Bayou Beast

Our Home, Lakay

Now let me be quite clear — I consider myself to be a simple creature by nature. A quiet, uncomplicated life was all I ever hoped for. With that being said, even I cannot deny the way my life has transpired would be considered extraordinary by many. My name is Agwé. More than likely an unusual name to many of you. It is pronounced "Ogg-way". At least I hope that makes it easier. What follows is a first-hand recording of my life, such as it were. Being reluctant to call any amount of attention to myself, it took years of persuading from loved ones for me to finally relent in my old age and put pen to parchment. Without any further dawdling, let us start at the very beginning.

I was born in the village of Lakay in the year 1872. For those unfamiliar, this was located in the heart of Bayou Nwa, a massive swamp in the southeastern United States. It wasn't an easy birth, or so I've been told. My feeding tube was wrapped around my neck three times, you see. Three times! The village healer hadn't seen anything like it. Claims it was a miracle I survived at all. But survive I did. You could say that survival became something of a habit for me over the course of my life.

Many years ago, my Gran immigrated from Haiti to America with my Mama and her siblings when they were children, searching for a better life in this land of opportunity. I consider myself fortunate to have grown up in our little village, surrounded by my entire extended family. As a matter of fact, we comprised the entirety of the town. Gran was there, a few aunts and uncles, and a whole pack of cousins. And Mama, of course. We were blessed, there's no denying it.

There weren't many more caring than my Mama, yet ferocious as a panther when the situation called for it. No one would be harming her loved ones on her watch, no sir. I was her only child. My father wasn't the staying type, I suppose. Never met the man, but Mama and me got by just fine. She sold fishing bait out of our home and I helped out as best a young boy could. Collecting crickets and worms sure never felt like work to me. It let me explore the swamp to my heart's content, which was usually all day, every day.

As a boy, one might say I possessed a good-natured soul. Gentle. Frequently found with a smile on my face, whistling as I went. Usually found in naught but my favorite pair of overalls.  Ever since I can remember, there was a desire within me to protect the vulnerable. Though often quiet and measured, there was kindness. And a deep love for my life and the beings within it. How could there not be? I was lucky enough to be surrounded by people I cared about greatly in a land that was dear to me. Not everyone finds themselves in possession of such valuable things.

Now don't get me wrong, there were plenty of things one could dislike about living in the bayou. Between the unrelenting humidity, and mosquitos that seemed to relent even less. There was also the small matter of venomous snakes and man-eating gators to watch out for. Did I mention the vicious panthers? Despite all this and more, the bayou felt a lot like paradise to me. With its soothing warmth and miles upon miles of untouched wetlands, I filled my days with swimming, exploring, climbing trees, and playing games in the mud with my cousins. It's where I learned to be resourceful. To be happy and free.

My uncles were great role models for me. Though certainly not perfect, they were honest, hard-working men. Always willing to pass on skills and lessons to me like I was their own son. I wanted nothing more than to soak up everything they had to offer, through both their words and actions. It was they that taught me how to live off the land, how to locate food in all its varieties, how to remain silent when sneaking through the marshes, and countless other lessons that alone would fill every page of this manuscript.

Our family was kind and peaceful as a whole. Violence never did come naturally to me. With that being said, I was warned that some of the folk that lived outside the bayou could be very different from us. That there were evil men willing to rob and cheat. Even kill to get what they wanted. As a young boy, this frightened me greatly, but as the years passed in peace, I mostly forgot about the outside world. I reckon most of us did. We rarely saw anyone pass through the swamp, and if they did, they never lingered for long.

Mama, Gran, and my aunts loved to cook. And I just so happened to love to eat. It seemed to me a perfectly made match. Fact is, I was always quite large for my age. Even a little pudgy as a child. Now I'm not one to brag, but as I entered my teenage years, I got strong. Real strong. Strong as a bear, my Gran would often say. If anyone in the village needed help with a heavy task, such as hauling a fallen tree, or retrieving a cart stuck in the mud, I became their go-to fella. I sure never minded. Helping others was always something that brought me great joy.

At this point in my tale, it seems as good a time as any to mention my family's beliefs. We practiced a form of voodoo, you see. Now I don't intend to go into great detail about our practices. I've learned from a lifetime of experience that most people become alarmed once the word voodoo is uttered. Certainly, I can recognize how our rituals would seem very different from an outsider's cultural practices. But what I do want to make very clear is that we didn't wish or cause harm to anyone, as the gossipers claimed in that day. First and foremost, we were a peaceful people. Central to our people's doctrine was a belief in the bayou's voodoo spirits. That if they were honored and respected, they would provide us with guidance and strength.

I'll never forget the words of my Gran as she taught us of the spirits. When she first traveled to America she described being guided by some unknown, yet familiar force into the swamps. Once here, she experienced an intense connection to the spirits. A closeness not felt to the same degree anywhere else beforehand. Over time, we have come to believe that when one of us passes on from this life, they live on. Joining the spirits that reside in the swamp from the other side. As a result, a strong feeling of sacredness was developed for the land. We felt encouraged to preserve our home and respect all forms of life found within.

Early on in my life, I developed this same strong love of the land, and most especially for the animals within. I recall as a young boy being drawn to them. Recognizing the pure spirits these creatures possessed, and desiring fully to protect them from harm. Countless hours of my childhood were spent leaping with the frogs, swimming with the catfish, or simply watching the turtles as they slowly journeyed through the mud. Simply put, I loved them. They were innocent and free, and deserved to remain so.

Over time, I found myself becoming more and more in tune with the animals. This was a gift, as Mama saw it, given to me by the bayou spirits themselves. For she witnessed the way that many creatures seemed to be calmed in my presence. That they wouldn't feel threatened or flee as they might with another member of our family. Certainly this didn't mean I was eager to jump in front of a mother alligator and her eggs. All creatures had the ability to be dangerous, with instincts to be respected. But my love for the animals was pure, with only their best interests at heart. By some miracle, many of these creatures could sense my peaceable nature. Once feeling that, they would often feel comforted around me and display that same peace in turn.

Like most growing boys, I was most surely careless at times. This, combined with my growing gift with the animals, had the potential to put me in some highly dangerous situations. Let's talk about the most memorable of those situations next, shall we?