Baba Who? Babalú!

When I was a young priest, I was preparing to give Olocun, the mysterious oricha of the bottom of the sea, to one of my godchildren. We had the vessel, the tools, the shells, and the beaded necklace. As we waited for the date of the ceremony to arrive, he dreamed that he was wearing a bracelet for Olocun on his left wrist. It was like the multistranded idé that priests get when they are initiated but it had only one strand of blue and clear beads. I was a young priest, so I asked my teacher, Ernesto Pichardo, how to deal with this dream. He explained to me that the Earth Deities often communicate through dreams; furthermore, they often suggest more variations in their ceremonies than other orichas. His advice was to divine with Elegguá’s shells to see if the dream really was a revelation that should be followed. I no longer remember what sign came out, but when I divined for the addition of this bracelet it was approved by Elegguá. So we made the bracelet and when the ceremony came, we

Armando Zulueta—Omí Toké certainly put Perico on the map because of his active life traveling around Cuba and giving Babalú-Ayé to many, many people. However, just a block west of his house lies the Sociedad Africana de Santa Barbára. Founded by the Arará Ma Fementina Zulueta, the family’s religious tradition has deep ties to Babalú-Ayé. Ma Fementina had a Babalú-Ayé and a full set of Arará drums. When she died, he stayed with her daughter, Victoria Zulueta. Victoria’s great-grandson, Aristites Angarica, still uses this Babalú-Ayé on the rare occasions that he he initiates others into the mysteries of this oricha. Unlike most other Babalús, this one has one large, solitary stone. While he receives a single hand of cowries so he can speak, he usually speaks through coconut divination. He insists on having his own room, so he shares a building in the back yard of the family house with the drums.

There are many accounts explaining why Babalú-Ayé was exiled from the land of the Lucumí by the other orichas. In some versions, he spread disease after being mocked, and then Obatalá exiled him. In some, his exile is one of many tests sent by Olodumare, the Supreme God. But in one story, he could not contain his desire for sex. The story goes that Obatalá blessed Babalú-Ayé with peerless sexual prowess. He was a great lover, and all the women wanted him. In exchange for this gift, Obatalá only asked for one thing in return: Babalú was forbidden to have sex on Obatalá’s feast day. Well, after many years of observing this taboo, Babalú was consumed with desire for a new woman he had been seducing. She finally admitted that she wanted to hook up with Babalú, and she told him to come back the next day. Despite the fact that the next day was Obatalá’s festival, Babalú returned and lay with his new lover. When he left the tryst, he realized that his body was covered in sores. Babalú went

In his book, Ewe , the French photographer, ethnographer, and babalawo Pierre Fatumbi Verger describes a work to obtain favors from Obalú-Ayé from the odu Ogbe-Ogunda (p. 314-315). In Lucumí, whether in Cuba or its Diasporas, Ogbe-Ogunda is usually called Ogbe-Yono, and it contains the most famous story about Obalú-Ayé, in which he is exiled from the land of the Lucumí, spends years as a homeless wanderer, and then finally becomes king of the Arará. Verger gives the following description: Open a hole in the floor of the house. Inside the hole, place the unidentified herb called ewe ajade and ewe popo ( Adenia lobata ) along with seven hard stones. Kill a rooster and pour its blood into the hole. Also place its body in the hole. Draw the odu Ogbe-Ogunda in iyerosun powder and place that in the hole as well. Cover the preparation. This work sounds a lot like like another variation on the secret of San Lázaro that Ña Octavia Zulueta--Jundesi planted in the house of Armando Zulueta--

It turns out that my brand new daughter is a daughter of Babalú-Ayé. Yes, it is a bit daunting to think that this tiny baby embodies the god of infectious disease and healing, but the religion revolves in some way around these identifications. Two days after we learned that she belonged to Babalú-Ayé, she was having some intestinal distress. Gas, and lots of it, was making it hard for her to sleep. As I held her in my arms and rocked her at 2:30 in the morning, I began to speak to Babalú about taking away her pain. In the process, surprise, surprise, I fell asleep. I immediately began to dream: Babalú-Ayé was standing before me holding a very intricate já, a ritual broom covered in cowry shells. I held Nati in my arms, and Babalú said, "I will lead her on travels through the darkness." This is one of those moments where the revelation is not entirely clear, but we have confidence from experience that it will become clear with time. Babalú certainly knows about traveling

People know that Jundesi planted the secret of San Lázaro at Armando Zulueta’s house, but no one really knows what the secret is or why Jundesi planted it there. Many new compendia of religious information are being published these days, and in one of them, I found the following mythic narrative in the divination sign or odu called Oyekun-Ojuani: In this road of the odu, Shakuaná—another name for Babalú-Ayé—did not stay in any single house, but when he arrived at the house of a priest called Oyekún for divination, the sign Oyekún Ojuani came out. The priest marked the following sacrifice: two pigs, sixteen fish, two pots of palm oil, and a hat. Shakuaná made the sacrifice, and since he had no secret place to eat, the priest sent him to leave the offering exposed at the entrance to the town. When Shakuaná arrived to leave the sacrifice on the Earth, he heard the voice of Elegba, the messenger of the orichas, from behind him: “The sacrifice that you placed on the Earth will be separate

