Baba Who? Babalú!

Where Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa Got Irete Meyi

2012-01-11T15:32:00.004-05:00

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It happened that Lázaro was having a hard time. Storms had cost him a great deal of money. He was unemployed like so many other people, and he was witnessing the slow degradation of all that he loved. So Lázaro saved his pennies and brought down Orula. The three diviners pulled the odu Irete Meyi. The sign came in osobo ikú otonowá, the difficulty of natural death. Here is what the diviners said:

This is the sign of the Earth and it controls all that is implied by Death. The Earth’s greatest aché is endurance through difficulty, upheaval, and change. It is Asojano in person, and his spirituality is born here. This sign takes on everything that is cast out in life.

Orula says you will die when Olofi ordains it. You will die at the right time, but the sign comes with negativity, so you have to be careful to avoid its pitfalls. This sign is the birthplace of many illnesses. With negativity, you are moving toward death, and if you get sick, it will be hard to save you. Sickness is the entryway to Death. The main illnesses that are likely to manifest fall into several main categories:

1. Communicable diseases: For example, smallpox, leprosy, pleurisy, pestilent fevers, epidemics, infections that do not respond to antibiotics. Epidemics start with one but endanger us all.

2. Skin diseases: For example, Abscesses, boil, pimples, sores on the arms and legs, scabies, eczema and other skin eruptions.

3. Breakdown of bodily systems: For example, infertility, impotence, digestive disorders. It can be very difficult to have children in this sign. Children do not develop normally in the womb, and birth defects and miscarriages are common here.

4. Paralysis: You may have herniated discs that it hard to move. You must be extremely careful not to fall, as you can injury yourself severely. Be extra careful when climbing or getting on or off a bus or bicycle.

5. Blood diseases: For example, leukemia. Where illness is is born, the blood is sick. The parasite is in the blood.

You may have terrible ringing in your ears, and you may feel a great weakness in your hands and legs.

The elders in your family are likely to pass away soon.

The sign also says the one who drains the river destroys the home of the fish. This reminds you of the need to maintain a healthy environment for yourself, your family, and your community. It speaks of environmental contamination that can harm you and yours.

This sign resuscitates the dead, as it went to the land of the dead but returned to walk with the living. Here you see why we say that Irete Meyi is Asojano in person.

Although you are not likely to listen, the odu says go to the doctor and get a check-up.

You suffer because of your character. You tend to be proud, hardheaded, vain, willful, and capricious. You think yourself superior to everyone, and you think that you do not need to follow the same rules that everyone else does. This leads to swearing, law-breaking, and even perversion. You may even delight in breaking taboos.

You like to praise yourself and enumerate your accomplishments, but you do not like to work hard. It is difficult for you to sacrifice for anyone else. Rather you are inclined to sacrifice to get what you alone seek. You have difficulty admitting your mistakes. In fact, with osobo, you are capable of being extraordinarily cruel and cold. When angry, you are truly terrifying to everyone around you. The furious sledge hammer sinks the anvil into the Earth.

These characteristics do not endear you to the people around you. In fact, your disregard for other may lead to your infecting them with your illnesses.

This is a sign of judgment, and your attitude and behavior may also be judged very harshly by Olofi and the orichas. In this sign illness is sometime a punishment. There is a famous story about Babalú-Ayé in this sign that speaks to the ramifications of a difficult character. Where Babalú-Ayé cursed Coconut Tree. Babalú was exhausted and hungry from his long walk, when he arrived to a place in the forest where a beautiful coconut tree grew. He drew near and asked Coconut Tree, “If you would be so kind as to give me one of your children to slake my thirst and calm my hunger…” Coconut Tree was very proud and answered that his children were not to be given away as gifts but rather were for sale, explaining that if Babalú had money, she would sell him one of her children. But he didn’t even have a place to fall down dead and looking at Coconut Tree said, “Lorobí eminé ofún lorobí aquelle lorobí.” (I curse you, the parasite will enter your body and by the time you realize it, you will be yellow.) After he continued walking for a while, he returned to the same place and saw that Coconut Tree was completely yellow and her children were spread across the ground.

Temporary insanity and the associated outbursts and acting out can destroy a person’s reputation in this sign. Similarly a crazy person here can ask for death, and Heaven will respond because the person has been disobedient and pigheaded.

The remedy for these character issues is simple: The wise man practices humility and respect in all things. He who comes from above will eventually lay his head on the Earth.

This is a sign of war and confrontation, so your strong character can engender hostility in others. The resulting conflicts are hard to manage. There are traps and plans made to thwart you on your road.

Simple problems turn out to be quite difficult here, and tranquil situations turn violent with little notice. Well-kept secrets are revealed, and things you thought were forgotten come out. The oil’s surface is clear and still, but at the bottom it is dark and dirty.

In fact, the intense and charged atmosphere of this sign can lead to curses being placed on children in the womb (usually by another woman who is jealous); a curse like this can cause all sorts of problems for both mother and child. Issues of paternity can tear families apart here, with doubts, accusations, insulations, and tragedies. Seduction of minors, incest and rape are all too common here as are other forms of abuse (breaking taboos). In this sign, Ochún had a difficult child who abused her, and children sometime mistreat their parents in this sign, and it is important to maintain order and respect in the home.

Here you may learn that you have a child you did not know about.

Strange blood packs and racial tensions also present themselves here. Secrets come out.

With blessings, this sign brings prosperity, so much prosperity that it creates envy in the people around you. But with osobo, it makes clear that you will continue to have hard times. Scarcity and difficulty will define your path for some time to come. You should prepare for losses.

If you are well-off now, you must work to avoid a reversal of fortune, as masters become servants in this sign.

The odu says you must be careful not to fall into the hole of prosperity. There is a story here where Olofi tied up all the money in the world and hung it in a tree. Through ebó, Orunmila was able to get to it and share it with his children.

Specifically, Orula says you have to give coconuts, candles, and cool water to Orula. You have to be cleaned with a hen that is fed to Oyá. And you have to give your children spiritual baths regularly to protect them. (This sign includes a story where a woman loses three of her six children.)

In addition, you need to do an ebó on the tablero of Ifá with a hen, white cloth, red cloth, black cloth, a bow, a mouse trap, an egg, a bone with meat on it, a small fish and the other ingredients.

Make ebó to Asojano on a regular basis. Pay any debt that you have to him. This sign has everything to do with Babalú-Ayé, as a model for redemption and as a spiritual actor. Humility, obedience, and respect are essential for success here.

More generally the sign suggests a cleaning with two guinea hens if you become seriously ill.

This sign is nicknames Eyi Elemere, because it is strongly associated with the emere, the forest spirits who teach medicine to those who meet them. These spirits can bring great blessings to those who get to know them, but they can be unpredictable and therefore dangerous. Here again you see the link to the powers of the Earth.

If you have been told that you will need to make ocha, you should do it within the year.

This is the birth of astral body so you may experience some kind of astral travel.

You cannot open or cross holes in the ground.

You should not eat many grains.

You should not eat animals that live underground.

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Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa heard the babalawos and made the ebó. Only time would tell how much negativity he would avoid.

How the Forest Spirits Gave People Their Gods

2011-12-29T17:26:00.003-05:00

When working in Dahomey, Herskovits recorded a very interesting story:

When people came into the world, they had no medicine. No one knew that leaves could cure. When people fell ill, there was no knowledge of what to do to cure them.

Now there were hunters in those days who went into the deep, deep bush. One day a hunter came upon a mound of Earth in the bush. When he was about to pass it, a voice spoke from inside it. The hunter’s wife was a leper, and this voice said, “Hunter, I will show you a medicine to cure your wife. When you give it to her, she will become well again.” Then the voices said, “Turn your back to me and wait.” It was Azizan, the Forest Spirit, who was in the mound, and as the hunter’s back was turned, Azizan put the leaves beside him. When Hunter looked again, he saw the leaves. The voice said, “Take these leaves, crush them, and mix them with water. Then give some of this to your wife to drink, and use the rest to wash her sores.”

When the hunter came home, he did what Azizan told him to do, and his wife was cured.

Now Azizan had also told him, “When someone in your village is sick, come and tell me, and I will give you a cure.” So the hunter showed the way to all who were sick, and these came to the mound of Earth and told their troubles, and to each of them Azizan gave a medicine and explained its use. Those who followed Azizan’s instructions were cured.

One day a hunter brought a sick stranger to Azizan, and this stranger went to the king of his country and told him that there was a kingdom where the sick only needed to tell of their ailments before a mound of Earth, and they were cured.

The king said, “I will go there myself. I want to see.” So the king went to the bush where the mound of Earth was, and took with a goat, a bottle of rum, and some palm oil. He killed the goat on the mound of Earth, and said, “In my country we have no vodun. I want to take you to my country to be a vodun. If someone in my kingdom is ill, I will send him to you for medicine.” And Azizan gave him magic and told him what vodun where to be worshipped that his country might prosper. Azizan gave to this king various deities including Sagbata (Babalú) and told him to build a house for each of them. Azizan also said that if people wished to have any of these vodun, they had only to come for some dirt from this mound.

So the vodun and the magic that is in the world were all given to people by Azizan. (See Dahomean Narrative, pp. 217-218, and Dahomey, Vol. ii, pp. 261-262.)

This story raises intriguing links and interesting questions. I do think it is interesting that the hunter only finds the wisdom that heals in the “deep, deep bush.” This reminds me of what the famous babalawo Hermes Valera—Otura-Sá told David Brown about the religion requiring us to go “monte adentro”—deep into the forest—to find the ingredients and wisdom we need to survive. (See The Garden in the Machine.)

Could it be that Nana Burukú in Dassa-Zoumé is a particularly primeval and powerful form of Azizan? Could the covered earth-mound on the mountain the place from which all other vodun emerged? That would help explain Nana Burukú as the creator.

At the same time, this story seems to be very much related to Babalú-Ayé. The hunter’s wife has leprosy, the most illness most strongly associated with Babalú wherever he is found. The fact that the hunter encounters Azizan at a mound of Earth is fascinating. Here the small forest spirits speak out at an Earth mound with a single voice that carries healing wisdom. In the story about the origin of the kiti from Oyekún-Ojuani, the wise voice of Elegba speaks to Babalú himself at a mound of Earth, where he can call and feed these spirits in secret. Incidentally, I just found that in Dahomey, Kiti was described with Azizan as two of several classes of spirits “partly human, partly supernatural who live in the forest” (Dahomey, Vol. II, p. 260).

These small “forest people” have an interesting role in the West African-inspired world where it is localized. Johnson describes the ijimere in Yoruba communities, and in Cuba the odu Irete Meyi is still sometimes called by the nickname Elemere because of its link to these forest spirits. Bascom documented similar spirits called iwin, and in fact some of his people suggested that the iwin will teach secrets (medicine?) to hunters and tell them the future (Bascom Papers Carton 27, Folder 39). Other people told him that the iwin work with Osain and Babalú-Ayé specifically (Carton 30, Folder 6), and still others said that Babalú-Ayé is actually one of these spirits, who appear to a person when ill (Carton 27, Folder 37). These notions also bring to mind the ebó in Irete-Iwori where the person has to feed sixteen different places in the natural world to engage the spirits living in those places, all the while praise Babalú-Ayé-Dasoyi. They also call to mind the sixteen positions that are fed in preparation for the New Year. While these forest spirits are no longer central to our practice in Cuban-inspired traditions, they continue to exert their influence and call out for praise.

The Work of Pilgrimage III

2011-12-29T11:27:00.000-05:00

I continue to reflect on differing aspects of pilgrimage in the Yoruba and Dahomean worlds. The grounded elder Susanne Wenger in her book A Life with the Gods in their Yoruba Homeland writes about a wandering sort of pilgrimage:

If the god wishes it, a Shoponno priest goes from town to town as a mendicant, the living recipient of ritual gifts (formerly copper coins) which are means of atonement for the giver. He dresses in a short camwood-red smock, his hair finely plaited. On his frock, cowry shells and little bells are sewn as a warning of a dangerous god’s arrival. As he proceeds on his way, reciting the praise songs of Obalúayé and all the cult [sic] subsections, broom--straws are thrown at him together with the coins. In picking them up, he adds prayers on behalf of the donor to his recitations. The blossoming broom-shrub is his alter ego, but can be impersonated by the the broom of palmleaf stalks [known in Cuba as the já]… The mendicant uses the donated coins for a ceremony for the god; the broom-stalks he would bind together to sweep his shrine praising the god on behalf of the donors (pp. 173-175).

While Wenger is describing how people worship Babalú-Ayé in Nigeria in the 1980s, the African-inspired traditions in Cuba certainly still see him as a mendicant. This wandering somehow seems both related to and different from pilgrimage in its usual sense. The priest—and the god he is imitating—is not moving from a home place toward a specific destination thought to be the residence of some special manifestation of the divine, as is usually the case with pilgrimages. Rather he wanders from place to place, receives offerings, makes prayers, and gathers up his ritual broom. His place of departure and his destination are the same, his home shrine, where again he prays for everyone who has donated to his ceremony and his broom. With these prayers he sweeps out negativity of all kinds.

The overwhelming social aspect of this ritual wandering is intriguing. The priest encounters people in different towns, reminding them of the god and providing an easy opportunity to engage with him. While this pattern reminds me of the missionaries of San Lázaro in Cuba, it also recalls the story from Ojuani Meji where Babalú-Ayé, covered with sores, wanders from place to place. The random people he meets greet him only by throwing water on him and saying “Nlo burukú!” (evil be gone). Again Babalú-Ayé embodies the unwanted reality of sickness and carries away the negativity for everyone he encounters.

The Work of Pilgrimage Revisited

2011-12-27T11:43:00.000-05:00

There are many small ceremonies in Oricha religion that could be thought of pilgrimages, where we travel out onto the land to connect with the divine, making an offering to a specific oricha. As part of giving Babalú-Ayé, many lineages carry Babá to a ceiba tree, a cemetery, and finally the egun altar in the home, giving him white wine, cigar smoke, toasted corn and other offerings at each stop. Similarly some lineages feed Nana Burukú at a spring or a place of stagnant water before giving her to a new devotee. And, of course, the initiation of a new priestess always requires a trip out to feed the river with her favorite foods. When someone is consecrated to one of the Warriors, there are extra ceremonies to feed them in the forest, offerings that cool them before they arrive in the house for the principal ceremony.

People usually gloss these trips into the natural world as preparatory ebós, little ceremonies that must happen before the “main” ceremony takes place. As Ernesto Pichardo recently said to me, “They are part of the alchemy of what we do when we give birth to a new oricha.” Still each of these ceremonies requires that we travel out of our houses and find the oricha in a natural state to start the process. In this way, each of these ceremonies can be considered a kind of understated pilgrimage to connect with or engage the oricha.

This week in Havana (and Miami too, at least), small teams of babalawos are making these trips into the natural world to feed the “positions” before they gather to open the New Year on January 1. They feed the sea, the river, and many other positions, and after making the offering at each position, they divine to be certain that the ebó is accepted. They report back to the babalawos who coordinate the whole ceremony. Only once each position is fed they are ready to prepare for the New Year with other ceremonies on the 31st. Only after all this is completed do they take the odu for the New Year early on the 1st. After reaching out to the whole natural world, they can mark the road for the coming year.

The ancestors have told us that Changó taught the 16 positions in Iroso Meyi, and the opening of the year comes from the odu Obara-Odí. As with most things, we know from the ceremonies that these two things are related, but exactly how and why remains elusive. The wise ancestors arranged them into the ceremonies we use today to make the most of the roads we travel.

The Work of Pilgrimage

2011-12-23T14:05:00.000-05:00

So today I am reflecting on pilgrimage. Partly I am trying to honor the major spiritual work of the festival of Babalú and the thousands of people who made the journey to Rincón last weekend. Partly I am trying to prepare myself, because this summer I hope to walk the Road of Santiago with my thirteen-year-old.

Moving toward the divine is a very old practice. The ancestors name its origin in the divination sign Ofún-Ojuani, and they taught us the value of this kind of prayer. In old Dahomey, the ancestors held an annual pilgrimage to Dassa-Zoumé. The ancestors said this was where Nana Burukú lived when she was on Earth, and each year those who worshiped her children Mawu-Lisa, the Obatalá-like sky deities, carried offerings to her special shrine there. Similarly new initiates to Mawu-Lisa made a trip to Dassa to worship Nana Burukú. When they arrived, everything was provided for them. However only the greatest and most powerful priests of Nana Burukú entered the temple because it was said that once a person entered the sacred precinct, he or she “learns how to speak a hundred languages at once” (Herskovits in Dahomey, Vol. II, pp. 102-103). While we don’t know much about how Nana was honored, we do have a sense that it was an important part of the annual cycle of rituals that knit together Dahomey as a society.

Still I do wish we had more records of what those pilgrims were experiencing. I do wish we knew more about their inner lives. Did they contemplate the stories that explained the origin of the pilgrimage? Were their heads filled with prayers for the people they left behind in their home towns? Did they hope to learn something about themselves in the process? Did they have some sense of this pilgrimage as a way to honor Nana Burukú as the Creator? Were any of them disappointed that they could not enter or when they saw the face of the deity resided in a mound of Earth covered by a straw covering? Did any of them go crazy when they accessed this whole new kind of knowledge? I am not sure we will ever know, but it is possible to imagine rich stories in response to each of these questions.

Babalú-Ayé Hits NPR's On Being!

2011-12-17T17:51:00.000-05:00

While we were calling and feeding Babalú-Ayé as part of his annual feast, the great NPR show On Being posted a nice piece on the public festival in Rincón, Cuba.

Check out the mainstreaming of the Father of the World here!

Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye, Son of Asojano-Afimaye

2011-11-30T11:40:00.000-05:00

I first met Pedro Abreu in 2001. David Brown had been telling me about him for a few years at that point, and when David introduced us, I immediately understood David’s fascination.

The first time we met, Abreu outlined his whole history in the religion. He was born in Los Sitios in Centro Havana. He had a prenda from the African-inspired Regla de Congo from a young age, but he had not really believed in religion. In 1975 he received Asojano-Afimaye in Havana from Matilde Sotomayor—Asoninque, the famous Asojano priestess who worked with Pilar Fresneda—Asonsíperaco. The famous Ñica Fernández—Onojome and Victor—Quemafo were also there.

On February 20, 1992, Abreu made Asojano-Afimaye at the Cabildo Arará Sabalú Nonjó in Matanzas City. It had been 38 years since anyone had made Asojano there, but his godmother María Isabel Reyes—Asonsímeneco did have Asojano made direct as tradition required. At itá he given the oricha name Asonyanye, after the famous Havana priest known as El Abuelo (even Abreu does not know his real name). When Asojano spoke through Ifá, as he does in this lineage, he came with the sign Ogunda-Iwori. Abreu immediately added that this sign includes the proverb “El árbol que se podre retoña” (the tree that is pruned sprouts back again).

While Abreu did not go on about the implications of the proverb, he did recount the slow dissipation of both the Havana lineage and the Sabalú Cabildo in Matanzas. In Havana, Pilar Fresneda’s cabildo had been in the hands of Ofelia de Pogolotti, an Ochún priestess who used information to continue to honor Asojano. In Matanzas, the famous Michaela Ruiz had left things in the hands of Mayito, whose son Oscarito was now in charge. But neither Mayito nor Oscarito were Asojano priests. Abreu also traced the other towns where Arará folks lived: Perico, Jovellanos, Máximo Gómez, and Agramonte. But as he put it, “Much has been lost there.”

In this gentle, almost indirect way, Abreu positioned himself as the reblossoming tree of the Arará worship of Asojano, and in fact, it’s true. To date he has initiated at least 29 people directly to Asojano and he has given Asojano to thousands more. Like Afimaye, Abreu's vitality and charisma have motivated many people to work together in ceremonies large and small.

(Thanks to David Brown for the great portraits of Pedro and María Isabel.)

The Many Roads of Babalú-Ayé: Afimaye

2011-11-18T13:49:00.002-05:00

Dasoyí, the father of all the Babalús, is the most common road of this oricha today, but the next most popular is Afimaye. His white beads with blue stripes are perhaps the most commonly used for Babalú-Ayé . This path of the oricha is said to be the youngest of the Asojanos, and some say he lives in a pumpkin plant and works as a lawyer. Some say he also comes to find the initiates to Arará deities at the hour of their passing.

Afimaye’s youth evokes a physical strength and vitality for which he is renowned. When worshipped, he is famous for reinvigorating his devotees. In the house of Magdalena Fernández in Havana, I once participated in giving Afimaye to an 84 year-old woman. At the beginning of the ceremony, she sat speechless and inert, slumped over in a chair watching the ritual. After she was cleaned, Afimaye ate and then mounted her. After contorting for a few minutes, she rose and danced with great power for half an hour. Later she was a different woman, and the transformation was unforgettable.

