I walked in not knowing what to expect. I took a seat away from the crowd, towards the back to blend in with the regulars. It was fairly early and people were still coming in, adorned in colorful frocks, bowing and greeting the other members and the center totem pole. The pole was a mahogany stand with a calabash resting on a bed of flowers. The calabash was hollowed out and painted white, with accents of green, yellow and red markings, producing a bouquet of flowers and candles. The lit candles shown through the shaggy dark green bushes as it dripped wax on the leaves. Perched atop a boats steering wheel, the painted fruit dish donned the room in all its magnificence, transforming the simple white walled room into a serene place of worship. Looking around I saw chalked writings on one of the doors leading up to the altar. A small opening barrier closed off the alter, which seated the Bishops and pastors from the rest of the church. All around the room lit candles gave the sanctuary a relaxing and romantic ambiance that offered a welcoming suspicion.
One by one the church members piled into the room to witness this gathering, in the basement of a Brooklyn brownstone, wearing traditional ankle length dresses, some printed, some solid, paired with matching head wraps. As I sat and waited for the service to start, someone started singing a hymn. Then another, then another. More people arrived and the voices rose together in unity, becoming more soulful and more powerful with every addition. Suddenly from the calm humming of soft, tender voices the walls began to rattle and the floor boards shook under my feet. The thump, thump, thump, of heavy feet pounding in my chest and ears. Synchronized hand claps were interrupted by a sharp BANG! My body jerked with surprise. I look around, everyone else seemed unfazed as they continued singing and clapping along. Then another BANG! This time was less shocking than the last, but surprising none-the-less. Peering up above the heads in the crowd in front of me, I spotted a man with a djembe -- a kind of African drum. Next to him were guys with other types of djembes, big and small, painted in vibrant earth colors. As they started beating the drums the hues of reds, greens, yellows and black, seemed to dance along to the beat.
Now the drums are shouting and the room is shaking. Everyone is on their feet jumping and prancing, clapping and singing. No one is seated, not even me. The cutting sounds of the drums makes you want to get up and dance. Badaboom, badaboom, bada BOOM-BOOM. Then out of the booming sounds came the hollow clang of a cow bell. The two sounds making way for new senses; colliding together sharply making tones I've never heard before. Maracas started shaking and women began crying out. "JESUS," "AY YOOO."
The drums got faster and the dancing followed suit. The atmosphere had changed drastically from quite hums to explosions so loud, passer-bys outside could only begin to imagine what was taking place behind the doors. Suddenly a woman in a red dress, a red and white checkered apron, and matching head dress pics up a large bell and started flinging away. As she rang the bell another began spinning the steering wheel and the calabash spun along with it. The rings were so loud they almost drowned out the sounds of the drums. As she shook the bell another woman shook violently screaming "EYEEEEE-AAAAAHHHH," She started walking backwards, staying in time to the music, eyes closed, She sayed "SHHHHHHHHHHH EYEEEEEE-AAAAHHHH," We all knew she had been taken by the spirit. As she continued to walk backward, her upper body still trusting to the beat, she did a side dip, almost knocking over three women. Two other women, known as mothers of the church came over to help her through her journey. They wrapped their arms around her as she jerked and twitched, stomping to the beat. Her head was shaking in such a spastic fashion that her head dress began to unravel. The mothers quickly tie it up and fix it so her head wouldn’t be exposed. The drums seemed to go faster and faster as her body jerked and swayed uncontrollably. Then as they slowed down so did she. Her rhythmic trance was lessening with every softer stroke of the drum. My heart starting to relax but still fixated on this new spectacle. As the mothers tried to calm her down, her foot stomping became slower and softer, eventually stopping. The drums had quit long before she did but her elevation needed to come down one soft foot stomp at a time.
After a prayer or two, a few more of these episodes took place when they drums started up again. Done by different women, but with the same jerking body movements, mostly influenced by the drums. Throughout the service even if the drums are at rest, there is always a voice in the room humming, or singing nonsensical words, keeping up the rhythms, chanting "Ay, ay, ay, hmm haaaah hmmm, ay, ay, ay," and holding the spirits at bay, until the drums spring up, BANG!, instantly lifting everyone's excitement. Throwing them back into the frenzy.
Throughout the night the only ones who seemed to keep their composure were the bishops and the pastor. The sat at the altar, silently praying for the women held be the spirits, wishing them safe travels back to the conscious world. After all the members were seated and the drums were settled the head mother of the church, followed by her daughters, marched around to the totem pole bearing gifts. The mother blew away at her pipe letting out a thick white, sweetly spiced scented smoke that encompassed the entire room, she blew extra puffs on those she felt needed some redeeming. Her daughters quickly following behind sprinkled olive oils and dried beans on to the crowd. The trio then made their way to the door, and the service was over. I left the room feeling something that I'd never experienced in my life. I felt a rush of emotions and a burst of excitement as my heart still imitated the beats of the drum as I walked outside into the fresh midnight air.
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