HOW I GOT TO BE SO RADA by Christopher Starr

HOW I GOT TO BE SO RADA

In 1993 one of the Trinidad newspapers had a feature article on the Hubono (high priest) of the Rada Community in Belmont, Pain of Sport. That caught my interest, so soon afterward I went looking for him. By and by, I was directed to a particular house on a hillside, went up to the porch and rang the doorbell.

It was answered by the Hubono, Sedley Antoine, himself. I introduced myself, explained that I had an interest in traditional african religions, and asked if anything was coming up soon that someone like me might attend. The timing was excellent. Rada ceremonies center around the annual Thanksgiving celebrations early in the year. Thanksgiving was just a couple of weeks away, and I was cordially invited.

The early morning ceremony at the traditional rada yard positively knocked me out. What I had not realized was that the Rada people came from Benin (Dahomey) and that their religion is the one from which Vaudou is derived. In Benin today, it is known as Vaudou and is a major, respected practice. I had been able to enter the Rada religion just by knocking on a door and expressing an interest. For a comparable entry in Haiti, I would likely have had to reside in a village for many months or at least been familiar with a facilitating vaudouisant.

I don't know to what extent the adepts were vetting me, but I evidently passed the test on that first occasion. In conversation after the ceremony, the Hubono's brother, Patrick Antoine, prefaced a comment with "Now that you are one of us ...", and as I was taking my leave the Hubono hoped that I would be back for the next ceremony that night. That was the first I knew of the second phase of Thanksgiving, and by saying that he plainly endorsed his brother's remark.

I have been Rada ever since. Just a few years after that first encounter, the Hubono announced to the community that I was to be regarded as his son. He didn't ask me about it in advance. He didn't have to. And if anyone has ever questioned it, I didn't hear of it. To the end of their days, I addressed the elder Antoines as "Dad" and "Mom". And it is understood that when my time comes I will join them and a host of other ancestors in the Rada cemetery in Belmont.

At traditional african religious ceremonies -- whether Rada or allied -- I never manifest (enter into possession). It should probably happen sooner or later, but I am in no hurry, and I am not aware that I have ever come close. Sometimes, when we have long been clapping and ululating amid 164

the drumming, a certain feeling starts to ease over me, but I shake it off.

In christian practice, being entered by the Holy Spirit is regarded as something to be welcomed, and I know some in traditional african practice who evidently like to manifest. Most, however, seem reluctant, and I can see why. Being ridden by a deity really takes it out of one, and those who manifest often seem quite drained afterward.

In the morning phase of the rada Thanksgiving there are always blood sacrifices. A few chickens, some pigeons, and a male goat. Early in my association, the duty fell to me to manage the goat. This makes sense, as the other able-bodied brothers were otherwise engaged, mostly in drumming.

I should note that when one is closely involved in sacrificing a goat one should be prepared to get blood on oneself. It comes with the job. One year I had to go directly from morning Thanksgiving to the university for an 08:00 class. I changed my shirt, but I hadn't thought to bring a change of pants, so there was still a bit of blood spattered below the knees. Some of the students asked me about it, and I told them that I had been in Belmont in the early morning. Then, seeing that that could be misinterpreted -- some parts of Belmont are fairly rough -- I hastily explained that I hadn't been in a fight, just at a vaudou ceremony, where we had sacrified a goat.

One muslim student looked at me in amazement tinged with horror, and I just couldn't resist. "You know" I told her, "polytheism is so cool." I'm sure she thinks to this day that I am in league with the Devil.

Another factor of note is that managing the goat is a rather demanding task. A full-grown male goat is a strong beast, and he is very definitely not interested in being sacrificed. It takes alertness and a firm hand to keep him under control, and sometimes I come away from it panting and quite worn out. I told the high priest last year that in future they should think of either getting a weaker goat or a younger man to handle him. In fact, I picked one young fellow to assist me last year, and if he stays with us I am going to ease him into taking over my job. After all, he will only get bigger and stronger as the next years pass, while I ... well, let's just say that I will be ready to retire.