This past Summer, I had the opportunity to complete a fellowship with The Women’s Institute of Historic Hudson Valley. In my application, I proposed a research project and explained how I planned to use the library’s archives and resources to support it. I initially set out to study the medical practices that enslaved women in the Hudson Valley incorporated into their daily lives. However, what began as a focused project quickly expanded into a series of interconnected ideas.
In the paper I wrote, I examined the herbal knowledge enslaved women carried with them from their homelands and how they adapted that knowledge to an unfamiliar landscape with unfamiliar plants. While working through the stack of books given to me for this research, one text in particular stood out: Working the Roots: Over 400 Years of Traditional African American Healing by Michele E. Lee. The book compiles interviews with African American healers and documents traditional medicines and remedies passed down through generations.
Chapter 9 caught my attention most, as it explored conjuring and hoodoo remedies. In another article I wrote: From Communion to Questions My Shift Away from Catholicism, I reflected on growing up Catholic and eventually letting go of my religious identity after completing my confirmation. Since then, I haven’t identified with any organized religion; the only spiritual practice I have consistently kept is manifestation. At the same time, I have been on a personal journey to learn more about my West African roots. My fellowship offered the perfect opportunity to explore hoodoo and voodoo/vodou, not only for my project, but for myself. One of the first questions I had was: What exactly is the difference between hoodoo, voodoo, and vodou?
Voodoo originated in West Africa, particularly among the Fon and Ewe peoples in regions that are now Benin, Ghana, Nigeria, Togo, and Guinea. Enslaved Africans brought it to the Americas, especially Haiti, where it blended with Catholicism to form Haitian Vodou (note the difference in spellings, as ‘Voodoo’ is used in New Orleans, and ‘Vodou’ is in regard to the Haitian religion). Followers of Haitian Vodou believe in an unknowable supreme creator, Bondye (from the French Bon Dieu, “good god”), while priests and priestesses communicate with Loa, spirits that mediate between humans and Bondye.
The three main families of Loa—Rada, Petro, and Gede—serve distinct roles: Rada spirits are calm and benevolent, Petro are fierce and powerful, and Gede, often associated with zombies, represent the dead who obey the living. According to the Universal Life Church, the concept of zombies in Haitian Vodou emerged as a spiritual means for enslaved people to cope with the “deadness of being a slave,” reflecting Vodou’s role as a force of endurance and resilience.
Hoodoo, however, is a mix of Indigenous herbalism and European folk magic that emphasises the practical uses of magic for purposes such as healing or protection, and is not a formal religion like Vodou. Hoodoo also blends different religions into its traditions, and often calls upon Roman Catholic saints, as some hoodoo practitioners consider themselves catholics who believe in both catholic saints and African gods.
Hoodoo was developed in the American South, as enslaved Africans carried their spiritual knowledge across the Atlantic out of necessity and faith. Practitioners of hoodoo often use materials such as roots (hence hoodoo also being known as rootwork), herbs, crystals, animal parts, and sometimes even bodily fluids for ritual purposes. Hoodoo also may reference religious texts such as the bible, or more specifically, the Book of Psalms, for help from saints or others to guide the use of roots or other talismans as a part of the ceremony.
One deity–or god–of hoodoo I especially became interested in was John the Conqueror, also known as High John the Conqueror. As detailed by Lee in her book, before the name was associated with the medicinal plant, it evolved in the African slave trade and the enslavement of African people in America. Stories often depicted High John as an African prince who was captured and put into slavery, but outsmarted his enslavers through cunning and nerve. It is said that when he was supposed to leave earth, he left his powers in the root of the Ipomea Jalapa plant, so that whenever used, his powers could be accessed by those with knowledge and faith to invoke his spirit.
This is the same plant that Fredrick Douglass, an American social reformer, abolitionist, and writer born into slavery, was given by the enslaved conjurer, Sandy Jenkins, for protection against slaveholders. He later escaped from his life of slavery. High John is said to provide protection, good luck in love and money, to command any situation, and is also used for success in court cases.
The presence of spiritual practices in African and African-American communities illustrates how traditions evolved under the weight of displacement and enslavement. Vodou preserved a structured religious framework rooted in West African cosmology and shaped by Haitian Catholic influences, while Hoodoo developed as a flexible, practice-based system that drew on African, Indigenous, and European knowledge. One key takeaway from my research was that these traditions and practices offered–and continue to offer more than belief; they provide strategies for healing, protection, and endurance.
Despite their depth and complexity, hoodoo and voodoo/vodou are often misunderstood. One of the most persistent misconceptions about voodoo/vodou, in particular, is that it is based on devil-worship or human sacrifice. This narrative has been amplified by sensationalized media portrayals. A notable example is The Princess and the Frog. Set in New Orleans, the film depicts Dr. Facilier, a voodoo priest, as the villain who uses his spiritual practices to manipulate and harm others. The Loa he communicates with are even portrayed as sinister forces. Although the film was groundbreaking for presenting Disney’s first Black princess, it still reinforces negative stereotypes about voodoo in subtle but harmful ways.
In response to these misconceptions, it felt important to highlight what hoodoo/voodoo/vodou are, and what they are not:
What It Is:
-A system of spiritual, herbal, and ritual practices rooted in African traditions.
-Practices that combine ancestral knowledge, ritual, and natural elements.
-A tool for survival, resilience, and resistance, historically providing enslaved Africans with ways to protect themselves and care for their communities in times of extreme oppression.
-A living, evolving tradition that continues to influence African American culture, contemporary spirituality, wellness practices, music, art, and community rituals today.
-A source of empowerment and community cohesion where social bonds, support networks, and collective identity are formed.
What It Isn’t:
-Devil-worship or inherently evil.
-Synonymous with human sacrifice.
-A cartoonish or ‘magical curse’ system as often depicted in movies and television.
-A monolithic tradition–practices vary by region, community, and individual practitioners.
-Inherently tied to misfortune or malevolent magic–it includes healing, protection, and positive intention.
-Superstition–these practices involve complex knowledge systems and should be coherent and purposeful.
The misrepresentation of hoodoo, voodoo, and vodou in popular culture often obscures the resilience, knowledge, and creativity embedded in these traditions.
My research this summer became more than an academic project; it became a way to engage deeply with the histories and practices that shaped African diasporic survival. From exploring herbal medicine and rootwork to learning about hoodoo and voodoo/vodou, I witnessed how knowledge was preserved, adapted, and carried forward despite enormous hardship.
This work not only expanded my understanding of history but also connected to my own journey with ancestry, spirituality, and self-expression. By uncovering these stories and challenging misconceptions, I hope to honor the ingenuity and endurance of those who came before me, and to carry lessons of care, resilience, and empowerment into my own work.
