As my revelations developed, the time came for me to take the next step. I called Zenaida and told her I wanted to return to Cuba to fully initiate into the Santería religion. She rejoiced, saying, “Yes, it is time you follow the prediction of Orula. It is time for you to advance to the next level of initiation.”
We agreed that I should arrive in Cuba on April 1, 1981, and remain two weeks. It had been a year since my first visit. So much had happened in that brief time. So much had changed. I had changed in ways I was only beginning to understand. I felt a new awareness of my place in the world now that I had met my international community. I looked forward to my initiation, with the knowledge of the serious commitment I would be making. Santería is a religion that requires the study of the intricate rituals in honor of the many orishas. I was not frightened, nor did I have any doubts of what would be required of me. Initiation required that I dress in white for the first year, which, at first, was daunting. In the initiatory year, there would be restrictions regarding food, time schedule, and religious commitments that would require considerable changes in my lifestyle. Having had the opportunity to see the many branches of the religion, I knew I would find the spiritual fulfillment I was seeking in Santería. And that was more than enough for me.
The kinship with my godparents, my dreams, and my burgeoning spirituality all confirmed that I was on the right path, on my way to the orishas.
A Message from My Godparents
Zenaida patiently explained the importance of cooperation in achieving our desired goals. “This is why the religion has survived, my daughter. We have established a network of initiates who all work together. Like Oggun and Ochosi, we must understand that often the only way to achieve our goals is to work cooperatively.
“Remember that Ochosi is a hunter and his symbol is the bow and arrow. He is always vigilant, watching and analyzing the best path to take. With his bow and arrow, he eliminates any obstacles in his way. We must always be aware of our surroundings. Working cooperatively requires that we become fully aware of our responsibilities in the partnership with our community.
“My daughter, I am sure you have noticed that in your guerreros Oggun, represented by the iron farming tools, and Ochosi, the bow and arrow, are together in the same cauldron. This is a symbol of their partnership. I suggest that in every home there be a bow and arrow and small farming tools to remind us to be vigilant as we work toward unifying our family, relationships, and community.
“Take this small bow and arrow charm that I had made by an artisan and put it on a charm bracelet or chain. It will serve as a reminder of the unity we must all strive for. Each orisha has symbols that represent it, that serve as reminders of the powers of each divinity. Objects from the ocean, for Yemayá; the double-ax sword, for Shangó; amber, for Ochun; ivory, for Obatalá. Specially designed amulets placed on charm bracelets or neck chains are good keepsakes and reminders of our ethical responsibilities.”
Orishaoko is the orisha responsible for the earth, agriculture, and the harvest. Orishaoko protects workers and is a faithful friend. Because he is so trustworthy, he is often asked to resolve disputes among the orishas.
One day, Obatalá came looking for Orishaoko, because he needed someone to care for his farm, where he grew sacred yams. These magical yams could speak at night, giving away secrets of how Obatalá created the Earth. Afraid to allow anyone to attend the yams, Obatalá would stay up nights to watch over them. But eventually he grew very tired and was unable to take care of his godly duties.
He asked Orishaoko if he could help him attend to his farm. Obatalá explained that he was afraid to have strangers look after the yams, because they were magical and talked at night, telling all the secrets of Obatalá’s powers. Orishaoko went to Obatalá’s farm and stayed the evening to care for the yams. When they started talking, Orishaoko asked them to stop. The yams refused to listen to him. Orishaoko decided to bury the yams. He explained to Obatalá that the yams would grow under the ground and would talk no more. The moral of the story is, Beware of people who talk too much and reveal your secrets.
On my second trip to Cuba, I initiated. Although it was only a year after Javier’s initiation, many policies had changed in Cuba. The food, cloth, and other items necessary for initiation were even more difficult to find. The government had declared that an official permit had to be granted in order for Cubans to hold initiation ceremonies or rituals. In addition, it was deemed illegal for foreigners to initiate. The Cuban government had also added additional restrictions tightening the surveillance of Cubans in the country who initiated into the religion. Members of the government and the Communist party lost their positions if they were found to be initiates of Santería. Community watchdog groups were set up to report on foreigners visiting the homes of Cubans.
In addition, at this time there was a flourishing black market economy, using U.S. dollars, and the Cuban government wanted to control this illegal traffic. I knew not to bring U.S. currency into the country, but there was still the question of how the animals and foods would be purchased for the initiation ceremony. At the time Cuban money was worth twice as much as U.S. dollars, and the little money I had saved would be insufficient to cover my initiation expenses.
