Saint James the Greater is nearly always shown in Iberian Catholic art the same way, mounted, armed, riding down an enemy beneath his horse's hooves, an image forged during the centuries of the Reconquista and carried across the Atlantic with Spanish and later Haitian colonial Catholicism. That martial iconography is exactly what let Ogou, the Vodou lwa of iron, fire and warfare, be read onto the same saint rather than onto a gentler figure: two traditions independently arrived at warrior imagery for the same July date and recognized each other in it, the same pattern of parallel identification that produced Erzulie Dantor's association with the Virgin at Saut-d'Eau. What sets Plaine-du-Nord apart from that other pilgrimage is the medium. Where Saut-d'Eau's devotion runs through clean falling water, Plaine-du-Nord's runs through mud, the Bassin Saint-Jacques, a pool that pilgrims submerge themselves in rather than merely stand beneath, an immersion widely read locally as more visceral and more total than a shower of spray. For roughly two weeks around the 24 and 25 July feast days, pilgrims arrive from across Haiti and its diaspora, sleep in the town in whatever shelter can be found, and cycle between the mud pool and the parish churches keeping the Catholic feast in parallel, offering candles and food, sacrificing animals, and, for many participants, undergoing possession understood as Ogou's own presence taking hold of them. As with Saut-d'Eau, no church authority and no Vodou authority polices the boundary between the two observances during the festival itself; pilgrims move between them as their own devotion directs, and the pilgrimage's continued vitality across generations is itself evidence that most participants have never experienced the two as competing claims on the same July date.