The Believers: The Hidden World of West Indian Spiritualism in New York

By Glenville Ashby

An account of secret initiations into the occult. Late night ceremonies, spirit possessions, and conversations with entities from other worlds. These true encounters offfer a rare glimpse into New York communities that will surprise you. Voodoo, Hinduism's occult side and West Indian Kabbalah are detailed in this revealing and educational chronicle.

Poet Laureate and author, Eintou Springer, writes on this fascinating book: "There is much that is covered here that has not beed previously elucidated...The discussion and arguments that will be engendered will assist in lifting the veil of hypocrisy and pretense that attend these (occult) practices....."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenville Ashby
• Release date: Jul 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516335985

Glenville Ashby

Dr Glenville Ashby is a spiritual wellness consultant, author, and syndicated columnist.

Book preview

PROLEGOMENA

I will always remember the phone call from Dr. Henry Frank, Haitain-born anthropologist and scholar. He has always guided me well on matters of traditional religions. You see, Dr. Frank is an authority on Voodoo. He travelled extensively and was comfortable detailing its most nuanced aspects. So when he advised that I should cover his lectures on Voodoo at Casa Frela Museum in Harlem, I needed only to know the location and time. It was December, cold and biting, but I was willing to make the trek from Long Island. It was Dr. Frank, Voodoo and Harlem. There was no debating.

Having lived in the US for close to 25 years, I was severed, culturally and spiritually from Trinidad. Living in New York can do that.  Momentous times in Trinidad were a daily experience. I grew up in a Catholic family and was nurtured in the power of faith from an early age. Praying was part of my constitution. I was also immersed in diverse cultural and spiritual paths. Maybe I was confused as many suggested. Maybe it was just that insatiable need to know more of life’s mysteries.

As I drifted spiritually in New York, there was often that clarion call for self reflection. That phone call from Dr. Frank was such a call. And it was from that first encounter with my spiritual history in New York City that my determination to share the experiences of the devotional immigrant was born.

Journalism has taken me to Orisha feasts, banquets, mournings[1], pujas[2] and festivals marking the traditional religions of the West Indies. Many a published article came out of this journey. But there was the need to do more, o detail this seldom explored world of the West Indian experience in New York. 

It is from my experience as a journalist that I saw a West Indian rooted in African and Indian spiritual lore. The spiritual DNA of the West Indian is uncompromising, relentless. And amid the modernity and economic competiveness of New York, the traditions are very much alive. Shango[3] and Ogun[4], Ezekiel, Bones[5], and Kali are alive, roaming the streets of Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn, touching the lives of West Indians. You can still put down a good wok here or do for somebody as one did back home.

Times have changed though, I was told. The individualism engendered by New York living has West Indians learning to cope with pressing economic demands. Gone are the barrack yard fights and veiled threats of spirit lash[6]. The Obeahman[7] must call on the Orishas[8] and other spirits to address legal matters, immigration cases, and the usual love and health issues.

Many intellectuals have embraced the Orishas. They fluidly explain the relevance of the traditions to the demands and challenges of society as a whole.

The Caribbean psyche is rooted in the spirit world. The spirits are everywhere. They are integral to social, economic and political life.

Take Eintou Springer, for example. When asked that very question on using the Orishas to reconstruct our broken society, she answered eloquently: It is important to refer to the Orishas themselves and what they signify. Eshu[9] embodies the whole question of choice and consequences, taking responsibility for our action.....Many of our people wander the Earth after the Maafa[10], unburied or being buried without proper ritual or in shallow graves. We need to use the rituals of our belief systems to put their souls to rest as a way of achieving peace in our communities...[11]

From the inimitable Eintou Springer to the imaginative brilliance of Pundit Rakesh Maharaj, the Orishas, the deities and the spirit forces are ever inviting West Indians in the diaspora to hold tight to the rope that they have always extended to their ancestors. And many are holding on.

On days of worship, West Indians pray to God or the Gods that are socially acceptable. But when stricken with adversity, his true faith emerges. There is an unshakeable belief in the spirit world, in a hierarchy of spirits that can be readily invoked for help. And in their new home in America, the spirits are needed more than ever. It is this belief, his uncompromising belief, which is evident throughout this narrative.

At first, this reality was difficult to understand, but under the veneer of Americanization, West Indians have never and will never shed that unique part of themselves.

Truly, how can I forget Dr. Frank, the revered West Indian scholar at that Harlem lecture, engaging a transfixed audience: Switch off your cell phones when I am lecturing. The spirits will be pleased with you. And when some mechanical noise from outside disrupted proceedings, albeit for a moment, he questioned the timing of the disturbance, promising that the spirits will fix then. This elicited ripples of laughter, but deep within, everyone knew that the traditions are no laughing matter. Neither are the spirits.

