FOUNDED: 18th century, when the French brought thousands of slaves from Africa to Haiti.
STATUS: Still active in rural Haiti, where a belief in zombies persists.
EXCLUSIVITY FACTOR: Inclusion is by invitation only, and members must have some knowledge of sorcery.
SECRECY FACTOR: It is said that members will die before they will tell the secrets of the Bizango, and those who dare speak about it are punished severely.
THREAT FACTOR: High. The Bizango is responsible for policing many rural areas of Haiti, and peasants are reportedly afraid to speak out against this powerful group for fear they will be turned into zombies.
QUIRK FACTOR: The Voodoo religion has been widely spoofed, with caricatures of witch doctors, voodoo dolls, and the like. However, Bizango practices are different from regular Voodoo worship.
Those who live in fear of the zombie apocalypse best stay out of Haiti. Many believe that this Caribbean country is home to the living dead—people turned into zombies by “magical” means and then forced into slavery.
According to legend (a phrase which should be borne in mind throughout this section), secret societies, collectively known as the Bizango, rule the Haitian countryside. The societies are a legacy of colonial Haiti—composed of modern-day descendants of escaped slaves. They maintain law and order in their communities and dole out justice to wrongdoers. The most horrible punishment they have in their repertoire is zombification—with the fear of such a fate keeping locals from crossing this powerful secret society.
Zombies feature prominently is Haitian folklore. Unlike the terrified folks in Hollywood horror movies who want to defeat the undead, Haitians aren’t afraid of zombies—sometimes, if rescued, a zombified person will actually be taken in and cared for by relatives. Rather, Haitians are scared of becoming zombies—a fear that echoes the days of slavery, when they were helpless to defy their white masters.
So how does one become a zombie? The first step is “dying.” There exists a “zombie powder,” the main psychoactive ingredient of which is Tetrodotoxin, a toxin derived from a puffer fish found in Haitian waters. Additional ingredients are said to be tarantulas and other sea creatures. This powder is transferred to the victim via an open wound, and when the poison gets into the bloodstream, the victim falls ill and “dies” within a matter of hours. . . Except the victim is not truly dead but in a temporary coma-like state of paralysis mimicking death that even doctors have mistaken for the real thing.
In rural Haiti, dead bodies (as well as those believed to be dead) are not embalmed; moreover they are often interred in aboveground crypts—practices that make capturing and creating a zombie easier than they would be in other parts of the world. Some families of the deceased, if they are unsure whether their relative is truly dead, take precautions against this by keeping watch in the cemetery for several days to deter grave robbers. Another solution is cutting open or poisoning bodies to ensure real death. There is also a more Indiana Jones-style method of protecting against crypt creepers: A knife is placed in the right hand of the corpse, and the arm is flexed in such a way that it will spring up to stab whoever disturbs the body.
But if a Bizango zombie-maker or his assistants manage to abscond with a living body, they will wait until the person regains consciousness to administer another drug, a hallucinogen that keeps the victim docile. Then, the “zombie” is often sold to a master and forced to toil on the sugar plantations that still survive on the island. For residents of a country that fought so dearly for freedom from their French oppressors, a life of servitude as a zombie is the ultimate torture.
No amateur zombie masters need apply: to join the Bizango, one must have some knowledge of sorcery. Prominent figures such as Voodoo priests, chefs de section (local magistrates), and other elected officials may take part, thus strengthening the group’s authority. Membership is voluntary but exclusive—candidates must be invited to join. If an individual is found to be an acceptable candidate, he or she must agree to contribute financially to the group, to respect the hierarchy, and, most importantly, to uphold the secrecy of their magical rituals. Both men and women can hold seats in the complicated hierarchy of the group, which includes positions such as emperor, flag queen, and prefect of discipline. One’s ranking is revealed through subtle manipulation of the fingers while shaking hands to greet another member.
After a candidate masters the secret handshake and other cryptic forms of Bizango communication and proves his or her loyalty, the president of the society may decide to accept the candidate as a permanent member. The induction ceremony requires the initiate to ingest two potions: one bitter and one sweet, embodying the Bizango motto “Sweet as honey, bitter as bile.” Sweet, because the society is good to deserving parties; and bitter, because members must enforce the rules by means that are surely not sweet. The initiate then swears before the society on pain of death not to reveal their secrets and ingests yet another potion—this one much harsher on the system, said to “leave the clothes on your back in shreds.” It’s also alleged that some members receive a tattoo to protect them from black magic spells, though some of the Bizango themselves are in fact bokors, or practitioners of black magic.
Another Bizango motto is “Order and respect for the night,” and that is reflected in their nocturnal meetings. One fairly recent account has the Bizango members dressed in red and black robes, meeting in a makeshift temple decorated with images of sinister spirits. The temple is lit by a candle perched on a human skull. (Other centuries-old Bizango art incorporating human skulls has been found, so this morbid detail rings true.)
The robed attendants then dance and sing, praising Voodoo gods called loa. Next, they fall into an ordered line according to Bizango rank and pay their respects to a small black coffin, offering money and other sacrifices. Drumming, dancing, and singing continue on through the night, an indication to others in the village to stay inside so as not to disturb the festivities.
It’s not a party that most villagers wish to attend. If someone dares cross either a member of the society or another person in the community, they can be brought before the Bizango for a trial. A man named Clairvius Narcisse was one such offender. In 1962, he was zombified by the Bizango on account of his failure to support his illegitimate children. A doctor signed his death certificate—but eighteen years later, Narcisse showed up in his home village, very much alive.
Narcisse told the horrible story of the years he spent in zombie servitude. He was given the zombie powder and subsequently “died.” While others gathered round his deathbed, he was completely cognizant but unable to express this to anyone. Then, to his horror, he was buried alive. Less than twenty-four hours later, Narcisse was removed from his grave by a bokor and his assistants, who beat him violently. Traumatized, Narcisse was then given another drug that possibly helped to erase his memory and keep him subservient. The zombie makers then led him to labor in the fields on a remote part of the island where he would not be recognized.
Continued doses of the drug kept Narcisse docile and passive for years— but when his zombie master died and could no longer administer the toxin, its effect eventually wore off, and Narcisse wandered back home. He had a scar on his cheek, said to be from a nail driven into his coffin.
Creating and transporting zombies is serious business for the Bizango. They are authorized to issue a paper called a laissez-passer, and seizing a zombie is illegal without an official transfer of the document. Their control over the zombie population is what keeps the communities they preside over obedient. If someone dares go to higher authorities with accusations against the Bizango, the charges may not be pursued—and for the accuser, there may be hell to pay. Even some more educated, urban Haitians are reluctant to meddle in the society’s affairs for fear of being turned into zombies themselves.
And for Bizango members who break the code of secrecy, there is severe punishment in store. Death (real death) seems preferable to this terrifying scenario: In one society, wrongdoers are taken out in a boat and, when far from land, are beaten and poisoned with the zombie potion. While still conscious, the traitor is pushed overboard, knowing that once the poison sets in, he’ll be helpless and unable to swim to shore.
And for Bizango members who break the code of secrecy, there is severe punishment in store. In one society, wrongdoers are taken out in a boat and, when far from land, are beaten and poisoned with the zombie potion. While still conscious, the traitor is pushed overboard, knowing that once the poison sets in, he’ll be helpless and unable to swim to shore. Death (real death) seems preferable to this terrifying scenario—even if it is just another part of the Bizango myth.