The Altar of My Soul

by Marta Moreno Vega

  It is said in Cuban Yoruba legends that the orisha Oyá is the guardian of the cemetery gateway. She protects the spirit of those who have died, so that we may live. According to the elders, when a novice is to be initiated with the orisha Oyá, he or she must be taken to a cemetery for nine consecutive days before the initiation. Oyá represents air, one of the five elements of life.

  In drumming ceremonies for the eguns, it is a child of Oyá who dances. Oyá is gracious when happy, but when angered she is as strong as Oggun and Shangó. She is a female warrior who manifests herself in the whirlwind.

  The following legend illustrates her cunning qualities. Oyá was the first wife of Shangó, the orisha of fire, thunder, and lightning. One day, Shangó sent Oyá on an errand to bring him a special potion that would give him the power to spout fire. He asked her not to open the potion along the way. Oyá, not one to take orders, decided to taste the preparation; as a result, she acquired the ability to spout fire before Shangó. Shangó was angered by Oyá’s disobedience, so he consulted Olodumare. Since Oyá already possessed the power to spout fire, Olodumare determined that she would appear before Shangó in all ceremonies. Olodumare recognized that once you have acquired a talent, you will possess it forever.

  In another legend, one that teaches us to be continuously wary of the potential for trickery and deceitful actions, Yemayá tricked Oyá into becoming owner of the cemetery. Yemayá, weary of being in charge of the cemetery, invited Oyá to see the beauty and vast quantity of land she owned. However, in doing so, Yemayá failed to show Oyá the cemetery, which was in reality her home. Oyá, tired of living in the ocean, then agreed to switch homes with Yemayá, because she had fallen in love with the beauty of the land.

  It was not until after they had switched homes that Oyá realized she had been tricked. Outraged, she confronted Yemayá, but Yemayá refused to take back the cemetery. Oyá went to Olodumare to resolve the problem, but Olodumare ruled that Oyá had to abide by her agreement to switch homes. He reminded her that, in the future, she must examine all facets of an agreement before proceeding.

  To this day, Oyá and Yemayá do not get along. In ceremonies when initiates are possessed with these orishas, they must be kept apart to avoid a confrontation.

  The kitchen came alive with the laughter of santeros and santeras as Doña Rosa continued her dance and they jubilantly followed her to get their spoonful of honey. When Doña Rosa got to me, she paused and said, “Marta, I remember your first trip to Cuba in 1979, when you knew very little about Santería. You were like a thirsty child asking questions and drinking up all the information you could find, as if it were water. Today, almost eighteen years later, you have grown into a knowledgeable adult spreading our religion through international events around the world, and you are preparing to initiate others.”

  Doña Rosa placed the honey on the table and then placed her thin hands on each side of my face; in that instant I felt as if my abuela was present. Looking into Doña Rosa’s aged eyes I noticed tears gathering on her lower lids as I stood up to embrace her. She said, “I have never traveled outside of Cuba and do not know much about other countries, but through your work the world has come to my doorstep. In the photographs you brought me I have seen orisha worshipers in Africa, Latin America, the United States, and other Caribbean islands. I now know that my religion belongs to me, Cuba, and to the world. Like Oyá’s whirlwind, the religion is everywhere.”

  Ma Mina, a daughter of Oyá, seemed to be preparing to make her transition into the spirit world. As we left the apartment, she said to Zenaida, “I would like to visit the cemetery this week, my child. Will you take me? It is time for me to visit my husband’s grave. I want to let him know that soon I will join him.”

  Zenaida quickly responded, “Old one, you will be with us for a long time.” Escorting Ma Mina to her downstairs apartment, we carefully guided her along the narrow stairs. Leaning heavily on Zenaida’s arm, Ma Mina was brought safely to her home. I marveled at her agility at the age of eighty—obviously she navigated these steps daily on her own. Ma Mina’s inviting apartment was like a gateway to the past. Its walls were covered with antique sepia-tone photographs of family and friends who had joined the spirit world. The baroque sofa was covered with faded, wine-colored velvet and trimmed with intricately carved dark wood. Two large, Chinese-style porcelain bowls were placed on a table surrounded by many more faded photographs. Filled with memories of loved ones, Ma Mina’s home was a memorial to the deceased, as she herself prepared for her own passing to another level of spiritual existence.

