Baba Who? Babalú!

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

Perico, Matanzas Province In 1932 when Armando Zulueta was nine, he began to pass Babalú-Ayé. Again and again the oricha would take his body in possession, and so one day the African-born Ña Octavia Zulueta initiated him into the mysteries of Babalú-Ayé. Known as Jundesi in the religion, Ña Octavia said she was Arará-Dajomé, meaning her ancestors came from Dahomey in West Africa. In the ceremony, Ña Octavia gave Armando the spokesman and guardian, Afrá. She gave him an Osun with a rooster on top. She gave him a deep low-fired water pot with the sacred stones of Nanú, the mother of Babalú. “Nanú is the mother of Babalú-Aye,” they say in Perico, “and she lives at this side.” And she gave him a covered dish with the stones of Babalú-Ayé-Afrimaye, a specific manifestation of the oricha. She also gave him Babalú’s ritual broom—the já—with three times sixteen cowry shells on it. After that, Armando became famous for his knowledge of Babalú and his aché in possession: they say he could

There are many forms of Babalú-Ayé found in Cuba. Some are common and some are unique. Perhaps the best known forms are Babalú-Lucumí and Babalú-Arará, who is sometimes called Asojano. On the surface the distinctions are quite simple. The Lucumí form has its roots in people of Yoruba descent. It is unsealed and speaks through cowry shells. The Arará form has its roots in people of Dahomean descent. It is sealed and speaks through Ifá divination. If you look a little deeper, the distinctions become more complex. The Lucumí form is usually covered, but not always. It can have one stone or seven. It often carries a protective Osun, but not always. Sometimes it comes with the special Elegguá called Afrá, but not always. Sometimes it comes with Nanú, the mother of Babalú, but not always. In fact, there are a variety of ceremonies used to consecrate it. The most famous Lucumí lineage descends from Armando Zulueta—Omí Toké, but even that’s complicated. Armando’s favorite neice and goddaught

There are many stories that explain why Babalú-Ayé went into exile. This story has many versions told both in Africa and the Americas. Obatalá invited all the orichas to come to a big party. Babalú-Ayé was lame with one leg badly damaged, but he covered his injury in fine cloth, supported himself with a crutch, and went to the party. Everyone was dancing and having a good time, but Babalú stayed to the side. At one point, various orichas asked him to dance, but he declined, afraid he would reveal his imperfection. Finally Obatalá ordered Babalú to dance, but because of his deformity, he stumbled and quickly fell. All the orichas immediately burst out laughing. Humiliated and enraged, Babalú-Ayé cast sesame seeds upon all present. In the morning, all the orichas awoke infected with smallpox and covered with red and weeping sores. Realizing what had happened, Obatalá commanded Babalú-Ayé to leave the land of the Lucumí. Cast out and cut off from the other orichas, Babalú wandered from

Lucumí and Arará elders use many different names to refer to Babalú-Ayé, and they associate many different images with this oricha. There are ritual images: as with most orichas, a covered pot—the terra-cotta cazuela—houses the objects sacred to this deity in most lineages. The já, the ritual broom, cleans illness off the devout. There are two metal crutches and two metal dogs that come from the popular Roman Catholic image of San Lázaro, the poor man of Biblical fame. Altars for Babalú-Ayé also include offerings: candles light the way and incense floats up from the floor, filling the air with smoke and smells. Toasted corn rests before him. Perhaps the most common offering is a gourd filled with black beans and topped with a red onion. As patron of life’s material necessities, Babalú is said to rule over all grains and beans. For Cubans, most of whom love black beans and eat them almost daily, black beans represent the staff of life—their daily bread. The beans’ dark color reiterat

Most knowledgeable people in Lucumí religion agree that Babalú-Ayé was born in the divination sign called Odí-Eyeunle. This fact fascinates me, because I have never heard the story of his birth recited when that sign comes out. Instead people just say, “This is the sign where the drum was born. This is the sign where Babalú-Ayé was born. This is the sign where smallpox was born.” Here is another example of Cuban laconics. But there is an Arará story about the birth of Babalú-Ayé. Dasoyi, the father of all the Babalú-Ayés, met Nanú, the mother of all the Babalú-Ayés, at the river in Dassa, Dahomey. They conceived a child, but when the child was born, he looked horrible. They named him Ason, meaning "sickness." He soon met death. They buried the child at the foot of a yamao tree at the edge of the water. When they conceived another child and the time of the birth approached, a bright red bird—a scarlet ibis—roosted in the same yamao where they had buried Ason. Every time th

My teacher, Ernesto Pichardo--Obá Irawó, likes rhetorical questions, so one day he asked me, "What odu does Babalú-Ayé appear in?" I mentioned that people say that Babalú is born in the sign Odí-Eyeunle, along with vomit and smallpox. He said, "Yes, that is true, but there is sickness in every sign, and so Babalú is in every sign. In this he is like Elegguá, who appears everywhere." It is true. The sign Oché Meyi speaks of problems with the blood and diseases like leukemia. The sign Iroso-Ofún speaks of impotence. In the treatises that compile the wisdom about the signs, each one speaks to particular diseases or vectors of infection. I have heard that some Yoruba babalawos always mark an offering for Eshu, and then one for Babalú-Ayé, who has immense power. "Always" is probably a figure of speech, but it does point to a pattern: Babalú-Ayé is offered something in every odu. Babalú-Ayé is strongly associated with the Earth itself, and West Africans and

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

Pedro Abreu-Calvo—Asonyanye is the leading figure among the Arará-Sabalú in Havana these days. The Arará-Sabalú call their divinity of illness and healing Asojano. Initiated in 1992 in the Arará Cabildo in Matanzas City, he continues their tradition of making Asojano direct. He usually refers to Asojano as San Lázaro. When I asked why, he said it was a habit, a routine adopted from the people around him who use that name. He became very direct, “When I say San Lázaro, I mean Asojano.” When I received Asojano from Pedro in 2003, he insisted that I feed my Babalú-Ayé Lucumí with the newly born Asojano. He also told me that when people come to him and they already have Babalú-Ayé Lucumí, he always asks if the Asojano has the same road as Babalú-Ayé. So now I have a Babalú-Ayé and an Asojano, and they have the same road. He always insists that they eat together. Clearly they are not the same. Clearly they not entirely different either. Both Yoruba and Lucumí religion place a good deal