A Conversation with a High Priest of Vodou

Demystifying one of Louisiana's most mysterious and misunderstood faiths

by

My first job was a bit different than your average newspaper route or table-serving gig: I was a fifteen-year-old tour guide at my local haunted plantation home. Robi Gilmore, a friend I had met participating in community theatre, trained me for the job—in the history of the Myrtles Plantation, and the art of tour guiding. I could not have chosen a better mentor, considering Gilmore was a favorite guide of visitors to the Myrtles for years. Garden & Gun magazine even called him, “St. Francisville’s premier storyteller… a master at alternating between tragic tales and anecdotes that incite laughter, levity, and empathy.” 

While I experienced a fairly privileged and conventional upbringing in St. Francisville proper, Gilmore grew up on the outskirts of town, deep in the woods off of winding Sligo Road, off of Highway 66. He spent his childhood on the land that was once Hollywood Plantation, where his ancestors were once enslaved. For generations, his family—from his enslaved Louisiana ancestors back to those who lived in the French colony of Saint-Domingue (today Haiti) and before that in Africa—has practiced the ancient religion of Vodou (VOH-doo).

I recently realized that despite working with Gilmore, making theatre with him, and considering him a dear friend, I knew relatively little about the religion he grew up practicing and is now a leader in. And though I went on to give tours in New Orleans as an adult—which often included stops at Marie Laveau’s tomb—what I did know about Vodou (or “Voodoo,” as it is usually misrepresented in the United States, though the spelling has been reclaimed in New Orleans) had largely been based on misappropriation. 

Long-overdue, I decided to ask Gilmore some questions about his family’s religion, and his own journey navigating its diverse traditions from rural Louisiana, to New Orleans, to Haiti—where he is ordained as a High Priest of Vodou. A hyper-charismatic individual as tall and wiry as he is friendly, Gilmore was kind enough to demystify an honorable, family-oriented religion practiced more commonly in Louisiana than most people realize. 

What Vodou is Not

Anthropologists estimate that Vodou has existed in West Africa for six thousand years, and that more than sixty million people practice the religion worldwide today. Despite its history and prominence, it is often wrongly depicted in films, television, and beyond as a superstitious, evil-natured religion, with a heavy focus on “black magic”—images of zombies and sacrifices abound. “That’s what I’m fighting,” Gilmore stressed. “We don’t do ‘black magic’ in Vodou; that’s not a thing.” The misconceptions are so pervasive that right before our conversation, Gilmore received a call from a man asking for help “removing witchcraft”. Armed with years of experience correcting such misperceptions, Gilmore is not shy when it comes to defending his faith and culture: “I was like ‘Bruh, you realize that Vodou is just worshiping God and honoring the spirits in ceremony, right?’” 

Another major point of contention for Gilmore and other genuine Vodou practitioners is the concept of “Voodoo dolls”, which are commonly sold throughout the French Quarter and have made appearances in countless films, including Disney’s The Princess and the Frog.  The malevolent trinkets originated as “poppets” in European witchcraft and actually have little to do with Vodou outside of popular media. “That’s the kind of thing that people need to know,” Gilmore emphasized. “We just want to worship God, honor the Spirit, and help the poor people  … That’s all we wanna do in Vodou.”

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Dr. Grete Viddal, a scholar on Haitian as well as Cuban religion whose research brought her to New Orleans, where she recently served as a post-doctoral teaching fellow at Tulane, emphasizes the importance of separating the Vodou religion from racist stereotypes. “It’s a perfectly legitimate religion that has a supreme being and a pantheon and rituals and has overlap with Catholicism.”

What Vodouisants Believe

The teachings of Vodou are complex and dynamic, varying from place to place and family to family as individuals moved or were sold, and there is no set dogma to which the religion adheres. Remove all of the misconceptions, superstitions, and other falsehoods that plague the faith largely due to racism and misrepresentation in pop culture (Wes Craven, we’re looking at you), and the beliefs are not all that different from those of most mainstream world religions. A reductive description of Vodou beliefs is that there is one creator God, usually called Bondye from the French “Bon Dieu,” or “Good God”. Beneath Bondye are other spirits, known in Haitian tradition as the lwa and in West African tradition as orishas, who serve various purposes and have their own names and personalities. “And then in Louisiana, we just call them spirits, because of the heavy English influence,” Gilmore explained. “But you can say ésprit, which is Créole for spirit.” 

A cornerstone of the Vodou religion is its emphasis on the intercession of one’s ancestors: the souls of family members who have passed away, who Vodouisants—or Vodou initiates—believe when given with the proper reverence and care will help guide and benefit them in life. “Vodou in all forms, all across the board—you cannot serve the lwa or orishas without going through your direct ancestors first,” Gilmore explained. “I have an altar to my deceased grandparents, and great grandparents, all the way to ancestors from the plantation.”

