The following evening, Elpidio and Zenaida carefully placed a set of newly crafted miniature tools of the warrior orishas, the herramientas, on the kitchen table. This was to be my first formal lesson in Santería, and it meant that they were officially my godparents: Elpidio, my padrino, and Zenaida, my madrina.
Elpidio set up an elaborate demonstration to begin my training. He started with the warrior orishas, los guerreros. He placed a black pyramid-shaped stone on the table. Embedded in the stone were cowry shells. The open side of the cowry was visible, giving the impression of facial features, like the stone I had seen in my abuela’s apartment. Then he placed next to the stone small farming tools: a small metal shovel, an anvil, an ax, and a stone pick. Carefully, Elpidio selected several small river-worn stones from a clay bowl.
I watched patiently from the living room door as he took out a black iron cauldron from a burlap bag. He then placed a small silverlike sculpture of a bird next to the other items. Elpidio took great care positioning the objects, and when he was pleased with his arrangement, he asked Zenaida and me to join him at the table.
“Do you know what these implements are, my daughter?” Elpidio asked. I responded confidently, “They are the warrior orishas—Ellegua, Oggun, Ochosi, and Osun.”
Enjoying his mischievous Ellegua-like trick, he looked at me and said, “These objects are nothing. They are not sacred. They are not orishas.” I looked from the warrior orishas protecting the door of the apartment to the ones on the table, and there seemed to be no difference. I remained silent and waited for an explanation, wondering what was going on.
Zenaida started explaining the sacred principles and practices that I should consider incorporating into my life. She began with aché, telling me that aché is a life force that receives its power from nature, and it is the flow of this energy that makes things happen. She went on to say that one of the objectives of Santería is to learn how to activate and attract this energy, which is limitless and spans space and time. In order to stimulate this energy force within, it is necessary to learn the sacred rituals and undergo the ceremonies of Santería. Zenaida discussed the varied levels of initiation.
In the first level, an initiate receives the sacred glass beaded necklaces, elekes. The second tier involves the ritual of receiving the warrior orishas that help the initiate to stimulate and heighten the aché that surrounds all of us. Zenaida visibly enjoyed Elpidio’s little performance as he indicated that the objects on the table had not undergone the necessary sacred rituals in order to stimulate their deep-seated energy force. Consequently, they remained commonplace items. I asked how the energy force was stimulated.
“Through animal sacrifice,” my godparents responded in unison. Watching my startled reaction, their eyes sparkled with amusement. “Listen to me carefully,” Elpidio said as he looked toward my journal on the table. “Better yet, take notes,” he encouraged. “An orisha is born very much like you were born. It was the union of your parents that conceived you. It was your mother who gave birth to you. In the act of giving birth, blood was spilled to facilitate your birth. So it is with the orishas. They are born from other orishas, and the sacrificial animal blood is symbolic of the blood that is spilled at birth. It is the blood that gives life. Blood is the force of life.” He further elaborated, “When you receive the warriors, for example, they will be born from my warriors. During the ritual, you will witness that my warriors will receive the first animal sacrificial blood and then yours will be born. Eventually, when you are fully initiated, it is from Zenaida’s orishas that yours will be born. The birth of an orisha represents a long ancestry.”
Knowing the adverse reaction many people have toward animal sacrifice, Zenaida wanted me to understand the necessity of it. She carefully explained, “Just as we need daily nourishment to fuel our bodies, so the orishas need to be ‘fed’ in order to activate the energy force aché.” Elpidio explained, “Sacrificial blood of the animals is the element that gives birth to the orishas and passes on aché.” Passionately, Zenaida continued to share her thoughts. “Not only are the orishas ‘fed’ through this process, but the community of initiates also eats, ensuring that members of the family will never go hungry. This divine, vital cycle links the aché of the orishas and humans, creating a complementary balance that maintains health and prosperity.” The respect and honoring of animals in Africa continues in the lives of African descendants in the Americas. In the Santería religion the life force of animals used in rituals is revered because it brings spiritual rebirth as well as nourishment to the community.