  Ma Mina noticed me gazing at the soft glitter of the porcelain and gently commented, “Those bowls were a gift from my deceased husband. He was Chinese and loved to decorate our home with artwork from his home. His family was brought to Cuba as indentured workers during the abolition of slavery. The Chinese were treated like slaves. They suffered the same mistreatment that we did.” Catching her breath, she continued, “My husband was crowned with the aché of Oyá, by an old African woman, before we married. Mmmm, he was even more devoted to the orishas than I. How I miss him.” Pausing, she added, “My beloved died ten years ago. His spirit visits me almost every night. He wants me to join him. I know that we will soon be together. For now, I have placed his Oyá and mine next to each other as a symbol of our unending marriage and love.”

  Laughing softly, she continued, “The divinities of the Chinese community are very similar to the orishas. People like to argue about the difference between the orishas, the Catholic saints, and the Chinese divinities. For me, they are different roads to the same destination.” Her statement was made matter-of-factly, without any sense of sadness. It seemed that Ma Mina was ready to place herself in the hands of Oyá. As we left, she embraced each of us.

  We proceeded carefully along the dim hallway, down the hazardous steps, dodging exposed electrical wires until we reached the front of the building. The warm air was momentarily refreshing. Ernesto, our driver, proudly waited alongside his vintage car. His eyes signaled weariness, but his military posture indicated his resistance to fatigue. He was a former soldier who had studied engineering; he had been stationed in Russia during most of his military service.

  Now retired, he supplemented his pension by using his car as a private taxi service. The car was a hand-painted, sky blue 1955 Chevy with a flowered chenille bedspread used as seat covers. Clearly, this car was Ernesto’s proudest possession. On the floor of the car were blue-painted wood planks; the window handles were missing and had been replaced by knobs of wood held together with a thin woven wire cable. On the dashboard, Ernesto had installed a small window fan and displayed a red-and-gold crown that had originally been an air freshener and now represented his devotion to his orisha Shangó. He projected the warrior spirit of Shangó in a subtle yet strong and masculine manner. However, like his divinity Shangó, Ernesto could be playful one minute and erupt like thunder the next.

  After many years of observing initiates, I now understand that practitioners often take on the characteristics of the orishas whose aché they possess. In many ways, the orisha and the initiate become one. Or perhaps it is that the initiate is born with the qualities of the orisha, and the babalawos discern which orisha is suited for that particular initiate. It is believed that we all are born with a patron orisha.

  A godson of Elpidio, Ernesto was devoted to his Santería family, running countless errands for them. During our ride, he provided an update on the preparations for Javier’s initiation, sharing the news that the sacrificial animals had been purchased; Elpidio had selected the babalawos to participate in the initiation, and the food had been gathered for the ceremony. He stressed the difficulty of finding animals and the necessary food, because of the United States’ embargo and the mass reduction of Russian assistance. Javier and Ernesto chatted away for the full forty minutes it took the 1955 Chevy to reach Zenaida’s home. The car was straining at its maximum speed—according to Ernesto, we were traveling at thirty miles
an hour. Zenaida silently guided my eyes to the speedometer and gas indicator, both of which were broken. We both started laughing as we realized that we really didn’t know the speed of the car or whether or not there was enough gas to get us to the apartment.

  Surrounded by old cars, vintage furniture, outdated fashions, and tropical decorations reminiscent of the early 1950s I Love Lucy television series, I felt as if I were traveling back in time in Havana. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to draw a line between my developing spirituality and reality, as my journey into the past blended into the present. I realized that my understanding of Santería was too limited even to know the right questions to ask Elpidio and Zenaida. All at once, I believed that my mother’s visitation and Javier’s initiation made it necessary for me to understand more about Santería. No longer wanting to be an outsider looking in, I decided to ask Zenaida and Elpidio to guide me. I was surrounded by spiritual activities, and this caused my interest to evolve, reawakening fond emotions and memories. At last, I wanted to understand the meanings of the images that had been an integral part of my youth.