Historically, enslaved individuals who practiced the African and African-Caribbean religions of their ancestors were forced to convert to Western forms of Christianity, typically Catholicism, by those who owned them. This created a culture of Vodou practitioners who used images of Catholic saints as a guise to avoid revealing the lwa, or spirits, to whom they were actually praying and making offerings. To this day, many in the Vodou faith still attend Christian church services on Sundays and incorporate Catholic imagery into their worship.

“I would say that in the US, racial identity and Black consciousness have given the religion new meanings. What I also see happening less is the removal of Christian images and icons, but rather the inclusion of the new, such as images of the spirits that reflect contemporary racial awareness and current styles.” —Dr. Yvonne Chireau

While Gilmore has “come out” about his Vodou faith and taken great strides to educate tourists about his beliefs as a tour guide in New Orleans, he still chooses to incorporate Catholic saint imagery into his worship of the lwa. “I do it the traditional way my grandmother taught me, and the way my ancestors did it,” Gilmore said of the practice. “Keep it alive.” Among the younger practitioners, however, many are choosing to use more direct imagery of the lwa, rather than the Western placeholders once necessitated by slavery. “A lot of my little cousins and the kids that I took care of while growing up and teaching them, they’re removing anything they can that’s Christian and, more specifically, not of color,” he told me. “So, they won’t use the saints to hide anything, they’ll just straight up paint a picture of the spirit, just flat out and blatant like, ‘I’m gonna make this altar. I’m not gonna use Saint Lazarus for the spirit Papa Legba, I’m just gonna paint Papa Legba Black with his two dogs.” Papa Legba, who received a particularly inaccurate and frightening characterization on the television show American Horror Story, is often associated with St. Lazarus or St. Peter, as he is thought to be the intermediary gatekeeper between the world of humans and the world of spirits. 

According to Dr. Yvonne Chireau, a professor and chair of religion at Swarthmore College and an authority on African-based religions in America, Catholic images and rituals are an integral aspect of Vodou practices in Haiti to this day. “As with all religions, different generations tend to put their spin on things, adapting orthodoxy to suit the particularities of culture,” she told me. She has observed a trend of younger generations incorporating more imagery specific to Vodou, however, in the form of representations of spirits and iconography that are Black and indigenous. “I would say that in the US, racial identity and Black consciousness have given the religion new meanings,” Chireau said. “What I also see happening less is the removal of Christian images and icons, but rather the inclusion of the new, such as images of the spirits that reflect contemporary racial awareness and current styles.”

Gilmore was born into a family that practices Vodou traditions, while also attending services every Sunday at Hollywood Baptist Church. Gilmore shared that among the many exclusively Christian Black families in Saint Francisville, there are also many who privately practice Vodou in their homes. “There’s a reason for that—yeah, they’re quote-unquote ‘Baptist,’ you know, you go to the church daytime Sunday, and then you go home and serve the spirits. And that’s a common thing.” 

Vodou’s emphasis on ancestor worship has led to deeply internalized knowledge within Black families of their genealogies, despite the barriers of illiteracy and family separations imposed by American slavery. This has allowed many families who practice Vodou to trace their heritage back for many generations, often all the way to Africa. “We’re told our lineage when we’re kids,” Gilmore said. “That’s passed down through our parents, which is passed down to them through their parents and grandparents. Because this is a verbal tradition, it’s not a written religion, you know? And we also know what part of West Africa we come from, because it was passed down.” 

“Vodou is a sacred tradition that puts a lot of emphasis on families, ancestors and cultural genealogies,” Chireau explained. Not only is biological family pivotal to the religion, but spiritual family is of utmost importance, as well. “It is done through ritual practices and initiation, which is a kind of adoption into the spiritual family.” 

Gilmore’s own family originated in what is today Benin, Ghana, Nigeria, and the Congo. At some point prior to the Haitian Revolution in 1791, his ancestors were sold to French colonists in the colony of St. Domingue (modern Haiti), and eventually members of his biological as well as spiritual families settled in Petionville, a town in the hills east of Port-au-Prince; and Jacmel, a port town on Haiti’s south coast. “We know this just because it was passed down to us through the religion of Vodou. And if you step out of Louisiana, you’ll notice that a lot of African American people don’t know where their ancestors come from.”

The Journey to Becoming A High Priest of Vodou 

Gilmore was initiated as a Vodouasaint in Louisiana Vodou/Voodoo traditions outside of St. Francisville at the age of seven. At the age of eighteen, as part of his transition to adulthood, he became a High Priest of Louisiana Vodou/Voodoo. “My family was like ‘Oh yeah, he got the spirit on him, so we’re gonna do this thing.’” 

After Gilmore finished serving in the military and attended college at LSU, he moved to New Orleans, and soon thereafter his faith called him to his ancestral land of Haiti to be ordained as a Middle Priest, meaning he served as an assistant to the High Priest or Priestess. That same year, his Godmother Mambo Marie, who owns Carmel and Sons Botanica in the Tremé neighborhood, told him, “Hey, bébé, look. I think the spirit is calling you to be a High Priest.” The next year, the pair returned to Haiti, and he obtained his High Priesthood. High Priests (known as Houngans, while Priestesses are regarded as Mambos) are responsible for leading ceremonies and maintaining the relationship between the spirits and the community. 