Both the pumpkin plant and the work as a lawyer point to his role as a mediator. The pumpkin plant is famous for being planted in one place but through its long running vines giving fruit somewhere else. As the proverb in the divination sign Obara Meyi says, “The pumpkin in planted in your house but enjoyed in the neighbor’s yard.” Similarly the lawyer mediates between individuals or between individuals and the powers that be. While some people talk about Asojano as a vengeful judge of our actions, Afimaye seems to act as an advocate on our behalf, keeping sickness and other negativity away while drawing health and other blessing to us. I do wonder this: Before what powers he is advocating? Is he arguing for us before Olodumare?

Many people speak of Asojano finding people at the hour of death. Elders often say that he pushes a cart with the cadaver to the entrance of the cemetery, where he hands it over the Oyá. In fact, at his festival in December, many people push carts with altars honoring him. In this case, Afimaye is strongly and specifically linked to Arará priests, a sort of special leader of this group at the time of death.

This last role fascinates me, because in Dahomey, Afimaye was the pantheon´s dokpwega, the village leader of the young men’s cooperative work group called the dokpwe. As dokpwega, he is also responsible for burial of every member of his village. The strong link to the ancestors cannot be ignored. Similarly, he had to approve moving any earth for creating a farm, building a wall, or opening a grave. Having absolute authority over the use of the earth in his village, he was strongly linked to the indigenous pre-conquest owners of the land. (You can read more about this in Herskovits’ Dahomey, Vol. 1, pp. 65-72.)

Having explored some of the implications of this road, I want stress that all these roads originally emerged in a specific place and time. Roads and praise names for orichas in Yoruba communities reflect the specific taboos and behaviors of the oricha as they manifest in individual priests and priestesses. The vodu in Dahomey earned their “strong names” through their deeds and accomplishments. While the roads do become traditional with time, the orichas certainly cannot be limited by them.

However, the roads do act as a kind of resource for their devotees, presenting traditional ideas and options to organize both altars and offerings. A child of Dasoyí may place his cazuela on a wooden divination tray over four skulls, and he may also place a cane on the altar for this fatherly road of Asojano. A priestess of Soyaya is likely to place a wooden bell on her altar and make offer his essential food, the yellow snapper. In the same way, many initiates borrow images from the stories of their oricha when describing their own lives. These are not accidental or aggrandizing, but rather a powerful way to connect the gods to everyday life. It is this intersection between the eternal substance of the orichas and the human scale of individual lives that interests me most about the religion, and in future posts I hope to address it more fully.

(Special thanks to Folkcuba.com for the image.)

Ogbe-Yono Where Babalú-Ayé Gave the Awán to Olocun

2011-11-04T11:42:00.000-04:00

Two weeks ago I was in San Francisco to participate in the good work of the Second Earth Medicine Alliance conference. As we did last year, my goddaughter Phoenix Smith and I led a public ceremony focusing the oricha’s energy on healing the Earth. Last year we did an awán for Babalú, and this year Elegguá directed us to perform an awán for Olocun along the edge of San Francisco Bay. Phoenix found an amazing little park in West Oakland, right next to the port facilities, and just before the ceremony began, she learned that people refer to this area as one of the points of the toxic triangle in the Bay. The area where we worked last year is also one point of the triangle, and next year we plan to work the third point.

The ceremony was beautiful. We had about fifteen people turn out on a gorgeous day. We set up an altar right on the beach for egun, Elegguá, and Olocun. To honor the spirits of that place, we sat on the beach with the ancestors for an hour or so, sharing messages from the ancestors and cleaning people. Then we moved into the awán, where we cleaned everyone present and honored Olocun.

People always notice the similarity between the awán we do for Babalú-Ayé and the awán for Olocun, and there are other deep connections between these two mysterious deities. As I was flying out to San Francisco, I stumbled across this story from Ogbe-Yono that suggests that our movement from Babalú-Ayé to Olocun reflects a much deeper pattern.

Awó Ikokó was a child of Ogbe-Yono and lived in the land of Awó Bonu. He lived well because he was always feeding Olocun. He would carry cooked food in a large clay vessel and uncooked food in a basket, singing to Olocun. Then Olocun would come out of the sea and bless him. But in Awó Bonu, no one had been initiated for a long time, and no one had time for religion. Awó Ikokó was growing old and he tried to convince people that they needed to get serious.

The next day as he went to the sea to feed Olocun, Awó Ikokó encountered Molocun and told him, “I am going to initiate you so you can help keep this land prosperous after my death.” He began to prepare everything and on his way to the market to buy certain things, he encountered Elegguá and Oluó Popó who were both carrying two new clay vessels and an awán in a basket with every kind of bean. They prostrated before Awó Ikokó and said, “We were looking for you to give you what you need to consecrate Molocun. So Oluó Popó gave him the awán, saying “Place everything in here that you need.” And Oluó Popó taught Awó Ikokó the whole ceremony, And Elegguá told him how to use the two clay vessels to honor his head and Molocun’s head, and told him to place those in the awán as well.

So everything was ready for Molocun’s initiation, and they took the awán out. When Molocun was in the initiation room, Ogbe-Yono came out, and Elegba told him to maintain the tradition of the awán so that everything would go well.

Then many, many people began to come to Awó Bonu so that Awó Ikokó and Molocun could initiate them. Olocun was very pleased and sent a great deal of wealth to them so they would always live well. The people of Awó Bonu noticed this change and began to pay more attention to serving the orichas.

Babalú-Ayé is very active in this odu, and it seems Babalú-Ayé has taken pity on the people in the Bay Area and is trying to help them find more stability and well-being. It is interesting to note that since the ceremonies last year, the California drought has ended and water levels are in good shape, at least for now.

Next year we will see where Elegguá sends us and what that adds to the story.

Babalú-Ayé in Perico: The Arará-Dajomé

2011-10-07T16:18:00.000-04:00

When Ña Octavia Zulueta—Jundesi gave Babalú-Ayé to the nine-year-old Armando Zulueta, she taught him that they were Arará-Dajomé, and he in turn passed this idea down to his family and godchildren. This is interesting because in common parlance today Armando’s Babalú is commonly referred to as Lucumí. While the Lucumí label may have come from the fact that Armando made santo much later in a Lucumí house, it also provides a short-hand description of differences in form and practice that matter a lot to some people.

But I want to explore the idea that the Babalú-Ayé and the people who work him in Perico really are Arará-Dajomé. Aurora Zulueta-Omí Saidé was Armando’s favorite niece and goddaughter, and before she joined the ancestors in 2002, she told me that she had always known they were Arará-Dajomé. She reminded me that the Arará had their own language, and she explained that they did not “mojuba” the same way as the Lucumí. Instead of repeating “mo juba” to invoke each of the ancestors and gods, she had learned to say “sofalú.” After the names of each of the ancestors, they did not say “ibaye ibaye tonu.” Instead they said “jundeko” to pay their respects to the dead. Even the founder of their lineage carried the Arará name “Jundesi.”

In fact, Romelio Pérez—Talabí also told Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawó that Armando’s lineage had a strong Arará link, and Pichardo remembers that Pérez always sang to Changó with an Arará song for Hevioso, the Arará fodun of thunder.

Nanú, the mother of Asojano, is another strong Arará element. There are whole lineages in Cuba that work with Babalú without ever mentioning, working, or giving Nanú. For the Arará, Nanú is an essential part of the family of Asojano, a strong and mysterious presence who is usually given with Afrá and Asojano. In Armando’s lineage, even when Nanú is not given in an initiation, she is always remembered and honored along with Afrá and Babalú.

Armando’s house routinely uses Arará drums to honor Babalú-Ayé. After Armando made Yemayá with oro for Inlé in a Lucumí house in 1948, the Arará drums were used to honor Octavia—Jundesi’s Asojano, before a batá drums honored Armando’s oricha. In 2003, at the honras ceremony a year after Aurora joined the ancestors, they played Arará drums, and the young woman akpon sang in Arará for close to four hours with so much as a break. The same year Armando made ocha, William Bascom visited his house for a drumming for Babalú-Ayé. Bascom said there were freshly painted Arará drums. Even more interesting is that Bascom said that in an inner room of the house there was an Arará altar (Bascom Papers, Carton 26, Folder 1, pages 101-103).

All these facts suggest that Ña Octavia—Jundesi and Armando—Omí Toké were grounded in the Arará tradition, one they referred to as Dajomé. This name could refer to the royal traditions of Dahomey as an important source for their practices or their ancestors, but it is just as likely that it allowed them to differentiate themselves from the Arará-Sabalú in Matanzas City, the Arará-Majino in Jovellanos, and the fabled Cuatro Ojos.

(The dark photo shows Armando's altar as it was in 2001.)

Reflections on Water and the Different Stages of Nana Burukú

2011-09-16T15:13:00.000-04:00

Many Lucumí and Arará elders think and talk about the orichas and fodunces as having different stages, or etapas, to their life histories. Similarly my godfather Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawó has long urged me to look carefully at the natural qualities of the orichas and the ingredients we use in ceremonies to deepen my understanding of the workings of the religion. Recently while contemplating Nana Burukú with my friend and godson Eguín Koladé, we realized that it is possible to think of the different stages of Nana Burukú as different moments in a specific water cycle.

Often referred to as the mother of fresh water, Nana Burukú is often fed at the spring, where water emerges out of the ground. A spring is usually located up on the side of a hill, so it does lead to a sense of elevation. In fact, some lineages begin initiations for Nana Burukú with a large cleaning with meat at a spring; after the cleaning the meat is dumped in a hole in the Earth. I have heard some elders suggest that she is all water courses that run under the Earth as well. This focus on fresh water links her directly to Ochún, who is sometimes referred to as her daughter.

Others focus on Nana Burukú as stagnant water and begin the ceremony of giving Nana Burukú with an offering of two doves to a pool of stagnant water. Here the water has flowed down hill and gotten damned-up, and as it sits, whatever organic matter it contains begins to decompose. Here is an obvious link to Babalú-Ayé and his ability to break things down. A famous song reiterates this intimate relationship while pleading for gentility on the part of these two powerful deities:

Nana kuele, Nana kuele, Nana kuele, Nana ño.

Aso kuele, Aso kuele, Aso kuele, Aso ño.

But standing water is not always a negative. In much of rural Cuba, domesticated animals survive the dry season by drinking from ojos de agua, natural ponds that gather and hold rain water during the wet season and slowly evaporate. Here Nana Burukú stands a source of possible refreshment and sustenance during the long dry season, when Babalú-Ayé is thought to be most active.

In the 1940s in Jovellanos, Nana Burukú’s people said she carried water to Heaven, almost as if she were the natural process of evaporation. She then returned the water to Earth as rain. It is easy to imagine the rain soaking into the Earth or pooling in an ojo de agua, and the cycle begins again.

Some elders also say that she is associated with Yembo and Odudua, and as such she exists from the beginning of time, and it is true that these basic processes, like the water cycle, are truly ancient.

Babalú-Ayé as an Ancestor

2011-08-18T16:50:00.000-04:00

I woke this morning from an unusual dream: My Asojano was on the floor, seated in an ancestor altar with nine glasses of water and nine candles. So today I am reflecting on the link between Babalú-Ayé and the ancestors.

One of the first things that Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye ever said to me was this: Asojano is a witch, Asojano is an ancestor, and Asojano is an oricha. Unlike other orichas, Babalú-Ayé seems not only to be comfortable with his ancestral role, but to embrace it. In some stories he dies and is born again. In others, he visits the land of the dead and returns with important gifts. In fact, he is sometime referred to simply as an ancient ancestor, thought to stand in for all those whose names are forgotten.

His attributes also have a strong connection with the ancestors. When Abreu makes a secret for Asojano, he includes many things—and as he is fond of reminding anyone who will listen, no two are ever the same—but he always includes the relic of a specific ancestor. He visits the cemetery often to enlist the support of these ancestors, and once ensconced in the secret, the ancestor becomes inseparable from Asojano. Similarly, the Dajomé lineage of Armando Zulueta adds earth from the cemetery to its jás, and, when the road of Babalú or divination demands it, they add a relic too.

Both of these dominant lineages use arrecifes (coral reef “stones”) as the foundation for the oricha. These stones are the bleached remnants of dead corals and when you see them it is hard not to think of the white bones of the ancestors lying in the tombs.

Babalú-Ayé also eats with the ancestors. In some lineages, he eats guinea hens with dead in the cemetery before he is given to a new initiate. I have seen many people, including those linked to Margot San Lázaro, feed him on egun altar before giving him as well. Abreu has told me that he has never fed his Asojano with the dead, but it makes sense to him and he understands why people do it.

Another curious fact connects Babalú-Ayé and the ancestors. My impression is that ancestral spirits associated with him manifest in trance more often than he manifests directly. Commonly referred to as “missionaries of San Lázaro,” these spirits served or reflected the oricha in life. A good number of them were even initiated to him. When they return in general spiritist misas or during ceremonies more specifically for Babalú-Ayé, they often bring powerful messages about how to handle illness and clean people, just as their father Babalú would.

Babalú-Ayé transcends physical death and lives on, and like all egun he reminds of the transcendental urge in each of us—hopes, desires, and missions that outlive our bodies and burn on in our souls.

The Many Roads of Babalú-Ayé: Agrónika Revisited

2011-08-09T17:35:00.000-04:00

The story from Irete-Otura says that Agrónika Omó Bitasa was a potter, a craft he had learned from his father, Asojano. When he is captured by the Iyesá, he is making plates. Often people refer to Babalú-Ayé as a warrior, a wanderer, a wounded healer and a king, but I can think of no other reference to the Old Man working as a potter. Two things about this idea intrigue me.

Art historian Suzanne Blier makes clear that in Benin shallow plates, called agban in Fon-gbe, are one of the sources that inspire vessels used to hold the sacred objects of the deities (in Sacred Arts of Vodou, p. 68). When the word agban evolves to follow the pronunciation commonly used in Afro-Cuban communities, the “gb” sound becomes a “gu” or “w” sound, and this produces the Arará word “awán,” the name given to the most important ceremony performed for Asojano, where plates are laden with offerings of food and dried grains. So here Asojano the potter is honored through a ceremony with many plates.

In Lucumí, it is Obatalá who is most often referred to as a potter, famous for sculpting human heads from clay before they are given life. The idea of Babalú-Ayé and Obatalá practicing the same craft seems to link them in a surprising way. This shared role subverts the common notion that they are somehow opposed, as they are in the story of Babalú-Ayé’s exile. While Babalú does tend to excess and Obatalá to moderation, as potters both seem to play a role in creating and sustaining the human body, as clay vessels are common metaphors for bodies through West Africa and the Diaspora.

Another part of the story also sticks in mind. Omó Bitasa goes to a cave to create a já, the ritual broom of Asojano. The image of him seeking out solitude in a darkened place within the Earth is a powerful one. He retreats into the dark Earth for several days so he can gather his resources and channel his aché into the já. When he emerges from the Earth, he has the king assist him in consecrating the já and then he cleans the Iyesá. This sequence of events parallels the famous story where he descends into a cave before becoming king.

(This já belonged to Rafael Linares-Emerego.)

The Many Roads of Babalú-Ayé: Agrónika

2011-07-28T12:01:00.001-04:00

The sign Irete-Otura recounts the birth of a little known road of Babalú-Ayé called Agrónika. The story goes like this:

There was a Potter named Omó Bitasa who was the favorite son of Asojano, and he was famous for making beautiful plates, a skill he had learned from his father. When he was small, his father had also initiated him with a partridge and dressed in the skins of his favorite animals, and this protected him from much suffering. In those days, the Iyesá declared war on the Arará. They surprised Omó Bitasa working on his plates and carried him away as a slave. One day there was a terrible epidemic in the land of the Iyesá, many people were dying, and no one could stop it. Egunmoko, the king of Iyesá, went for divination, and Irete-Otura came out. The diviner said in the kingdom was a man initiated in Arará and only he could end the epidemic. Reviewing the prisoners, Egunmoko found one dressed like Shakuaná with his purple cape and his necklace. The king asked what his name was, and he responded, “Omá Bitasa and I am the son of Asojano.”

The king answered, “You are the one I seek. I will give whatever you ask if you help me end the epidemic.”

“I must consecrate an Arará já to end the epidemic,” said Omó Bitasa, and he closed himself up in a cave in the forest for days to make it. When he came out, he was wrapped in the skin of a leopard, the skin of a goat, and the skin of a guinea hen. With the já in his hand, he went before Egunmoko and called for help to consecrate it. After singing and feeding it a goat, Omó Bitasa dressed Egunmoko and the people in the skins and thus saved them. From that day on Omó Bitasa received the name Agrónika.

I have heard of this road of Babalú-Ayé. Willie Ramos—Ilarí-Obá mentions him in his tratado on the Old Man, but I must confess I have never met anyone with this road. Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawó tells me that his oyugbona, Romelio Pérez—Talabí, often gave this road. Pérez was from Perico in Matanzas Province; William Bascom found it very common in Jovellanos in 1948; and Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye says it is often mentioned in the town of Pedro Betancourt, so perhaps it is a Matanzas thing. Pichardo says Agrónika is also called Mobitansa and takes the brown beads called matipó with black beads. Abreu claims it is not actually a road but rather the name for Asojano in Iyesá language.

I love the image of Agrónika dressed in skins. This initiation from Asojano somehow provides him with an intimacy—a close connection—to the instinctual powers of these animals, and this in turn protects him from suffering. It reminds me of the fact that we dress the já and the cazuela of Babalú-Ayé with guinea feathers, so that we are never forget the influence of this all-important bird. The leopard and his spots appear throughout Lucumí religion as a strong sign of independence, power, and authority. In fact, new initiates are painted with spots, and chiefs and kings in West Africa often use leopard skins in their regalia. The goat´s strength, tenacity, and indomitability help anyone, and part of the Arará awán “transferring” these qualities to a person.

Close to our animal nature, Agrónika Mobitasa is clearly good for whatever ails us.

The Imitation of Babalú-Ayé: The Mysterious Self

2011-07-13T16:57:00.000-04:00

Babalú-Ayé is always mysterious: He is a stranger wandering in from somewhere else. He speaks in a voice that is hard to understand, so you can never be sure what he is trying to say. And so much of the experience of illness and the body in pain remains beyond our ability to articulate. Like the Old Man, we fall mute in the face of these things. Of course, no one really understands how he can push on despite the many losses he has suffered. Few of us can fathom how he continues despite smallpox and his bad legs.

You sense this mystery when you witness Asojano being fed at night in a dark room lit only with a couple of candles. You sense it when you prostrate before Babalú enthroned in a cave obscured by vines or covered in herbs during ceremonies.

In some lineages he lives in a sealed pot, so the people worshipping him never see the fundamento inside. The elders say that they sealed the pots to contain disease and keep it from escaping. Other lineages actually fabricate a secret for him that lives inside the vessel. Still others hide offerings in the Earth to call upon his power. Armando Zulueta’s house even has a secret planted outside.

In addition to the secrets and the physically hidden aspects of his worship, he possesses an inescapably hermetic quality. He is hiding something behind his rough exterior—some knowledge, some power or some glassy essence that can never be completely revealed. Some part of him never enters the house, some part of him remains always obscured in the forest.

If we take the image of mystery as somehow essential both to Babalú-Ayé and those who follow him, we come to something deeply unrevealed and unknowable within ourselves. Most of us carry precious things within us that we do not know how to express to anyone, even our most beloved. As human beings recognize our own mystery, we become less predictable—even to ourselves. Who really knows how she will react when the doctor announces cancer? Who can predict with total certainty how he will react to the slow decline of age or the loss of something precious like a parent or a child or a hand? Sometimes we shield ourselves from the world, taking refuge in the caves of isolation. Sometimes we rise to the throne of our own authority. Like Babalú, we touch our own hidden nature, and like Babalú, we become irascible and unique.

The Power of Knowledge: Elders, Logic and Tratados

2011-07-01T09:52:00.001-04:00

My conversations with knowledgeable priests and priestesses generate lots of interesting insights, but only occasionally do these elders cite their sources--something I try to do here. To be fair, Ernesto Pichardo--Obá Irawo often refers to things he learned from his oyugbona, Romelio Pérez--Talabí, who learned from Armando Zulueta--Omí Toké. Pedro Abreu--Asonyanye acknowledges that he learned a lot from Benito--Oché Paure, who studied Arará traditions deeply. Magdelena Fernández--whose oricha name I do not know--will sometimes credit Margot San Lázaro with certain ideas or ritual practices.

At the same time Pedro is clear about the fact that he does not do ceremonies in the same way as any of his fellow Arará priests. He explains that he engaged in recopilación, a compilation of data, from Oché Paure and others before using logic to come to his own conclusions about how the initiation of Asojano "should" be.

This recopilación includes conversations with elders in the know as well as a review of tratados, those texts where people have tried to capture the knowledge they have about the religion. These tratados can be created by almost anyone. Many practitioners are currently using Nuevo tratado enciclopédico de Ifá as a major source of information. I know Pedro consults and trusts this source as an accurate representation of the different signs of Ifá. Similarly there is a Tratado de Asojuano that many people have access to. These sources seem to be firmly grounded in Lucumí and Arará practice in Cuba, though the Nuevo tratado includes stories translated from Ibie´s book on Ifá from Benin City, Nigeria.