“Santería is about building family and community, and creating a strong society,” Elpidio added. “Both the spiritual and physical self must be fed, which contributes to the soundness of the body and mind of the individual. Since we do not live in isolation but in a society, a healthy individual contributes positively to the family and community at large. Santería teaches us to build a humane and loving society in which we clearly understand that none of us are alone.”
Throughout my stay, the words of my godparents came to life. The animals used in ceremonies became a source of nourishment for children, adults, and elders. The meat of the animals sacrificed is considered sacred and provides both spiritual and physical nourishment.
Later that week, I attended a ceremony in honor of Shangó, in Centro Havana, where we were invited to stay for dinner. It was amazing that more than seventy-five people could jam into a solar—a single-room apartment complex connected by a narrow pathway—but they did. At the end of the pathway were the kitchen and bathroom facilities, which the residents all shared. Everyone was enjoying the mouthwatering beef stew and rice prepared by Elpidio’s oldest goddaughter, Eugenia.
As visitors praised Eugenia’s cooking, an undercurrent of social tidbits filled my ears. The woman next to me commented, “I went to claim my ration of chicken this week, and the butcher told me no deliveries had been made.” Another commented, “Forget it, there is no meat to be had, not even on the black market.” Someone else chimed in, “In my section we haven’t seen meat for the past four weeks. I have a collection of meat coupons that mean nothing. What is the point of rationing our food, giving us coupons, when there is no food?” Suddenly, a roar of laughter erupted, as everyone added their stories of unsuccessful attempts to find meat. A voice at the end of the corridor shouted out, “Que viva Shangó; Shangó lives! Today we are eating meat thanks to Oba Koso! Praise be to Shangó.” In my first lesson, Elpidio had referred to this ceremony when he explained the important role of sacrifice in nourishing a community. Now he began to explain the reasons why Santería has been misrepresented.
Elpidio said, “Too many people who seek to undergo initiation have been fooled by unscrupulous ignorant charlatan priests giving them fake orishas like the ones here on the table. They are part of the reason that Santería has acquired a bad reputation. It is difficult for the novice to detect when the priests or priestesses they have selected as mentors lack the necessary knowledge. To make matters worse,” he explained, “the persecution the religion has endured through the ages has caused practitioners to hide their ignorance behind the cloak of secrecy.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “No one is bothered by the notion of drinking the blood of Christ, in the form of wine, in church every Sunday. I find this practice startling.”
I understood his deep-seated anger. Researching the history of African belief systems in the Americas, I have found significant evidence that these religions were persecuted from the time they arrived on our shores. Christian missionaries, together with the Spanish, Portuguese, and other European governments, actively sought to destroy all belief in African gods. In Puerto Rico, as in other countries, the Spaniards forcibly baptized Africans, in part to destroy their beliefs but, more important, to bring in greater profits. Africans who were not baptized were considered savages, bozales, and were worth less, while baptized Africans brought higher prices.
As a result, the Africans created inventive
methods of protecting the orishas, turning the tables on their enslavers by using the religious imagery of their captors as a disguise. In Cuba and Brazil, Africans used Catholic brotherhood and sisterhood societies, cabildos and irmandades, as safe places to hide their African gods, to continue their African rituals, and to re-create families and communities. One of the oldest cabildos in Cuba was dedicated to Shangó, using the image of the Catholic saint Santa Bárbara to hide the warrior orisha. Often created around African national groups, these societies served to rekindle a sense of community. Nevertheless, these societies in Cuba and Brazil, as well as in other locations throughout the Americas, were unable to protect priests and priestesses from persecution, imprisonment, and execution at the hands of their colonizers. There was no thwarting the colonizers’ desperate attempts to stop the preservation and continuity of African religions. In spite of these atrocities, the warrior spirit of Shangó thrived in the African people of Cuba, who led slave revolts spurred by the aché of this warrior orisha.
