“Speak to any islander above a certain age and chances are quite good that she, or he will have a duppy story to tell you about.”
- Davey McNab, PÄYÄ Magazine
Artwork by Virginia Castillo
'Duppies' was originally published in the Coconut Telegraph in October 1996 and is republished here with permission from Marion Seaman and the Bay Islands Magazine. Below, you’ll also find a recording of Virginia (Virgie) telling the story.
Duppies
by Virginia Castillo
Mama would often say to one of us, “Me love, go out and bring in the tub," or "go get the clothes off the line.” If it was in the daytime, no problem. But anytime after dark, especially if there had been a recent death in the neighborhood, this most certainly was a problem. Duppies.
To an Islander, a Duppy is the soul or the spirit of the deceased. Having lost its host or body, its only purpose in “life” is to seek out the living and scare them to death.
Duppies are amazingly resourceful. They are able to manifest themselves in just about any form--like black cats, mysterious women in gauzy shrouds, full-grown headless men, iron hogs with iron piglets. Sometimes they don’t even need a physical form, they're just whispers or groans as you hurry past the graveyard. Oh God! Try not to look back!
They also love playing pranks, like opening locked doors, moving curtains when there is no breeze, rattling dishes on the shelves, and moving things around the house, in short, anything to make an Islander jumpy and scared of his own shadow.
Duppies are downright irresistible, too, being our favorite subject for night-time stories. How exciting it is to sit out on a dock in the moonlight, gentle breezes blowin', enjoying a crab feast or eating watermelon--there was always someone ready to start telling "duppy story."
The real fun was going home after a session of who could tell the scariest story. Just when our kinky hair was straightened out from pure fright, it would be time to walk on home. Not one of us wanted to be on the outer edges of the group. Those who lived in high houses had a particularly hard time going upstairs, because of mysterious hands reaching out from under the steps.
From generations dealing with Duppies, islanders developed various peaceful means of co-existence with the darn things. Sure, they would sometimes get out of hand, but there were lots of ways of convincing them to “stay in their place”.
One way was that when someone died and you mentioned their name, you quickly said, “God bless the dead”. When a body was being dressed for a funeral, you always remembered to pass a young child over it several times. Also while dressing the dead, you would carry on a regular conversation with the deceased. “Ok, Frances, let's lift yo arms up.” And remember, never walk too hard on the floor, if the deceased had been washed there. If attending a wake, never say goodnight when leaving. The last thing you want is a Duppy following you home.
Then there are some really impatient Duppies who won’t even wait to be properly dead.
Something like this happened to my friend, Stella, from Oak Ridge. She was driving home late one afternoon from Jonesville. She passed Uncle Clark sitting in his big dory in the same spot where he always anchored to fish. She greeted him. He waved back. She got to Oak Ridge just in time to hear on the radio that Uncle Clark had died in his house, just about the same time she'd passed him!
As long as Islanders can hold onto their vivid imaginations, there will always be Duppies helping to make life exciting in these beautiful Bay Islands. Who could want it possibly any other way?
Disclaimer: Video was filmed during a noisy art show. Audio has been cleaned up, but some parts remain hard to hear—subtitles included for clarity.
This short essay delves into duppy folklore in the Bay Islands of Honduras, tracing its origins and reflecting on the region's connection with the spiritual world.
Tie the Toes: A Note on Duppies
by Socorro (Soqui) Lopez
Imagine sitting on a wooden dock with inky water below and an obsidian sky above. Suspended in the space between two states of matter, I question whether there is a better setting to tell stories of the dead.
For more than two hundred years, duppy stories and rituals have drifted through the Caribbean—fluid and shifting like whispers on a warm, dark breeze. Often appearing in human or animal form, duppies are believed to be the souls of the departed tasked with haunting the living. Reflecting a worldview in which life and the afterlife are closely intertwined, these beliefs are theorized to have originated in West Africa. A folklore journal written in the late ’60s, for instance, detailed that duppies in Sierra Leone were linked to ancestral spirits who guard the living and uphold moral order.
There is a certain reverence for these stories in the Bay Islands (pirate treasure remained buried as late as the early nineties for fear of their curses). Duppy superstitions are especially pervasive at wakes, when the risk of encountering one is highest. Here are a few tricks I have heard to keep restless spirits in check:
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- Tie the deceased person’s big toes together so the duppy can’t leave.
- Make sure a dead person enters a house head-first (or is it feet-first?) so the duppy wont stay.
The fascinating folklore journal mentioned above documented other ways islanders in Roatan kept duppies at bay:
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- Place a slice of lime behind the head of the deceased to stop the duppy from appearing.
- Scatter white sand on the coffin so the duppy must count every grain before troubling the living again.
- Use black thread to pin “run-duppy” charms wrapped in black cloth over your heart to ward off evil spirits.
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Never answer the first or even second time someone calls your name outside of your house at night. Duppies are not capable of calling a name three times.
Duppy stories may be less common now, but they remain a vital part of the Honduras’ Afro-Caribbean heritage. May we never forget these tales and customs, for they keep life mysterious and keep us on our toes. And what is life without a little wonder and a good scare every once in a while?
