Anbadlo

“Look, Grandma! I found one!”

“Show me, my dahling.”

The little boy picked up the piece of drift wood and ran to present it to his grandmother who was lounging on a deckchair she had anchored in the sand.

“Hum… Yes. That is exactly it.”

“You said you would tell me the whole story. Can you tell me now?”

“Of course, my baby.”

“The ancestors tell us that many, many moons ago, Manman Dlo was born somewhere on the coast of West Africa. Not on the land but in the salty water. She was the most ancient water goddess and she gave birth to many divine children of the sea: they were mermaids just like her. The people in Africa loved and respected Manman Dlo. They would bring her and her children very thoughtful gifts all the time: watermelon, coffee, beautiful shiny coins she would fashion into necklaces and bracelets, and precious broaches for her hair.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Yes, baby. She was absolutely stunning. She had wonderful cocoa skin, chocolate eyes and gorgeous, plump lips… just like you!”

She tickled his chin and the child giggled.

“The people’s gifts kept Manman Dlo and her children young, beautiful and very powerful. In exchange, she would allow the fishermen to have a bountiful catch every time. One sad day, some people came from the North and grabbed the people from West Africa to put them on boats and take them away.”

“Oh… She lost her friends?”

“Well… Manman Dlo would not let them go so easily. She called on her children and together, they followed the ships all the way to the Caribbean; and they settled right here, in Guadeloupe. It took her quite a bit of energy because the trip was long and she lost a lot of her power.”

“She was tired?”

“Oh yes, sweetness. Many years passed. She was still exhausted and she was starting to look a bit older too. You see, in Guadeloupe, the people were not able to bring her and her children all the gifts they used to. Some of them brought her coffee, bananas and some rum—she liked the rum. But they only did it once in a while. They were not free to do it like before; so Manman Dlo barely survived.”

“What about her children?”

“Manman Dlo no longer had the power and energy to take care of all of them. They stopped swimming around together, and laughing and making jokes, like they used to. One day, they even stopped moving altogether. One by one, they turned into trees under the water. It was next to the big rock over there. You see? Near Mosquito Island. People called it Anbadlo Woods, the forest under the water.”

“Is it magical?”

“For some time, it was. Some people kept the tradition and they went with their boats to leave gifts for them. My grandmother heard from her grandmother that the trees would dance when people dropped their gifts in the water; and there was a great abundance of fish. Some people would even dive to be with them and experience their beautiful energy. They say that swimming in Anbadlo Woods would bring luck in love. My father told me he had gone to swim there before he met my dear mother. Unfortunately, these good times did not last.”

“What happened?”

“Too many people turned away from the old ways. Manman Dlo became an old mermaid: tired, wrinkled and gray—a little like me.” She chuckled. “After some time, she too turned into a tree in Anbadlo. She became the largest tree.”

“Bigger than a mango tree?”

“Oh yes! Big like a very old kapok tree.”

“And what happened to her? And to the village Anbadlo?”

“Oh… I like that you call it a village because they were together as a family.”

The little boy straightened up, feeling proud.

“That’s when the story becomes a little sad, my dahling.”

“Yes?” He was apprehensive now.

“Because Manman Dlo and her children no longer had powers, they could not protect themselves from the sargassa that come every year from Brazil. You know, the big clusters of brown algae. They travel up to the islands and in some places, there is so much of them, like here and right over Anbadlo, that they cover the bottom of the sea. It turns completely black and nothing green can live in the darkness.”

“Did they die?”

“Well, gods… and to some extent people, don’t truly die. They transform. You see, we now have bits and pieces like this from them.” She picked up the chunk of driftwood. “And we can still show honor and respect. As a matter of fact, we’re going to place this at the foot of the altar at home.”

“I wish it wasn’t over.”

“Who said it was? Some people say Anbadlo Woods could become alive again. Remember when I said Manman Dlo was the most ancient water goddess? Well, she has younger sisters… Oshun and Yemaya are still in Cuba today.”

The story, read by the author (with a little help from voice filters)