Vodou and 21 Divisions

I am very lucky to be raised, the parts of my life that are in vodou, in a house where the Papa is ordained in 21 Divisions and Vodou. I’m lucky to be in this house for a lot of other reasons, too, but being in a place where the guiding priest is so broadly trained (and devout, and clearly loves the divine) has been something I am often grateful of.

I had the chance last week to aplasa (that is, to be the assistant to the spirits during a consultation). After the consultation, the two houngans sat around for a bit and talked, which was another lucky moment for me—I haven’t had the chance to sit and listen to a conversation like this before. One is my papa, and the other comes from the Asogwe tradition (is Kanzo brothers with my Papa) and participates in the 21 Divisions tradition, at least when he visits us.

We witness each other. We hold each other accountable. The priests visit each other.

The topic ended up being about the differences in Haitian and Dominican traditions, and specifically about the differences between the 21 Divisions as my Papa practices it, the Kwa-kwa, and the Asogwe tradition.

If I understand what was being said, which is a very hefty provisio—I might not have understood at all—there is a significant difference in formality between Asogwe and the other two traditions. I was a bit alarmed, listening to the two of them, since what I am entering is the Haitian side, at hearing how formal vodou can be.

We aren’t that formal in ceremonies in this house. We honor regilyeman, because it is not vodou without the rules, but the spirits come in consultation as one who addresses a family member. They come personally, to heal the wounds of individuals, to dispense advice and to address problems of the family. They come to give advice, to prophesy for the year and to guide. They know us by name, they call us by name, and we are treated as if we are individually important enough to talk to, though they don’t talk to us individually unless there is need (and, as I’ve been told, if you aren’t getting called individually, it’s because you don’t need correcting, which is a good sign.) You cannot doubt, watching a possession, that they love us. No human mother is so tender, no human father is so lovingly stern. No best friend is such a good companion, and I can tell you for a fact that no spouse is so faithful.

Both houngans described Asogwe as being significantly more formal and less familial. I was immediately stung—I am joining this culture from the outside, learning the language and custom, and I am destined for the Haitian side and not the Dominican side. The thought of being so formal in a place where I have learned to be so familial alarmed me. I don’t want to give up an environment where the spirits come to us as family members, in love.

I do not think I would do well in such a formal environment, but fortunately it is not Asogwe which is for me.

I know that the traditions are necessary. They are ways the divine reaches out to us, to bring us into alignment and finally oneness with the divine. The world is littered with such pathways, and they call to those who are for them. The divine is without judgement, and we will all join it sooner or later.

But what a small, human relief it is to find out that I am in a tradition which is so personal, familial, and in which the spirits are so intimate with us.