Is it possible to raise a person from the dead? The rite of resurrection from the dead is perhaps the most mystical of the rites practiced by voodoo priests. But does a miracle really happen, or are all the manipulations of priests and sorcerers explained only by the action of some kind of drugs and hypnotic effects on a living person? Is it possible that all the stories about the miraculous resurrection of people by them are nothing more than a skillful falsification?
This is how the French traveler Francois Alexis, who visited the Republic of Benin, describes the ceremony of resurrection.
“It took about three weeks after my arrival in Abomey before I managed to persuade Ngamba to show me one of the resurrection ceremonies with a fair amount of ten-franc bills.
We drove a few miles from Abomey and reached a ravine into which a rather path-like road led. Winding up the slope, it climbed up a steep valley. At the end of the ascent there was a small clearing. Ngambe warned me to be absolutely quiet. I don't know what he wanted - whether to hide my presence, or to make me feel how difficult it was for him to arrange this "secret" visit.
From the explanations of Ngamba, it was clear that we were attending the rite of resurrection from the dead of a person who was attacked by spirits sent by a medicine man from a neighboring village. The fetish priests of the unfortunate village gathered to destroy or neutralize the power of the spirits that "killed" their ward.
We took refuge in the bushes about fifty feet from the clearing where a group of natives had gathered. It was clear to me that Ngambe, in order to "arrange" my presence, shared the money he had received from me with the participants in the ceremony. Although it was late afternoon, I still took my camera with me, but, to my great regret, there was not enough light for filming.
The man was lying on the ground, showing no signs of life. I noticed that one ear was half cut off, but it was an old wound; no more traces of violence were visible. Around him stood a group of negroes, some completely naked, others wearing long, unbelted shirts. Among them were several priests, who could be distinguished by the tuft of hair on their shaved head. An even noise of voices was heard: preparations were underway for the ceremony.
Everything was controlled by an old man in an old, faded army jacket that hung loosely to his knees. He shouted at the others, waving his arms. He wore an ivory bracelet on his wrist. The old man was obviously the chief priest of the fetish, and he had to cast out evil spirits today.
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Suddenly, several people with quick steps approached the lifeless body lying on the ground, lifted it up, carried it to the center of the clearing and very casually lowered it to the ground. It could be assumed that the person was dead or very close to death. Two men began to beat drums made from hollow tree trunks.
The drummers were young guys who clearly did not belong to the number of ministers of the temple. Their muscles stood out like tight knots under the dark, shiny skin, their faces were motionless. The rhythmic movements of their hands produced a hypnotizing effect. Their hair was braided in pigtails, decorated with white and red bone beads.
The high priest, whose clothes consisted only of a red jacket and beads, began to dance rhythmically around the body sprawled on the ground, muttering something in a low monotone voice. His robe flapped comically as he danced, revealing black, shiny buttocks as he swayed from side to side to the rhythm of the drums. I bent down and said to Ngamba, “I am a doctor. I would like to examine the person and make sure that he is really dead. Can you arrange it?"
Ngamba resolutely refused, but eventually got up and walked forward. There were short negotiations: the old priest stopped his dance, said something sharply, the others nodded their heads in agreement. Finally Ngamba returned. "Are you really a doctor?" - he asked. I have confirmed by choosing not to go into the intricacies of the differences between my profession as a dentist and other areas of medical practice. Ngamba signaled to follow him.
"Don't touch!" he ordered sharply. I nodded in agreement and knelt beside the prostrate body. The dance stopped and the audience gathered around, watching me curiously. On the ground lay a healthy young lad, over six feet tall, with a broad chest and strong arms. I sat down so as to shield him with my body, with a quick movement lifted his eyelids to check the pupillary response. There was no reaction. I also tried to feel for a pulse. He was absent. There were no signs of a heartbeat either.
Suddenly there was a noise from behind, as if everyone sighed in unison. I turned to Ngamba. His eyes glittered with anger, and his face was contorted with horror.
"He will die!" he said to me in French. “You touched him. He will die".
“He's already dead, Ngambe,” I said, getting up. - "It is a crime. I have to inform the French police."
Ngambe was still shaking his head when the old priest suddenly resumed his dance around his body. I stood at a distance, not knowing what to do. The situation was not pleasant. Although I did not feel much fear, knowing that fear of the French police would protect me from any violence, there was much that I didn’t understand about the actions of these people, and they could easily turn out to be dangerous. I remembered a story about a Belgian policeman who was killed, torn apart into several hundred pieces and fetishes them for interfering with the worship of the tribe of his fetish.
We were surrounded by a group of thirty people. In low voices, they sang a rhythmic song. It was a cross between a howl and a growl. They sang faster and louder. It seemed that the dead would hear these sounds. Imagine my surprise when exactly this happened!
"Dead" suddenly ran his hand over his chest and tried to turn. The screams of the people around him merged into a continuous scream. The drums began to beat even more violently. Finally, the lying one turned, tucked his legs under him and slowly got down on all fours. His eyes, which had been unresponsive to light a few minutes ago, were now wide open and staring at us.
I would need to measure his pulse to know if there was any drug effect. However, Ngambe, worried about my presence at such a moment, tried to take me away from the circle of dancers. Then I asked him if this man was really dead. Ngamba shrugged his bony shoulders and replied, “A man does not die. The spirit kills him. If the spirit no longer desires his death, he lives."
He spoke a mixture of Kiswahili with Portuguese, French and English. The meaning of his words boiled down to the fact that the person over whom the ritual had just been performed was "killed" by a spirit sent by the keeper of the fetish, who acted at the instigation of his enemy. This spirit entered the human body and first served as the cause of his illness, and then death. However, in a short period after death, it is still possible to return a person's soul to the body if the evil spirit is expelled from there. By touching the man with my hands, I almost ruined the whole thing.
It seems to me that this man was given some kind of alkaloid that caused a state of catalepsy or trance, and his body seemed lifeless. On the other hand, he could be in a state of deep hypnotic sleep. The most surprising thing for me was that a person who was in a state in which he did not respond to routine tests was withdrawn from him without the help of drugs or known stimulants, and even without the touch of human hands.
Later, when I told a French administration official about the case, I became convinced that I was not the only white person present at such a ceremony. It was not difficult to obtain the consent of the fetish priest, of course, for an appropriate fee. Although the cult of voodoo is officially banned, the French police do not want to quarrel with the priests and turn a blind eye to their activities.
But their activities are very harmful. Through drugs or hypnosis, they completely enslave their victims. Under the psychological pressure of the priest, people become his weak-willed instrument. How many hidden crimes are committed in this way by the voodoo priests, it is impossible to imagine even approximately."
Dmitry Smirny