According to Chireau, there has been a movement within the last century of Vodouisants traveling to Haiti or Africa for initiations and returning to form Vodou communities in America. “And so you see a kind of transnational movement between Haiti and its diaspora that has come to characterize those who are pursuing their faith.”

The Truth About Vodou in New Orleans

Back in New Orleans, Gilmore was initially excited to connect with more people who shared his faith. He heard stories growing up and saw images on television of the large community of Vodouisants there, and he had looked forward to joining them. “And then it turns out, it’s a bunch of posers,” Gilmore said with evident disappointment. “It’s people who are not even initiated, haven’t taken one vow, opening up these shops, claiming to be priest and priestess, cannot speak a version of French or Créole, can’t tell you what the spirit is.” He became concerned that like so many Native American cultural practices, his religion would be whitewashed and misrepresented to the point of oblivion. “Hm, child, I went to one little quote-unquote ‘New Orleans Voodoo ceremony’ and I heard some off-the-wall Créole they was trying to sing in, and I’m sitting here like ‘What the hell is this?’ All these white people with sparklers from the fireworks place running around in a circle with shawls on, turnin’ around like Stevie Nicks,” Gilmore said with an exasperated sigh. “So that was one of the most hurtful and disappointing things I think I’ve ever witnessed and seen.” 

During a true traditional Vodou ceremony, Viddal explained, practitioners summon the spirits to grace them more immediately with their presence, as opposed to in Christianity where God is perceived as being elsewhere, like up in the sky.  “In the African-inspired religions, you’re inviting the spirits to be with you then and there,” Viddal explained. “And you get them to come by singing to them, by having percussion and drumming, you invite them by dancing, and by laying a beautifully decorated table with all the things that spirit likes. If they like cakes, you have cakes; if they like mutton, you have mutton.” The food is cooked and served, and in Haiti is typically eaten by the congregation at the ceremony’s completion. In the U.S., where resources can be more plentiful, a separate meal is often served to the congregation.

"My people are just dancing in the light of God, and feeding the homeless people, and having a good time." —Robi Gilmore

Vodou ceremonies—which are only held a few times a year, contrary to the popular belief that they are a weekly occurrence—are also performed partially with the intent of feeding the poor. When Gilmore discovered some individuals in New Orleans were charging ceremony attendees, he was shocked. “You know, you feed the homeless and give them clothes during the ceremony, and you welcome them as an equal and say, ‘I don’t care what you’re going through, come serve the spirit with me. They’ve provided all this food, come eat, get your fill; come drink, be merry,’” Gilmore expressed. “That’s what true Vodou is all about.”

And that—“true Vodou”—is what Gilmore is committed to teaching people about, if they are interested in learning. “The best way you can learn is to do what you’re doing now: find someone who you know is authentic and ask them questions, and see if they’re willing to talk about it.” 

As simple as that might sound, there remains a culture of secrecy in the Vodou community today where outsiders are concerned, and not without good reason. “The systemic racism and misappropriation continues to be an issue both within and outside of the religious communities,” said Chireau. “Discrimination against immigrants, against Black people, against people who are perceived as practicing non-Christian faiths, unfortunately, is something that continues.”

[Read another perspective on the contemporary history of Vodou/Voodoo in Moira Crone's story from our October 2012 issue.]

As is the case with most religions, there are also elements of ritual that are revealed only to those initiated into the faith. “The culture of secrecy, however, does extend to the inner world of the religion, where there is a value placed on passing down of traditions for insiders only, so to speak,” Chireau said. “This is no different from what goes on within the Catholic priesthood or any tradition in which knowledge and study are vital to acquiring the faith. One doesn’t just walk in off the street to become a committed practitioner.”

Gilmore believes this secrecy, where outsiders are concerned, has partially contributed to preventing misconceptions from being more widely dismantled. “I’m seeing that silence is not helping us,” Gilmore observed. For that reason, he has created a Youtube channel where he openly and casually discusses aspects of his faith. It’s also part of why he gave tours at the Myrtles for so long, and why he has continued to give tours about his religion in New Orleans for the past five years. 

Through tour guiding, Gilmore has had the opportunity to meet other Vodou/Voodoo practitioners from throughout the South—one from rural Mississippi, another descended from the Gullah GeeChee people in South Carolina—and hopes more will continue to feel comfortable enough to “come out” more openly about their religion in the future. Until then, he will continue giving tours, making videos, and explaining to old friends that his religion has the same intent as others that are embraced worldwide: serve God, help others, and be happy. “So, I’m hoping that people understand. My people are just dancing in the light of God, and feeding the homeless people, and having a good time.” 

Gilmore gives tours in New Orleans independently, as well as with Free Tours By Foot, Bespoke Tours, and Jonathan Weiss Tours. Find his Youtube channel by searching “Robi Gilmore”. 

Carmel and Sons Botanica is at 1532 Dumaine St. in the Tremé neighborhood of New Orleans.