However, the last few years have seen the appearance of many new tratados that codify many practices that appear to be completely new. The most surprising ones suggest that a babalawo must create an osain for every oricha before it is made--a shocking innovation to most people in Lucumí and Arará houses.

On the other hand, the Oshumaré tratado I recently came across mixes up the small amount of remaining Lucumí knowledge about this deity, still vibrant Arará traditions about Güeró, a bit of ethnographic data from Herskovits, and some ritual knowledge from Brazil, whose religious landscape I do not know well enough to identify a clear source. At any rate, it is just a terrible mish-mash, what Cubans might call a revolú.

All these sources raise many questions about the source and value of knowledge in the religion. For ease of reflection, we can imagine three sources of images for knowledge about how the practice of the religion: accounts and memories about the actions of the ancestors; the reflections and analyses of active practitioners; and written documentation. To which should we give the greatest weight? Serious critiques can be leveled at each of them. Some elders repeated mechanically what they had seen. While there are norms for logically analyzing our traditions and discussing them, even the most capable priest will have limitations in his vision. And who knows who complied these tratados and what sources they are based on?

In the end, I think it comes down to a deep tension built into the tradition between the authority of our ancestors and their actions on one hand and the authority of centralizing voices like tratados on the other. Less abstractly, practitioners marshal and deploy knowledge from these sources in specific ritual contexts, each with its own social dynamics. The knowledge is a currency, used strategically by senior priests and priestesses, in specific performances, which both demonstrate and generate their authority--one aspect of their aché. These elders must know how and when to bring their knowledge into play to have the greatest impact.

More Reflections on Güeró, Oshumaré the Rainbow in Arará

2011-06-17T17:02:00.002-04:00

So why write about Güeró on Baba Who? Babalú!? Simply put, because the Arará-Sabalú consider him an important elder for Babalú-Ayé, or Asojano as they usually call him. Güeró is often thought to be married to Nana Burukú. For Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye, Nana is the mother of Ogún, Ochún, and Nanú, who in turn is the mother of Babalú-Ayé. By this logic, Güeró is the grandfather of Babalú, though we do not want to be too literal when discussing the paternity of the gods.

In fact, Pedro is fond of pointing out that it is Güeró—and not Asojano—who is the patron of the Cabildo Arará Sabalú Nonjó in Matanzas City where he was initiated. And Milagros Sequiera Palma, one of the oldest living members of the Cabildo, told me the same thing in 1998, comparing Güeró to Odudua rather than Oshumaré and describing how they used to celebrate his festival each year in June with Arará drumming and a procession through the streets of the city.

These days, Pedro decorates the white vessel for Güeró with small details in red for Changó and blue for Olocun, small visual gestures he uses to allude to a deep relationship. I just recently encountered a tratado that claims that Güeró is a servant to Changó, guarding his thunderstones in Heaven and later traveling to Earth as rain. Honestly I have never heard that anywhere else, so take it with a grain of salt. The relationship to Olocun comes from a long story where Güeró divines for Olocun, cures his children, and is rewarded with outrageous wealth in the form of money and rich blue fabrics. Again I have only heard this once. Still it is interesting that in one story, Güeró makes the ocean, and here the owner of the ocean blesses him with wealth.

Changó and Olocun do represent the heavenly and earthly poles of Güeró’s existence. This polarity also is expressed in his two forms, serpent and rainbow, and in a pair of vessels on the altar for a person initiated to Güeró. In 2001, I traveled to Matanzas City with Pedro, where he introduced me to his oyugbona, his second godmother. Her grandson had just made Güeró in the Cabildo, and the altar had two tinajas, one painted blue with a black snake and the other unpainted terra cotta. It is interesting to note that Herskovits says that in Dahomey, the rainbow serpent Dan was seated in two vessels, one for the masculine Dan and one for the feminine Dan, an expression of the dynamic polarity necessary for creation.

The creation story where Güeró gathers the waters so the world—ayé in Lucumí—can emerge from beneath it contrasts sharply with the traditional Yoruba story where Odudua descends and sprinkles soil upon the waters to make the world. In the Arará story, the Earth apparently rises up, revealed when the water is gathered. Here Babalú-Ayé as the Earth was present and waiting to be revealed by Güeró’s actions. In the Yoruba story, often told in Lucumí communities, the solid Earth clearly descends from Heaven with Odudua. These fundamentally different notions about the origins of the world where we humans make our lives could represent deep cultural differences between the Arará and the Lucumí, or their antecedents in West Africa. They could point to very local understandings of creation in Cuban communities, recorded in different divination signs. Or they could reflect different groups seeking to create and assert different claims in the hotly contested religious field. It is true that only the Arará-Sabalú can give Güeró and generated the resulting benefits of cash, godchildren and aché. They are the only ones who have him to share.

(Thanks as always to Eguín Koladé for discussing these ideas with me. The vessel and the fly whisk for Güeró above are by Pedro Abreu.)

Güeró, Oshumaré the Rainbow in Arará

2011-06-10T13:36:00.001-04:00

A couple weeks ago, I was back in the streets of Havana chasing down friends, asking obtuse questions of subtle people. As usual, I spent some long afternoons in conversation with Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye, the most renowned Arará-Sabalú priest of Asojano to date. He was a bit tired and very busy: He had just crowned his 33rd Asojano and was in the middle of giving Asojano to a Puerto Rican woman from Florida. We talked about Asojano, but we spent a lot time talking about Güeró as well.

Güeró, also known as Danda-Güeró or Jueró, is the rainbow serpent. Born in Ogbe-Oyekú, the rainbow links heaven and earth. The proverb in the sign says that the rainbow only occupies the piece of the sky that God permits. Given that Echu Emere came to Earth with Güeró, it is easy to imagine that he is given at the same time, but I never got a chance to ask Pedro about that.

According to Pedro, Güeró actually came to earth in Osá-Ojuani. This sign includes is long story where Olofi created the world covered in water. However, he asked his children to do all they could to gather the waters so people could have a place to live on Earth. Since Güeró was a majá—a snake—and had no hands, he was worried that he could not do his part, and so he visited the diviner, who told him to make a niché-Osain in a long-necked medicine gourd to help him. Then the diviner set him afloat in the water atop the gourd, and Güeró did not climb down till he had created solid ground. After sixteen days, all the deities had to report to Olofi. Other orichas had created rivers, but Güeró had created the Earth and the great oceans that surround it. Olofi gave gold and jewels to other orichas, but to Güeró he gave a deformed woman with reddish hair.

When Güeró complains about this, the diviner Orula explained that Olofi has given Güeró his daughter. Orula said he should add some things to the long-necked gourd and he does. Güeró and his wife lived together, but one day they were broke, and Güeró began a conversation with his wife. She said that he should not worry, that he would have a fortune. She asked him to turn his back, and when he did, she whistled loudly. In that instant strong winds began to blow from the north, south, east, and west, and living things—plants, animals, human beings—appeared all over the world. And his wife, who was Aida-Güeró, became very beautiful. Then Güeró understood the great prize that Olofi had given him, and he too became very beautiful. Together they became the rainbow. Since then they have lived on high and other orichas envy them. Ochosi even tried to kill the rainbow, but Güeró lit it up with his light, and the Orichas said, “Güeró is like Olofi himself.” And Güeró continued his path through the skies.

There is so much to say about this story that I am not sure where to begin. Danda-Güeró and his wife Aida-Güeró reiterate the Dahomean inclination to seeing the beginning of things in twins, a powerful way to image the dynamic polarity necessary for creation. And what could be more opposite than the fearsome, earthly snake and the beautiful, celestial rainbow.

In this story Güeró is none other than the creator of the Earth, and Pedro is fond of remarking that “Güeró is a kind of Obatalá.” The comparison of Güeró to Olofi also strikes me as particularly fascinating. In 1948, Esteban Baró waxed poetic about Güeró, saying that the rainbow is supreme because it cannot be measured and that the other orichas worshipped him (Bascom Papers, Carton 26, Folder 3, page 247).

More on all this later.

Babalú-Ayé Basics

2011-06-08T16:54:00.000-04:00

The elders say that Babalú-Ayé stalks the night accompanied by his dogs and the spirits of his children. He is immediately linked to the world of the spirits. During the day they rest in shade, leaning against the shade of large trees. He is especially fond of the yamao, the jaguey, the framboyán, and the ceiba, and all are used in ceremonies of the oricha. They say Babalú lives in the heart of the forest during the rainy season, but in the dry season he enters the city, bringing epidemics. In fact, some people say when there are epidemics, you should not play for him, you should not call him. Instead you should placate him food and simple offerings.

People also link him to epidemics of every kind: bubonic plague, yellow fever, the Spanish influence, AIDS. Historically, though, he was thought to control smallpox. By extension he has dominion over all skin sores and diseases. Since smallpox leaves visible scars, any transfiguring disease comes under his purview.

Many people fear him, but everyone respects him. He rules over the health of each and every individual, and thus he determines the quality of life of each and every one of us. In this way, he is so important that Lucumí elders say, “You can play with the other orichas, but you cannot play with Babalú-Ayé.”

Flies, mosquitoes, bubble bees, botflies, and beetles are his messengers.

Thought to rule the Earth, Babalú-Ayé also has dominion over the spirits of those buried in the Earth. When Babalú-Ayé is present, sickness and death are also present, and his secrets often link him to the ancestors. At the same time, many lineages require him to take a secret filled with crushed herbs and other ingredients. This resembles one common form of witchcraft. As Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye once said to me, “San Lázaro is an oricha, San Lázaro is an egun, and San Lázaro is a witch.”

He is called the wrath of Olodumare, because his illnesses are so devastating.

There is another side to Babalú. He is famous for healing people. In fact, Lucumí people make a big deal about his cleaning ceremony, his awán. People wear a strand of the cundeamor plant around their necks and clean themselves with beans, tubers, fruits, meat and other kinds of food, casting their maladies into a basket lined with burlap. The elders say Babalú possesses a capacity for rebirth. They say he can even provoke a resurrection.

So I wonder: Was Jesus a child of Babalú-Ayé?

Dasoyí, the Father of Babalú-Ayé

2011-05-12T10:52:00.000-04:00

Perhaps the most common road of Babalú-Ayé in Cuba is Dasoyí, who is also known as Asoyí, and Dasojí Kajua. People commonly refer to him as the father of Babalú-Ayé, and really this just suggests his authority and generative power. Together with Nanú, the mother of Babalú, he brought forth all the other roads of the Earth deity. He is commonly imagined reclining against the trunk of a ceiba tree surrounded by his children.

In some very traditional houses, Dasoyí can be seen resting on a divination tray supported by four skulls. The tray symbolizes the Earth, and seated on top of it, Dasoyí rules the world. The skulls tie him to the ancestors, who are buried in the Earth he rules, and they could stand for the generic dead of the four cardinal directions. However, they also allude to a time when he placed his throne on the skulls of the four vanquished kings of a legendary place called Igoroto. The skulls could represent these kings or royals from the Dahomean dynasty, who banished the Earth deities from the capital city because they could brook no competition for their authority.

Dasoyí sometimes takes a cane because of his age, though I have never seen this. Some lineages mark his ritual broom with a single red parrot to show his authority. He usually takes the caramel-colored beads that Cubans call matipó. After seventeen of these, he takes one jet bead.

Naná Burukú, Elder of Babalú-Ayé

2011-05-04T13:58:00.001-04:00

Linked again and again to the kiti are praise names for the elusive oricha Naná Burukú:

Okitikatá aparamalobe

Okitikatá akparamanyin

Referred to alternatively as the wife, elder sister, or grandmother of Babalú-Ayé, Naná Burukú is widely considered an ancient and important deity. She is often referred to as the mother of sweet waters, both under and above the ground. For this reason, she is sometimes fed at springs and pools of stagnant water. She is considered primordial and even primitive, older than iron, and so people make sacrifices to her using a wooden knife, usually fashioned from bamboo—a plant strongly associated with the ancestors and Naná.

There is much respect—even fear and danger—associated with Naná Burukú. Ernesto Pichardo has told me that few of his elders wanted to get close to her. Like Odudua, Boromu, Brosia, Yewá and Iroko, Naná Burukú is an earth-bound force associated with the night. Old timers acknowledged that these forces exist, but nobody wanted to get too close. Similarly, one priest told Lydia Cabrera that few people wanted to serve “such severe and imperious divinities” (El Monte, p. 58). This respect is coupled with mystery, as little is known of Naná.

In Dahomey, people considered Naná Burukú to be the creator and both male and female, according to Herskovits (Dahomey, 101). This idea of her being both male and female did make it to Cuba (El Monte, p. 307), but Naná is more widely considered female in Lucumí traditions.

In the 1940s in Jovellanos in Matanzas Province, people agreed that she worked with ferocious animals, especially snakes. Speaking with William Bascom, some priests explained that as a snake she carried water up to heaven to make rain. Similarly some thought her responsible for bringing oricha stones down from heaven and placing them in rivers. Here she is almost inseparable from Ochumaré, or Güeró as the Arará call him, the rainbow serpent who travels constantly between Heaven and Earth. This dynamic presence manifested regularly, as there are many reports of people made to Naná Burukú and possessed by her.

Aside from her own priests, it was especially common for children of Babalú-Ayé to be mounted by Naná. This link to Babalú goes deeper, as Naná takes a já-like broom and is credited with healing in many cases as well. Her cleaning ceremony resembles Babalú’s awán but contains important differences. At a lake, a spring, or a pond, she takes a pig that is cut up on the spot and burned, either in a basin with alcohol or over an open fire. A person is then cleaned with this charred meat that is sometimes cast into a hole in the earth (like a grave) or into the water.

This link to Babalú has a much deeper history as well. In 1862 at Otta, Nigeria, an observer reported on death and rebirth of the initiate entering the service of Naná Burukú (McKenzie, Hail Orisha!, p. 183). The initiate fell into a deep, passive trance and was covered with mats like a corpse. After three months in this state, the initiate was brought back to life with great fanfare.

Even today, the Sabalú-Arará carry their Asojano initiates into the ritual room laid out on a mat like a cadaver.

(The vessel, necklace and já for Naná Burukú above were made by Pedro Abreu.)

The Kiti in Benin

2011-04-06T11:42:00.001-04:00

The bakonos, as Fon-speaking babalawos in Benin are known, regularly deposit their sacrifices in the natural world. But oricha people everywhere know that it is sometimes difficult to make it to the sea or the forest or another natural location to hand over an offering to an oricha. So the bakonos have devised a remarkable solution: They have something called Kiti where they can deposit any offering. (It is called Ñawo in Fon-gbe.)

At a crossroads, a bakono opens a hole in the earth and offers a goat and four chickens. To the hole, he adds Ifá herbs, a wide variety of earths from different locations, a bit of money, and other secrets. He closes the hole, places a rock sacred to Sakpata on top, and plants a special tree. (Sakpata is a name for Babalú.) On the tree he hangs red, white, and black cloth. After offering a chicken to the stone and making the standard prayers for protection from death, sickness, and evil, Kiti is ready to work: From then on, the bakono leaves his offerings at the foot of Kiti.

It is interesting to note that the bakonos address Kiti as they do any other fodun, and when leaving offerings, they divine with obí to make certain they are received. It is also considered a dwelling place for the ancestors.

The bakonos make a special Kiti for Sakpata called Yesu. While there is little information on how it is different, the name can be translated either as “Soul of the Forest” or “Dangerous Clod of Earth,” both of which speak to the nature of Babalú-Ayé.

I have Yoruba dictionaries that say okiti and akiti mean "heap or mound." Kitikiti is an adverb meaning "abundantly."

This is the picture of life in Benin in the 1930a painted by Bernard Maupoil in his book La géomancie à l’ancienne Côte des Esclaves (pp. 357-360). While the Kiti is known in Cuba as the secret place for Shakuaná to eat, you can bet some things have changes and some have stayed the same.

Ofelia de Pogolotti--Alidémi

2011-03-31T20:15:00.002-04:00

After Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco joined the ancestors in the early 1960s, the Havana Arará cabildo passed to Ofelia Calixta Martínez Bonilla who led the community from her home in the Pogolotti neighborhood of Havana. She had been made to Mase or Ochún by La Chata--Onojome and Matilde Sotomayor--Asoinque, who also gave her Asojano-Alua. Although Ofelia--Alidémi had Ochún made, her elders had given her permission to give Asojano-Arará--a novelty to the Sabalú in Matanzas. She also received Nanú from both the Arará and Lucumí lineages. Although Ofelia's son, Octavio Hernández-Martínez--Ogunda Meyi has no explanation for this intriguing fact, her daughter-in-law Olga says she always attended to them differently and according to the way she had been taught.

Ofelia de Pogolotti maintained the traditions that Pilar had established, and with her extended family, she "took out" the cabildo every year on December 16th, parading through the streets with its symbols: a white flag and a large white plaster dove. Ofelia also became the keeper of the cabildo´s drums that still live her house. The elders say that when they took out the cabildo, many people became possessed by Asojano.

When Ofelia joined the ancestors on February 26, 2004, she had lived 76 years. At her Honras, the funeral performed a year after the death of priest or priestess, Andrés Chacón and his group played for the egun and then for Ochún. To this day, she is remembered as a knowledgeable and influential priestess.

Since then, Octavio and Olga maintain many of the traditions in their house in Repart Martí near Mazorra, where they give Asojano in Olga's style with three awáns, a tradition I have encountered nowhere else in Cuba or its diaspora.

Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco

2011-03-19T15:14:00.009-04:00

In the early 20th century, the legendary Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco carried the dynamic traditions from the Cabildo Arará Sabalú Nonjó in Matanzas to Havana City. The stories about Fresneda are many. Some say she was born in Africa, consecrated to Asojano-Alua, and came to Cuba at age seven. Others say her mother was freed from slavery in Africa, and still others claim it was her father who was African-born. Some say she went to Havana as a child, and others claim it was much later. Similarly some say she was 80-something when she died, but her son El Bate said she was 102 or 103 when she died.

As Arará elder Milagros Sequiera Palma tells it, Fresneda left the Matanzas cabildo in a conflict over the emerging community in Havana. Fresneda wanted to carry the cabildo’s sacred drums to Havana to play at a drumming ceremony, but cabildo powerhouse Michaela Ruiz would not allow it. Fresneda then sponsored the creation of new set of sacred drums, and these were recognized by the Matanzas drums and drummers as legitimate.

A capable and charismatic priestess, Fresneda worked closely with her goddaughter Taurina Montalvo—Enujere, serving the babalawos of Havana and initiating hundreds into the secrets of Asojano Arará. In fact, her children Bartolo and Victor were both active babalawos in Havana. Matilde Sotomayor—Asoinque sang when they played the Arará drums, which were played by Victor—Quemafo. Together they built a new Arará cabildo in Havana until Fresneda joined the ancestors in the early 1960s.

Matlide Sotomayor

(Thanks to David H. Brown for images of Pilar and Matilde, and for the info on Bartolo and Victor.)

Cabildo Arará Sabalú Nonjó

2011-03-12T14:26:00.000-05:00

The Cabildo Arará Sabalú Nonjó played a key role in sustaining Arará traditions in Santería. Unlike most Santería traditions that have their roots in Yoruba culture in Nigeria, Arará traditions have their origins primarily in Fon speaking communities in what is now Benin. In fact, Sabalú comes from the Savalu in the Mahin area of central Benin. It is not entirely clear when the cabildo was established. Careful calculation by David H. Brown suggests sometime between 1880 and 1895 (Santería Enthroned, p.74), but current cabildo leader Oscarito Rodríguez claims it was founded in 1862.

Located in Matanzas City where many outlying communities also have Arará cabildos, the Sabalú cabildo—also known as the Cabildo del Santo Espíritu—forged a strong sense of identity and commitment to the knowledge of the oricha Asojano, Arará language, and Arará drumming. The cabildo continues to honor an enormously diverse set of fodunces, oricha-like deities with different names and some variable characteristics:

Jevioso resembles Changó, but he has many roads, where the Lucumí Changó does not.
Mase resemble Ochún.
Añoro is “a young Obatalá.”
Afrikete is Yemayá.
Sobó is like Aganyú.
Towosi is Yewá.
Alapalowosi is the ceiba, but he is not received.

However, other fodunces are unique to the Arará: Nadodó and Naejuno are rivers spirits that resemble Ochún. Güeró is the rainbow and a serpent; while he resembles Ochumaré is sometimes referred to as a road of Obatalá. Asojano and Nanú remain themselves, as the Sabalú claim that they eminate from the Arará.

Cabildo-founder Ta Moises Arzuaga was born in Africa and founded the cabildo with María Merecedes-Domínguez, Rerico Arzuaga, Catalino Arzuaga, and “Cecé.” Ta Moises made the famous creole priestes Flora Heredia, who had Towosi with Jevioso as her second fodun, while Micaela Ruiz had Makeno with Mase.

The cabildo also gave birth to Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco, who carried their traditions to Havana. More on her another day.

Where Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa Invokes Babalú-Ayé for the First Time

2011-02-25T12:02:00.000-05:00

After Lázaro received Babalú-Ayé Lucumí and was warned about the end of his marriage, he took Babá home and installed him in the oricha room. And there he sat. Like many people, Lázaro was frightened by his powerful new roommate. Lázaro honor Babá every morning in his mojuba and wore his cachá from time to time, but for months he did not have the courage to approach Babá directly.

