The visiting Padrinos & Madrinas could be heard beginning the rites for Shango’s day of birth. Caboé. Canta para Ebioso. The Abaqua. Drums & chanting ran thru the lush backwoods of Louisiana. Sassafrass liked to think the slaves would have been singing like that, if the white folks hadn’t stolen our gods. Made our gods foreign to us, so the folks in Baton Rouge never came near those “crazy fanatic niggahs” out there.

Mama Mbewe’s voice raced thru the forests, the makeshift cabins where weavers, potters, painters, musicians, dancers, and ordinary folks seeking another life had made home.

“Shango para icoté

Shango para icoté

O de mata icoté

A la ba obaso icoté

A la ba obaso icoté”

In the Meeting House Shango’s birthday present, a mountain of fresh, unbruised red apples, was in place. An arc of half-smoked cigars smoldered on the ground, a warning or an offering for devotées. In red & white, with élèkes or no, the followers added their personal gifts for the deity with the Ax: vials of home-made whiskey, bananas, knives, long-handled axes, brightly colored scarves, shirts, head wraps. Shango was the Warrior who protected The New World Found from marauders, white folks, recidivists. Sassafrass so wanted to be a priestess of Oshun, like Mama Mbewe. To heal, to bring love & beauty wherever she went. This bad spirit on her head confounded all her desires.

Before she went to the Bembée, Sassafrass anointed herself with florida water: a dab on the forehead, under each arm, her navel, her pubic hair, behind each knee, under both arches of her feet. She left glasses full of honey & water in every corner of her cabin. She left bluing by the front door, ammonia at the rear, that no evil should enter her house in her absence. She carried wild flowers with her to offer to Oshun, her Mother, in the event that Oshun, as was her nature, grew jealous during Shango’s festivities.

“Shango para icoté

Shango para icoté

O de mata icoté

A la ba obaso icoté

A la ba obaso icoté”

Shango was Sassafrass’ patron, her other father. She knew his birthday was auspicious. Didn’t she have bourbon & cigarillos in His honor? Sassafrass tried before anyone saw her to look as if she weren’t worried about Mitch. Mitch wasn’t in this at all. That’s how she tried to look.

The path to the Meeting House was muddy, black, rich. Sassafrass didn’t mind the delta mud oozing thru her sandals. She pulled her buba up. Took small steps. Going to meet her Father. Shango & Oshun were her eternal parents, ’sides Hilda Effania & Alfred. She thought her wish might already have been granted, but she went with a request, nonetheless.