Baba Who? Babalú!

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...

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 “...

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 him 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 , am...

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 smallpox. 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 into the water. He came out and 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 Baba...

Many Cubans extol the virtues of the Baroque—in architecture, music, and personality, and they celebrate the tension and movement embodied in this tradition. This passion for profusion does come out in words—just think about Fidel’s eight-hour speeches. At the same time, many of the most important things in Cuba are said in single, laconic sentences. “Babalú-Ayé. Aso se dice.” Babalú-Ayé. Sickness they say. “Babalú-Ayé. Ajañajaña.” This has no real translation, but people use both of these phrases regularly as a kind of greeting. “Babalú-Ayé, el mendigo.” Babalú-Ayé the wanderer. “San Lázaro Obispo.” San Lázaro the bishop. These two refer to specific Roman Catholic images of the saint. “Babalú-Ayé es un santo milagroso.” Babalú-Ayé is a very miraculous saint. “San Lázaro es muy bueno.” San Lázaro is very good. “Babalú-Ayé es muy lindo.” Babalú-Ayé is very beautiful. The student of Santería hears these remarks again and again. They point to something, but their meaning is not prim...