As domestic life became tenser and new challenges presented themselves, Lázaro finally turned to Babalú. One night he turned out the lights, lit candles and pressed his head to the floor before the shrine. He poured out his frustration and confusion. He explained that he loved more than one person. He cried that he was not ready to be a father, especially not with his wife. He cleaned himself with the já, prayed for clarity, and went to bed.

Just after midnight, Lázaro woke up vomiting. He vomited twelve times in the next ten hours, and before it was all over he was hunched over the toilet heaving.

I guess Lázaro needed a cleaning. Or maybe Babalú-Ayé just wanted him to humble himself.

Where Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa Received Babalú-Ayé

2011-02-17T12:42:00.001-05:00

When Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa traveled to a distant city to receive Babalú-Ayé Lucumí, his new wife did not want to be excluded. Nor did she want to be implicated in the ceremony. So she timed her flight to arrive just after the awán, when there would be little danger of the oricha still mounting her husband or his ritual family.

On the day of the itá, Lázaro had a terrible stomach—he was anxious to learn what Babalú had in store for him. Again his wife did not want to be left out or too involved. Thinking (naïvely) that a little distance would keep her out of harm’s way, she sat in the next room and read a bestselling novel, as the diviner read the shells:

Afrá said that everything sweet turns sour, and Babalú-Ayé said that marriage is a palace with two doors, the true one and the false one.

But Lázaro’s wife did not get to hear those messages. In a little more than a year, the bitterness of a false marriage had become intolerable: Lázaro, Afrá, and Babalú-Ayé moved out.

Keleweye Kuto: Another Power Associated with Babalú-Ayé

2011-02-13T17:23:00.004-05:00

In Oché-Osá, the elders tell this story that introduces yet another little-known companion of Babalú-Ayé.

Once, in the land called Osun Irawo there lived a powerful royal couple named Oduaremu and Ekubijegan. These two indicated to the citizens of that land how to adore the ancestors. They had a child who was born deformed and with rickets, and so they named him Ason, meaning “sickness.” Ason was always wandering through his parents’ kingdom, but no one wanted to recognize him. But one day he happened upon Death who said, “Since no one understands you, why don’t you ally yourself with me and then you will be great in my kingdom?

So Ason dressed in Death’s clothes, and with his black suit he visited Death’s kingdom, where he received honors, including the title “Keleyewe Kuto,” a secretive man recognized in the land of the dead. When Ason returned to his parents’ kingdom, it was racked with calamities, and Death began to dominate its residents. Oduaremu and Ekubijegan visited the king of Ifá in that country, who was called Babá niye Awó. The diviner saw Oché-Osá, and said that they would see the loss of a great secret, and about the nature of the curse that had been sent upon them in the form of their son. They explained that Ason has left years before and that they did not know where he was. Babá niye Awó responded that only Changó and Alawama knew where Ason could be found.

Babá niye Awó marked the ebó and sent them to the river to finish their ceremony, so, Changó and Alawama could show them the way to find Ason. When Oduaremu and Ekubijegan arrived at the river, they saw how Alawama and Changó did their ceremonies, in which a man dressed all in black emerged when they offered food and sang. When the king and queen approached that dark shadow hid itself. After explaining their situation, Changó and Alawama agreed to help return their kingdom to prosperity. But to accomplish this, they would never meet Ason again, because he was not longer of this world but rather he lived with Death, where he was made king and had the name Keleyewe Kuto, he that can live among the dead and be felt among the living. So the king and queen agreed.

When Ason appeared dressed in black and his parents paid homage to him, swearing on a great secret, bojomonosi, a castrated goat, which they fed to him and thus formed a pact. Ason returned to their kingdom but never revealed his true name. As he entered the kingdom, he began to touch everyone, returning them to health, and so everyone called him “Asojano,” meaning “medicine that heals.” From this time forward, which was the birth of Asojano, Ason and illness are gathered in a vessel to protect people, and Asojano together with Ekubijegan y Oduaremu are the three rulers of the land of Osun Irawo, which is also the land of Oché Osá.

The elders say children of this sign must receive Ekubijegan, and I have seen recipes for constructing this oricha, who is sometimes referred to as the mother of Elegguá in Arará. What fascinates me most about the direction to consecrate this power is that she plays such a small role in the story. I should add that here is another power that I have never knowingly seen, nor have I heard others talk about making her. Moreover, the same elders have said that you have to receive the vessel of Asojano in the sign and call it by yet another special name to indicate that it is the one that lived in the land of the dead.

On the other hand, I know Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye (yes, it’s the same Ason as in the story) does confect Keleyewe Kuto for his godchildren, and I have heard him describe the process in great detail: After charging a piece of cactus with medicine, it must spend the night in bed with a blind man. To add veracity to the story, Pedro even told me the blind man’s name. In fact, I once heard Pedro’s first godson tell a story of using Keleyewe Kuto to get a stolen object returned, and I have seen tratados that state that this power is most effective at identifying thieves.

Ibako, the Prenda of Asojano

2011-02-04T17:10:00.001-05:00

My last post has me ruminating on the ubiquitous presence of rare orichas. I have no idea if anyone has actually ever consecrated Ajuangan, but it is an interesting idea.

The odu Osá-Ogbe offers a similarly intriguing possibility: One tratado says that here Asojano prepared his “pot of witchcraft,” which he called Ibako. After wrapping it in black and white cloth, he fed it some nasty stuff.

Another tratado calls Ibako the “witch” of Oluó Popó; Ibako is supposed to live in the forest, buried at the foot of an Araba tree. Like Asojano, Ibako is an ambiguous mixture of elements: He takes an ancestral relic but he also takes stones. Like Ajuangan, he is explicitly referred to as an oricha. To consecrate him, you must sing many songs for Osain and Asojano.

I know Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye has given Ibako to his godchildren at times, though I don’t really know how he decides who should have Ibako and who should not. Abreu calls Ibako “the prenda of Asojano.”

Compassion of Babalú-Ayé

2011-01-23T15:07:00.000-05:00

My wife received Babalú-Ayé a few years back, and she is devoted to him, truly loves him. So, last week I asked her what she wanted to know about Babá. She reflected for a moment and said in her inimitable way, "I want to know where his compassion comes from."

I don't know of any patakí that explains that, but I once had a dream which may speak to this question. In the dream, Babalú-Ayé and I stood together in a dark space. In the darkness, I heard his rough voice say, "I can feel all the pain in the world."

Maybe the Lucumí elders learned their laconic style from the orichas themselves. Here Babá seems to say it all in a single sentence: He feels my pain. He feels your pain. He feels every one's pain. This is a very different take on what it means to be the Lord of the World. I believe it is his own suffering that leads to his compassion. Because he knows all the suffering in the world, he does not shy away from suffering in us. Because he knows that every human being suffers sometime, he is not surprised when we come before him crying in pain. Because he pushes on despite his own pain, he appreciates that tenacity in us. Having coped with his own brokenness, he is most understanding of our own limitations.

Secrets Again: Ajuangan, Companion to Babalú-Ayé

2011-01-13T17:27:00.001-05:00

There is an interesting story in the odu Irete-Oyekun that speaks of powers buried in the Earth.

The king of Hebieque was called Disu, and he had a twin brother, Ajuangan, who was a sorcerer and a witch and just terrible. He fed himself and his shrine objects with human blood. When the king found out about his twin brother’s evil deeds, he made a great hole in the Earth and placed Ajuangan there with every kind of food imaginable. He closed the hole and in that way consecrated Ajuangan as a fodún (oricha) so that he could do no more harm. When the king thought his brother had regenerated himself, he stood before the hole and said:

Vitse dokpo meyi Ajuangan kuko

No one can cut Ajuangan, I defend him.

The next morning, Ajuangan turned back into a man and more of a sorcerer than even before, and he named himself Akpodjivodu-Kombo-Kumku-Mabo (meaning, “He who has no friends”). He continued to kill people, and so they made a great hole in the Earth, filled it with dry wood to make a big fire, and threw Ajuangan into the flames. The next morning Ajuangan was born again. Oni, the chief of the king’s warriors, cut the trunk of a palm tree, put Ajuangan inside, and buried it deep in the Earth. The next day, Ajuangan was born again and started to kill more people. The King called the diviner, who consulted the orichas and saw this sign. The diviner said that Ajuangan has three sorcerer spirits, and to transform him into a source of protection, the King should close him up inside a tinaja, and bury it. So that’s exactly what the King did, and he fed the pot with a goat, a rooster, a guinea, and palm oil. And over this tomb, he planted a cactus, so that they could always feed Ajuangan there singing:

Shatsha jesu zoguedebo soume deangho bejouse adan tomó depomafan sumuse Ajuangan bokon iwa sakpsone

The elders say that here a person must receive Babalú-Ayé and consecrate Ajuangan in the patio of the house. They say you must use caution when you work with it, because it is dangerous.

It is intriguing that the tinaja with the cactus over it closely mimics the form of the kiti described in Oyekun-Ojuani. The secrets are closed up in the vessel that is planted in the Earth, and a cactus marks the spot both for future visits and as a venue associated with Babalú-Ayé. In this case, unlike the case of the kiti, it is explicit that this is a fodún or oricha. In this way, it resembles the Dahomean Aizan in form and function.

In the story, the King buries his twin brother to turn him into a fodún. In the traditional ritual prescribed in the sign, Babalú-Ayé is received and lives in the house, while Ajuangan is buried in the patio. This is the same lay-out seen in the house of Armando Zulueta, where Babalú lives inside and the secret lives outside. In fact, I have heard elders wonder outloud if the fundamento at Armando´s could be used to cure disease, while the secret could be used to cause disease.

King : brother::
Babalú-Ayé : Ajuangan::
Curing : infecting

If these are all analogous, does that mean that Ajuangan is the destructive twin of Babalú-Ayé? Is that why he is thought to be so dangerous to work with?

(Sorry, but I have never seen Ajuangan, let alone photographed him.)

Themes in the Worship of Babalú Revisited

2010-12-30T18:51:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I could not access Blogger so I posted this first on Wikipedia. Thanks to those of you who provided feedback on the first draft--you definitely helped me improve it.

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The narratives and rituals that carry important cultural information about Babalú-Ayé include various recurring and interrelated themes.

Earth: Babalú-Ayé’s worship is frequently linked to the Earth itself both in Africa and the Americas, and even his name identifies him with the Earth itself (McKenzie 1997:417). However, he also said to provide his followers with other material blessings as well. Taken as symbol of a large set of concerns, Babalú’s link with the Earth can be understood as an emphasis on the centrality of the material in human life.

Illness and Suffering: Long referred to as the “god of smallpox,” Babalú certainly links back to disease in the body and the changes it brings (Wenger 1983:168). Because Babalú-Ayé both punishes people with illness and rewards them with health, his stories and ceremonies often deal with the body as a central locus of experience for both human limitations and divine power. Similarly, his mythical lameness evokes the idea of living in a constant state of limitation and physical pain, while people appeal to him to protect them from disease.

The Permeable Nature of Things: In the Americas, Babalú-Ayé vessels always have various holes in their lids, allowing offerings to enter but also symbolizing the difficulty in containing illness completely. These holes are often explicitly compared to sores that pock the orisha’s skin (Brown 2003:263). This permeability also appears in the sack cloth and raffia fringe called mariwó used to dress the orisha. Things inside move out and things outside move in.

Secrecy and Revelation: The contrast between silence and speech, darkness, and light, and secrecy and revelation permeate the worship of Babalú-Ayé. According to the tradition, certain things must remain secret to sustain their ritual power or their healthy function. In turn inappropriate revelation leads to illness and other negative manifestations (Buckley 1985). Conversely the appropriate revelation of information can provide important teaching and guidance.

Wickedness and Righteousness: Represented in sacred narratives as a transgressor in some instances, Babalú-Ayé himself is condemned to exile because he breaks the social contract . The physical pain of his lame leg transforms into the emotional pain of exile. Only after spending much time in isolation does he return to society. In other contexts, he is lauded as the most righteous of all the orishas. Similarly he is often referred to as punishing the offense of human beings (Idowu 1962:97).

Exile and Movement: Strongly associated with the forest and the road itself, the key stories and ceremonies related to Babalú-Ayé involve movement as an antidote to stagnation. In Lucumí and Arará ceremonies in Cuba, his vessel is ritually moved from place to place in important initiations. But through this movement through different spaces, Babalú-Ayé regularly appears as a complex, even liminal, figure who unites various realms. Strongly associated with powerful herbs used for poisons and panaceas, he is sometimes associated with Osain and the powerful acts of magicians. Strongly associated with the Earth and the ancestors buried within it, he is sometimes ritually honored with the dead (Herskovits 1938, Vol. 2:142). At the same time, he is widely included as an orisha or a fodun, as the Arará traditionally call their deities in Cuba (Mason 2009). Similarly the dogs strongly associated with Babalú move from the house, to the street, to the forest and back with relative facility. In Lucumí traditions, Babalú-Ayé is said to have traveled from the land of the Lucumí to the land of the neighboring Arará. Babalú-Ayé transcends various domains, often separated in other contexts, and thus asserts a near universal authority.

Death and resurrection: Last but not least, Babalú-Ayé's own journey of exile, debilitation, and finally restoration addresses the cyclic nature of all life. While this theme of transcendence plays a much more prominent role in the Americas than in West Africa, it is also present there in narratives about epidemics befalling kings and kingdoms, only to find relief and remedy in Babalú-Ayé (Idowu 1962:99; Mason 2010).

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To see the refererences, you will need to click on the Wikipedia link above.

While all other material on this site is copyrighted, the material in this post has been shared with Wikipedia and is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Sharealike.

Thanks again to Ian for helping to educate me on issues around this.

Babalú-Ayé and the Santo Parado

2010-12-27T15:22:00.001-05:00

The elders say that Babalú-Ayé can possess anyone, because he is compared to an ancestor, and anyone can get possessed by an ancestor. Similarly, they say it is because all human beings are subject to illness. So it is no surprise that many people seem to pass Babalú-Ayé or ancestral spirits who serve him.

In fact, in Matanzas City, Chino Pérez is widely known as a horse of Babalú-Ayé, even though he is the keeper of the house of Ferminita Gómez, the home of one of the original Olocuns in Cuba. While he has received Babá’s fundamento, when last I visited him, he had not undergone the full initiation known as the asiento, nor was he inclined to. It seemed unnecessary as Babalú-Ayé came and went quite fluidly in possession, and he frequently did miraculous things when he did appear. In fact, when Saúl Fernández—Babá Ni Beleké made Lucumí Babalú-Ayé direct in Havana in the late 1990s, he called upon El Chino to create the secret that went inside. Justly or not, many people in Arará houses use this fact to disparage that initiation.

There is a long tradition in places outside of Havana of what people refer to as santo parado. Those people with santo parado usually get possessed quite easily, and the orichas who mount them give good, reliable information to the people they encounter—and often do reliable work as well. However, these individuals have not undergone any formal ceremony. This tradition contrasts sharply the asiento, so essential to modern practice in Havana. This tradition was reported to David Brown by Oswaldo García Villamil (Santería Enthroned, p. 142) as the oldest form of oricha worship in Matanzas. William Bascom found similar attitudes in 1948 in Jovellanos, where many people were mounted by orichas, but only about 40 had undergone the full initiation ceremony. Like El Chino, many in Jovellanos considered the asiento to be an unnecessary expense and entanglement (Bascom Papers, Bancroft Library, UCLA, Carton 26, Folder 3, p. 301). The well-documented reality of santo parado does provide another example of the diversity of practices in the worship of the orichas.

The idea of santo parado is intriguing. García describes it as having the oricha “by your side,” but the word parado has a wide range of meanings. It also implies having the oricha “standing up,” an expression that is also used to describe a man’s sex organ at important moments. Oddly, it can also imply being “stopped,” "stunned," or “standing on end.” I particularly like this last one as it compares the oricha to your hair after a shower: It’s a little crazy because it´s still in process.

Iris Hernández-Salazar, Missionary of San Lázaro

2010-12-15T12:11:00.002-05:00

Almost every time I have visited the Church of San Lázaro in Rincón around his feast day, I have encountered the same thin, reserved woman. After greeting her many times and leaving alms on her humble altar in front of the church, I finally sat down next to her and struck up a conversation.

Iris Hernández-Salazar has been a devotee of San Lázaro since she became seriously ill at age seven. Her mother had made ocha while pregnant with Iris, so there was always a special bond between Iris and the orichas. When she became ill, her father made a promise to San Lázaro: If the Old Man would cure Iris, her father would acquire a statue of the saint and place in the family’s living room in Rincón. Well, it worked, and Iris grew up with the statues in the house. “I speak to him as if he were a person. He give me much peace, tranquility, and much love. He even responds to me. I feel him within me. But I have never made another promise. San Lázaro is very great.”

In a tradition of incredibly detailed traditions passed from generation to generation, there is also space for this sort of immediate, unmediated relationship with Babalú-Ayé. Though Iris was broken as child, San Lázaro made her whole again, and she has remained devoted ever since. And in December, I am sure it also helps pay the bills.

Feast of Babalú-Ayé in the House of Armando Zulueta, December 17th

2010-12-13T14:56:00.000-05:00

I am not sure that they have celebrated the Feast of Babalú-Ayé in this way since Armando Zulueta—Omí Toké joined the ancestors in 1990, but I have heard the descriptions again and again with little variation. The ceremony started on December 16th in the house of Octavia Zulueta—Jundesi with an Arará drumming. No one told me whose drums they were or who played. Perhaps they were from the next block over at the Sociedad Africana de Santa Bárbara. Perhaps they came from the Fernández house in Agromonte, though I did not see drums there. Perhaps they came from Jovellanos or Matanzas City. When orichas or fodunces, as the Arará sometimes call the deities, came down, they would leave Octavia’s house near the cemetery and walk to Armando’s, where they would salute his Babalú-Ayé.

After midnight, once it was in fact December 17th, the whole ceremony would move too. At Armando´s they did the awán for Babalú-Ayé and then feed Afrá, Nanú, and the Old Man in the back patio, just outside the little house where the secret resides. After eating, the orichas would rest inside with the secret. Then they would start a Lucumí batá drumming that usually lasted till dawn.

By the time I first saw this ceremony in 2001, Armando´s niece and goddaughter Aurora Zulueta—Omí Saidé was in charge, though gravely ill. Money was very tight, and I spent much of the day searching for an appropriate pig for Nanú and black goat for Babalú. That evening, as we prepared for the awán and the feeding, there was a drumming in another house down the block, and various orichas who had come down at the drumming arrived at the house to salute Armando’s fundamento and clean Aurora. Later we placed Armando’s orichas in the open space in front of the secret. After we fed Afrá and Nanú, Babalú was given toasted corn, white wine, honey, and ekó, the corn tamales used throughout the religion. While he feasted on his goat, roosters, and guinea hens, someone caught some of the blood in a gourd with white wine and rum. This mixture was then poured lovingly over the secret. At the end of the sacrifice, the fundamentos all went inside to rest with the secret.

(Unfortunately the one time I had the temerity to ask to photograph Armando’s altar, the photos came out very strange.)

Preparing for the Feast of Babalú-Ayé

2010-12-11T21:51:00.001-05:00

Last year I focused on the more public aspects of Cuban veneration for Babalú-Ayé at this time of year, writing about the spectacular festival celebrated at Rincón, but this year I want to draw attention to the more localized, more particular manifestations of that devotion.

At the house of Armando Zulueta--Omí Toké, they are already preparing. They are planning a trip to the cemetery to cool the graves of Armando and his godmother Octavia--Jundesi. They are organzing the Lucumí and Arará drummers they need to play at the house. They are certainly worrying about how they will feed the hundred or more people who will enter the house. They are looking for an old goat to give to the Old Man and they are looking for a large pig to give to Nanú. They are buying dry white wine and rum, and they are toasting dried corn.

The money they have in hand determines much of what is possible, but they do continue honor Babalú-Ayé with an elaborate set of ceremonies.

Later this week, I will describe these ceremonies in detail.

Secrets Revisted: Aizan as a model for the Secret of San Lázaro

2010-12-04T13:32:00.002-05:00

The hidden and fundamentally mysterious nature of Babalú-Ayé is no where more obvious for me than at the secret of San Lázaro, planted in the house of Armando Zulueta--Omí Toké by his teacher Octavia Zulueta--Jundesi. While I have participated in the worship of the secret and Armando's people do engage it every year as part of their annual festival for Babalú-Ayé, there is little understanding of its particular use or the specific conditions that led Jundesi to mount it.

As I recently reread Herskovits's book on Dahomey, I came across his compelling discussion of the diversity of perspectives in the religious life there. He takes as one example a spirit called aizan. Some people say it is a vodou and some say it is not, but everyone seems to agree on a few ideas:

This translates as "mat of the earth."
There are aizan for compounds, villages, lineages, markets, and vodou temples.
The aizan are treated like any other spirit, beseeched for support and rewarded for blessings.

