Baba Who? Babalú!

Years ago, I wrote about a Matanzas lineage in which Babalú-Ayé is taken on a ritual journey before he is given to a new devotee. First, he goes to the cemetery, where he is fed a guinea with white wine and cigar smoke. Then he is taken to the foot of a ceiba, where the feeding is repeated. Finally, he returns to the house, where he eats again with the ancestors. Cemetery. Ceiba. House. At the time, I was interested primarily in what this sequence revealed about Babalú’s relationship with the dead. But the ceiba keeps appearing. Dasojí—the father of the Babalú-Ayés—is imagined reclining against the trunk of a ceiba, surrounded by his children. Nanú, their mother, lives in its crown. Naná Burukú receives two white guineas at its foot at dawn. And Babalú himself goes there before entering the house of a new devotee. These are not all versions of the same ceremony. They come from different houses, different stories, different ritual contexts. Still, the pattern is difficult to ignore. The...

Linked again and again to the kiti are praise names for the elusive oricha Naná Burukú: Okitikatá aparamalobe Okitikatá akparamanyin Referred to alternatively as the wife, elder sister, or grandmother of Babalú-Ayé, Naná Burukú is widely considered an ancient and important deity. She is often referred to as the mother of sweet waters, both under and above the ground. For this reason, she is sometimes fed at springs and pools of stagnant water. She is considered primordial and even primitive, older than iron, and so people make sacrifices to her using a wooden knife, usually fashioned from bamboo—a plant strongly associated with the ancestors and Naná.   There is much respect—even fear and danger—associated with Naná Burukú. Ernesto Pichardo has told me that few of his elders wanted to get close to her.   Like Odudua, Boromu, Brosia, Yewá and Iroko, Naná Burukú is an earth-bound force associated with the night. Old timers acknowledged that these forces exist, but ...

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...