Dr Glenville Ashby

Born in the Caribbean island of Trinidad and Tobago, Dr Glenville C. Ashby is an internationally acclaimed journalist, editor and radio host. He migrated to the US in 1988 after graduating from the University of the West Indies, St Augustine. A former educator with six years of service in his native country, Dr Ashby later embarked on a tour of duty with the US military.

A gifted wordsmith, Dr Ashby expanded his career opportunities when he entered the stimulating world of professional journalism in 2000, graduating from the London School of Journalism. He is currently the New York foreign correspondent for the Trinidad Guardian, one of the most reputable newspapers in the Caribbean. His articles have been featured in Washington DC, Trinidad and Tobago and New York - writing for periodicals such as The Pillar, The Diplomatic Monitor, The New York Resident, the Black Diaspora and The Carib News. In 2003, he became the editor of World News Forum, a journal on International affairs.  A prolific writer, Dr Ashby has interviewed key figures in international politics, culture and religion, and has also produced the provocative documentary on the Iraq War, Yes Bush, No.

Dr Ashby is a member of the Carnegie Council for Ethics in International Relations and the Jungian Foundation for Analytical Psychology, New York.

His research in indigenous and traditional religions span more than three decades. He studied and was actively involved Kali Mai worship in Pasea Village, Tunapuna (Trinidad); was initiated in the Orisa faith under the legendary Iyalorisah Melvina Rodney in Marabella (Trinidad); continued his studies in Eastern and Western mysticism while living in the US and became an ordained priest in orthodox Catholicism in 1993. He recently completed a course of study in Islamic Jurisprudence at MECCA institute in New York City.

The Believers: Spiritual Codes, reflects Dr Ashby’s deep understanding of the need to transcend the limitation of self, thereby connecting with the supernatural.

CHAPTER 1

THE DISTANT LAND

The whole object of travel is not to set foot on a foreign land; it is at last to set on one’s own country as a foreign land.

G.K. Chesterton

When the cold wind howls and the bitter cold numbs your finger tips, ears, and nose, you start wondering what in heaven’s name were you thinking to leave the sunny West Indies.

Life can be brutal here; it’s not only the fast-paced lifestyle everyone talks about. The axiom By the sweat of thy brow thou shall eat bread is very real in these parts.

Indeed you may not literally sweat, nor toil in the blistering sun, as some do on the land back home. But standing in frigidity and waiting for the bus at God awful times, or standing in the subway, suffocating in stifling heat in the summer is no fun either.

But here, all the talk of making big bucks and retiring early and going back home is just that – ole talk.

There are millions of West Indians living in New York, some second and third generation. If you take a survey, you will find that the majority long to return for home.

But most never do. There are many stories about people dying here just before retiring.

I have always believed that some of us tolerate real hardship here but will never return because of embarrassment. How could you return empty handed from a place that is still the El Dorado in the eyes of the unsuspecting? So you prefer to stick it and hope that things get better.

If you are undocumented, things are more frightening. You are constantly looking over your shoulder, ever guarding this damning secret. You are really living in a prison, afraid of seeking help from the authorities, even when you are a victim of a crime.

Without the extended family here, things are even worse. There is no tanty[12] or neighbour to keep an eye out for you and help out with things. You are lucky if you have that here.You want to be successful, you have to be driven, creative or you might well fall through the cracks or be relegated to mere mediocrity. Social Darwinism is played out here every day. Only the best will prosper. If you love money and you have a lot of drive, then this is the place for you.

They call it living the American Dream.

While we have had our disappointments, many of us have excelled in every field. It makes you beam with pride. Whether you are Guyanese or Jamaican, the success of a fellow West Indian is the best balm for your spirit.

That’s the greatest thing that the distant land has done for our peoples. Federation failed us on a political level, but there is always a sense of oneness among West Indians here. We all find common ground in the diaspora. We have to.

On the train or bus, it’s the West Indian accent that grabs your attention. It makes for easier interaction. Sometimes your life story in New York mirrors that of fellow passenger. You are both striving here for the same thing, experiencing the ups and downs of immigrant life.

West Indians tend to leave much of the political, religious, and racial baggage behind when they exit the giant revolving door at JFK airport.

At least this is how it appears.

But while they leave the mess that still beleaguers our nations, they bring their culture - the one thing that nourishes the soul wherever you may find yourself.

West Indian restaurants are springing up everywhere in Brooklyn and Queens. There are one or two roti shops that really stand out. If you are a Trini the first time you may have had jerk chicken is likely to be in New York. In fact, every Caribbean country dish is readily available here. 

New York does facilitate Caribbean integration on many levels. We all worship together in the same churches, temples, and mosques. It can be refreshing.