The discussion continues with a man who himself "established" aizan, and his description for how to establish one of these shrines is remarkably similar to the directions for consecrating a kiti in Cuban tratados. Finally he says the aizan for vodou temple is always honored before the vodou itself, because it represents all the ancestors who served the vodou while living (Herkovits, Dahomey, Vol. 2, p. 302). This echoes the understanding that Harvard art historian Suzanne Blier: Aizan is a vodou of markets, places, and ancestry (Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou, p. 62).

Perhaps as Jundesi prepared to join the ancestors, she remembered this tradition from her Dajomé and consecrated an aizan to make sure that she and others tied to Asojano would always be honored as part of the annual ceremonies at Armando's house.

(For those interested in delving more deeply into these sources, I will add citations next week.)

Themes in the Worship of Babalú

2010-11-24T15:41:00.005-05:00

More for the Wikipedia entry on Babalú...

The narratives and rituals that carry important cultural information about Babalú-Ayé include various recurring themes.

1. Transcending different domains: Babalú-Ayé regularly appears as a complex, even liminal, figure who unites various realms. Strongly associated with powerful herbs used for poisons and panaceas, he is sometimes associated with Osain and the powerful acts of magicians. Strongly associated with the Earth and the ancestors buried within it, he is sometimes ritually honored with the dead (Herskovits 1938, Vol. 2:142). At the same time, he is widely included as an orisha or a fodun, as the Arará traditionally call their deities in Cuba (Mason 2009). Similarly the dogs strongly associated with Babalú move from the house, to the street, to the forest and back with relative facility. In Lucumí traditions, Babalú-Ayé is said to have traveled from the land of the Lucumí to the land of the neighboring Arará. Babalú-Ayé transcends various ritual domains, often separated in other contexts, and thus asserts a near universal authority.

2. The centrality of the material: Because Babalú-Ayé both punishes people with illness and rewards them with health, his stories and ceremonies often deal with the body as a central locus of experience for both human limitations and divine power. Similarly, his mythical lameness evokes the idea of living in a constant state of limitation and physical pain, while people appeal to him to protect them from disease. However, he also said to provide his followers with other material blessings as well.

3. The permeable nature of things: In the Americas, Babalú-Ayé vessels always have various holes in their lids, allowing offerings to enter but also symbolizing the difficulty in containing illness completely. This permeability also appears in the sack cloth and raffia fringe called mariwó used to dress the orisha. Things inside move out and things outside move in. This relates directly to the next two themes.

4. Secrecy and Revelation: The contrast between silence and speech, darkness, and light, and secrecy and revelation permeate the worship of Babalú-Ayé. According to the tradition, certain things must remain secret to sustain their ritual power or their healthy function. In turn inappropriate revelation leads to illness and other negative manifestations (Buckley 1985). Conversely the appropriate revelation of information can provide important teaching and guidance.

5. Movement and stagnation: Strongly associated with the forest and the road itself, the key stories and ceremonies related to Babalú-Ayé involve movement as an antidote to stagnation. In Lucumí and Arará ceremonies in Cuba, his vessel is ritually moved from place to place in important initiations.

6. Wickedness and righteousness: Represented in sacred narratives as a transgressor in some instances, Babalú-Ayé himself is condemned to exile because he breaks the social contract. The physical pain of his lame leg transforms into the emotional pain of exile. Only after spending much time in isolation does he return to society. In other contexts, he is lauded as the most righteous of all the orishas.

7. Death and resurrection: Last but not least, Babalú-Ayé's own journey of exile, debilitation, and finally restoration addresses the cyclic nature of all life. While this theme of transcendence plays a much more prominent role in the Americas than in West Africa, it is also present there in narratives about epidemics befalling kings and kingdoms, only to find relief and remedy in Babalú-Ayé.

(I'll publish this on Wikipedia shortly. Please send comments and or suggestions.)

Walking with Babalú-Ayé in San Francisco

2010-11-17T11:54:00.003-05:00

I am still trying to figure out how to talk about my recent trip to San Francisco to lead a public awán for Babalú-Ayé. I am still a bit uncomfortable with the fact that I don’t have a big, overarching narrative that wraps the whole thing up, but I have a number of small stories that show how delightful it was to be in service to the Old Man.

I wanted to do something special for Babalú-Ayé at this awán, so several weeks out I learned a new rezo, a fast-paced and verbally complex chant to invoke him. I had been practicing for several weeks. My plane arrived early, and as I waited for my ride, I practiced the chant outside in the arrivals area:

Ago yéme du quina quina su salva su gome du quina
Ago yéme du quina quina su salva su gome du quina quina

Mero goyeme dupe-un pe-un
Mero goyeme duquina
Mero goyeme duquina quina
Mero goyeme dupe-un

Gudun bite kodo kiodo ni sawa ni soniye
Gudun mite kodo kiodo ni sawa ni soniye mode ni amo emanoso ijenoso

Ella keleguesun keleguesun keleguesun kelewe mode ni amo emanoso ijenoso

As the last syllable echoed off the concrete, I turned to see a man limping toward me. His face was red and wrinkled from living in the open for many years. His open-toed sandals reveals his swollen feet, and his dirty clothes had a strong odor. He moved slowly past me and sat on the next bench, took out a cigarette, and proceeded to blow clouds of smoke in my direction. Here was Babalú-Ayé responding to my prayer.

Two days later, when we arrived at Heron’s Head for the awán, a man appeared out of nowhere and asked my goddaughter for change. Recognizing the presence of Asojano, she pulled out two dollars and wished him luck. As we began the ceremony in the driving rain and wind, a couple appeared at the head of the trail, and as they came closer, it was clear that they were accompanied by two dogs walking by their sides.

It's no surprise that Babalú-Aýé gave us strong blessings at the end of the ceremony.

These little gestures were not the only messages from Babalú-Ayé over the weekend, but they were perhaps the ones that touched me most deeply. I never tire of them, and I never tire of the gratitude I feel.

(Thanks to Artemis for the great image.)

The Many Roads of Babalú-Ayé: Soyaya Revisted

2010-11-12T20:31:00.002-05:00

I have written before about the road of Babalú-Ayé called Soyaya, who is strongly associated with Olocun, the oricha of the bottom of the sea. While these two share deep mysteries and untold wealth, I have wondered about their connection, and this week I think I understand it a bit better.

Being in San Francisco for the Earth Medicine Alliance Conference, I decided to spend some time at UC Berkeley exploring the papers of the anthropologist William Bascom, who spent the summer of 1948 researching Africanisms in Jovellanos, Matanzas Province. He spent days discussing Lucumí and Arará traditions with the famous Esteban Baró, an African-born child of Ochumaré, the oricha of the rainbow, who is also known as Dan or Güeró. At some point, their conversation turned to Olocun, and Baró explained laconically, "Olocun is the Earth of the sea, oldest of all the orichas."

Working Babalú-Ayé

2010-11-05T09:58:00.000-04:00

As I prepared to travel to San Francisco to teach people about Babalú-Ayé and lead a public awán, I had an interesting little dream: I was sprinkling fresh, green leaves on top of Babalú. Simple enough till you starting thinking through the associations and implications.

First, I should say this sort of thing actually happens. At the end of the awán, someone leaves the ritual (no pun intended) and carries the basket and the sack cloth bundle to the forest. After depositing the bundle with the offering, she gathers fresh, green leaves in the basket, and upon returning to the house, these are sprinkled on top of Babalú’s vessel. I was taught that this was to cool Babalú, who is sometimes called Ilé Gbona (The Hot Earth) by the Yoruba. It is not that Babalú is angry at the end of the awán, just that he is hot by nature. The whole exchange removes heat and negativity, only to replace it with freshness, coolness.

Most elders know specific ceremonies to cool other orichas, usually when they are angry. These ceremonies usually require a person to make a series of simple but specific offerings of foods favored by the oricha in question, and the ceremonies usually last for the number of days associated with the oricha. For example, Ochún is fed her favorite foods for five days, while Yemayá is fed for seven. Interestingly, I have never heard anyone explain or prescribe this kind of ceremony for Babalú, though it is possible to imagine giving him his favorite foods over seven, eleven, thirteen, or even seventeen days.

At a personal level, these ceremonies do change the disposition of the oricha to the individuals involved—people in the religion rely on that fact. Perhaps they only operate at this personal level, helping the individuals who make the offerings and providing them with access to the benevolence and blessings of the oricha.

Or perhaps they change the attitude of the oricha in more general terms. When much of Havana flooded in the mid-nineties, many olorichas there said it was because people had neglected to worship Olocun, the sometime volatile owner of the bottom of the sea. Considered at a personal level, Olocun is seen punishing people for their lack of devotion. However, if we consider Olocun as a force of nature, this implies that our worship of the orichas plays a role in maintaining—or at least influencing—the dynamic balance of the natural world itself.

And so I go to San Francisco to lead a small group in publicly honoring Babalú-Ayé. We will do the awán and we will sprinkle levels on his vessel to refresh him. May he take mercy on us. Baba fiyedenu. May he heal all present. May he go easy on us. Babá pele pele.

And may we also cool the Hot Earth. May he also find solace in our devotion. May we ease his suffering, if only just a little.

Babalú-Ayé at Mending Our Relations With the Natural World Conference in SF

2010-10-28T17:09:00.000-04:00

Next weekend, the Earth Medicine Alliance is holding its first annual conference in San Francisco. The conference unites many people involved in Earth-based spiritual traditions, ecotherapy, and advocacy for the natural world. With a remarkable diversity of speakers from different perspectives, the conference should result in an exchange of compelling dialogue and energizing ideas.

Together with goddaughter Phoenix Smith, I will be presenting an experiential workshop titled Babalú-Ayé: Healing Self and Earth in African Diaspora Orisha Tradition. Designed to help people get to know Babá, the workshop will include ritual, storytelling, reflection, and play.

The following day, Phoenix and I will lead an awán for Babalú at Heron's Head Park, an EPA Super Fund site.

Babalú-Ayé in Wikipedia

2010-10-21T13:17:00.002-04:00

So I have set a new goal for myself: I have decided to rewrite the Wikipedia entry on Babalú-Ayé with the goal of making it more encompassing of the diversity of orisha religion's history and practice as well as rich in detail. I would love feedback on the proposed text.

In the religious system of Orisha worship, Babalú-Ayé is the praise name of the spirit of the Earth and strongly associated with infectious disease, and healing. He is an Orisha, representing the Supreme God Olodumare on Earth. The name Babalú-Ayé translates as “Father, Lord of the Earth” (Idowu 1962:95) and points to the authority this orisha exercises on all things earthly, including the body, wealth, and physical possessions. In West Africa, he was strongly associated with epidemics of smallpox, but in the contemporary Americas, he is more commonly thought of as the patron of leprosy, influenza, and AIDS (Thompson 1993:216). Although strongly associated with illness and disease, Babalú-Ayé is also the deity that cures these ailments. Both feared and loved, Babalú-Ayé is sometimes referred to as the “Wrath of the Supreme God” because he punishes people for their transgressions (Thompson 1993:217). People hold Babalú-Ayé in great respect and avoid calling his actual name, because they do not wish to invoke epidemics (Idowu 1962:97).

His worship is widely associated with the Earth itself, and his shrines are often separated from commonly travelled areas. His ritual tools include a ritual broom for purification (McKenzie 1997:70), a covered terra-cotta vessel, and abundant cowry shells (Brown 2003:262-263). Usually considered hobbled by disease, he universally takes grains as offerings (Thompson 1993:216). Through divination, he often speaks to his devotees through the Ifá signs (Odu Ifá) Ojuani Meyi and Irete Meyi, though as a sickness, he can manifest in any divination sign. In cowry shell divination, he is also strongly also associated with the sign called Metanlá (13 cowries).

Babalú-Ayé is often considered the son of Yemayá and the brother of Shango (Lucas 1996:112, Idowu 1962:99). However, some traditions maintain that the is the son of Nana Burukú (Thompson 1993:224), a Fon deity added to the Yoruba pantheon, and associated with fresh water moving underground and inscrutable female power, but others assert that she is his wife (Ramos 1996:68). However, some ritual lineages maintain that Nanú, a strong, mysterious orisha, is the mother of Babalú-Ayé (Mason 2010). Because of his knowledge of the forest and the healing power of plants, Babalú-Ayé is strongly associated with Osain, the orisha of herbs.

Origins

While it is difficult to identify a precise origin for Babalú-Ayé, he has a long history both in Yoruba and Fon communities in West Africa. Widely venerated in Yoruba areas, he is usually called Shopona and said to have dominion over the Earth and smallpox. He demands respect and even gratitude when he claims a victim, and so people sometimes honor him with the praise name Alápa-dúpé, meaning “One who kills and is thanked for it” (Idowu 1962:97). In one commonly recounted story, Shopona was old and lame. He attended a celebration at the palace of Obatalá, the father of the orishas. When Shopona tried to dance, he stumbled and fell. All the other orishas laughed at him, and he in turn tried to inflect them with smallpox. Obatalá stopped him and drove him in the bush, where he has lived as an outcast ever since (Ellis 1894:52). Some people use this story to suggest that Shopona went into exile among the neighboring Fon peoples to the West of the principal Yoruba areas.

In Fon areas of Benin, the deity is most commonly called Sagbatá. Here too he owns the Earth and has strong associations with smallpox and other infections. His worship is very diverse in Fon communities, where many distinct manifestations of the deity are venerated. Because the dead are buried in the Earth, the manifestation called Avimadye is considered the chief of the ancestors (Herskovits 1938:142). Because all people live on the Earth, which makes our existence possible, and because Sagbatá is considered by many to be the eldest child of the Supreme God (Herskovits 1938:131), he is considered the most senior deity (in stark contrast to Yoruba notions about the senority of Obatalá).

Manifestations in Diverse Traditions

Names of the deity, sacred narratives about his life, and ritual practices from both Yoruba and Fon origins travelled to the Americas with enslaved and free people. These differences play a significant role in the worship of Babalú-Ayé in the Americas today, where these ethnic and political identities are conintued as the Lucumí and Arará in Cuba and as the Nago and the Jeje in Brazil. Babalú-Ayé appears in most New World manifestations of Orisha religion..

In Lucumí Santería with its origins in Cuba, Babalú-Ayé is among the most popular orishas (BLOG) . Syncretized by some with Saint Lazarus, and regarded as particularly miraculous, Babalú-Ayé is publicly honored with a pilgrimage on December 17, when tens of thousands of devoteess gather at the Church and Leprosorium of Saint Lazarus in El Rincón, in the outskirts of Santiago de Las Vegas, Havana Province. Arará communities in Cuba and its Diaspora honor the deity as Asojano and claim superior knowledge of his rituals (Brown 2003:138-139). Both traditions use sack cloth in rituals to evoke his humility. The deity also appears in the Afro-Cuban religious tradition Palo Mayombe as Pata en Llaga or Kobayende. Link to Babalú-Ayé in Santería

Called Omolu, “the son of the Lord,” or Obaluaiyé in Brazilian Candomblé (Verger 1957:248), the orisha’s face is thought to be so scarred by disease and so terrifying that he appears covered with a raffia masquerade that covers his whole body. He also manifests in other Brazilian traditions like Umbanda and Macumba.

References

Brown, David H. 2003. Santería Enthroned: Art, Ritual and Innovation in an Afro-Cuban Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Ellis, A.B. 1894. The Yoruba-speaking peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa. Their religion, manners, customs, laws, language, etc. London: Chapman and Hall.

Herskovits, Melville. 1938. Dahomey: An Ancient West African Kingdom. New York: J.J. Augustin.

Idowu, E. Bolaji. 1962. Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief. London: Longmans, Green, and Co.

Lucas, J. Olumide. 1996. The Religion of the Yoruba: Being an Account of the Religious Beliefs and Practicesof the Yoruba People of Southwest Nigeria. Especially in Relation to the Religion of Egypt. Brooklyn, NY: Athelia Henrietta Press. [Originally published in 1948 in London by the Church Missionary Society Bookshop]

Mason, Michael Atwood. 2010. “Nanú, the Mother of Babalú-Ayé. “ Baba Who? Babalú!

McKenzie, Peter. 1997. Hail Orisha! A Phenomenology of a West African Religion in the Mid-Nineteenth Century. Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill.

Ramos, Miguel “Willie.” 1996. Afro-Cuban Orisha Worship. In A. Lindsey, ed., Santería Aesthetics in Contemporary Latin American Art, pp. 51-76. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Thompson, Robert Farris. 1993. Face of the Gods: Art and Altars of Africa and the African Americas. New York: The Museum for African Art.

Verger, Pierre F. 1957. Notes sur le culte des orisa et vodun a Bahia, la Baie de tous les Saints, au Brésil, et à l’ancienne Côte des Esclaves en Afrique. Dakar: IFAN.

* * *

While all other material on this site is copyrighted, the material in this post has been shared with Wikipedia and is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Sharealike.

Thanks to Ian for helping to educate me on issues around this.

Babalú-Ayé in Sickness and in Health

2010-10-14T18:36:00.000-04:00

I have an infectious disease. I have been sick for three weeks with what started as a nasty cold. Little Natalya started daycare in September, and by week two she had a runny nose. A week later I had a runny nose and a sore throat. Then a week after that I had a sinus infection, complete with a headache, a fever, pain in my teeth, and lots of discharge from my nose. After two visits to the doctor, lots of home remedies, a seven-day course of antibiotics and more decongestants than you can imagine, the mucus has turned from dark green to bright yellow. My colleagues will tell you it is isn’t pretty, and my very honest wife will tell you it’s just gross. It certainly has humbled me, as I try to maintain both my workload and my decorum through sneezing, coughing, sweating, and revolting nasal discharge. Ay, Babalú-Ayé, fiyedenu. Babalú, have mercy on me.

We all struggle to stay healthy from time to time, but we are not always successful. We slide from health—iré aicú, the blessings of health and long life—to sickness, osobo arun. It is this basic opposition between sickness and health that underscores Babalú-Ayé’s special role as the silent oricha within everything.

This is not just hyperbole. Every time a Lucumí elder prays—and I mean every time—she prays for health. The old timers say, “Oricha, give me health so I can go out and seek the other blessings.” Similarly every odu speaks of probable illnesses and potential blessings to be enjoyed in health. I learned this basic insight into Babalú-Ayé from my godfather, Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawó: Babalú-Ayé governs the fundamental polarity between sickness and health.

Giving Babalú-Ayé, Matanzas-style: The Presence of the Dead

2010-10-07T16:53:00.001-04:00

There are many ways to give Babalú-Ayé, and I never tire of contemplating the ceremonies as a vessel for information about the oricha. One Matanzas lineage I know takes Babalú-Ayé on a journey as they prepare to give him to a new initiate. They take Babalú out to a cemetery and feed him with a guinea, white wine and cigar smoke. Then they continue to the foot of a ceiba tree, where they do the whole ceremony again. Next they feed Babalú a rooster on the altar for the ancestors at the house where the main ceremony is to take place.

While I have thought about this imagery in terms of travel and the Earth, the ancestors play a strong role here as well. By taking Babalú to the cemetery and feeding him with the many ancestors there, the ceremony stresses his role as an egun. Similarly, the ceiba was historically where people in Cuba went to salute the ancestors and pray when the dead actually lay buried at too far a distance—the Africans used to feed their ancestors at the ceiba, so it works as a kind of generalized cemetery for all. Finally, in case you did not get it before, they feed him with the ancestors at the house. Here they name their own ancestors and affinities spirits, calling them to participate in the initiation ceremony. The dead feed with Babalú, and he with them. I once participated in this ceremony in Municipio Playa in Havana, and while the master of ceremonies fed Babalú with the dead, the deity descended on an elderly priestess and cleaned everyone present.

The deep ancestral presence in these rituals is hard to ignore, and so I once described this ceremony to Pedro Abreu and asked if he ever fed Asojano with the egun. He said, “No, I have never done that, but I would not criticize it. It makes sense. Asojano is an oricha, a witch, and an egun. ”

I have heard of priests whose Babalús want to spend time with the dead at the spiritist altar, the bóveda. While I have never seen this, it makes sense.

The Many Roads of Babalú-Ayé: Soyaya

2010-09-24T16:13:00.003-04:00

As I have pointed out in other posts, Babalú-Ayé has many, many roads—perhaps more than any other oricha. Here is story from Oyekún Biká about a road called Soyaya.

In this the land of Dassa, there was a bokono, as the Arará call their babalawos. This bokono was called Juanlani and his sign was Oyekún Biká. He was plagued by many struggles with other bokonos, and one day he divined for himself. His own sign came out, indicating that he should give Babalú-Ayé a goat, a rooster, a guinea hen, smoked fish and jutía, cocoa butter, cascarilla, rum, a coconut, and money. Babalú-Ayé, who was called Tokuen in Dassa, said his brother Soyaya could solve his problem. Soyaya lived with the oricha Olokun at the bottom of the sea, so Babá sent Juanlani to take the ebó to seashore and call Soyaya with a gongoli, a old-fashioned wooden bell. Three times Juanlani did this and Soyaya did not appear. At the end of the third day, as Juanlani was leaving, a beautiful green and gold fish leapt from the sea and landed at his feet.

