The Ashanti priestess stood casually on a cement clearing in front of her home, where her personal drummers erupted into polyrhythm. She wore a strapless white cloth over her torso and a full grass skirt around her waist. Her body exuded a white glow from the flour she had poured over her face and body.
From her ghostly lips dangled a dirty cigarette, which she had snatched from a generous American. Her large stomach hung lazily forward as she slumped into the fog of nicotine, which she broke only to shake along with the vibrating drums. For each student who danced with her, she rewarded a passionate hug that exploded from her body in white dust.
Later, in her shrine, the priestess reclined her body onto the carpeted floor. The shrine was small and empty, but the light was such that it hit each curve on her body and thus magnified her size tenfold. Almost as soon as I entered, she opened her mouth to bestow the following warning:
“Be careful of who you befriend. Do not be too trusting, for if you are not careful, a man you love will physically harm you and make you cry.”
As I sat in the small room, I felt the immediate urge to disregard her warning. After all, what did this strange woman know of me and my manners of love? On the other hand, the voice that spoke to me was not of a human priestess, but of a visiting spirit. For that reason, I thought I might listen.
As the priestess had assured me, the spirits who possessed her were never, ever wrong.