Momma Tutu

“Serve your slave masters well an when you die you will be rewarded in heaven,” his voice boomed as if it were magnified; while Getty mimicked the de-humanizing words craning her scrawny neck around to glare at the field slaves.

 By now something other was making its way on to the physical plain; something of spirit; something of a fiery nature, something invoked to protect those descendants of very powerful and ancient ancestors. 

The more the good reverend Windwood preached his fire and brimstone sermon demeaning the field slaves the more offended the Congolese Nkisis spirit became.  The more verbally abused they were, the more the powerful Nkisis spirit rose up in anger. On and on the good reverend Windwood ranted his fire and brimstone sermon, then suddenly the painting of the crucifixion of Jesus fell from the wall.  The field slaves trembled with anger and resentment; knowing within their spirit, they were to be no servant to any man. The sermon paused momentarily; taking notice of the falling painting one of the ushers removed it from the floor.

“The lord wants obedience and no other heathen gods shell be worshiped before him,” he shouted pointing to the field slaves causing the rest of the congregation to turn and glare hateful looks.  Again, the air filled with tension bordering on hostility.

“Some house of the lord this is,” Buck muttered, “they about a second away from lynching us...even if we is somebody’s property.”

“You nigras hush ya pie holes while the reverends preaching,” one of the ushers growled.

“Damned slaves oughta have they own nigra church, and not in here wit good Christian white folk.” 

 Mae bit down on her lip until it bled trying to hold her tongue while she held tight to her high John root. 

“It’ll be over soon, “ol man Reese whispered.

“Not soon enough...Indians snuck up outta here before it got started...lucky,” Buck grumbled. Momma Tutu seemed to be the only one unaffected by the sermon as she stood quietly with closed eyes; giving the appearance she could be standing up sleep, but little did they realize she was fighting hard to keep Zarabonda from lashing out.  In her mind, she was in another world as Zarabonda spoke to her inner ear.  He re-affirmed thoughts that had previously visited her mind thoughts that were horrible in nature.  Zarabonda revealed images to her mind’s eye concerning Missy the master, and the good reverend Windwood.  A flood of imagery poured over her making her nauseated.  The wickedness of the good reverend Windwood and Ebeneezer Everts was unlike anything she had ever seen before.  The images were almost maddening, but she withstood them, and their extent of their evil.  Her legs buckled almost dropping her to the floor.  Reese and Manny steadied her, “the heat must be getting to her,” Manny said.

“Ain’t no heat can get to a pure blood Congo woman...them visions she be having...now hush up,” Reese whispered as the hell storm sermon went own. 

“We all need to pray sisters and brothers...pray for our president’s salvation of his soul...because disobeying the lord, and setting nigras free, he has doomed our great nation to HELL.  Pray sisters and brothers...pray to Jesus for the confederate south to be strong...pray for them godless heathens to find Jesus and be good slaves...pray for our brothers and sister that suffered from the slave revolts that left good Christian plantations in ashes.”

“YES JESUS,” a voice from the congregation cried out.

“Let no man steel from the lord,” the reverends voice bellowed out.

“That’s right rev...Let no man undo what god has ordained not even the president of this United States...amen,” a man’s voice barked.  The congregation had become so excited with the reverend’s hell and brimstone sermon it was like a wild animal catching the scent of blood in the air.  Whispers wishing Lincolns demise flowed around from the various pews, “they need a rope for that no good vermin,” another voice spoke from the front of the congregation.  Intentions of violence filled the air like smoke from an erupting volcano as the good reverend Windwood’s words fueled the hatred.  Hooping and hollering in the name Jesus ensued with hand clapping, and feet stomping to the chants of amen save the south sweet Jesus.  The congregation was so excited and riled up that they had forgotten all about the slaves in the back of the church.  By now, Getty and the master's children had begun to feel uncomfortable. Having never seen the whites in such a state of mind, the closer it came to Lincoln's emancipation the stranger their behavior became, as true feelings revealed themselves.

"These white folk is smelling blood in the name of their god," Momma Tutu said; snapping from her trance.  "I say we need to get the hell outta here...they is a split second from a lynching," Buck whispered nervously motioning them all to the door.  It was not difficult to slip out un-noticed.

Back at the slave quarters, Momma Tutu sat in silence rethinking the events of the morning as did everyone else.  "Is that what a good god fearing Christians is suppose to be like," Maggie asked shaking her head," they ain't no better then rapid dogs...calling us heathens...they just as evil as the night's long."

"I can't take no more of those words of the lord," Buck said laughing to himself.

"I don't know how those dimwits in the master's house do it...them white folk hate them just as much as us, and they sit up there Sunday after Sunday sucking it all up," Mae said in disgust.

