Of God, Ghosts, and Obeah
June is Caribbean American Heritage Month and we are celebrating by taking a peak into Dr. Brown’s ethnographic memoir, East of Flatbush, North of Love: An Ethnography of Home, a music-centered book that takes a look at growing up Caribbean American in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. This excerpt is from the fourth chapter of the book, “Of God, Ghosts, and Obeah.” (Footnotes not included). Don’t forget to listen to the musical selections (“cues”), which can be found on the East of Flatbush Playlist on Spotify and YouTube.
Chapter 4: Of God, Ghosts, and Obeah
If you call at midnight,
Jesus hear and he will answer
If you call at midnight,
The Holy Ghost set your soul on fire
The inspiration of the preacher
Send the sinner to the altar
Set he soul on fire
Blessed Holy Ghost, come down
Fall on Zion
—“Blessed Holy Ghost,” Pentecostal Chorus
PART I: OF GOD
The Funeral
Cue: “Lorraine,” Explainer
It had been almost five years since I had last touched down in the land of carnival, calypso, and steelpan—the land of my parents’ birth. In my mind it felt like yesterday, but in my body I could feel age creeping in. There were a few reasons why I had stayed away, but much of it had to do with Grandpa and the stress that I’d felt even at the very thought of him. How ironic that my first trip in all these years would be to bury him.
As the plane began to taxi, the safety instructions for Caribbean Airlines came into view on the many small television screens that dotted the aircraft. The sound of soca permeated the air. It seemed fitting that the song playing in the background was Explainer’s “Lorraine.” The airline played an instrumental version using a steelband, but I could hear the words in my head.
Lorraine, you bettah wake up
Ah need a jet plane to take me non-stop
Ah cyah stay in New York City
When there is sunshine and pan in my country,
Lions is the place with de jammin’
With Kalyan and Charlie’s Roots clashin’
Everyone happy partyin’
And I’m freezin’ in Brooklyn, Dahlin’!
Lorraine doh cry ah leavin’
Ah cyah miss dis jammin’
With all dem steelband beatin’
And woman background shakin’
If de bug bite you baby
Then you could come and join me
Inside Catelli steelband
Jammin’ with some man woman
Yes. I was heading back home—to Trinidad. I had not expected to be returning under these circumstances, but I wasn’t surprised by it. Grandpa had often made bad decisions for which other people had paid hefty prices, and I knew that I would eventually have to return to see that he received a proper burial.
Grandpa was Catholic, and he once told me, “I would cry when they didn’t send me to church.” He was even an altar boy at one point, a shocking fact for those who knew him in his later years. As an adult, he was a substance abuser prone to violence when under the influence and a deadbeat father to so many children that he couldn’t even name them all. He wasn’t exactly the poster boy for the Catholic Church. Nonetheless, when it was time to determine the type of ceremony for the funeral, I insisted on a traditional Catholic Mass; he would have wanted that.
Very few people attended the funeral. I was present, along with my dad, brother, Aunty Claire, and Camille, a childhood friend of my dad’s. Two aunts that I had not previously met and their mother were also present. They were shocked when we contacted them about the funeral. They had assumed that Grandpa had died years ago. Rounding out the numbers in attendance was a small band of about four to six musicians and, of course, the priest.
I grew up with such little knowledge of the Catholic Church that I sat lost during the rites spoken at my grandfather’s funeral. With the exception of the sermon, I had barely a clue as to what was transpiring. To show how truly ignorant I was, I assumed the band would be singing some type of Gregorian-like chant in Latin. When instead they performed a nice “modern” song in English, I thought, “Ah, yes. Vatican II.”
I knew none of the responses to any of the sections of the Mass. And I wasn’t the only one. Thank God for the band, because had they not been present, the priest would have had to respond to himself. Much of the funeral is now a blur, but I was true to my word—Grandpa had received a traditional Catholic farewell.
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