Aftermath of All

My first name starts with an A, the first letter of the alphabet. Sounds pretty awesome that all great abstract terms begins with my name! When I say aftermath of all, I really don’t give a crap about post Haiti hurricane. Why? You may ask of my attitude. Well we err in VooDoo, not a stranger to New Orleans culture where I reside 100 miles away from the Heart of Louisiana. 

Therefore pray not thou for this people, neither lift up cry nor prayer for them, neither make intercession to me: for I will not hear you. -Jeremiah 7:16

I know what to do when your sad and lonely, 
I know what to do when you love her only.
 I know what to do when no one needs you, 
I know what to do you do voodoo. Voodoo.
 You do voodoo.

I know what to do when the world decieves you, 
I know what to do when no one needs you. 
I know what to do when your whole heart breathes you, 
I know what to do when your lover leaves you Voodoo. 
You do voodoo.  

Dance in a ring of flames, shadows fall the same, fire, love and pain.
 Do voodoo, voodoo, voodoo.

Haiti is the collective advocate of voodoo. Since it’s Oktober, time of ooh fear, thought I would share something meaningful that links Haiti to prove a point of why it errs with hurricanes. 

There are a number of spooky tales from Louisiana, but one of the most enthralling is that of Manchac Swamp. First of all, Manchac is rumoured to be haunted. It’s also rumoured to be the haunt of Rougarou, the Cajun werewolf. As well as that, it’s said to be haunted by Julia Brown, a once practising voodoo priestess, who put a curse on the entire town the day she died. Legend says that on the day of her funeral in 1915, a deadly hurricane ripped through the town, destroying three villages and killing a number of people. A number of curious visitors to the swamp have reported hearing shrill screams from a disembodied woman

Yet, you see the sole proprietor of voodoo practice. A Earthy, Blakk wombman is powerful, co creation of us, man-ipulator of karma and all things dark and ominous upon the ground if any dared to test her true origins. Wrath hath no fury as El Niño scorned!

Growing from the heart of Louisiana with stories about my extended family practicing it to get someone or against one of their family members of their own. My grandmother, Bessie Bayou, passed away in 2012, was the advocate voodoo user who believed to ward off bad spirits in daily task of hardwork as the gem of the family. Had a mojo bag pinned behind the dress to her heart. One day she placed it on the counter. Curious I was in young age touched everything with my hands in keen oberverstion, opened the mojo bag of a old penny, small pieces of chicken bones and lucky beans! My grandmother was livid and spanked me with the switch, a long thin stick pulled fresh from bushes with its leaves already plucked to whoop the day lights out of my back to my knees. No longer in effect once it was opened. Before that had happened, always asked what was in that sewn, brown little bag. She used to say it gesturingly with her hands above her head in rhythm by word, “Hoo, Doo” and spake no more as she sat on the front porch to hum in tune.

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