  My mother’s spiritual presence triggered memories and emotions that had long been buried, forcing me to recall my childhood encounters with the spirits. My mother’s instructions were clear—it was time to face my past so that I could step into the future. It was time to learn the beloved spiritual traditions of the family so one day I could pass them on to future generations. The comforting words of Ma Mina and my mother’s spirit circulated in my mind, helping me shed the fear of venturing into the spirit world. Instinctively, I knew that my inner healing would occur.

  The familiar warrior orishas who guarded the door of Zenaida and Elpidio’s apartment became the symbolic threads that immediately connected my childhood in East Harlem to the home of initiates in Cuba. The sacred objects of the warrior orishas were similar to the ones that had protected my abuela’s apartment. When I asked the meaning of these intriguing objects, I learned that the warriors are four separate and powerful protector orishas. Together, Oggun, the orisha of iron; Ochosi, the hunter orisha; Osun, the orisha that represents the sacredness of our heads and the seat of our wisdom; and Ellegua, the orisha of the crossroads, form a stabilizing force for the practitioner, bringing balance and the courage to confront difficulties.

  Similar to the cosmology of feng shui in the Chinese community, one of the objectives of Santería is to create a positive balance between heaven and Earth, man and matter, creating the flow of aché, which is the equivalent of qi in Taoist philosophy. These variant orishas exist together, reminding us that living a balanced life requires cooperation and understanding.

  It is the ability to create an energy flow that brings balance in our homes and contributes to our well-being. A home that is welcoming and organized certainly helps place us in a comfortable and receptive spiritual space. Ellegua’s energy insists that we find resolution at the crossroads. Ochosi’s hunter energy encourages us to seek opportunities that will yield peace. Oggun reminds us to always follow the path of truth and justice, while Osun prompts us to view our intuitive mind as a source of divine intelligence.

  Residing behind the main doorway in the homes of Santería initiates, the warrior orishas guard their families. Placed in the most active location in the home, the entrance, the warriors create a sense of balance between the visible and invisible worlds.

  The warriors Oggun and Ochosi are symbolized by a black iron pot filled with farming and hunting tools that embody their presence in the home. Within the cauldron are placed the sacred stones that represent the orishas. Ellegua was symbolized by the triangular stone, which was placed on a clay plate next to the other orishas. When I asked about the importance of the stones as sacred objects, the response from my godfather, Elpidio, came in the form of a patakí.

  “It is said that for a short time the orishas came to live on Earth among their people. The people, accustomed to their presence, began to ignore the contributions of the orishas to their daily lives. One day, the orishas became upset with the disrespect of the people and decided to return to heaven. Whenever they wanted to visit Earth from then on, it would be only in the form of rain. They fell into the rivers, forming sacred rocks in the colors that represented each one of them. Some rocks were white, which represented the creation orishas, yellow for Ochun, brown for Oyá, red for Shangó, and so forth. This is why the sacred stones are the representation of the orishas on Earth.”

  Often, beautiful patakís of Santería provided a direct explanation to my questions; at other times, the stories required a leap of faith. When I would mention to Elpidio that occasionally the patakís did not seem to make sense, he would respond confidently, “They will.”

  I tried carefully to observe and comprehend the whirlwind of information that was engulfing me. Perceiving my exasperation, Zenaida, with her sympathetic humor, commented, “Relax, everything will soon make sense to you. Life does not follow sequential chapters like a book. Sometimes you have to arrange the chapters in a way that works specifically for you. Santería is a learning process that guides you and helps you create a sacred space that works for you.”