For practitioners in Cuba, the orisha Shangó is the ultimate warrior. He punishes by hurling lightning and thunderbolts. Independent and elegant, Shangó was king of the city of Oyo in West Africa. When he died, Olodumare transformed him into an orisha. He possesses the intensity of fire, represented by the color red, but he also carries the calming energy of the color white.
According to the patakís, Shangó, when angered, never took prisoners during his battles, because he killed them all. The fury of Shangó is to be feared because he destroys with fire and is unforgiving.
Listening to Elpidio’s explanations helped me understand the importance of accurately interpreting the philosophy, legends, and practices of Santería and its practitioners. There are historians who still describe slave revolts as acts of savagery, often recording only the lost lives of plantation owners. Little mention is made of the daily acts of abuse and degradation committed by colonizers toward their slaves. The lives of slaves who fought for their liberation will for the most part remain unrecorded in the annals of history. In his roundabout way, Elpidio was telling me that history is still the story of the conquerors.
Elpidio’s deep sorrow also testified to the reality that African religions continue to be persecuted throughout the world. The irony is that while the religions are attacked, they are also being used in many of the same countries as exotica, something to be exploited in nightclubs and in public performances as tourist attractions. In a recently staged Brazilian production on Broadway, the female orishas were represented by women dressed in tangas— thong bathing suit bottoms—with pasties covering their nipples. Priests and priestesses throughout the world continue to fight against misinformation and the defamation of their ancient religions.
But my discussion with Elpidio opened other areas of thought. Was Santería more than a religion? Was it a means of maintaining a philosophy? A lifestyle? A new way of re-creating and defining family and community? A way of life that honored nature above all else?
Elpidio continued to teach me; he explained that it required long years of in-depth study to learn the intricate rituals that foster the positive energy flow of aché. He commented that as a young man he often studied by candlelight, writing out by hand pages of information from the books of elder priests. With a merry twinkle in his eye, he wondered aloud if I would have the same dedication and willingness to sacrifice in order to learn. Scratching his woolly hair, Elpidio lamented how many priests did not take the time to learn the profound teachings from their elders and therefore lacked the necessary knowledge to pass on to their godchildren.
“A priest or priestess with aché is a wise and knowledgeable person who has developed divine power within and can also pass it on,” he said. “You can give only that which you have acquired. If you do not have food, you cannot share it. If you do not have knowledge, what can you share?
“Everything we need to know resides in nature; this is why all rituals and ceremonies in Santería use nature’s riches and are a tribute to, a celebration of, the forces of nature,” he went on. “Rituals include prayers, chants, the use of medicinal plants, and oftentimes they include animal sacrifice, which is necessary to enhance aché.”
Zenaida then stressed the importance of connecting the underlying lessons we learn from nature to our daily lives. She began by pointing to her Ellegua positioned behind the door, surrounded by children’s toys and candy. “It is my opinion that Ellegua is both the most important and the most misunderstood orisha in Santería,” she told me. “All ceremonies start and end with him. This informs you of his central role in our religion. He is the messenger between heaven and earth; he connects the divine cycle of our existence with the balance we seek.” She walked to her Ellegua and rearranged the toys around the clay plate.
Elpidio agreed with Zenaida, explaining that Ellegua’s youthful energy reminds us of the importance of flexibility and courage in seeking solutions, just as Oggun and Ochosi seek to instill the spirit of truth, justice, and cooperation into our lives. Each orisha possesses a particular power. They share these powers with us, explained my padrino.
“Please give me a clearer explanation of how an orisha can have many different qualities?” I asked, trying to follow his meaning. Zenaida continued the lesson. “Understand, my daughter, that Elpidio and I are discussing the basic role of the orishas. But we do not want you to think that they are one-dimensional or shallow. Just as you embody many roles in your daily life—for example, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, professor, and lover— each orisha has many different roles, which we call caminos, or roads. Ellegua has twenty-one roads; Obatalá has eight roads; Yemayá, seven; and so on. In each road, they have different names and perform different functions, although they are all part of the same orisha’s energy field.”
