Posted on No Comments on Flash Fiction Friday #42: Shaman

Flash Fiction Friday #42: Shaman

 first fff in a while! And now i have to know: how many times can i write about obeah before i actually need to research it?

flash
fiction friday #42 (inclusion)trigger: religion,
superstition, tradition, vision, collision.
                         Shaman

He didn’t like to talk about it, but given the nature
of gossip, everyone knew and did the talking for him.
Big time evangelist preacher,
but I hear his brother is a obeah man! Yes! I hear it too! An’ it wasn’t jus’
he, his granny in it too! My tanty was tellin’ me so de other day…
Not to say it wasn’t true. For Raymond, growing up was
as steeped in Granny’s special prayers as it was in entire Sundays spent in
church and revival tents. It had gone on for so long that by the time he was
old enough to think anything of it, he couldn’t imagine anything different.
Raymond didn’t hear much about Randy these days other
than the whispers of the congregation. The last he heard was that he was up in
some shack in San Souci, honing his arts, to paraphrase his grandmother. Randy
had embraced it from the start. Raymond had to have a brush with death before
he did anything about it. It was ten years ago and he and his best friend
Marlon were coming home from a Carnival fete, (the congregation absolutely
loved that part), when a driver drunker than he was sped through an
intersection and ran into their car, passenger-side first. The driver of the
other car had been killed instantly and, as he would find out later, so had
Marlon. Yet, when Raymond awoke in the ICU, Marlon was there with him. And he
stuck around for a while after that, (and would visit whenever he got bored
with whatever otherworldly business he conducted when he wasn’t busy haunting
Raymond).
 It was
Marlon who helped him figure out the whole healing touch, and Marlon who
suggested the whole church business. His granny knew of course, and would tut
righteously whenever Raymond mentioned Marlon.
“Spirits not supposed to linger so long,”
she would chide, sucking her teeth and shaking her head, to which Raymond would
respond with a halfhearted shrug. He knew about as much about ghosts now as he
did ten years ago. His forte now lay in balancing the people’s beliefs in the
divine and the extent of his ability.
 He
started out about a year after his accident. Between the seminary and the
advice from Granny, Marlon and Randy, Raymond thrived. For the first time in
his life he was actually doing well with something: secondary school was
lackluster at best and life pre-collision was idle, punctuated by whatever
hustle was necessary to fund temporary desires. But the Church made him feel
whole. So his congregation grew. Marlon had the makings of a shrewd businessman
and he wasn’t going to let go to waste just because he was dead, and donations
poured in.
Raymond declined the radio and TV spots and tried to
keep the pills and tonics to a bare minimum. He would cringe when he heard
other evangelists on the radio with their bizarre Frankenstein-esque Yankee-cum-“foreign”
accents rebuking the Devil and lauding their various remedies, (specially
shipped and available for a very affordable $700 package deal). He was already
mixing “devil ting” with scriptures and his morals wouldn’t let him betray the
people further.
Yet Raymond knew that some of the same members of his
congregation that would sit and gossip about his brother would drive up to San
Souci to see Randy with matters they felt weren’t appropriate to bring to the
House of the Lord. Two sides to the same coin; what was obeah to one was
religion to another and whatever Spirit had given him this gift was fed by the
same belief of the people. Obeah man, witch doctor, pastor… Raymond had figured
out a long time ago that it was the same calling, different name. The trance,
the healing… It was all steeped in ritual and parlour tricks, with a kernel of
truth nestled at the centre of it all. Shaman was shaman.
Posted on 4 Comments on Flash Fiction Friday #38: Obeah Ting

Flash Fiction Friday #38: Obeah Ting

FINALLY!!!
i am sooo sorry i took so long to do it :/ tried something a little different here, please comment on its effectiveness.









What she didn’t know was that I would do for she. She was rubbin up under my man when I tell she to stop it an she never take meh on. Well I had tell her I was a obeah woman too an she didn’t listen to dat neither. Yuh see granny had d gift and mummy was to get it too but mummy say dat was simmi-dimmi foolishness an she didn’t believe in dat kinda voodoo bullshit. Granny tell her dat voodoo an obeah is two different tings but if daz how yuh feel yuh gyul chile go get it instead, d power didn’t really mind. Dat was before mummy even tink bout boys, far less havin a gyul chile, so she steups an say simmi-dimmi bullshit again. So when I eventually pop out ten years later, feet first an d ting over meh eye, granny take one look at me an tell mummy to make sure an sen me by she every weekend so I could learn d ting proper.
 By d time I was five an ready for big school, granny pull me aside an tell me that woman wicked for spite an when I went in school I was to be careful an not let nobody play up in meh hair cause if they get even a strand, they could wuk all kinna ting on meh an I wouldn’t even know. I went tru primary school, an pass meh O’ Levels an everyting was nice, passin everyting, making sure all d teachers like me wit a lil help from granny, an never really havin any trouble wit mummy cause according to granny, mummy was a lil bit frighten of me. But I never really test it, so we was jus normal.
 So I reach form six now an me an dis gyul who was in my school for basically d whole ting but we didn’t really get close till form five an so by lower six she was always in meh house an knew nearly all meh business. So I tell her I was learnin obeah from granny but she jus laugh an say she didn’t believe me so I say aite from den I start to move lil different. Not enough for her to notice eh, but enough that if she do some shit, I coulda handle dah scene. So when she spend d night I take some hair, her toothbrush mysteriously went missing, dat kinna ting, a kinna back-up plan, just in case.
 I remember before I used to hear stories bout her takin people man an jus doin shit but I never really study it because we was rel good nah, but a day she tell me to check her facebook for someting cause her internet wasn’t workin an I see, big an bold, dis bitch talkin to my man on chat! I say, nah! She cyah be movin so, she was probably askin him where I was or someting so, so I open d ting an I see is sweet talkin she sweet talkin him!
 But I say, okay, lemme check an see waz d story behind dis. So I ask an firs she laugh an say she would never do dat kinna ting, but then she start to get on an say how I movin so wit she, like I doh trust she an all kinna ting an I remember d play we learn for lit an is like, d lady doth protest too friggin much! So I tell she to jus stop talkin to him cause we would rel fall out if she continue to jus play up. I musbe have Miss Mary Jackass write on my friggin forehead cause d nex time I check her facebook d bitch was still talkin to him! Clearly she tink I dotish. D man I will deal wit, a lil sweat rice will calm his straying ways, but she, I go do for she. Instead of laughin like a ass when I tell she I does do obeah, she shoulda take it as a warning. Dis will d very last time she will play like she pullin up on people man. I will make sure.