Even on the political level, our leaders represent the Caribbean people. We even party together on the grandest of scales – the annual West Indian Labour Day Parade. Over two million of us from all over converge on Eastern Parkway for the biggest fete in New York.

West Indians are, amid modernity, a people steeped in their; they are quixotic, imaginative and spiritual. We travel the world with a cultural DNA that is unpolluted by this high tech world. We love the world like everyone else, and fight for its fruits, but in ways that can be often unorthodox.

Like our ancestors, we do not separate the material from the spiritual. Hard as we may try to reconfigure our way of thinking and adopt a purely material approach to living, the spirit world is ever present, affecting us in ways of which we are unaware. We have been taught to ward off the evil that creeps into our lives. We learn ways of bettering ourselves through the aid of the spirits. If we cannot or forget, there is someone in our midst who is quite capable of doing the job for us.

It’s not backwardness or superstition to those who believe. It works.

The Believers are your next door neighbours, your accountant, your teacher, your friend, you never know. They can be well heeled, fashionable and very much 21st century.

They are in your churches and temples, mosques and other recognizable places of worship, but their faith lies in a source of power or powers that mainstream religion has shunned or dismissed.

It is an energy that they can invoke as individuals or as a group. In a trendy, jet setting place like New York, you would think that the Believers are a nominal lot. No.

They are ever present, very much alive.

This is their story.

CHAPTER 2

THE EXORDIUM

Then pray as you like.

But the prayer of those without Faith is nothing

But useless wandering in Error

(Quran; 40:50)

As I stood admiring the young pannists honing their skills for the upcoming Panorama[13] event, a remark grabbed my attention: Dem know about Obeah.....if dey know things would be easy. A seemingly innocuous statement for some, but not for those who grew up in the West Indies.

A wandering soul is always eager to engage others with like feelings and beliefs. What do you mean? I asked. Dem fellas eh know nothing about Obeah, the man replied. Not much of an answer. His name was Douglas Martin, Dougie for short.

As the sound of the steel drums faded, Dougie and I sat. I closed my journalism pad, secured my camera and began a conversation that took me from the panyard[14] in Brooklyn to the villages in Trinidad and back again to my adopted home – the US.

Dougie is a stout, bespectacled man, something of a coco payole[15]. He is an ace pannist having played in scores of steelbands in his native Trinidad. You name the band - Cinco, Casablanca, Starlift, Third World Symphony, Desperadoes, and Phase 11 Pan Groove, and Dougie was involved in some way.

Dougie was not playing that evening. He fittingly assumed the role of mentor, director, and just plain ole jefe. All was not going as planned for Dougie and his steel band Crossfire. Earlier that year, the band had its instruments vandalized, all part of an ugly landlord tenant squabble, it seemed. Finding adequate room for steel bands to practise is a growing problem in Brooklyn.

Thank God for universities where the young people are keeping pan alive. Dem reading music now. Long time we played by hearing. He paused and then veered again to the original thought. It is difficult to find space to rent...than insurance. I was negotiating for this panyard[16] since in March and only now I get it."

Maybe this had something to do with the Obeah remark Dougie had made earlier. After all, West Indians always seek out interesting remedies for their troubles.

So people still working Obeah, even in New York? I asked.

The response was direct, quite telling indeed: You have real Obeah here in Brooklyn?

Unfortunately, many still confuse Orisha worship and Obeah. Not that Dougie did not know the difference. After all, it was a Friday night at the panyard and neither of us was interested in pedagogical exchange. With some mauby[17], bake and shark and a lil' something to drink, we were off to the races -  the consummate journalist getting as much as he can get from the moment and Dougie, a treasure trove of information on the fantastical experiences that only the Orishas can offer, in Trinidad and yes, abroad.

I left the panyard with more than I came for – a list of the foremost spiritual practitioners in Brooklyn. Dougie had planted the seeds of this narrative. The journey had begun.

CHAPTER 3

MICHAEL

There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.

Deepak Chopra

Doing for yuh neighbour, or giving ah sore foot to one who crosses your path may seem a thing that only happens in the barrackyards[18] back home. Not so, for behind the veneer of Americanization, there looms the occult, and West Indians remain quite adept at it.

Such a practitioner is Michael Peters.

Finding Michael was something that the spirits had somehow arranged. When enquiring about someone versed in the Orishas, I was directed to Michael Peters, the same Michael with whom I attended Rosary Boys Primary School. I am talking some 40 years ago.

I lost touch, never thinking that we would ever meet again, but life is indeed full of wonderment and surprises. We quickly reacquainted and made arrangements to meet and catch up on old times. He hadn’t changed much. His quest to master language and the arts at a young age was finally realized in New York. He is now director of one of the City’s most sought after dance companies.

It was at the Dimanche Gras Show[19] 2009 on the grounds of the Brooklyn Museum that