"I even heard that oldest dimwit spouting off like that reverend Windwood; call'em self preaching to the others ....craziest thing ya ever wanna hear; a house slave imitating a country preacher putting down his own kind," Reese said noticing Momma Tutu's despondent look," you alright? Ya scared us for a minute there...ya having another one of them visions wasn't ya?"

"Yelp, and it was mighty powerful...them folks is something evil...offended Zarabonda to no end...took all the strength I had to keep'em back...I is still feeling a bit winded.  He woulda tore that place apart!"

"I saw the picture fall from the wall," Mae said.

"Wasn't no falling...it was knocked from where it hung.  So much wickedness up in that place....Zarabonda saw them white folk...all of them and how they’d rather see us dead than freed....and that girl Missy....I feel sorry for the girl...she got the devil's seed growing in her belly."  Everyone gasped at the old woman's words.  "What you be saying?"

"I be saying she got the seed of that evil preacher up in her.  Poor girl been passed back and forth between the master's bed and the good reverend Windwood's bed.  Master's seed wouldn't take ...him being all sickly and everything," Momma Tutu said with disgust twisting her face, "make me feel unclean just talking bout it."

"Me too...been feeling something awful every since setting foot in that church," Rufus complained.  It was not long before they all complained of ailments and bad feelings. 

"That's the evilness in them words they be preaching...pure evil that just grabs a hold of ya.  Me people called such evil the Bucra; an evil thing birthed from hate," Momma Tutu said turning down her mouth and frowning as though she tasted something sour.

“Ain't nothin but one thing for us to do...we gotta get cleaned from the white man's evil on us...cause if we don't it'll just eat us alive bit by bit eating us from the inside...all kinds of sickness be on ya before ya knowed it."

"Like the Massa?"

"Yelp ...just lik’em."  They all cringed at Momma Tutu's vivid description as she went on.

“When the owl hoots we‘ll meet in our special place, and you all knowed what to bring."

"Momma Tutu....I hate to say it but something's telling me we is gonna need a little more than just some roots and all....remember what we all talked about? You saw how riled up they was in that church...it ain't gonna be long...we gotta be prepared to make a move.  We is gotta protect ourselves."

“Reese is right I knowed about a path that leads up in the hills to those red people's village...them ones that don't come down to here, and they ain't friendly wit whites either.  They know we is here and that one day we is gonna run away...and they know they is the only ones we can run too."

"I heard it was some slaves living up in them hills already from other plantations after the uprisings," Buck said.

"Is that right? Well why ain't we gone," Rufus said impatiently.

"Just hush boy, ain't time yet," Momma Tutu snapped, "tonight just bring what ya need," she said in a whisper as they all dispersed from the shack.

An imminent sense of danger cloaked the descending night while an undeniable resentment filled the air with hostility all stemming from the good reverend Windwood's Sunday morning sermon of superiority and supremacy only hours ago. 

What was it about those who came from across the ocean in chains stripped of everything they owned; doomed to a life of misery providing comfort and wealth for those that spilled the blood of the original inhabitants.  Laboring from sunrise to sunset day in and day out; seven days a week was their blight.  Was it the determination of dreams of freedom?  Was it the desire to exist in a humane existence that fueled such animosity and resentment from whites to the point of unspeakable acts of cruelty and inevitable violence that set the stage for an imminent demise?

 Finally, the owl’s hoot echoed through the night catching the ear of those who sat in anticipation of invoking the powerful Congo spirit.  One by one, they all slipped off carrying their meager belongings and farming tools with sharp or blunt edges. They all blended into the night. The full moon hung low in the sky with a hint of red around its outer edges as if to suggest some catastrophic event approaching.  

Again, they seated themselves around the fire giving thanks for the little they did have and to be able to pay homage to the creator in their ancestral way despite the fire and brimstone sermon’s threats of physical violence from those who hated and feared them.  Their prayers to the powerful Nkisis spirit asked for safety, protection, salvation, and to be delivered from the cruelty of those who would see them dead before setting them freed.  They prayed to be relieved of an existence of torment and misery.  They prayed to the Congo spirit to be cleansed from evil that had tainted their spirits upon entering the white's place of worship.  Again, roots found their way into the fire sending the pungent smoke into the air.  The spirit's mantra echoed repeatedly.  Small rattles and other items that served as handmade instruments kept a steady and hypnotic beat enticing them to dance around the flames that demanded more of the pungent roots and herbs.  Soon the wind made her presence felt as she whipped at the flames.  Dark clouds made their way to block the moon's illumination.  An entire atmosphere became charged with something ancient and primordial as another presence ripped through the material plain washing over everything like a vast ocean. 


I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge "
Book one available at amazon .com
As usual I'm writing from the 3rd eye for your 3rd eye in Another reality