Baba Who? Babalú!

Dasoyí , the father of all the Babalús, is the most common road of this oricha today, but the next most popular is Afimaye.  His white beads with blue stripes are perhaps the most commonly used for Babalú-Ayé . This path of the oricha is said to be the youngest of the Asojanos, and some say he lives in a pumpkin plant and works as a lawyer. Some say he also comes to find the initiates to Arará deities at the hour of their passing. Afimaye’s youth evokes a physical strength and vitality for which he is renowned. When worshipped, he is famous for reinvigorating his devotees.  In the house of Magdalena Fernández in Havana, I once participated in giving Afimaye to an 84 year-old woman. At the beginning of the ceremony, she sat speechless and inert, slumped over in a chair watching the ritual.  After she was cleaned, Afimaye ate and then mounted her. After contorting for a few minutes, she rose and danced with great power for half an hour. Later she was a different woman, and the trans

I woke this morning from an unusual dream: My Asojano was on the floor, seated in an ancestor altar with nine glasses of water and nine candles. So today I am reflecting on the link between Babalú-Ayé and the ancestors. One of the first things that Pedro Abreu—Asonyanye ever said to me was this: Asojano is a witch, Asojano is an ancestor, and Asojano is an oricha.   Unlike other orichas, Babalú-Ayé seems not only to be comfortable with his ancestral role, but to embrace it. In some stories he dies and is born again. In others, he visits the land of the dead and returns with important gifts. In fact, he is sometimes referred to simply as an ancient ancestor, thought to stand in for all those whose names are forgotten. His attributes also have a strong connection with the ancestors.   When Abreu makes a secret for Asojano, he includes many things—and as he is fond of reminding anyone who will listen, no two are ever the same—but he always includes the relic of a specific a

The elders say that Babalú-Ayé stalks the night accompanied by his dogs and the spirits of his children. He is immediately linked to the world of the spirits. During the day they rest in shade, leaning against the shade of large trees. He is especially fond of the yamao, the jaguey, the flamboyán, and the ceiba, and all are used in ceremonies of the oricha. They say Babalú lives in the heart of the forest during the rainy season, but in the dry season he enters the city, bringing epidemics. In fact, some people say when there are epidemics, you should not play for him, you should not call him. Instead, you should placate him with food and simple offerings. People also link him to epidemics of every kind: bubonic plague, yellow fever, the Spanish influence, AIDS. Historically, though, he was thought to control smallpox. By extension he has dominion over all skin sores and diseases. Since smallpox leaves visible scars, any transfiguring disease comes under his purview. Many pe

The bakonos , as Fon-speaking babalawos in Benin are known, regularly deposit their sacrifices in the natural world. But oricha people everywhere know that it is sometimes difficult to make it to the sea or the forest or another natural location to hand over an offering to an oricha. So the bakonos have devised a remarkable solution: they have something called Kiti where they can deposit any offering. (It is called  Ñawo in Fon-gbe.) At a crossroads, a bakono opens a hole in the earth and offers a goat and four chickens. To the hole, he adds Ifá herbs, a wide variety of earths from different locations, a bit of money, and other secrets. He closes the hole, places a rock sacred to Sakpata on top, and plants a special tree. (Sakpata is a name for Babalú.) On the tree he hangs red, white, and black cloth. After offering a chicken to the stone and making the standard prayers for protection from death, sickness, and evil, Kiti is ready to work: from then on, the bakono leaves his offering

I went to Havana on a mission, so I suppose you could say I was a missionary for Asojano. I went to feed my godfather’s Asojano and play for him. It was not a requirement but something that made sense to me, given the many blessings I have received lately from Asojano . My plane left Baltimore late, so I had missed my connection and spent three extra days in Jamaica trying to be patient. When I finally arrived in Havana, the customs officials interviewed me at length about why I was in Cuba, who I was visiting, what I was carrying. After forty-five minutes, they searched my two small bags and found exactly what I said they would find. I went straight from the airport to Calle Guasabacoa in Luyanó where the ceremony was to take place. The dramatic throne was already up, and Asojano was waiting for me with seven jaces . Fifteen minutes after I arrived, we started the ebó by feeding the ancestors with a rooster, a hen, and a dove. We gave cocos, they said Eyeife, good to go. Forty

Key to understanding Babalú-Ayé is the fact that he moves: he moves out of the land of the Lucumí and into the wilderness. He moves out of the wilderness and into the land of the Arará. He becomes king of a foreign land. More simply, he moves from well-being to destitution and back to well-being. In addition to moving physically from place to place, he moves people´s emotions with his suffering. It is impressive, unforgettable even, to see people imitating him in the caminata, as they drag themselves along the pavement. The sound alone sticks with you, but their bloody hands and knees remind you of the pain you have lived through. In Spanish, the verb conmover captures both this shared moving and being moved. Even in the ceremonies that the now-dead elders taught to the living, Babalú-Ayé moves. In many houses, he travels to the ceiba tree and then again to the cemetery, eating at each stop. He then travels to the family shrine for the dead--the egun--and again shares a meal w