Boum… boum… boum… tanbou ap rele. The drum is calling. You feel it in the teeth, in the bone, in the chest. Tout bagay frape ansanm — everything hitting at once. Spirits, I see you. Spirits, I hear you.

Gede, papa cimetière, father of the cemetery. Ou ri nan zo mwen — you laugh inside my bones. You chew the nerve of my tooth, cigar smoke curling, chapo haut hiding your eyes. You say: “Danse nan doulè, dance in the pain.” But I take sel, salt water, I take clou girofle, cloves, and rinse my mouth. Sa se ofrann mwen — this is my offering. I laugh back, loud in your face. Your fire is strong, but mine burns too.

Papa Legba, mèt kwazman, master of the crossroads. You sit with baton at the gate, you say: “Pa gen passage — no passage here.” But I take feuille, paper, I write my desire, I burn it. Lafimen monte — the smoke rises. It slips through the cracks of your door, whispering: ouvè, open. My road is not closed. My path burns hotter than your lock.

Petro lwa, fiery spirits, lwa of rage and flame. You ride my back, you whisper, “Tout fini — all is finished.” You want silence, you want my head down, you want me broken. Non. I strike the table, poum, poum, poum, my own drum. Mwen chante non mwen — I sing my name: “I am here, still here.” The echo returns, the echo answers: wi, yes, alive. The shadow trembles. The shadow breaks.

Ezili, lady of love. Ogou, fiery warrior. Damballa, great white serpent. I call you, vin kanpe bò kote m’ — come stand beside me. They strike the drum, I strike mine. They make fire, I make fire too. They bring misery, I bring defiance. Mwen pa pou kont mwen — I am not alone.

Hear me, spirits. Tout doulè gen figi — every pain has a face. Tout pèdi gen baryè — every loss is a gate. Tout lonbraj se kavalye — every shadow is a rider. You ride, but I ride back. You burn, but I burn back. You laugh, but I laugh louder. Fire kont fire — fire against fire.

If you come pou kraze mwen — to break me, I break you back.

If you come pou nwaye mwen — to drown me, I rise from the water with fire in my hair.

If you come pou antere mwen — to bury me, I walk through your tomb until it is mine.

Boum… boum… boum… the drum does not stop. The circle closes, but mwen pa fèmen — I am not closed. I am not seulement a man in pain. Mwen se dife — I am fire. Mwen se ritm — I am rhythm. Mwen se lwa nan pwòp kò mwen — I am the spirit in my own flesh. And when I burn, tout lwa bow — all spirits bow. Tout lonbraj kouri — every shadow flees. Tout dife respekte dife mwen — every fire respects my fire.