Raquel Fernández—Obbá Kedún Has Joined the Ancestors

 Last Monday morning, I awoke to a WhatsApp message I knew would come.

My friend, godmother, and comadre Raquel Ester Fernández-Vigil—Obbá Kedún had joined the ancestors overnight.

It was not unexpected. She was born in 1929, and she had been fighting cancer for the last eighteen months, and her niece told me that she fought until the very end, clinging to life. That sounds like Raquel. She was not someone who released anything easily.

I am not totally certain when I met Raquel, but it was probably in 1997. At the time, I was visiting the house of an obá in Buena Vista, in Municipio Playa, on a regular basis, and she was his oyugbona. When we worked ceremonies together, she kept everything moving. She anticipated the next step. She noticed what needed to be done before anyone else. She was always in motion.

Clear-headed, tough, and deeply knowledgeable, Raquel embodied many of the best qualities of the religion. She was grounded in Havana tradition, but she rarely spoke in absolutes. When ritual questions came up, she would say, “I have always seen it done this way,” or “I have never seen it done that way.” She placed herself in the role of witness, though in fact she was a very active priestess. She made six orishas and served as oyugbona for more than 100.

Raquel’s knowledge came from decades of work with some of the most imposing figures in Havana’s orisha community. She was made to Shangó in 1964, with her older sister Magdalena--Akala as her godmother. Her oyugbona was José María Hernández-Arioza—Omi Niqué, who had been made by Margot San Lázaro as his oyugbona. Oyá was Raquel’s mother in the orisha, and she almost always wore her necklace.

Raquel was married to the Asojano priest Rafael Linares—Emerego. She told me that she always respected his traditions, and that his godmother, Matilde Sotomayor—Asoinque, guided her actions. Even after Rafael joined the ancestors in 1985, his Asojano stayed with Raquel. His guiding spirit never left her, and she never remarried. Raquel knew how to remain faithful to the dead without becoming sentimental. 

When I made my second orisha in Cuba in 1998, I asked Raquel to be the oyugbona. I had already witnessed her dedication and her attention to detail, and I knew she would be generous with the new initiate.When I made my third orisha later that same year, I again asked Raquel to serve as oyugbona. The iyawó, Katherine Hagedorn—Oshún Toké, got the flu and was miserably sick. Raquel cared for her. She called the neighborhood doctor. She prepared special chicken soup. She made sure Katherine was comfortable at night.

Raquel could be stern. She could be exacting. But when someone was under her care, she was all generosity. 

Whenever I was in Cuba, I visited Raquel in her little apartment in Reparto Mañana. She told me stories of her family, her orisha house, and the ancestors she had known. Once, when I arrived, she was making jaces for Nanú and Nana Burukú. She told me their stories as she slowly, meticulously covered the handles with dark beads.

In January 2000, my friend David Brown—Eguín Koladé went to Cuba to make santo. I was honored when he asked me to be his oyugbona—and also a little scared. David’s godmother was married to a famously slippery babalawo. Since the ceremony would take place with the babalawo's associates, I knew it would be a hard ceremony, and I knew I needed support.

So, I explained the whole situation to Raquel and asked if she would have my back.

Off we went to a hole in the wall in Centro Habana, where all kinds of monkey business went down. Again and again, I consulted Raquel about what I was seeing and how I planned to react. Again and again, she counseled me in her direct but quiet way. All the while, she treated David with warmth and affection, taking care of his needs and making sure he was all right.

A couple of years later, David and I went to Raquel to receive the Ibeyi. The ceremony was simple and uneventful, but we were both glad to be more explicitly connected to her.

On another visit, Raquel recounted her life with Rafael. Her love and respect for him were clear more than twenty years after his death. Her neice says she adored him. She greeted his Asojano on my behalf and laughed about how surprising it was that she kept inheriting Asojano from different people. She had five. Why, she asked, did she need her own when she was already taking care of five?

Another time, I found her at her sister’s house a few blocks away. Together they were plucking the feathers of two white roosters they had just offered to Olokun. In no time at all, they were sharing messages from the spirits. I learned a lot that day.

Raquel could be difficult too.

For several years, I had dated one of her goddaughters. Her goddaughter ended the relationship and moved on to another man soon afterward. The following year, they had a son. But for fifteen years, every time I saw Raquel, she insisted that I was the boy’s father.

The calendar of when I was in Cuba and when the boy was conceived made clear that I could not be the father. But Raquel would go on and on about how sometimes you plant a seed and it takes time to sprout.

Every time I saw her.

For fifteen years.

Raquel was a great priestess, a generous elder, a fierce caretaker, and sometimes a stubborn and impossible woman. 

In late 2024, Raquel’s niece told me she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. It is no surprise when elders begin to make their exit, but I was sad. My wife said we should visit Raquel before she passed, and we quickly put together a trip to Havana.

When my wife, my son, and I arrived in mid-December, we were amazed. Raquel had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks just before our arrival, but she was up and about. She talked animatedly. She shared messages from the ancestors about how to ensure blessings for my son, who had been very sick. And she kept telling me how much she loved her nieces, especially Cocó. My wife said she seemed like a woman in her fifties or sixties, not someone in her late nineties.

In April, during another bad patch, Raquel’s niece sent me a WhatsApp message. Raquel had asked her to write to me.

“Perhaps I will not see you again,” she said, “but you will have my blessing from heaven, from the other dimension. I am more than grateful to you for your companionship over the years. Continue in your faith and your love for the orishas.”

Last week Raquel’s family did her itutu, the farewell ceremony for her orishas. Several stayed with her godchildren, and three stayed with her niece, including Changó. He wanted to remain in the family house to protect everyone, just as he had done when Raquel was alive.

Raquel kept working until the end. She kept speaking the truth and giving her blessings. She kept caring for the people tied to her. She kept working the spirits, speaking from the other dimension before she had fully entered it. She stayed true to the tradition she had learned and to the principles she had chosen. She did not abandon what—or who—had been entrusted to her.

Raquel’s was a life well-lived, and it is her example is indispensable for me.

So here we are. The inevitable has happened: Raquel Fernández—Obbá Kedún has joined the ancestors.

May the drums of heaven receive her with honor.

May the spirits she tended open the road.

May her dear sister and husband welcome her to the next life with open arms.

May her blessing continue to reach those of us who loved her.

Ibayé, bayé tonú. Homage of the world, homage of the world to the one in heaven.

(The photo of the throne is by Kamila Lazara Zamora Montenegro—Adde Milla, "la Cocó," Raquel’s beloved young niece. The throne itself was set up with her support and the efforts of other family members.)