It was clear to me that my godparents were working hard to provide information that was simple enough for me to understand. Yet they did not want me to receive the false impression that I could understand the complexity of the teachings of Santería in one week. Sitting in their kitchen in Cuba was like sitting on the lap of my mother as she lovingly swayed back and forth in her rocking chair. I felt as if I had known my padrino and madrina all my life. Our souls had connected in a very short time, and the trust we developed facilitated my learning. Their guidance made me more receptive to opening my inner self. In only a few days, dreams were awakening my intuitive abilities, my third eye, my sixth sense. I was allowing my mind to reach beyond the invisible barriers that I had unknowingly allowed to build over time.
Carefully pondering the iron objects of Oggun, Elpidio explained that all the divinities possessed human qualities, since they had once walked the Earth themselves. Again, he reiterated, “It is through the orishas’ virtuous behavior, and their imperfect actions as well, that we learn the ethical and moral behavior that is essential in guiding our society.” Suddenly I realized that when my godparents spoke of the spirits and orishas, they referred to them as living human beings. This is when I began to understand that their energies are part of our daily existence.
To illustrate this point, Zenaida—while packing dishes for use at Javier’s initiation ceremony—began to tell me about the powers of the hunter orisha, Ochosi. Zenaida always spoke freely, unlike Elpidio, who carefully selected his words. She enjoyed elaborating on her stories, using her expressive, dark eyes to emphasize a point. “Ochosi is the divine hunter,” she said. “He has the unique task of bringing his prey to be eaten by Olodumare and Obatalá. Ochosi is the only orisha with the directions to the secret house of Olodumare, as well as the power to administer justice. He acquired these powers directly from Olodumare.
“It is said that each morning Ochosi would disappear, taking food along the secret road to the home of Olodumare. All the orishas were curious to know where Ochosi went each morning. His mother, Yemayá, also curious to know where Ochosi went, decided to follow him one day. She made a hole in his pouch and poured cascarilla inside, which would leave a trail
on the dirt road for her to follow. When she arrived at the tree trunk where Ochosi left the animals he had killed, she decided to drain their blood. Daily she followed the same pattern of draining the blood of the animals left by Ochosi for Olodumare.
“Finally, one day Olodumare asked Ochosi why he was leaving the animals drained of their blood. Ochosi responded that when he left the freshly killed animals, the blood had not been drained. When Olodumare asked who else knew the secret path to his home, Ochosi assured him that he had told no one else.
“Embarrassed and upset, Ochosi did not want Olodumare to think he was untrustworthy. He put an arrow in his bow and released it into the air, shouting, ‘It is my desire that this arrow land in the heart of the one who is causing Olodumare to distrust me.’ When he returned home, he found his mother dead, with his arrow through her heart. Seeking justice above everything else, Ochosi had unknowingly killed his own mother. Ochosi’s tears swept Yemayá away to the bottom of the ocean, where she was reborn and now lives. As a result, in honor of his devotion, Olodumare gave him the power of justice.”
“When living in a society,” Elpidio mindfully added to Zenaida’s explanation, “there are rules that must be followed, or else there will be chaos. Ochosi reminds us that above all things there is the divine power of justice, from which no one can escape. Misdeeds can be hidden from the eyes of mortals, but not from the Almighty.”
Zenaida then turned to face me, placing her hands on her hips. Her strength suddenly reminded me of the African woman ancestor who protected my abuela—clearly, Zenaida was as strong as a rock and would not be budged. “My daughter,” she spoke passionately, “Ochosi reminds us to be aware of the actions of our friends and families. Ochosi’s own mother did not respect her son’s sacred mission, and this caused her own death. Envy, jealousy, secrecy, and deceit are human failings that exist within families and other relationships. This story tells us to be cautious of these unfortunate traits.”
The Altar of My Soul Page 13