Because Babalú-Ayé spent many years living as wanderer on the road, many people consider him to be one of the owners of the road. Within the Regla de Ocha, better known as Santería, most deities have different manifestations, which people call caminos or roads. Old priests and priestesses say that the messenger and trickster Elegguá has more roads than any other deity. Some say he has 101 roads, but others say he has 256. After Elegguá, Babalú probably has more roads than any other divinity. I have documented more than sixty, but I am sure that future travels will reveal more. Different people imagine these roads in different ways. My teacher, Ernesto Pichardo—Obá Irawó of Miami, uses a family metaphor: “Babalú-Ayé is like the last name they all share, but the road is like the first name.” Others conceive of the roads as reflections of different stages or etapas in the lives of the divinities. And many people do speak of the youngest and oldest roads of different deities. These

Ña Octavia Zulueta—Jundesi and her godson Armando remained close through the years. She admired his aché and his enthusiasm for the Babalú. One day Jundesi appeared at the family house on Calle Juan Domínguez in Percio. She said she had something to give him. She said she needed to plant the secret of San Lázaro in the backyard. She went to the back corner of the yard, next to the latrine. From a basket she pulled a long object that was the size and shape of a piece of yucca. She dug a shallow hole and half-buried the secret. On top she placed a coral stone. There it remains. Over the years, the family built a small house around the secret, and someone tried to protect it with a tin can. Every year, at the time of San Lázaro’s feast, they hold a big celebration that always includes feeding the secret of San Lázaro. As they feed Babalú-Ayé, they catch some of the blood in a gourd with white wine and rum. They pour this mixture over the secret. No one really knows what the secre

Often parents will make the most extreme promises when their children are sick and they need a miracle. It is not uncommon to see an adult moving along the ground accompanied by a child, who is also acting out her devotion: parents promise to go to Rincón on their backs, dragging themselves, or crawling, and they promise to take their children with them if they survive. They go to pay their debt to the spirit who has delivered them. Within the Afro-Cuban world, all things have their origins in the spiritual and historical precedents laid out in the odu, the divination signs that contain proverbs, formulaic advice, prescribed ceremonies, specific offerings, allegorical folktales, and myths. The idea of the promise was "born" in the odu Oché-Odí. It says, "El que paga su deunda queda franco--the one who pays his debt is free." The odu also includes a story that details how devotion can change the attitude of the gods: in the land of Otá, Oyá was the que

Tonight pilgrims are flooding the streets of Rincón. Some have flown into Havana from overseas and traveled the 39 kilometers to the little town. Some have walked from their homes in Santiago, and some have walked from Bejucal, the next town over. The police close the main road to cars around dusk, and so walking is the best way to arrive. But the walking is so central to the enterprise that no one calls it a pilgrimage. Rather they call it the "caminata," roughly the special walk. It is important to notice that all the popular images of San Lázaro show him walking on his crutches on a road that leads toward a distant tower. All the stories about Babalú-Ayé also include his walking long distances. In the end most everyone in Rincón will walk to the church. Some people promise to push a "carretilla," a little cart. Like the modest altar for alms, these improvised and portable points of praise ususally include a statue of San Lázaro. Often he wears a cloak ma

Here is an example of a humble altar for alms set up at the Church of San Lázaro. The base is sackcloth, the preferred fabric of penitents in general and Babalú in particular. On it sit four similar statues of San Lázaro, each with companion dogs, purple loin cloth, and crutches. This altar also includes an image of Nuestra Señora de la Caridad, Our Lady of Charity, the patron saint of Cuba. Common offerings to San Lázaro include flowers and cigars. There are candles to light the way. These altars line the sidewalk all the way up to the entrance of the church, and other pilgrims drop coins at each one as they pass by.

Already people have begun to arrive in Rincón and sit outside the Church of San Lázaro. They come, they create simple altars with candles, an image of the saint, and a candle, and they wait for people to leave them with alms. Juan Carlos was one such character I met in 2002. This is the story he told me: In 2000, he had gotten very drunk. When the police were called, he got into a "bronca" with them--this word deserves its own book, but it can be translated roughly as a brawl. In the process, he punched a policeman in the face. While this is not a good thing to do anywhere, it is really short-sighted in Cuba. He was arrested and sentenced to fifteen years in jail. Juan Carlos became a resident of a prison ironically called "Innocence." The terrible food and hard labor were taking their toll on him, as you can see. He had bribed the warden 100 pesos to give him a pass for three days, and he spent the entire time seated in front of the church, waiting for al

Every year on December 16th, thousands of people descend on the town of Rincón to wait for San Lázaro at his namesake church. Fidel never cracked down hard on the San Lázaro festival, and like so many other strange anomalies of the Cuban Revolution, no one really knows why. Called miraculous, mysterious, and good, San Lázaro is known for healing the sick and rewarding the humble. Every year on December 16th, thousands of people travel past the AIDS sanitarium Fidel built to the little church in Rincón, where the leprosarium has sat since 1923. In the maddening crowd—the matazón, some go by horse cart, some walk, some have push-cart altars for San Lázaro. Some go on their knees, and a few extremists drag themselves. All of them seek transcendence of some kind—or at least a break in the monotony of life under the Revolution. Everywhere people display the image of the saint on estampillas, prayer cards, posters, and statues. Everywhere people are imitating the saint in one way or anot