Baron Samedi

Saturday. The French word is Samedi. In Kreyol, the French and Spanish-infected, Creolized African language of Haitian natives, the word becomes Samdi. The sixth day of the week. The day after crucifixion, when Christ sojourned into the underworld to gather lost souls before returning on Easter Sunday to rise in glory from the dead. That obscure personification of the Miraculous One is sometimes referred to as the Lord of Saturday. That's where I get my name: Baron Samedi in French, Bawon Samdi in Kreyol. Spirit of Death. Father of the Dead. I have offspring whom Haitians call Gede — which is why I am also referred to as Papa Gede. Since we represent death, we tend to look the part — ghoulish, as one might expect; dark and somber, so we wear black. Coming from the underworld we are susceptible to light, which explains the sunglasses. I am serious and forbidding at times for my responsibility is great. But invite me to a party and look out! I love to dance; and after overseeing the cycle of regeneration for so long, I greatly appreciate sex. That's why Haitians love me so. Because I like to get down; raucous and potentially offensive, if you know what I mean. I dare say I am often the life of the party, if you'll excuse the pun.

Haitian people say that if a person is not worthy of death, Gede will not allow it. I am not sure if I agree or disagree — about it being a question of merit. You'll just have to judge for yourself.

Excerpt from Saturday Comes,
a novel by Carine Fabius