Madame Zulu Voodoo Jones 

Luke 6: 18 who had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases.  Those troubled by impure spirits were cured.

I was travelling down highway One from Mansura to Marksville in Avoyelles Parish when a sign on the roadside caught my eye.  So, I pulled over.  I had passed this forlorn place many times while traveling down highway One only to laugh at the ignorance of others who might have stopped there.  This time, curiosity got the better of me and I stopped, laughing to myself. 

The yard was bare of any grass.  There were chickens scratching about on the hard, dry earth enclosed by a fence that long ago had lost its usefulness. The house was an unpainted dogtrot that had seen better days but still had a little life left in it, maybe.   The sign, crudely painted on an old sheet of plywood in the front yard said: Madame Zulu Voodoo Jones, Faith healer, Palm Reader, Treater of all illnesses, Remover of the Devil, Reader of the stars.

The old hound dogs greeted me at what used to be a gate before I could get out of the car.  One obviously had recently given birth to a litter from the looks of her and the other looked as if he could tear the tires right off the vehicle if so inclined.  He began making his rounds, barking, growling, and relieving himself on my right rear tire while the female sat scratching and trying to make the puppies leave her alone.  

There was someone sitting in a rocking chair in the open space between rooms, a box fan in one corner and a TV balanced in an open window.  An extension cord was dangling precariously out the window and across the porch to the fan.

I rolled down my window enough to speak.   “Is Madame Zulu in,” I shouted, “I would like….”

The woman jumped, startled by my intrusion. “Yes, yes, don’t leave.  I will get her,” interrupted the animated woman as she spat upon the ground.  “Get out of the way, dogs, we got company,” she hissed.  Tripping across the extension cord she hurriedly rushed into the house.  I waited while the guards continued manning their post. 

About ten minutes later, the same woman, (or her twin sister) returned dressed in a garish dress, wrapping a bandana around her head.  She tugged at the skirt and rolled it up enough to walk barefoot around the chicken droppings while fastening a metal belt made from beer tabs around her waist.  In her best “Haitian” accent she began a singsong monologue as she ushered me upon the porch.   “Welcome, welcome, mon amis.  Yes, I am the Madame.  Welcome, welcome.  Yes, I can read your palm.  I can tell you do not need a healing for you have no major illness.  $20.00 before we gaze into the crystal ball.  Come, come in mon.” 

I hesitated, “No.  You must pay first,” she smiled  toothlessly while grasping my arm tighter.

 I hunched my shoulders, my empty palms facing up trying to explain that I did not wish a reading today and did not have $20.00.  I mainly wanted to know her prices for future references.

She turned on me with a vengeance that would make the devil himself take notice and forgetting her Haitian accent cursed me for interrupting her soap opera while calling the dogs and reaching for a broom. 

I twisted my ankle as I stumbled down the steps, landing right in the middle of the fresh chicken droppings.  The dogs surrounded me, barking madly, while she swung wildly with a broom barely missing my head several times.  She continued swinging and cursing as I stumbled over the chickens, causing them to cackle and flutter over my head, scratching my neck.  I crawled over the bare ground, the dogs barking and growling ferociously.  The male grabbed my pants leg and tore off a piece.  He stood there shaking the cloth as if it were a dead animal.  This is when I took flight, past what was left of the gate, barely making it to the car before the dogs were on me again.

I sat stunned in the car watching her remove her wig and bandana while tugging at the skirt.  Giving me the evil eye, she slammed what was left of the screen door, cursing at the top of her voice.  From the open window she shouted, “Nosy old white trash, interrupting my program.  Hope the dogs’ bit you good, yes sir, interrupting my program.  Dirty white trash.  How can a decent woman make money with people like you?  Git, I said, git before I send the Gris Gris.”

*Note:  Gris Gris is a Cajun term that usually means to put a curse on someone.  Usually in jest, but I'm positive not in this case.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.