Juanlani picked it up and put in it in a clay container with sea water. It turned out that the fish grew and grew, and Juanlani had to move it to a tinaja, a deep clay container. When it no longer fit, he carried it back to the sea and prepared to throw it back. But the fish said, “Climb on top of me, I will carry you to your salvation.” So Juanlani climbed on, and the fish carried him to the palace of Olokun, who gave Juanlani a secret to vanquish his enemies. Then the fish said, “I am Soyaya, son of Dasoyí and Nanú. I am the one no one knows but all respect. I am the spirit of that gives life to the odu Oyekún Biká Biká, and that is why every time you go to war, my blood will revive and save you.”

The fish in this story is the Yellowtail Snapper, called rabirrubia in Spanish and eyá iñiru in Lucumí. When this sign comes out for people, they are often told that they must feed the head with a Yellowtail Snapper and then receive Babalú-Ayé-Soyaya.

This road of Babalú lives in a tinaja, rather than a cazuela like most Babalús. Some say he lives at the bottom of the sea, as this story suggests. Others say he lives in the waves as a young fisherman. The only other road of Babalú that I know who lives in a tinaja is his mother, Nanú.

While most obviously about Soyaya, this story touches on many different roads. First it says Babalú-Ayé is called Tokuen in Dassa. While I have never heard this anywhere else, I have heard elders speak of a road called Tokuo, who separates the land from the sea. I have heard people suggest that Soyaya is the twin brother of Someno Maya, another road of Babalú that seems to have nothing to do with fish or the sea. Still others says he is the father of Kalinotoyi, a Babalú who lives in the sea or on land and is often compared to the manati, an animal widely associated with Olokun. It fascinates me that the mysterious Babalú-Ayé, lord of the Earth, should have a road that turns back to the mysterious Olokun, lord of the bottom of the sea, who also traditionally lives in a tinaja.

It is very rare to have a story from a divination sign that quotes an oricha. It draws your attention to what he has to say. While specific to Oyekún Biká, I think to that Soyaya’s wisdom here can be said of Babalú-Ayé in general: He is the one that no one knows but all respect.

Echu Alabbony Dances Babalú-Ayé in Juanelo, Ciudad Habana

2010-09-15T15:29:00.002-04:00

Check out this video of the young people of Juanelo dancing Babalú-Ayé in a folkloric performance. The opening scene shows the dancer rising up like the oricha. Later he dances with a crippled leg and two jaces to clean himself. He presumably enacts possession, as people call "Aso!"

The other dancers capture the subtle body movements, transforming from stiff to confident in their movements.

Notice that a dog just happens through.

Babalú-Ayé in the Public Eye, Babalú-Ayé in Private Life

2010-09-09T17:00:00.001-04:00

Many people in Cuba have told me that after Changó and Ochún, Babalú-Ayé is the most popular oricha in the religion, and it is true that those who know him definitely love him. Still I am always surprised by quickly people will simplify this complex character. I recently found a website about Cuban culture that suggests that “he has simple tastes and does not expect much.”

This contradicts directly what I know about Babalú-Ayé, both from my elders and from my experience. My elders have said over and over—and I have repeated it like a chorus to my own godchildren, “You can negotiate with any other oricha, but you cannot play with Babalú-Ayé.” With this the elders imply that there is simply too much at stake: To play with Babalú is play with your health, and only a fool—a “moron” as one of my beloved godparents might say—would do that! I was taught that we have to be extra careful when we do ceremonies for Babalú-Ayé, because he is so demanding, exacting, what Cubans call “majadero.”

I once had a very vivid dream: In the darkness, I could feel the heat of a body close to me. I could feel this figure breath on the side of my face, and the breath smelled foul. Then the figure spoke, “I am Babalú-Ayé, and I could possess you, but possession is the death of the ego.”

Here Babalú-Ayé reminded me of his true power. He could possess me, literally or figuratively, and he could destroy the me I know. He could kill me—in fact, when we sing Osain for Babalú, there is a special step in the ceremony so that death will always be present. The god appeared and reminded me you that he could take me out, kill me. But he didn´t. He just put me on notice.

He doesn´t expect too much? Really?

Babalú Blog: The Other One

2010-09-02T17:41:00.001-04:00

Babalú is so much a part of the popular imagination in Cuba and the Cuban Diaspora that there is a major, and I mean MAJOR, site called Babalú Blog. It features news from Cuba and a "stong" anti-Castro perspective.

Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with the religion known as Santería or the orisha known as Babalú-Ayé.

Where Babalú-Ayé Became a Diviner

2010-09-02T17:25:00.004-04:00

I   I
I   I
I   I
II II

The sign Ogundá Meyi includes this story:

Once in the land of the Arará, Asojuano encountered Changó, who told him to sit on a large Stone. Suddenly the skill to divine came to Asojano and from then on he ruled over the Arará. This is why Asojano is made on a stone, rather than an overturned mortar like most orishas.

In this laconic explanatory tale, we see Asojano being led to lead by Changó, as in so many other stories. Here Changó directs him where to seat himself, a powerful move given the fact that “seating” the oricha is a major metaphor in both speech and ritual. The result is equally powerful: Once seated, Asojano suddenly, inexplicably acquires the power of an oracle and can divine at will.

I love this image: Asojano is sitting on a stone, directly connected to the Earth, and he spontaneously becomes a spokesperson for the knowledge (or wisdom?) that up from the Earth. Speaking from this grounded place, he fulfills his natural authority and assumes his role as King of the Arará.

It reminds me of the Oracle of Delphi, where the priestess titled Pythia sat over a crevice in the Earth and spoke the truth for all who sought her advice.

More on the Wanderings of Babalú-Ayé: Iká Ogbe

2010-08-26T16:59:00.004-04:00

This story is sometimes called “The Vengeance of Oluó Popó” but I think it really gets the deepest motivations of this oricha.

In the land of Kowanilé there lived a diviner called Iká Bemí, who was a child of Changó and enjoyed great wealth, because his lands were rich and he reined in tranquility, health and economic growth. All his businesses prospered and everyone lived well. One day a pilgrim arrived, leprous and dressed in sack cloth. It was Oluó Popó who shook a conical bell made of wood and sang:

“Babá odire agolona e ago e mowanile."

He frightened all who saw him, and they fled from him. He knocked on Iká Bemí’s door. Hearing the song, the diviner was frightened and did not get out of bed. Oluó Popó continued to knock insistently, so Iká Bemí sent Elegba to find out what the beggar wanted. When Oluó Popó saw Elegba, he understood that Iká Bemí had belittled him. He became very angry and began to sing:

"Echichi abe ikú Awó kigbáru ikú arun kosi kode kilo mowanile."

Death and Illness responded, visiting the land. People and animals died in great numbers, and people began to flee, so business also dried up. Elegba told Iká Bemí that he needed to visit Orula to learn what was happening. When he visited Orula, the divination revealed the situation: Oluó Popó felt offended and undervalued by Iká Bemí, and Elegba y Ochún were the only ones who could convince the oricha to lift his curse. Following Orula’s directions, Iká Bemí returned to his land, took an herb called oporoporo and squeezed out as much liquid as possible. To this he added honey, smoked jutía and fish, and corn. He put all this into a lamp, lit it, and called on Ochún for help with traditional songs.

When Ochún heard his chanting and smelled the lamp, she visited Iká Bemí, who prostrated himself and explained why he had called her. Ochún went outside and saw Oluó Popó hidden behind a baiyekú plant and observing the destruction of the land. Ochún moved toward the plant singing:

"Mowanile ea afiguerema Oshún adeo ilú odoyeo obalu aye afiguerema iyá yeo mowanile olu ogdo yeo ogbalu aye."

When Oluó Popó heard this song, he emerged to face Ochún. She approached him as she sang and passed her hand over his head with honey and palm oil. Oluó Popó calmed down, and Ochún gave him a stone that shined brightly, saying, “This is the secret you need to live peacefully in one place without wandering so much, but you must save this land.” Oluó Popó took off a necklace and gave it to Ochún, saying, “With this the people of this place will save themselves, but they must respect me and remember me always.” With this he began the return to his own land to seat his secret

Ochún returned to Iká Bemí, gave him the necklace, and said, “Always wear this necklace. Now give three chicks to Elegba and a goat to Oluó Popó.” When he gave the chicks, Changó and Orula appeared and said, “Take the head of the goat and charge it, cover it with black and white beads, and place it with Elegba. From time to time, you must feed with an old goat so you and your children can live many years on this Earth.”

I love this story because it shows the transformation of the oricha. Ochún rescues Babalú-Ayé from his life of constant movement and alienation. She seems to save him from himself, freeing him from his own abject life. Ochún often acts in this role of mediator, as she does in the stories where she brings Ogún back from his self-imposed exile in the forest and where she travels to heaven to convince Olodumare to end a draught. While we don´t know what exactly Ochún gave Oluó Popó him, we do know that it changed him. He takes this secret gift from Ochún—love perhaps?—and returns home, and this brings him peace of mind.

Similarly, when Iká Bemí honors Babalú-Ayé, he can enjoy long life. He must open the door of his life, wear Babá’s necklace, and make regular offerings. Rather than being rejected at the door, Babalú wants to be received, respected, and remembered.

Adú Kaqué and Ogundá-Obara

2010-08-11T15:39:00.004-04:00

The divination sign Ogundá-Obara says that Adú Kaqué is the name that Asojano took when he arrived at Dahomey. He was cast out of Ilé-Ifé, and most stories include the fact that Changó took two dogs from Ogún and gave them Asojano as traveling companions. However, this sign says that Ogún presented Babá with a walking stick to aid him on his journey. It was in the form of an osun, a metal staff with a container at the top. Instead of the usual rooster, this osun carried a small dog, and Asojano used it to travel from Ilé-Ifé, through the land of Ibariba, and ultimately to his home in Dahomey.

This little osun with the dog on top is truly fascinating to me, because it is very wide-spread and short-lived. The Arará-Dajomé rama of Armando Zulueta does not give it in the United States, and my godfather, Ernesto Pichardo, told me that they used to give an osun with a rooster. When I visited his house in Perico, Provincia Matanzas, I saw the rooster on top of his osun.

(It's not a great picture, but you can see the osun in the center rear.)

Similarly the Arará-Sabalú give an osun called Sain when they give a new initiate Asojano, and this osun also has the much more common rooster. Still many lineages give this rooster-topped staff, and I would love to know about its origin in the different lineages.

(Thanks to David H. Brown and Folkcuba.com for the image at the top.)

Dogs and Adú Kaqué

2010-07-30T14:24:00.003-04:00

Again and again Babalú-Ayé appears in close association with dogs. But he is not alone, as other orichas also include these universal animals. We deliver scraps to the curbside after major ceremonial meals, where dogs feast, thus placating Echu so “he will give us food,” as an elderly priestess once explained to me. Ochosi, the hunter, also includes two small dogs in his tools, and Ogún is said to eat dog in Nigeria. I have even heard Cuban elders recount a ceremony no longer performed, where Erinle eats dog.

The natural habits of the dog are instructive. Living in the house in close relationship with people, the dog always wants to go into the street. Beyond the street and into the forest, the dog senses what cannot be seen to chase down game or lead its owner back to town. Crossing domains and capable of great aggression when necessary, the dog also licks open wounds on itself and people around it. In many places, people believe that the saliva of dogs actually heals in some way.

When unwanted, the dog is a perfect image of the abject and wretched life on the streets. After all, it is a dog-eat-dog world. Conversely the proverb in Obara-Odí says, “The dog has four feet but takes a single path.” The dog is focused, fierce, and aggressive, and the dog is rejected. The dog heals through contact and is capable of seeing the invisible and guiding people.

In fact, both Arará and Lucumí lineages recognize a road of Babalú-Ayé that is a dog. Called Adú Kaqué or simply Kaqué, elders say he is a dog or has the head of a dog on a man’s body. They say that he lives naked in the forest. When he possesses someone, he nips at the people he encounters. Naturally, he likes to have bones and rubber toys set down in front of him as offerings he can chew on. He takes black beads with white strips, and his altar is sometimes crowned with a dog skull.

Crutches and Joto Sojuca

2010-07-21T16:26:00.003-04:00

Most Lucumí lineages give Babalú-Ayé with very simple “tools” inside his vessel. Usually he takes two metal dogs and two metal crutches. These items are washed along with the other fundamentos and stay inside the vessel, forming an important part of the altar. Although most Arará lineages seal their Asojano vessels, they too see the crutches as one of his most common attributes. While the imagery seems to come directly from the chromolithograph of Saint Lazarus, it does open up a new ways of understanding the deity.

The road, or manifestation, of Babalú called Joto Sojuca is said to be responsible for illnesses in the legs. Elders say he is the ancestor of the güira, a kind of gourd tree, and he lives in two closed gourds. Naturally he takes crutches too.

Unable to move unassisted, Babalú-Ayé must support himself externally to stay upright and mobile. He can march forward confidently. Casting the crutches forward, his shoulders ache as he lifts his weight up. His feet drag as he swings them forward. He cringes as he shifts his weight back onto his feet. He props himself with external supports because otherwise he would fall.

This inherent weakness is inescapable in Babalú.

(Special thanks to Folkcuba.com and David H. Brown for the image at the top.)

Broken Again

2010-07-07T16:31:00.001-04:00

On the way to Rincón, pilgrims move along the road in the dark. Often you cannot see them, but the sounds they make are unforgettable, if hard to describe. People drag themselves across the asphalt, scraping their cloths and their flesh against the hard pavement as they lurch forward. The huge effort of dragging their own dead weight makes them pant or gasp when they rest. Bleeding from open wounds on their hands and legs, they sometimes moan as they push on. The groaning in the darkness makes your skin crawl.

The mute and private quality of this pain is hard to escape. The body suffers mutely or at least without words, as author Elaine Scary has pointed out in her book, Bodies in Pain. Because pain is an internal experience, it is impossible to make reference to shared or objective features. Words for this pain or the suffering of illness are hard to find, but not impossible. People do talk about what is happening to them, if only in short sentences: “It hurts.” “My knees are bleeding.” “I suffer from a bad heart.” “I cannot go on.” Later these sentences become part of longer narratives that unite people who travelled together and pull others into some kind of relationship with the raw sensation.

There are many secrets in Lucumí religion in general, and because Babalú-Ayé is particularly hermetic, mysteries abound in his worship. There are ritual acts that point to the centrality of brokenness to Babalú, but as a priest, these are facts that I am not at liberty to share.

Still a return to the surface of the tradition might be helpful: The image of Saint Lazarus depicts him walking on crutches. Broken to the point that he cannot walk unaided, Lazarus supports himself as best he can and painfully pushes on, perhaps on sore or broken limbs. The pain does not “unmake” him, as author Elaine Scary suggests. Rather the pain mixed with other qualities makes him who he is. Enduring the pain, he carries his broken self toward some distant destination. You can almost hear his feet drag as he stumbles on.

Broken

2010-06-24T21:18:00.001-04:00

My wife had a karate teacher who was diagnosed with AIDS at the beginning of the epidemic. As he lay dying in the hospital, unable to discuss how he contracted the disease that was draining the life out of him, he turned to her and said, "Everyone is broken somewhere."

More Reflections of Echú Afrá

2010-06-23T16:28:00.001-04:00

As with most things in the Lucumí tradition, there is a good deal of variation when it comes to Echú Afrá. In most houses, he is simply the guide, guardian, and spokesman of Babalú-Ayé, and most—but not all—lineages do give Afrá when they give Babalú. He is usually attended and fed with Babalú and not worked on his own. However, Afrá is also given separately in some houses, particularly as the Echú Elegguá associated with the divination sign Obara-Irozo or in preparation for receiving Babalú.

The stories give a sense of how this oricha works. In Oyeku-Ojuani, he speaks to Shakuaná, guiding him in the creation of secret place to feed his most difficult children. In Obara-Irozo, he shows Asojano to the herbs that would cure the Anai. Here you see his most fundamental qualities: Afrá is active, Afrá provides superior knowledge, and Afrá assists Babalú on his path to restitution and kingship.

As I said before, most houses give Afrá as a simple coral stone. Some add a mixture of “medicines” to empower and direct him, and some even do a separate ceremony at the crab’s cave. However, the coral stone is interesting in its own right. These “stones” are actually the skeletons of dead corals. Like the bones of a human skeleton, they last and last even after death, apparently indestructible. Their small round openings resemble the sores created by smallpox, and so they evoke one of the original aspects of Babalú-Ayé. Once fed, Afrá becomes like an open wound that neither disappears nor heals.

Afrá reminds us of the insurmountable rawness that we all carry within us. It is painful, sore, secret, and unprocessed. That unfinished quality may be result of forward movement or intractable incompleteness. If we live with it and interact with it long enough, Afrá will provide us with valuable and hard-won wisdom. And if we listen carefully and push on, step by step, he will lead us to a new place where we may find healing and new sense of plenitude.

Still the open sore may never go away completely.

Where Oluó Popó United with Orula

2010-06-17T15:56:00.002-04:00

A loyal reader in the Caribbean recently asked me about the relationship between Asojano and Orula. As I have said in other posts, the Arará-Sabalú insist that Asojano only speaks through Orula, that is through Ifá divination. When Pedro Abreu-Asonyanye gives Asojano, Orula eats in the ceremony and the divination for Afrá, Nanú, and Asojano all speak through Ifá. Here is one account from the odu Ojuani-Odí that explains the origin of the partnership between Oluó Popó and Orula.

Once upon a time in the land of Lodoni, everyone owed Oluó Popó and no one paid him. In fact, they made fun of him. So Oluó Popó went to the house of Death and made a pact to do in all the people in nine days. When the people found out, they rushed to Orula’s house to see how they could be freed from this curse. Orula pulled this sign and said: Death through OIuó Popó. Then he explained the ebó they needed to make. The people made the ebó and then hung up the dead animals, and the odor of the rotting meat spread through the city. When Death arrived at the city to do his work, he was very happy because of the smell of rotting flesh. Laughing he said, “Look at me. All these people have died because they are afraid of me.”

With this boast and without entering the city, Death turned around and went to tell Oluó Popó that everyone in that land had died. But Oluó Popó went to see if Death was telling the truth, and he was surprised to see the people well. Angry he returned and said Death was a liar and Orula had more power than Death because Orula had made ebó and nothing had happened. From then on, Oluó Popó united with Orula.

This story begs the question: Are Asojano and Oluó Popó the same? Are they names for different stages—or etapas—in the life of the same deity? Might he have spoken through the shells at one point and then changed over later?

There are cases where people have made up stories and inserted them into the odus to justify some particular point of view. Could it be that someone made up this story and inserted to emphasize the connection between Asojano and Orula?

Earth as Symbol in the Unconscious

2010-06-15T12:33:00.001-04:00

I was recently reading Marie Louise von Franz, the grand dame of Jungian analytical psychology. In her book The Puer Aeternus, she analyzes images of the Earth in Saint-Exupery's book, The Little Prince, saying,

Earth is the will to live and the acceptance of life.

This little gem seemed like it could find a place in this conversation.

Nanú’s Stories

2010-05-31T00:00:00.027-04:00

There are few specific stories about Nanú, but here are the ones I know. Among Yoruba- and Fon-speaking people in what is Benin, Nanú is thought of as the granddaughter of the Creator Goddess, Nana Burukú. In Arará-Sabalú communities in Cuba, Nana Burukú survives and is linked to the divinity known as Güeró. They in turn gave birth to the twins, Nanú and Dasoyí, the “father of the Babalú-Ayés.” These two met at the Agbogboji River in Benin and gave birth to the other roads of Babalú. (Below is a Sabalú vessel and já for Nana Burukú by Pedro Abreu.)

Similarities in the names and iconography of Nanú and Nana Burukú have created confusion, and some people see them as the same divinity with different names. However, careful attention to their iconography and the ceremonies used to honor them show that they are really very different. Nanú is very much of the earth, while Nana Burukú is an ancient water deity. In most houses where Nanú is known, people give her white wine like Babalú, while Nana Burukú usually takes water.

Another story locates Nanú in the crown of the ceiba, the huge silk-cotton tree. Because of their deep shade, these trees are thought to shelter the spirits of the dead. Similarly, because they are so tall, they are considered to be a meeting place between heaven and earth. It is also important to note that ceibas lose their leaves in the dry season and appear to be dead, only to spring to live again in the rainy season.

Perhaps most important is the fact that Lucumí and Arará elders agree that Nanú usually lives with her son, Babalú. She plays some the mysterious if generative role to his more active presence. Despite her widespread presence in oricha houses around the world, I have never heard of a person being made to Nanú, and neither have my elders.

Nanú, the Mother of Babalú-Ayé

2010-05-27T17:38:00.002-04:00

So little is known about Nanú that many elders refer to her simply as “the mother of Babalú-Ayé,” “the mysterious one,” or “the stronghold” or “strength.” She is related to the other roads of Babalú-Ayé and has many of the same functions. She comes to remove obstacles to health and well-being, and she is treated in much the same way as other manifestations of Babalú: She is treated with great respect because of her awesome power. She is feared because death is always with her, and she too rules infectious disease. She is secretive but provides important revelations. She is wealthy beyond our understanding. She lives in the wilds and wanders on the road. She struggles with how to express moral ideals in an imperfect world. She seems to be dead only to rise again. Nevertheless, her iconography and ceremonies are slightly different from the other Babalú-Ayés.

