while he spoke in rhymes. He most definitely didn't wear Reeboks and a Yankees shirt, or farm tobacco, or smile a lot.
But that was Kisio. Shattering stereotypes one toothy laugh at a time. Hank and I met and talked with his family for a bit before he led us across the road to his office. We walked along a dirt path lined with cactus, and passed by the fields he grows corn and tobacco in. At the end of the path stood two sheds made from stones. Inside the first were rows of tobacco leaves hanging to dry. They were sticky and smelled like tobacco. We walked to the second and he had us wait while he circled building knocking on each door and window and saying loud things in Creole. Jean Robert translated and told us he was letting the spirits know we were there and coming in.
All morning I'd been waiting to sense some dark presence or evil. I'd felt nothing up to this point but figured that this was the moment. Kisio took the lock off the door and opened it before disappearing inside. Jean told us to go in and that it was okay to take pictures and ask questions. I stepped in slowly. I Immediately noted a lack of cauldrons and pointy hats. Once I got over this disappointment I realized I felt nothing. No chill or eeriness of any kind. It was just a room. It was small and dark and had a few bottles and strands of beads hanging from the ceiling. There were a couple knives scattered about, some stuff that looked like soap, and a few bowls on the ground. I think one was a skull. A Jansport fanny pack hung in the corner.
He offered us a seat and we sat in this room that had held countless spiritual and physical healings and he told us about himself. He told us that his grandparents were witch doctors and he was by the spirits to practice the art when he was just a child. He laughed and sniffed tobacco as he told us about the animal sacrifice party's he held to please Satan; chickens, goats, dogs, and pigs, but now cows. Not yet. He named some of the 101 spirits that he calls upon to heal the people that come to him for help.
The whole experience was uncanny in its casualness. The dark and satanic things this man was talking to us just did not match the person sitting in front of me. He was just a guy. And I understand there was a different and darker side to him that we weren't being shown. I know there was spiritual battles that had been fought in the very place I was sitting. But it helped me remember that a person is never just one thing. They can't be defined by their jobs or beliefs are on one bad decision they made in the past. People can be bad but also have a little good in them.
As we left Jean invited him to come to his church, like he said he had many times before. I wondered how my church back in America would accept a witch doctor. I imagined everyone joining hands and circling him in prayer while he sat in the middle texting his daughter wondering why he came.
We spent the rest of the day visiting with families in the community, checking to ensure the made it through the storm unharmed. Many dealt with the normal effects rain has an unsound structures and mud floors. But these were things they've grown accustomed to dealing with here. Many have family and friends living in affected areas and have yet to here from them. Please continue to pray.
-John
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