Baba Who? Babalú!

Many people in Cuba have told me that after Changó and Ochún, Babalú-Ayé is the most popular oricha in the religion; 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.”...

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 clothes 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 b...

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 cleans...

I have been thinking a lot about caves lately. In Cuba, Babalú-Ayé is thought to have lived in a cave at his nadir; 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 expl...

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."