Nanú has a broom, which is received by her devotees the first time she eats goat. The já points to her work as cleansing agent in the lives of her followers. Like the other roads of Babalú, she cleans negativity. The broom, which is by definition dirty, sits on her altar. Thus we bow before what is dirty and infectious. Unlike the other Babalús, her broom is bent over at the top to form a loop. She uses this loop to “hook” things for her devotees. This form also evokes female gentials and differentiates her from the other Babalús, whose brooms take a phallic form. (In fact, some elders link her explicitly to the vulva.)

Like other roads of Babalú-Ayé, Nanú is associated with the dry earth and her secrets often include earth from 7 different places. However, Nanú always lives in a tinaja, a low-fired terra-cotta vessel that clearly evokes depth. Ochún Ibú Ikolé, Yemayá Aganá and Olokun all live in this same kind of vessel. The vessel suggests that Nanú lives in the deepest part of the earth. Her tinaja is usually painted black and the lid is often decorated with cowry shells. The color black points to the unknown, again drawing attention to her mystery. Cowry shells were used as currency in much of West Africa and show her great wealth. Cowries are also used in divination and point to her ability to provide revelations to her followers.

When we invoke Nanú, we usually call a grander set of powers. We generally start by calling Elegguá Echú Afrá and whatever male road of Babalú-Ayé we have. We follow these invocations by calling upon the aché of the moon, the stars, the comets, and the dark, surface layer of planet Earth. Again this links her to the complex of divinities associated with the Earth and with the mysterious darkness and powers of the night. Unlike other roads of Babalú, Nanú only eats female animals.

(Thanks to David Brown and Folkcuba.com for the image of this fabulous Nanú pot. This post goes out to my goddaughter in Baltimore.)

Echú Afrá, the Messenger and Guardian of Babalú-Ayé

2010-05-24T14:11:00.002-04:00

The odu Obara-Irozo contains both references to how Babalú-Aye made his way to the land of the Arará and to the role of cundeamor.

Changó was returning from war and passed a garbage dump on the edge of the town of Osá-Yekú. There he found a ragged, sick old man. Changó sent his lieutenant to bring food and water to the old man. After installing his enormous army at the town of Obara-Koso (a nickname for Obara-Irozo), Changó returned to the place where he left the old man, who was none other than Asojano and directed toward a narrow pass. Changó told him to go through the pass and put on a cape made of tiger skin (some say leopard skin) that Asojano would find at the other end. Changó also told him that he would find a boy who would give him water and point out certain herbs that Asojano could use to heal sores and other illnesses. The boy was none other than Elegguá Echú Afrá, and he pointed out cundeamor, aguedita, zarzafrán, mangle rojo, and hierba de sangre, among others.

While Asojano worked hard to go through the pass and find the boy, Changó took another road to the land of the Arará and gathered together the people, who had dispersed and ill because of the war and the loss of their beloved king. When Changó arrived among the people called the Anai, he told them that through the narrow pass would come their new king. He would be wearing a tiger-skin cloak and would cure all their ills. Since they loved and respected Changó, the people went to meet their king. Asojano had come through the pass, but he was so weak that he had laid down in a wooded place. Changó threw a lightning bolt and split open the top of palm tree but nothing happened to Asojano.

The people were in awe, and Asojano expressed his gratitude to Changó, who explained that even Asojano did not know the extent of curative powers. Asojano began to use the herbs that Afrá had given him, healing people and proving his aché. The people carried him to the throne and crowned him king of Dahomey. Changó was preparing to leave and enjoying a last meal of ram. Asojano said, “As long as the world is the world, I will respect the ram and leave it for you. You will always eat before me in homage and gratitude for all that you have done for me.” Changó responded, “I am very grateful and as long as the world is the world, I will respect give you the goat and leave it for you.”

This is an important story for many reasons—and curious too. It is interesting to note that many tratados summarize this odu by saying “Where Obatalá visited the land of the Anai.” And in some versions, Changó sends Obatalá ahead of Asojano to prepare the Arará. Some elders also state that this sign explains why Asojano has a crown with tiger or leopard skin; this is the birthplace of the frontíl of Asojano, his beaded and cowry-encrusted tiara. The centers of the fronds of the corojo palm, Acrocomia crispa, are used to manufacture the já. Obviously, this sign also explains the tradition of feeding Changó before Asojano whenever the latter is given to a person.

Babalú is usually given with Afrá, who is also born in this sign. I have heard elders describe a special ceremony to consecrate Afrá alone: They take the coral stone that is the fundamento of this oricha to a crab’s cave, where they feed it with a chick and gather some of the Earth from the mouth of the cave. They cement this Earth, 24 cowries, and a lot of standard ingredients—like aché de santo–to the stone. I have only seen this ceremony a couple times. While it did include Earth from the crab’s cave, I have never seen anyone go there to make sacrifice.

Working with Substances: Cundeamor

2010-05-19T11:06:00.003-04:00

Perhaps no other plant is more closely associated with Babalú-Ayé than cundeamor. Not only do many people cover his vessel with this herb, some houses wrap cundeamor around the horns of the goats they offer to Babalú. In fact, as part of the awán, everyone present must place a strand of this climbing vine around the neck. At the end of the ceremony, these necklaces are cast off and into the basket.

Cundeamor grows aggressively at the end of the rainy season, fruits near Babalú’s feast day on December 17th, and then dries up and disappears completely. The fruits have a distinctive bright yellow-orange color and bright red seeds. Cundeamor acts just like the deity: Emerging at the beginning of the dry season, he grows toward his feast only to disappear again.

Not only does its growing habit mimic Babalú, both the leaves and fruits of the cundeamor have a long and well-documented history as a medicinal herb. In Cuba, both Momordica charantia and Momordica balsamica are called cundeamor. It was traditionally used as a salve for wounds and a cure for gastritis, colitis, and other digestive disorders. However, it was also used to remedy eczema, herpes, and even leprosy. Indigenous knowledge systems in Asia and other parts of Latin America suggest that it is useful for fighting malaria and diabetes. In fact recent research has shown that it has strong antibacterial and antiviral properties, and there are currently clinical trials testing its effectiveness against HIV. Similarly, some evidences points to cundeamor as a strong regulator of the immune system, and there are researchers looking at it as an aid to cancer patients.

Given Babalú’s long association with skin disorders and infectious disease, it is no wonder that an herbal remedy for these ills would be used again and again in his rituals.

Babalú and Caves

2010-05-13T15:15:00.003-04:00

So, I have been thinking a lot about caves lately. In Cuba, Babalú-Ayé is thought to have lived in a cave at his nadir, and in fact the rare road of Babalú called Kujunú is said to always live in caves and emerge at night with a lantern: Babalú as the light in the darkness.

Many altars recreate this terrestrial abode. When giving Babalú, most lineages make a special, low-slung altar in a corner and cover the front with the climbing plant called cundeamor. Babalú and his family rest in this manmade cave during much of the ceremony, emerging only to work or eat. Many people keep their Babalú vessels tucked away and covered with plants or cloth, hidden from view. Some, like Rafael Linares and his widow, cover the vessels themselves in cundeamor.

Of course, there is more than one story about how it is the Babá came to live in a cave. There is the story of his exile that I have already told, and many people simply fill in the detail of the cave when they are trying to imagine or explain the desolate places. Having lived large and exalted his masculinity, Babalú is then thrown back into the dark, unknowable body of the Earth. Having thrilled in his own hubris, he is reduced to utter humility. The story of his rehabilitation describes Changó finding him in a trash heap or a cave, depending on who tells it.

The cave itself is an interesting thing, linking the Earth where we live and the dark inner life of the Earth, like a bibijagua colony. In fact, some lineages use the earth from the entrance of a crab´s cave in the já. These crabs live by the water, come charging up on land and then disappear into the Earth. They move effortlessly from the water, to the world, and into the Earth.

(Special thanks to Erik Daugaard for the great Cuban crab photo.)

Revelation: Light in the Darkness

2010-05-13T13:49:00.001-04:00

Lázaro de la Caridad Zulueta Soa went to sleep, exhausted by the trials and tribulations of everyday life. The quotidian was tiresome, indeed, and he saw no way out. As sleep overtook him, he fell into a dream: The landscape was dark, illuminated only by starlight. Out of nowhere, Babalú-Ayé appeared emitting a soft, yellowish light. He spoke plain as day, "I will be your light in the darkness."

Working with Substances: The Bibijagua

2010-05-07T10:40:00.002-04:00

The secrecy so common to the religion takes on even greater intensity when it comes to the worship of Babalú-Ayé. In addition to secrets installed in the earth, most lineages also give Babalú-Ayé with a secret inside his vessel. Most also add secret ingredients to empower the já. These secrets almost always include either a bibijagua or earth from a bibijagua colony. Priests routinely travel to these nests to harvest bibijaguas or collect the soil, leaving a small offering in exchange. Bibijaguas are often used to make Elegguaces as well. Because these ants are in constant motion, they resemble both Elegguá and Babalú.

Their name comes from combining two Indigenous words: Bibi means “a small creature,” and jagua translates as “great damage or harm.” These ants belong to a species found only in Cuba, Atta insularis, and their other common name, hormigas cortadoras, identifies them as “cutter ants.” The Spanish-language Wikipedia site refers to them a plague: They are famous for their speed and destructiveness, because they cut round holes in the leaves of a wide range of plants. Interesting, they also usually make their home in bright red soil, and they emerge at night to travel long distances and completely defoliate many plants in an area. The strongest workers cut out large round pieces of the leaves and pass them to others, who carry them to the ground and back to the colony. If they have not stripped an entire plant by dawn, they leave it to die and move to others the following night.

Here it all comes together: Emerging from the red Earth, the bibijagua is nocturnal, tireless, overwhelming, and destructive. You could think of it as one of Babalú’s most challenging animal manifestations.

But like all of nature’s creatures, the bibijagua does these things to feed its colony and reproduce. Linked to the sign Irete-Iwori, the bibijagua also ensures that the food and energy necessary to sustain life enter into the colony. In fact, the elders say that in Irete-Iwori it is oricha that brings everything to the house. The ant models the ceaseless movement, strength, and endurance of Babalú-Ayé as he provides for our material lives and sustains us. Here it all comes together, with a difference: Grounded in the Earth, the bibijagua is irrepressible, energetic, organized, and prolific.

(This post is dedicated to my goddaughter in Oakland.)

Margot San Lázaro

2010-04-29T21:51:00.002-04:00

My comadre Raquel Fernández (left) was made by her older sister, Magdalena (center), in 1964. Raquel's oyugbona was José María Hernández-Arioza--Omi Niqué, who had been made by Margot San Lázaro, the famous Havana priestess. Magdalena had been made the year before, and her oyugbona was another of Margot's godchildren, Irene Zúñiga--Ochún Bí. Magdalena tells the story of how Margot became identified with Asojano:

Margot was being made to Yemayá in a Lucumí house, but as she sat in the initiation and the elders called down the orichas, it was not Yemayá who came down but Asojano. Since in those days Pilar Fresneda--Asonsiperaco from the Sabalú cabildo was the undisputed expert in these things, Margot's elders reached out to her. When she arrived at the house, she found Asojano speaking in his famously froggy and hard-to-understand voice. She sang to Asojano in Arará, and he responded just as he was supposed to. This was a beautiful Asojano, an unforgettable manifestation of the deity. Asonsiperaco was so impressed by Margot's Asojano that she decided to give her an Arará name. Asonsiperaco called her Anujamen, and the elders had to virar el oro--"turn around the order" of the ceremony and finish it in a way that was fitting for Asojano.

From then Pilar took Margot under her wing and trained her, and the two women worked together until Pilar joined the ancestors in the 1960s. So prevalent and powerful was Margot's Asojano that she became known as Margot San Lázaro.

All this happened a long time ago, and so the story has some loose ends. Every time Magdalena tells the story, she insists that the elders changed the order of the ceremony, but she also reports that Margot had a Yemayá name as well--Tinomí. When asked about this, Magdalena is very frank about the fact that these things happened before she was made. In fact, Margot had died before she was made.

(Thanks to Willie Ramos for this photo of Margot.)

An Earth Deity for Earth Day

2010-04-22T15:15:00.002-04:00

Elders often refer to Babalú-Ayé as the oricha of the Earth, and his name alludes to this fact. Ayé means “world” or “earth,” so the whole name translates as “Father, Lord of the Earth.” The Earth supports us in all we do and is thought of the universal witness of our actions. Forbearers of the Arará in Cuba, the Fon in West Africa traditionally made oaths with one hand on the Earth. In fact, husbands and wives would promise to be loyal to each other as they drank an herbal mixture with Earth mixed into it, knowing that the Earth would see if they broke their promise and in turn punish them. This bit of West African tradition intrigues me, because most lineages in Cuba include a bit of Earth in the herbal mixture called osain made to wash and cool the oricha when he is born.

One Matanzas lineage I know focuses on travel and Earth as they prepare to give Babalú-Ayé . They take Babalú out to a cemetery and feed him with a guinea, white wine and cigar smoke. Then they pick up Earth from cemetery and continue to the foot of a ceiba tree, where they do the whole ceremony again. The Earth from both locations ends up in the osain.

The Arará-Dajomé lineage of Armando Zulueta—Omí Toqué actually starts the ceremony by doing a simple cleaning over an open hole. The fundamento goes into the hole wrapped in sack cloth and is fed with a rooster. The following day, just before being washed, the fundamento comes out of the hole. A priest proceeds to transport the fundamento from the hole to the oricha room, led by someone burning incense and others throwing toasted corn.

This last ceremony recollects the relatively common ceremony of feeding the Earth. Here a hole is opened, the person is cleaned with an animal—usually a rooster—and the animal is fed to the Earth and then buried in the hole. The ceremony ends with the person standing on top of the closed hole. If the hole is an analogy for the grave, the person thereby stresses her standing upright and reaffirms her victory over death. You can imagine that every step they take on the Earth in some way reconnects to that place and time, since the Earth is ubiquitous.

These ritual reminiscences only index one aspect of Babalú as an Earth deity. His praise names and roads reveal his link to wilderness. In Nigeria he is called Olodé, the owner of the wilderness. He is also called Ilé Gbona, the hot Earth, to underscore his vengeful character. In Cuba, elders say that Asojano-Agrozumeto rules the untamed places of the Earth. They say that Adu Kaqué lives in the middle of the forest and Lumue rules the spirits of dry forests.

As the ubiquitous witness of human acts, as the ground on which we stand and make our journey through the world, as source of our firmeza or solidity, and as the unknown wilds within us, Babalú is an Earth deity extraordinaire.

An Audience with Asojano: An Arará Drumming

2010-04-16T10:25:00.005-04:00

When I arrived, they had already fed the drums. They stood in a line in the courtyard with their heads covered with the offerings.

Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye is conscious that he is renovating the Sabalú tradition. He talks about the fact that he has initiated more priests to Asojano than anyone else in history: To date he has initiated twenty-nine people. He has compiled traditions from all over Cuba and created an innovative and unique ceremony for giving Asojano. He has elaborated the initiation of priests in surprising ways. In his inimitable, charming, and understated way, he occasionally quotes of one his godchildren who said, “You have created something here.”

As part of his renovation, he has also gone to great efforts to build and consecrate his own set of Arará drums. Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco had a set of drums at her cabildo, and they are now in Pogolotti (see below). Pedro wanted to play them, but in a repetition of history, the cabildo’s current leaders refused to let him play them (more on the repetition in another post). So he sent a drum-maker to the cabildo and had him create exact copies. It is these drums that filled the night with sound on Guasabacoa.

After the awán and the ebó, the drumming began. Everything was running late, and the drummers were no exception. By the time they arrived, it was already 10 PM. They started playing smooth rhythms on the clicky drums. This music is totally unlike the Lucumí drumming, and songs use a different musical scale. They started with Joto, as the Arará call Elegguá, and played a full series of songs—an oro—for Asojano.

I was hoping to speak with Asojano. I had thought through my questions. He has told me to get the word out about him and so I was going to ask what he thought of this blog. I was going to ask him about the function of the secret of San Lázaro in Perico. I had other questions too: What to do for my son, whose hold on this world is always shaky? What else to do about my intense relationship with Asojano? How to work with the spirits of particular places? And what to do about the mounting environmental crisis?

By the time they finished the first round of songs for Asojano, it was 11:30, and they had to stop as the next day was Palm Sunday, and they did not want to offend anyone in the neighborhood.

No orichas showed up. No fodunces. No Asojano.

Then the drummers pulled out a set of unconsecrated batá drums. They played for Ochún and then for Asojano. We all danced a bit more. Then they switched to rumnba, and Pedro sang a couple songs. Then everyone retired. The kids ate cake and the adults drank beer or rum. We talked into the night, sharing what Jim Wafer has called the taste of blood—the particular kind of intersubjective experience that comes from knowing people well and for a long time.

A couple days later, I sat in Pedro’s tiny living room. As we talked, he explained his ideology about drummings. He never pays people to dance his drummings: The fodunces come when they will, and when they don’t, people fake it. Lots of people take this line. He also said that when Asojano comes down at drummings and speaks, it is not really Asojano, because Asojano only speaks through Ifá.

We could have predicted this position, because it emphasizes the strength of his lineage’s way of working with Asojano. Still I was surprised. I have witnessed impressive and unforgettable possessions at drummings. Asojano comes first in his abject form: He foams at the mouth, and mucus flows from his nose as he writhes on the floor. Slowly he gains strength and rises to wobbly legs. Finally, as his sap continues to rise, he begins to dance with his já with ever-bolder gestures.

He has whispered in my ear truths that only he and I knew. At these drummings, I have seen Asojano greet other orichas and be received by them.

Were they just pretending too?

Ebó for Asojano

2010-04-09T16:37:00.002-04:00

I went to Havana on a mission, so I suppose you could say I was a missionary for Asojano. I went to feed my godfather’s Asojano and play for him. It was not a requirement but something that made sense to me, given the many blessings I have received lately from Asojano .

My plane left Baltimore late, so I had missed my connection and spent three extra days in Jamaica trying to be patient. When I finally arrived in Havana, the customs officials interviewed me at length about why I was in Cuba, who I was visiting, what I was carrying. After forty-five minutes, they searched my two small bags and found exactly what I said they would find.

I went straight from the airport to Calle Guasabacoa in Luyanó where the ceremony was to take place. The dramatic throne was already up, and Asojano was waiting for me with seven jaces. Fifteen minutes after I arrived, we started the ebó by feeding the ancestors with a rooster, a hen, and a dove. We gave cocos, they said Eyeife, good to go.

Forty-five minutes later, as we prepared for the awán, I quietly asked Pedro Abreu—Asoyanye if I could take a picture of the baskets and the plates of food. “It’s not a good idea, because this is a tremendous awán.” Secrecy maintained.

Asonyanye and two of his godchildren ritually moved Asojano from the throne in the next room to the base of the basket. Down on all fours, they pushed the cazuela with their foreheads, singing

Aforo foro, Asojano aforo foro yawe, Owe mina mina we.

Then we all pressed our heads to the ground in front of Asojano. Asonyanye invoked the ancestors again along with all the Arará fodunces (as they call the deities). He prayed for a long time in Arará and then threw the cocos to determine if Asojano was ready to proceed. No. We could have predicted that, given the major obstacles to getting there. Asonyanye asked if something was missing. No. Asonyanye asked if I should get a reading with Ifá after the ceremony to guide me. Yes.

The awán was enormous, more than fifty plates, concentric circles of plates with different kinds of grains, cut-up fruits and vegetables, cooked meat, and pureed sweet potato and cooked cornmeal. I stood barefoot on a piece of sackcloth. After each person had cleaned themselves, two priests of Asojano—godsons of Asonyanye’s—cleaned me. Then they presented the plates to their heads, kissed them and tossed the remaining ingredients into the basket. Then they went to the innermost circle of plates, which were reserved for me. They took a steak and wiped me down with it. They took a pork chop and again wiped me down. They cleaned me with dried corn on the cob, a red onion, a cigar, and two eggs. They wiped me down with the pureed sweet potato and they cooked cornmeal. At this point I was filthy. Then came the ebó to the awán: They offered a goat, a speckled chicken and a guinea hen. They cleaned me with those as well.

Asonyanye led me to the bathroom, where my clothes were cut off, I was be washed clean with omiero and dressed in sackcloth. I emerged again for the offerings to the fodunces. Elegguá Echu Afrá, Hevioso, Nanú and Asojano all ate well. The goat for Asojano was so big that it took five men to hold it.

As Asonyanye said, it was like receiving Asojano again.

