Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 33: Who We Come From

"What's a djab?" I asked.

"A family spirit."

I spent a moment putting the pieces together in my head, but it still wasn't making complete sense.

"Djab are passed down, generation after generation," Mama continued. "But most the time, we don't speak 'bout them. A met tet or djab can be risky to talk to - some are malicious, others mean well. Ain't no way to tell."

"And yours -"

"Ain't mean well," she interjected. "At least that's what I think." Mama looked out the kitchen window. "Ever since I found out who she was, she been tormenting me. Using me. I try not to let her out. Most times I keep her out my head, but sometimes I get so scared or mad that I can't help it."

Mama's powers. It made sense then, at least that small detail. Her power came directly from the spirit world, channeled through her by her djab - her personal spirit - by possession.

"So, that's what Sajida meant when she said the spirits chose you," I said. "She meant that your met tet or your djab had been channeling you - possessing you - all these years from the spirit world?"

Mama nodded. "Sajida and Aza were the only ones who knew about my djab when I was younger, and around that time, Sajida had come into contact with her own djab. She let it consume her. Completely."

"Who is her djab?"

"I don't know. No one knows except her. It got to be someone from our family line."

I froze still at the sound of 'our family.' Mama saw the change in my expression, quickly regretting letting the words slip out of her mouth.

"What do you mean by 'our family'?" I asked, but it was no use asking. I already knew; I had an idea.

I couldn't help but laugh. I laughed, standing up from the table and pacing the room as if I was losing my head. Mama didn't say anything, but she stood, too.

"Lisa, sit down," she asked me, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. I could only process this information standing and moving around.

"So, when Sajida called you 'sister,' she wasn't playing?" I asked, cackling at this point. "She really meant 'sister,' as in Sajida the Shunned is your sister? Sajida is my aunt?!"

"We don't look at each other that way no more," Mama defended herself. "I stopped calling her sister 'long time ago."

"But you two are still related, Mama," I pointed out, my voice louder than I would have liked it to be. "A-and these djab that are part of our lineage, one of them turned Sajida into what she is today. Who says that can't happen to you? Or me?"

"Lisa -"

"So, that's who was talking to me upstairs? My spirit guide? My djab? Was she trying to possess me like yours?"

"No!" Mama shouted, then shook her head. "I-I mean, I don't think so. W-what happened to Sajida and what's happening to me ain't gonna happen to you."

"How do you know that, Mama?" I asked her. And so it began - the knot in my throat, the tears pooling in my eyes. I began to cry, finding it hard to breathe. But I didn't cry for me. I was crying for my mother, because I was scared - if Abraham didn't get to her, then this djab would consume her, possess her body and spirit, turning her into Sajida the Shunned or something worse. When Mama let the spirit overtake her, I couldn't even recognize her. She was someone different. Someone evil and scorned.

It was then I asked. I asked Mama who her djab was. Maybe finding out who hers was would lead me to figure out who my met tet was. I didn't know much about my family tree; my family was small, with my only aunt cast away in a demonic bayou and my father dead before I turned six. I didn't know my grandmother; Mama barely talked about her, but I know she hated her and could barely honor her when she died. As for siblings? I was an only child. I knew nothing of my family, dead and alive. I knew nothing. But two words - a name. A name that came out of Mama's mouth made me know everything all at once, like a harsh tide or a hurricane's eye smacking me into reality. Mama looked me dead in the eye, again, like we were equals; this made it easier for her to tell me truths, looking at me like I wasn't her only child.