Posted on 4 Comments on Flash Fiction Friday #31: Dat Is Obeah

Flash Fiction Friday #31: Dat Is Obeah

Fff#31: (idea inclusion) witch, egg(s), cave
This one is a lil bit different cuz i’m not really to use the words, more the ideas of them…. which is what i was supposed to do last week but this one came out much better. i really like it actually ^_^ it lil long doh….


 Kenny sat in his truck as he stared apprehensively at the house. It was one of those old wooden houses with shutters and fretwork that had fallen into the disrepair that came with age. Lonely tufts of grass sprouted between moss-covered, formerly white, pebbles. A large mango tree hung over the fence, suspiciously laden for one so near a boys’ primary school. It was all a little eerie, and that eeriness was what helped fuel the rumours that he remembered from primary school days till now, that the owner and allegedly sole inhabitant of the house was an obeah woman.
 He sighed. His childhood friend Dominic had sworn coming here would be the answer to his problems.
“Big man like you ‘fraid to go an’ visit ah ole lady boy?” he muttered to himself as he climbed out of the truck.  He got to the gate and looked about him. At the base of the mango tree lay the half-eaten corpse of a baby blackbird.
 “Eat anyt’ing from dat tree an’ yuh go dead.”
The memory came back to him clear as day. He shuddered.
 “Good afternoon!” he called out. A small woman peeped out from the side of the house.
 “Yes?” she responded, walking through the yard towards him.
 “Good afternoon Tanty. Ah looking for Miss Lucille. I need a favour an’ they tell me to check here.”
She cocked her eyebrow. “A favour? Dat is what alyuh young people callin’ it now? Come inside, dis is not talk to talk for outside spirits to hear.” She unlatched the gate and walked up the path to her front door. As Kenny followed, he thought he saw small bones scattered about the stones, but he didn’t query. The wooden steps creaked as he climbed them.
 The first thing he noticed as he entered the house was the smell. It was musty and moldy and the high ceiling and the darkness of the room made it seem cavernous. And the porcelain figurines made it seem crypt-like. The figurines that were so common in homes seemed especially morbid in this house, and Kenny wasn’t sure if it was the gloom, the red velvet they were seated on or the general eeriness that enveloped the house, but looking at the figurines scared him so he turned his attention back to the old woman. She peered at him and asked evenly, “What is this favour you need from me now Kenny Baptiste?”
 “Wha-“ Kenny stuttered, confused and a bit distressed. “How you know my name?”
 “Knowing t’ing is my business Kenny. Now what is it you want from me?” she replied briskly.
 “Well,” Kenny started, and paused for a moment to think how best to say it. “Me an’ de wife have been trying to have a baby and she can’t no matter what we do. I was told you could help me.”
 “And how we know you is not de problem boy?”
Kenny bristled. “Because the doctor check. Is not me,” he replied stiffly. Lucille cackled, and her eyes seemed to glow while the pale, sagging skin of her cheeks shook slightly. To Kenny it seemed that selling potions to him in the day was not the only thing this old woman could do. “I shoulda know is not sweet talk you come to do wit’ a ole woman like me.” Lucille laughed again and Kenny tried to suppress his shudder. “Sit down right here and don’t move, don’t touch not’ing,” she commanded as soon as she had contained herself and excited the room through a beaded curtain that tinkled as she passed. As if Kenny would ever do such a thing. The room terrified him so much that he didn’t even want to move too hard to scratch his nose.
 When Lucille returned he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She brought with her two sealed glass cylinders filled with about a centimeter each of something and some leaves wrapped in a paper napkin. “Powdered rabbit guts,” she said holding up the cylinder with the suspiciously brown contents, “And crushed mango seed. Make her an omelets or somet’ing for breakfast and mix them into it. She mus’ eat all.” She held up the leaves. “Make tea for her wit’ dis, no sugar, honey alone if she mus’ have it sweet.” She put them in a bag and handed it to Kenny who cradled it like was gold. “For de whole ten months from de day you give her dis, she is not to eat no kinda blood pudding, none at all, or it will not work.” She looked at him meaningfully to ensure he understood and he nodded. She began to hurriedly shuffle him out the door and down the path till he was at the gate. Kenny felt a little overwhelmed but was glad to see the light of day. He stumbled to his truck and was halfway in when he remembered. “Miss Lucille! How much I have for you?” Miss Lucille smiled almost predatorily as she leaned over the gate, and her small, sharp teeth glistened as sunlight hit them. “No money Kenny. All I want is de afterbirth.”
Kenny recoiled slightly but nodded. As he drove away, the word he had been trying to remember since he’d seen Miss Lucille finally came to him: soucouyant.