Word has it that in the coastal lowlands of Georgia, a mysterious figure looks over the Gullah people: Doctah Mojo. Some say he's a wrinkled old man, worn straw hat upon his brow, dainty crooked spectacles dangling from his nose, whom you could easily mistake for your own Grandfather! Others protest she's a young women, tall and strong, in a long, flowing red dress, infinitely beautiful and who would stand out in any room. Still others believe the Doctah is a sort of haant ~ a ghostly apparition or spirit, appearing only for a brief flash in the corner of the eye or in the reflection of a mirror. Regardless, the legend of Doctah Mojo is universal to the Gullah people ~ from the oldest grandmother to the youngest speaking child, any one could tell you story, even if the details may very from storyteller to storyteller.

 

Doctah Mojo received no degree in medicine, yet cures the sick. And though no one can say for sure who the Doctah really is, Doctah Mojo's intervention brings many people together and makes many fall in love, for, as you see, the Doctah is a healer by trade.

 

Lady Mariama had not been feeling well for some time. Every morning she awoke with a pain in her back and her neck. What's worse, though her village was in the sticky heat of a Georgia summer, she had managed to catch a nasty cold that kept her in bed for nearly a week. Every day her grandchildren, one by one, would come to her bedside and plead:

 

“Grumma, Grumma, tek’care yo'self. Sen fuh da Doctah. 'E mek ya bettuh um he’lt’y”

 

“Oughtuh b’habe deestunt, chillun,” Grumma would call back, though due to her ailment it hurt her throat. She continued in a softened yet firm voice, “Uh haffuh  b'eegnunt to b’leew een dat haant.” Grumma too had once believed the legend of Doctah Mojo, but she grew older she begin to find the story to be just that, a story.

 

Day in and day out Mariama's gran'chillun continued pleading with her, accusing their Grumma of being “swonguh um stubb’n” (proud and stubborn), but Mariama maintained that she was used to “livin’ ot da waddah and on the lan’” and didn't need any “bad mout’ or cuss” (curse, that is) from some imaginary haat.

 

But one late night when the sky was black and starless and the sea air was blowing gently inland through Mariama's bedside window, this night Mariama felt the pains and aches more ever than before. Just before she went to sleep, Mariama whispered, presumably to herself, “Kumbayah, Doctah.” Just after she closed her eyes, she thought she heard a whisper back, “Uh gwine gone dey tomorru...” Immediately Mariama sprang up and looked all around, but no one was to be seen. “Chillun?” she called out into the darkness, but no answer returned. Had she really asked Doctah Mojo to come to her aid? Would he really come tomorrow? For what seemed many hours, Mariama laid awake in bed, wondering if the night's event had truly occurred or if her cold had spawned a fever. But eventually tiredness washed over Mariama, and she fell into a deep, replenishing sleep.

 

Mariama woke up late the next morning. The sun no longer hovered in her seaside window, so it must have been afternoon. Mariama sat up and stretched ~ the pains were still there; the Doctah had obviously not come as he said he would. Mariama was disappointed until she noticed a paper bag on her bedside table. Inside were a variety of bittles ot da waddah and on the lan: a handful of rice and peas, a salt fish mackerel, half a sweet potato and, among other things, a brief handwritten note:

 

“Bile um nyam... cordin’ ta taste!”

 

As instructed, Mariama boiled and ate the bittles mysteriously provided her. That night she felt better than she had felt in years. The next day the cold had completely gone from her, and the morning after she woke up without a pain in her body. That week, Mariama gathered up all the members of her family, as she had not done in some time, and made for them all the talisman meal that the Doctah had prescribed, which soon became a family tradition. Short of thanking the her visitor with a “T’ENGKY Doctah!” every night before bed, all Mariama could think to say on the matter was “All dem chillun done fuh smaa't.”

 

So if you need you need medicine to heal your ailments, a potion to  mend your heart, or if you simply want to see whether the Doctah really exists, all you need do is call out “Kumbayah!” in your best Gullah. And, if you've done it just right, if the sea air is blowing inland, and your listening carefully, you just might hear a faint voice whisper back, “Uh gwine gone dey tomorru...”

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