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TAKE BACK WHAT THE DEVIL STOLE
TAKE BACK WHAT THE DEVIL STOLE
AN AFRICAN AMERICAN PROPHETS ENCOUNTERS IN THE SPIRIT WORLD
ONAJE X. O. WOODBINE
Columbia University PressNew York
Columbia University Press
Publishers Since 1893
New YorkChichester, West Sussex
cup.columbia.edu
Copyright 2021 Onaje X. O. Woodbine
All rights reserved
The author wishes to acknowledge grant support from the Louisville Institute.
E-ISBN 978-0-231-55202-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Woodbine, Onaje X. O., author.
Title: Take back what the devil stole : An African American Prophets Encounters in the Spirit World / by Onaje X. O. Woodbine.
Description: New York : Columbia University Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020032459 (print) | LCCN 2020032460 (ebook) | ISBN 9780231197168 (hardback)| ISBN 9780231197175 (pbk.) | ISBN 9780231552028 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Haskins, Donna. | Christianity and other religionsAfrican. | Afro-Caribbean cults. | African American womenReligion. | Religious biographyMassachusettsBoston. | Boston (Mass.)Religious life and customs.
Classification: LCC BR128.A16 W66 2021 (print) | LCC BR128.A16 (ebook) | DDC 277.44/61083092 [B]dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020032459
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020032460
A Columbia University Press E-book.
CUP would be pleased to hear about your reading experience with this e-book at .
Cover art: Billie J / agencyrush.com
To my mother, Robin M. Offley
A ballerina without equal, who gifted me with the power of imagination
And to Oluwatoyin Salau, warrior queen, gone but not forgotten
#SayHerName
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th empyreal palace of the thundring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th unbounded soul.
...................
Such is thy powr, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the sceptre oer the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sovreign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Phillis Wheatley, On Imagination,
Poems on Various Subjects Religious and Moral (1773)
CONTENTS
M s. Donna Haskins and I like to say that this is our book. But it would not have come into being without her fearless courage and spiritual genius. Donna dedicates her life story to her sister Evelyn Anderson, and she gives all the Glory and Honor to my savior Jesus Christ. Donnas daughter Joy and her granddaughter Amber were also very giving of their time. Many of the names in this book have been replaced with pseudonyms.
I also give thanks to my mother, Robin M. Offley, who sacrificed more than I can ever know for me to live, and my grandmother, Elaine Bell, who put food on the table and wisdom in my ears. Ms. Wilson, Ms. Doris Barros, Ms. Nile, Ms. Andrea Major Herbert, thank you for being my surrogate mothers, protectors, and grandmothers.
I am indebted to mentors and scholars who have opened the way for me to contribute to the world of ideas. I will be forever grateful to Stephen Prothero and Walter Fluker for being in the right place at the right time. Other mentors who opened the way are Chris R. Schlauch, Rosanna Salcedo, Dwayne Tunstall, Emmett Price III, Chief Awodele Ifayemi, Linda Carter Griffith, Christopher Lehrich, Imani-Sheila Newsome-Camara, and Victor Kestenbaum. Many thanks as well for the expert guidance and sage advice of editor Wendy Lochner and the entire editorial team at Columbia University Press.
I am deeply appreciative of my friends and colleagues at American University who supported my research, including my graduate student research assistant Kendall Tate. Copyeditors Marisa Pagano and Anita OBrien commented on the manuscript with expert precision, and the beautiful photographs in this book are by Meera Subramanian (except for ). I would also like to thank Marvin Barros Jr., Manny Wilson, Bokeem Woodbine, Russell Paulding, Adam Hayes, Maurice Anderson, Andr Holland, Jeffery Mayi, and Damon Harper for their unconditional support of my work.
Finally, I am grateful to my extraordinary partner, Folasade Woodbine. I could not have asked for a better half. My son, Sowande Woodbine, you are proof the world can heal itself. To my father, Robert J. Woodbine, and my grandfather, Leroy Bell, thank you for your guidance and wisdom. And to my daughter, Ewaoluwa Woodbine, this book is for you.
S itting on his opioid-addicted mothers couch, the tall, dark boy with the magnetic smile watched the stranger, Donna, in silence. You want to play basketball again? she asked, perched across from Jason, her eyes twinkling.
The boy was shocked. How did this older woman, a complete stranger, know about his hip surgery, which ended his short-lived college basketball career and, more important, the game that held his soul together on Bostons inner-city streets?
Yeah, I want to play again, Jason answered.
You will, said Donna. Just not how you think. You gonna play professional [just not how you think].
Jasons mother had asked Donna to come and bless her familys apartment, to rid the dark cracks and corners of what the older woman called demonic creatures, the ones that turned themselves into ordinary objects, such as an old book resting on a countertop or a dirty microwave perched in the kitchen, to escape notice by capable eyes. But Donnas true purpose that day was to speak life into Jasons heart, to offer a Black boy hope that he would again play the game he loved despite the damage done to his body and the dangers of his environment.
Jason called Donna on the telephone several nights later. Jason, the Holy Spirit told me your hip should be feeling better. Theres nothing wrong with your hip. Your hip should be fine. Have you tried to go on the court? Go on the court for an hour and when you come back, call me.
Yeah, Jason countered, but I cant jump, Donna. I cant play on one leg!
Go outside right now and play, she insisted, ignoring his incredulity. Go to the gym and play and then you call me back, you hear?!
Jason didnt know it at the time, but Donnas words had remarkable power. Whatever she willed into being was likely to happen. Like any prophet worth her salt, she had a tongue that could whip things into existence. Alright, Jason returned, but Im telling you, I cant jump with just one leg.
Jason grabbed his basketball anyway and hustled over to the gym. As he walked onto the court, he focused on the orange rim holding the net and mustered the courage to limp toward the hoop, ball in hand. Leaping into the air, Jason reached upward, as far as his arms could go, before smashing the ball down against the side of the rim.