Rafael Linares—Emergo Revised

2010-04-07T15:41:00.004-04:00

Last week, I was in Havana, making ebó to Asojano and giving him an Arará drumming. As part of my regular visits to people I know, I traveled to Reparto Mañana, tucked in between Regla and Guanabacoa. There I visited my comadre Raquel Fernández—Obá Kedun. I have known Raquel since 1997, when I started working in the house of her godson, Saul Fernández—Baba Ni Belequé. In 1999, she supported me in a highly charged initiation ceremony in Centro Habana, and a few years back I received the Ibeyi from her.

Although I have know her for many years, it was only recently that I learned that she was married to Rafael Linares—Emerego until his death on December 9, 1985. Arará people in Havana often remember Linares as a knowledgeable and meticulous priest of Asojano.

He grew up in the religion. His father was Alberto Linares, the babalawo Ogbe-Roso, and his stepmother was Joaquina Sánchez—Towá. Their house was a gathering place for religious practitioners of their generation. On June 9, 1967, Rafael was made to Asojano by Matilde Sotomayor—Asoinque and Ñica Fernández—Onojome, both god-daughters of the famous Pilar Fresneda—Asonsiperaco. After he married Raquel, they both worked in the house of Margot San Lázaro, whose complex story deserves its own narrative.

When Rafael joined the ancestors, his orichas stayed with Raquel, and she still tends them just as he did in the little apartment in Reparto Mañana. He always kept his orichas behind a curtain and covered with the herb Cubans call cundiamor. While he died 25 years ago, his já still looks like new.

Working with Atenas: Ogbe-Tuanilara

2010-03-25T03:38:00.004-04:00

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Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye also writes the sign Ogbe-Otura under the awán basket. Nicknamed Ogbe-Tuanilara, this sign is often referred to as the place where Asojano’s secrets were born and where illness was spread across the world. These may or may not have anything to do with each other, but it is interesting to notice these things share the same source.

Which of Asojano’s many secrets are born here? The secret of what goes into the já to make it powerful? The secret that goes into the beaded and be-shelled bracelet called the cachá? The secret that Pedro places inside the covered vessel where Asojano eats? The secret place where he eats? The secret that Jundesi planted behind the house of Armando Zulueta?

The sign does include a long story about why oricha priests and priestesses perform their cleansing offerings—why they make ebó—with Elegguá. Elegguá wants to know the secrets of Osain, the oricha of the secrets of the forest. In the process, his mother transforms him into a hunchback, so he will resemble Osain. Osain is in trouble and is told to make an offering to Babalú-Ayé, but he turns to his father instead. Elegguá calls down the rains, and the trees become twisted and people become ill. In the end, Elegguá makes ebó with trash from the Earth and speckled rooster and everything goes back to normal. The summary of the story says the client must have an awán with a speckled rooster.

Perhaps it should not be surprising that when I recently asked Pedro about this sign and its role in the awán, he changed the subject to the sign Oché-Osá, where the Arará Elegguás are born.

Working with Substances: Ataré

2010-03-18T02:23:00.008-04:00

These seeds are central to the practice of Lucumí religion. Called Guinea pepper, Alligator pepper, or ataré, the seeds of the Aframomum melagueta appear in critical places in every major ceremony of the religion. Specific numbers of the seeds are used to “mark” or identify the presence of specific orichas. The ancestors are usually fed on a plate where 9 ataré sit on a pool of palm oil resting 9 small pieces of coconut. The herbal concoction used to birth orichas is also coded with a specific number of ataré. Ochún’s osain takes five ataré, while Obatalá’s takes eight. When people really want to excite Elegguá, they will sometime take seven ataré in their mounts and chew them, before taking a swig of rum and blowing the mixture out onto Elegguá. I was taught that it intensifies the aché of the prayers uttered. In Yoruba Beliefs and Sacrificial Rites, Omosade Awolalu says Yoruba people still use it the same way.

So why is this particular kind of pepper so important? As the common name suggests, it is linked to Africa. But more importantly its Lucumí name translates to mean “pepper of blessing” or “pepper of goodness.” Its growth habit and form are also interesting. A tiny seed grows into a robust bush. Trump-shaped purple flowers give way to prodigious seed pods overflowing with thousands of seeds. It is a powerful image of growth and increase.

And why does the awán take seven ataré? Seven is the number or the “mark” of many orichas, including Echu Elegguá, Yemayá, Erinle, and Babalú-Ayé. While most people maintain that the awán is an offering to Babalú, my teacher, Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawo maintains that it is in fact an offering to Echu. In either case, the mark matches the active oricha.

Seven ataré in the awán add aché to the prayers of those involved, promise increase and blessing, and allude to the orichas active in the ceremony.

Working with Atenas: Irete Meyi

2010-03-11T00:00:00.004-05:00

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Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye uses signs under the awán basket and includes Irete Meyi. He glosses the sign as the spirituality of Asojano, and I have heard other babalawos say the same thing. Some people add that this sign is Babalú-Ayé in person. Nothing else gets said; apparently it is not necessary in the laconic style of the religion.

Other things also appear in this sign: It is the birthplace of the bubonic plague, pleurisy, pestilent fevers, syphilis, leukemia, and leprosy. It speaks of illnesses in the legs and even paralysis. It also seems to rule skin diseases: It is the birthplace of eczema, abscesses, furuncles, and pimples. Some people say that smallpox was born here, but others insist it was born in Odí-Eyeunle.

The sign also rules pimples on the skin. In Cuban Spanish, the word granos means both “pimples” and “grains.” So in some way, the universal offering to Babalú, the gourd filled with grains and beans can be thought of a gathering of sores offered back to their source.

Irete Meyi seems to concentrate many of the destructive aspects of Asojano, but when it comes out in divination, it promises long life. So maybe Irete Meyi, Asojano in person, seems to embody a long life filled with pustules, pestilence, and plagues.

Working with Substances: Bread

2010-03-06T14:01:00.004-05:00

Santería priests work with bread in many contexts. There are only a few things that every oricha will eat: fruit, coconuts, the tamales called ekó, and bread. Seventeen rolls on a plate is a common offering to Babalú-Ayé, and in some house you even see them nailed to the inside of the door frame as a concrete prayer for a constant supply of food to enter the house. They also place in the bottom of the awán basket when they honor Babalú.

What could be more essential, more basic than bread--that ancient mixture of wheat, water, leavening, and fire? Bread remains "the staff of life." And as a culinary imperative, it holds a special place in the imagination of many cultures. Bread is the most basic food, the sine qua non of Western cuisine. Some writers have even seen bread as the best symbol for human beings' transformational impact on nature. It is the raw, and then cooked, as Levi-Strauss pointed out. As a basic building block of the Cuban diet, its inclusion in the awán points to the centrality of Babalú-Ayé.

Bread starts out alive. The leavening grows, nourishing itself on the sugars in the wheat. The gas produced in the process creates the characteristic air holes. However, when you add fire and bake, the leavening dies, and the loaves are nothing but the skeleton of once living colony of yeasts. It's a bit like the coral stones so characteristic of Babalú's worship--like the one at the Sociedad Africana de Santa Bárbara. They start out as living organisms, but when removed, they too are skeletons--each one the long-lasting remnant of a former existence. More on that later...

So adding the bread to the awán basket invokes two very different aspects of Babalú-Ayé. It calls up a universal notion of sustenance, the daily bread, the material necessities that keep our bodies alive and moving. At the same time, it invokes that enduring, irreducible part of human being that remains present even after devastating violence or irreparable harm.

(Special thanks to filmmaker Madli Lääne of Estonia for the fantastic image. Check out her work, including the film Toma Uno about Cuba.)

Revisiting Charcoal and Ojuani

2010-02-20T22:57:00.003-05:00

As I reflected on the intersection of charcoal and Ojuani Meyi, I discovered something interesting. It turns out that the sign Ofún-Ojuani represents an important nexus of various of the themes that surround Babalú-Ayé. I have a tratado that says explicitly that in this sign is born:

the secret of charcoal (and ashes);
the curse of the color black;
the pilgrimage; and
the great secret of Shakuaná.

It is interesting to note that the sign also includes a recipe for the creation of Ibako, the prenda of Oluó Popó.

While there is no story explaining the secret of charcoal or the curse of the color black, there is a story explaining the use of colored cloth in the crowning of new oricha priests. It lists black as the color for Shakuaná (though I should say that I think most people would say it should be red).

The tratado does provide some detail about the great secret of Shakuaná. It says that before he was Asojano, he was called Kelejewe Kuto, and he had to die in order to be reborn. It also says that here Shakuaná set out on the road to another land to be crowned. If we look at this an analogy, where the link is pilgrimage or movement, we could chart the transformation:

Kelejewe Kuto : Asojano:: old life : rebirth:: uncrowned : crowned

It makes you wonder about the charcoal. It has an old life as wood, and its rebirth results in a crown of new, hotter flames.

So all this suggests—I find it difficult to be too definitive about these things—that breaking charcoal into the basket of the awán is essentially the same as using Ofún-Ojuani as an atena. It suggests that the charcoal promises a movement from old life to rebirth.

Working with Atenas: Ojuani Meyi

2010-02-12T21:07:00.004-05:00

So Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye includes the divination sign Ojuani Meyi as one of the atenas he writes under the awán basket. He says it is the birth place of Asojano’s vessel and ritual broom, his cazuela and his já. Priests like Abreu see themselves as ceremonialists, claiming that every ritual is a contemporary expression of a timeless story from a particular odu.

In Ojuani Meyi is where Asojuano came down to end the war between Guinea and Partridge.

In ancient times Guinea Hen and Partridge were the witches of the forest. They were both so strong in their witchcraft that they entered into a battle to the death, dragging all their followers into the struggle. While they cast great spells, terrible epidemics assaulted the Earth, and their children emerged from their eggs with witchcraft. Their young were witches by birthright. (Since that time, their eggs have been used in dangerous witchcraft.)

So many were the deaths that Alakaso carried the news to Heaven and there he found noone willing to go down to Earth to end the war, so Ojuani Meyi asked Olodumare for permission to go and put an end to the conflict. Olodumare told him that was fine, but that he should wait for the right moment. And that moment arrived when Alakaso advised him that in the land of Dassa the armies of Guinea and Partridge were preparing for battle. When the two armies had formed up face to face with their respective kings in front, Ojuani Meyi cast himself from Heaven crying “Shakuaná”—meaning “Crowned King.” He landed between the two armies. Guinea and Partridge were both surprised and horrified when, in the havoc of combat, Shakuaná challenged them to a duel. They accepted and attacked. When Partridge landed on Shakuaná’s head to paralize him with excrement, Shakuaná struck him with the já, the ritual broom he had brought from Heaven. With a quick stab, Shakuaná ran Guinea through with the já and ended the war, thus making all the children and vassals of Guinea and Partridge into the slaves and servants of Shakuaná. In this way, Shakuaná ended the war, epidemic and death that were assaulting Dassa.

People use this story to explain that the guinea and partridge are the secret of the crown of Asojano. They say that Mawo, as the Arará call Olodumare, made a crown with the heads of guinea and the partridge and used it to crown the King of Dassa, known from that time by the name Shakuaná Odasamu. Their feathers also adorn the já. (I’ll post a photo next week when I return to the office.)

The já is the quintessential tool of Asojano. In ceremonies priests use it like a broom to sweep off osobo—negativity, especially death and illness—from people. Made from the central stems of young palm fronds, the já has a highly beaded handle that is home to a powerful carga, a ritual charge of ingredients meant to bring Asojano’s aché to bear. I have collected many “recipes” for the já from many knowledgeable elders, and I can say the carga brings us back to working with substances.

The story also makes some other things plain. Ojuani Meyi, the sign itself in the form of a spirit, comes down and takes the name Shakuaná, the most powerful and secret name of Babalú-Ayé. So this sign becomes the oricha himself. No wonder Abreu uses it in awán.

The story also shows the intimate relationship between this oricha and Olodumare himself. Here Olodumare sends him to Earth to put an end to a witchcraft war and an epidemic in one. Here too Olodumare makes his crown and makes him king. So strong is the link between this oricha and the Supreme God that he carries the praise name Omolú, the son of God, and he is routinely referred to as the wrath of Olodumare.

While this story make clear the warrior quality of Ojuani Meyi qua Shakuaná, the specific power of the já and its links to Guinea, Partridge and Olodumare, it does not seem to tell us anything about the vessel of Asojano.

Working with Substances: Charcoal

2010-02-08T12:34:00.002-05:00

One of the most beautiful and intriguing things about the world of the orichas is the incredible sophistication and differentiation that exists both in the use of substances for ritual and the complex narratives that represent certain timeless truths. While some people stress one of these aspects over the other, in fact both traditions remain very important and vital. My next few posts will explore these traditions in relationship to Babalú’s awán.

Those who follow the lineage of Armando Zulueta—Omí Toké crumble charcoal at the bottom of the basket used in the awán. My teacher Ernesto Pichardo taught me to do this, explaining that the charcoal moves us into the realm of the unknown, the mysterious. However, he also taught me to consider carefully the substances that we use in the religion to gain a better understanding of their inherent aché.

When organic materials like wood are burned in the absence of oxygen, they produce charcoal. It takes great skill to stack wood and burn it into charcoal, and in the Cuban countryside, many people make their living from cutting the invaisive maribú trees, burning them into charcoal, and selling it. It is widely used for cooking, and it remains most traditional for preparing the food at oricha ceremonies. Transformed wood becomes the basis for transforming food.

After burning, charcoal is much lighter but retains the basic shape of the original material. In this way, charcoal resembles the skeleton of a deceased person: The transformation changes it, but soemthing recognizable remains. In fact, many ritual works for individuals use a similar principle: The name of the concerned is written on a piece of paper and then burned; the ashes are placed in the work to make certain that the person named is affected. In each case, the remainder is a kind of irreducible essence of the thing.

Charcoal burns at a very high heat and thus evokes “candela” in the religion. “Candela” literally means “fire.” Cubans will refer to problematic and memorable people as “candela,” but more often than not it implies danger, trouble, and problems. In fact, when the sign Eyila appears on the mat in dilogún divination, tradition mandates that the diviner light a piece of charcoal and then extinguish it in omiero, the watery herbal concoction used in ceremonies. This simple ceremony is meant to extinguish—or at least mitigate—the “candela” carried by sign.

The black color of charcoal links it to various important domains of activity. Ogún, the oricha of the forge, takes black in his necklace. Working in the vicinty of the forge, Ogún gets dirty, and the blacksmith’s art requires candela and the same kind of transformation as charcoal burning. Some roads of Babalú also take black, evoking the color of fertile Earth. In addition to these material realms, Anthropologist Anthony Buckley has observed that black Earth parallels black skin, and when removed, red laterite or red sores appear, signalling the end of a agricultural or healthy productivity. Babalú’s black also reminds us the night. The awán must take place after dark, and Babalú will only eat—receive sacrifices—after sunset. Even the syncretic Feast of San Lázaro includes a nightime pilgrimage.

As Pichardo said, black evokes the unknown, and charcoal is used in the funeral rites of an initiate. Charcoal is added to the gourd that contains many sacred substances linked to the deceased and the whole gourd is wrapped in white and then black cloth.

So charcoal reflects transformation, contains something essential and material, and links to candela, Earth, night, and death. These things point to the unique aché of the charcoal added to the basket for an awán.

(Special thanks to Robin Thom and Flikr for the photograph of a charcoal stack in Cuba.)

The Awán Ceremony and Worshing Babalú-Ayé

2010-02-04T16:11:00.003-05:00

Perhaps the most common ceremony for worshiping Babalú-Ayé is the awán. In the ceremony, a basket is lined with sack cloth, and many plates of cut-up food are arranged around it. Some elders say 13 plates, some say 17, and some even say 77 plates must be present. After sunset, participants circle the basket and taking handfuls of food from each plate into their closed hands, they rub the food around their bodies to remove negativity or osobo. Each handful of food is cast into the basket, until everyone has cleansed themselves. People are also cleansed with a speckled rooster, a guinea hen, two eggs and the já, the ritual broom of Babalú. Different lineages finish the awán in different ways but these things remain pretty stable wherever you go.

Those who work the awán in the so-called Lucumí tradition follow the Arará-Dajomé lineage of Armando Zulueta. They place things at the bottom of the basket to set the stage. They crumble charcoal and add a peice of bread smeared with palm oil and topped with seven guinea peppers.

When Pedro Abreu-Asonyanye of the Arará-Sabalú performs the awán, he begins by tracing a circle of chalk on the ground. Inside the circle he marks a series of divination signs to invoke the key moments in the life of Asojano. Called atenas, these signs bring the specific aché of each sign to bear on the awán and the lives of those who participate. Pedro uses the following signs:

Oché-Turá is where Echu entered the world.
Ojuani Meyi is where Asojano's pot and já were born.
Irete Meyi is Asojano's spirituality.
Ogbe Twanilara is where Orunmila began speaking for Asojano. (Some people say this is also the birthplace of the secrets of Asojano.)
Ogbe-Yono is the journey of Asojano from to the land of the Arará.
Ocana-Osá is a sign used to remove osobo.

He also uses Obara-Oturá and Otura-Ché.

The study of these substances and signs should lead to new insight into the life and times of Asojano.

(So as I prepared to write this post, I realized that I have never taken a picture of an awán for Babalú-Ayé. The closest ritual is a similar ceremony done for Olocun, as seen in this photograph from the Playa de los Chivos in Habana del Este by David Brown. The awán for Babalú takes a similar form, but it always takes place after dark and it has a different function.)

Ogbe-Yono: Where Omolú Rode a Goat and its Relationship with Ochún

2010-01-21T16:14:00.003-05:00

Elders often stress the centrality of the odu Ogbe-Yono when they discuss Babalú. The sign is called Eyeunle-Ogundá by the babalochas. Here is a classic story from the sign:

In his travels toward the land of Dahomey, Omolú traveled with his guide Ogbe-Yono, and they took their own sweet time in arriving, slowing traversing the long, rough road. When they arrived at the town of Shaki, they also encountered its queen, a woman named Ottanagoso. She had many large, bearded goats that were strong enough to ride in those parts. When she saw how tired they were, she offered a goat to Ogbe-Yono, so they could continue their trip, and she gave him a special insignia so that wherever they arrived, her servants would offer him gifts and fresh goat. The insignia was beads and beautiful stones from her kingdom in the form of a necklace that people would identify as the mark of the Queen of Shaki.

It took five days for Ogbe-Yono and Omolú to travel from Shaki to Saya, and each day they passed a new outpost. In each one, they showed Queen Ottanagoso’s insignia and received beautiful gifts of fruits and shells. From then on, the power and fame of Omolú grew, until he was crowned in Dahomey and given the title Asojano.

So in the purifying ceremony for Asojano called the awán, the beneficiary of the ceremony mounts a goat. Together they travel around a basket five times in memory of the five days that Ogbe-Yono and Asojano spent making the trip from Shaki to Saya.

I first heard this story from Pedro Abreu—Asoyanye when I attended my first awán in his house, but he always stresses that it was Ochún who gave Omolú the goat on which he traveled to Dahomey to become king. Abreu uses this story to justify the ritual action of mounting the goat and to explain the strong loyalties that often tie Omolú’s children and Ochún´s children. I have heard of some priests who understand that they must move to a foreign land to prosper, just as Omolú moved to the land of the Dahomey to become king.

It is interesting to note that Ogbe-Yono is also the birthplace of crutches, a common symbol of Omolú and where a person was initiated to Ochún for the first time.

Another Story about Ochún and Babalú-Ayé

2010-01-17T14:32:00.002-05:00

The first time I ever got a reading in the religion, it was with Santiago Pedroso-Cálves, an Obatalá priest and orí-até who worked out of Philadelphia in the 1970s and 1980s. He told me a story about Ochún and Babalú-Ayé that I have never heard anywhere else.

Babalú-Ayé was sick and covered with open sores from small pox. When he arrived in the land of the Arará, he arrived at the bank of a river, the sacred realm of Ochún. He wrapped himself in a special cloth and entered in a river. When he came out he sat by the bank until he was dry. When he unwrapped himself, his sores were gone. Pleased with this new development, Babalú rested in this place.

(At this point in the narrative, Santiago pointed to his Babalú-Ayé and said it was the same kind of cloth hanging over it--a square of sack cloth with a thick edging of purple cloth and four cowries in the middle, sewn in the shape of a cross.)

After a few days, a child appeared covered in same sores that had plagued Babalú. He explained that the town nearby was suffering from a terrible outbreak of small pox. Crying out in pain, the child asked if Babalú could help him. Babá wrapped him in the same cloth and told him to bath in the river. Then he sent the child home to his parents with instructions to unwrap himself in the morning.

When he arrived home, the child told his parents what had happened. In the morning, when they removed the cloth, he was cured. Together they went to find Babalú, and as they walked through town to the river, their friends and neighbors saw the healthy child and began to dance in celebration. By the time they found Babalú, the whole town was following the boy and his parents. They asked Babalú to heal them all, and when he had finished, they asked him to be their king.

As I said, I have never heard this specific story anywhere else, but like the other story, it shows a very intimate relationship between Ochún and Babalú--after all, he enters her. Here Babalú wanders into this other kingdom of his own accord, and led by his own wisdom, he is healed by the cleansing waters of Ochún.