Spirits of the Night Like the Greeks, we too have our mythology! Those were the days of the Loupgaroux or Ligaroo, the Soucoyant and the La Diablesse or female devil. Grenadian folklore speaks of an individual called Doctor Ojas who met a La Diablesse by the Rocks near Tanteen and was captivated by her sweet talk. He began chatting with the woman in the dark, and got the shock of his life when he looked down and saw her cow foot. He took off with such a speed that he broke a wind that killed two of Miss Cinty’s chickens. The La Diablesse shouted You lucky, ah wuddah break yuh gadamn neck.” Poor Ojas ended up trembling like a leaf in his house. He was so disoriented that he washed his face with bay rum instead of water. The Loupgaroux was a tough word to say. Grenadians got tired of pronouncing that hard French word so most of them just said Ligaroo. Ligaroos used to suck blood every night. People said that Nahoo and Zoon were notorious Ligaroos. Women used to wake up with big red marks on their skin and knew for sure that a Ligaroo had paid a visit. The marks were more easily seen on light skinned women. There was a notable difference between a Ligaroo and a plane. The Ligaroo did not have to taxi before take off. He took off like a UFO. As time progressed, Ligaroos got so lazy that they started riding motorbikes or driving cars. They had acquired a level of sophistication and were too lazy to fly. Some Ligaroos even marched each year in the Queen’s Birthday Parade. A number of brave souls started taking action against the Ligaroo. Some nailed a horseshoe over the door to keep them out. Others placed a bowl of rice or sand in front the door to force the evil, nocturnal intruder to count every grain before daylight. That was a sure way to trap a Ligaroo. Then there were those who slept with their clothes before behind. It was said that doing that kept Ligaroos away. Some people placed garlic in front of their doorsteps or placed a cross there. Back then thieves thrived on the superstitious. Every vessel needed a soul and it was believed that little boys were sacrificed to protect the boat. That was not a comforting thought for anyone who passed those boats that were docked on the wharf. Cocoa thieves scared people too. They placed a coffin right in the middle of the road near the cocoa trees. People were terrified to pass in that area so the cocoa thieves stole the cocoa with ease and comfort. My mind journeyed back with more speed than the Volkswagen car Mama Aird sold was capable of. Yes, sah! In those days we believed all kinda tings. And thats cool. Like the Irish people and their Leprechauns and the Guyanese who spoke of the Oldhigue and Firerass(our Ligaroo), we too, had our myths that sent us scampering into the house on a dark night or just fired our imagination. I still smile when I pass by the Rocks above the Fire Station. I smile because I remember the mythical tales, not only about the Crebo and its crown, but also about Daddy Ojas and the Lajablaisse, and La Qua and the sardine can. I still think about the story of the fowlcock, which stood above the dead mans picture in St. Paul’s. Busloads of people visited the house hoping to see the fowlcock staring at the mans picture. I cant recall ever seeing a Crebo, but I used to look for them while I jooked down cocoa from the small cocoa trees in Morne Jaloux. I looked for them to duff out in case I saw one. Remember the words Duff out? That came from the period when fellas used to look at you and greet you with the term Mankind or simply Maaaan! Everyone knew that the Crebo loved damp spots and it was believed that they used to galavant in the cocoa leaves. As I picked the cocoa, I looked around whenever I heard a rustling of the dried leaves. Sometimes the disturbance was caused by the slither of a small snake, and the snake and I would run from each other. The size of a snake never mattered to me; a snake was a snake! I kept a small dried piece ah wood nearby because they told me that if the Crebo grabbed onto my leg, all I had to do was break the stick and fool the Crebo into thinking it had broken my leg. It was then supposed to release its hold. Yeah right! I also heard the stories about the Crebo nursing the breast of the young mother and of the crowns the Crebos wore on their heads. I had dreams of finding a crown, but I never wanted to find ah Crebo. Nah! Like the Greeks, we too have our mythology! Anthony Wendell DeRiggs Graves, Coffins and Funerals Nowadays, a great part of Cemetery Hill is lined with these new types of graves that look like a big box above ground. They resemble houses and some have spaces waiting, for the husband or wife, when they eventually kick the bucket. Back then, someone got a hole in the mud, which was dug up to put someone else, after a number of years. Sometimes we saw the bits of bones when the gravediggers dug up the old graves. Families are now ensuring that their loved ones remain encased forever. Do you realize that no one wants to be buried in a coffin these days? Everyone wants a big casket. Some people eat the cheapest food and save money to be buried in the most expensive casket. Nowadays, one can even obtain a picture of the tree that produced the casket. One can get information on the type of wood, the age of the wood, and the hardness or softness of the wood used to make the coffin. When you leave the funeral home, you have so much knowledge you are ready to open your own funeral agency. Many Grenadians are afraid of that type of work. That does not include a friend of mine living in New York who is making a killing in the field. The last time I saw him he told me that business was good, but he needs some more work from Grenadians. I am not dying to tell my Grenadian friends what he said! These days, there is something at the funeral called happy hour in Grenada. If you can’t afford a happy hour, postpone your death. You have to save up enough money for the people to enjoy the rum, goat meat, and rice and peas that make the happy hour worthwhile. People don’t want to waste their precious time to attend a happy hour if there is not enough food and drinks. It is different from the ole time days when people had a couple bottles of rum, and sang “Come Holy Ghost.” Now, it’s big fete and as soon as one dies, people begin assembling at the home for the happy hour. And some people attend without even knowing who kick the bucket. They are usually more concerned with the beers submerged in the buckets of ice. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs
Posted on: Thu, 31 Oct 2013 09:48:27 +0000
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