  My spiritual experiences in Cuba brought with them a feeling of familiarity. The community of initiates felt like dear old friends eager and willing to make me feel welcome and a part of their family. To become a part of the religious community, I was required to take the first steps in my spiritual path, which meant receiving the elekes, beaded necklaces, and the warrior orishas. The elekes represent the colors of the major orishas that are received upon initiation. The elekes are worn daily and are a source of personal protection for the practitioner. When an eleke breaks, it is an indication that negative energy is surrounding the initiate. The elekes are white for Obatalá, yellow for Ochun, blue and white for Yemayá, red and black for Ellegua, and white and red for Shangó.

  On the way back to Zenaida and Elpidio’s apartment, I asked them to mentor my journey. Following the advice of my mother’s spirit, I decided I was ready to enter the world of Santería and Espiritismo.

  Although he did not work directly with the spirits, Elpidio stressed, “When I see a spiritual problem in my godchildren, I send them directly to an espiritista—a medium.” Babalawos, like Elpidio, are members of an all-male society of diviners in Cuba and other African Diaspora locations. They are the keepers of the wealth of knowledge that is locked within the odus, the symbols. The odus are like the keys that open the meaning of our oral bible of patakís. The patakís explain the complexities of both the spirit and secular worlds, providing initiates with explanations and solutions for the problems afflicting them.

  Diviners are trained to interpret the intricate messages of Orula, the orisha of divination, by using the symbolic patterns cast by the ikins, palm nuts, and the oguele, the divining chain. This knowledge is deeply respected and guides the lives of initiates.

  One day, I discreetly watched as Elpidio cast the oguele for one of his clients. The young man named Bebo, a friendly bundle of energy, was distraught because a series of promising job opportunities had ultimately led nowhere. Casting the oguele, Elpidio carefully took notes, listing the symbols that appeared in the patterns of the divining chain. Elpidio’s chain was made of eight circular pieces of the hard shell of a coconut intermittently separated by a thin chain.

  Finally, he looked into the young man’s eyes and said, “Oyá is angry with you. What did you promise this powerful orisha that you have not given her?” Elpidio carefully explained that the orishas hold practitioners accountable for their obligations. Bebo sheepishly responded that he was supposed to have initiated the previous year, and it was Oyá who had claimed him. However, he confessed that he had squandered the money he had saved for his initiation ceremony.

  Elpidio smiled as he scratched his cottony hair, and said, “Well, Oyá is telling you that she will wait no longer. If you are to solve the problems in your life, you must initiate as soon as possible.” With a slight frown, Elpidio
explained, “Never make promises you don’t plan to keep.” Again casting the oguele on the straw mat, he thoughtfully looked at the pattern made by the shells. “Take nine eggplants to the door of the cemetery and leave them at the gateway for Oyá. She will momentarily accept this gift while you prepare for your initiation. Oyá will help you find a job. However, she will not forgive you breaking your promise to her again.”

  With a knowing glance, he told Bebo to balance his life by paying more attention to finding a job than to his many girlfriends. Closing the session, he good-naturedly remarked that the girls would leave him anyway once they found out he did not have money. Blushing with embarrassment, Bebo accepted the advice and promised to change his behavior. With grandfatherly affection, Elpidio assured him that when he followed the advice of Orula, he would have more job offers than he could handle. He assured Bebo that once he completed his obligation to Oyá, he would see an immediate change in his life. Reminding Bebo of Oyá’s importance both in the spiritual and orisha realms, Elpidio suggested that Bebo pay immediate attention to his initiation preparations. Elpidio’s nonjudgmental approach was comforting, and his expertise attracted people from all walks of life seeking the guidance of Orula.

  Sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee, listening to the teachings of Elpidio and Zenaida, I felt as if I were back in my home in El Barrio, and I easily entered into a casual conversation. Javier, amused by the meandering way his godfather dispensed his wisdom, remained quiet. “My daughter, today you witnessed the power of the spirit world. Your mother’s spirit touched you. It is ultimately your decision if you accept her guidance. As you are a studious person, I know you want a precise account of what occurred.” Trying to find the right words, Elpidio hesitated, then cautiously said, “You want an analytical explanation that makes scientific sense. This is not possible. When you live with the spirits, when you embrace orisha and feel it work, then you know they exist.”