I could not help but have visions of landing in a Cuban jail, and this was my only hesitation. When I expressed my fears to Elpidio, he laughed and quickly responded that he would never place me in danger. He had already consulted with Orula, and he assured me that there would be no problems with the initiation.
Following the advice of Orula, I planned the trip. I arrived in Cuba on schedule, and Zenaida had arranged for my ceremonies to start on April 7. Laura, my sister-in-law, agreed to come to Cuba with me to support my decision. Since she had encouraged my spiritual growth, she agreed to be the family member who would witness the public celebration of my initiation; she made plans to meet me on April 6. At the advice of Elpidio and Zenaida, Laura and I divided up the ritual clothing that I was required to bring. Since Cuba did not have any department stores where cloth could be purchased, it was necessary for us to bring in the clothing for the week of rituals, as well as white towels, white sheets, slippers, underwear, castile soap, and other items. Laura decided to take the white sheets and decorative cloth for the altar, and I carried in the ritual clothing and other supplies for the weeklong ceremony.
I was a nervous wreck waiting for the airport attendants to look through my packages. The stern-faced young woman who was assigned to me asked in a dispassionate voice, “Are you Cuban?” “No, I’m Puerto Rican and have an American passport,” I replied. “You look Cuban. Let me see your passport,” she asked without looking at my face. When she saw my passport, her attitude altered slightly, and she rummaged through my bags. I held my breath, hoping she would not see my beaded necklaces, initiation dress, and other scattered items. I knew she could not miss the piles of white towels. In between the white clothing, I had also hidden fifteen pairs of jeans. I prayed to the orishas to blind her eyes and let me get through customs. Not changing her expression, the young woman winked, pointed to the elekes hidden under the collar of her uniform, and let me through. I sighed with relief and walked out into the street to be greeted by my godparents.
Ernesto had driven my godparents, and he waited to drive us back to the apartment. To follow the regulations of my visa, I checked into the hotel, left some clothing there, and then immediately went to meet Elpidio and Zenaida at their apartment. I brought with me the white clothing, towels, soap, slippers, my dress for presentation to the public, shoes, and white underwear.
To avoid being caught purchasing items with American dollars, Zenaida asked that I bring fifteen pairs of jeans in various sizes. Though she would not provide details in our telephone conversations, I followed her instructions. Once we arrived at the apartment, Zenaida laid out my ritual clothing on one side and the jeans on the other side. “Guess why you brought these jeans?” she playfully asked. I shook my head. “We will sell the
se jeans for Cuban dollars to purchase the animals and food, to pay the drummers, and to buy whatever else is necessary for your ceremony. These jeans, pitusas, are gold, my daughter.”
Shocked, all I could do was laugh at the thought that my initiation would be sponsored by American jeans. She explained that jeans were the onda, the current trend, and Cubans were eager to have “real” jeans from America. Although jeans were coming in from Mexico, Spain, and other countries, it was the ones from the States that were all the rage. Zenaida enjoyed bartering and looked forward to selling the jeans at the highest price.
I soon learned that the process would be time-consuming, difficult, and nerve-racking. Every time we sold a pair of jeans, we worried that the buyer might be a government official and we would both land in jail. But Zenaida assured me that nothing would happen since we were protected by the orishas.
It occurred to me that the creative ways of circumventing authority were similar to the inventive methods that had allowed the religion to continue. Just as people had hidden the orishas behind Catholic images to protect the religion, Zenaida was using American jeans to preserve it. Being part of this process was invigorating and made my faith even stronger. I had to believe and have faith in order to take these risks. Like others before me, I did whatever was necessary to preserve my faith.
But to further complicate matters, Elpidio and Zenaida decided that my initiation would have to be held at an isolated, rural farm in Lauto, an hour from Havana. While Elpidio’s godchildren prepared the house for my initiation, I stayed at their apartment in Havana. Friends of my godparents visited daily, seeking to help with the chores in preparation for the ceremony.
Everyone in the Santería community was outraged at the new, strict regulations. The question on every mind was, How could the powerful energy of the orishas be relegated to appear according to the three-hour limit designated in the permit for tambores? To show me how destructive the new regulations were, my madrina took me to a tambor for Ellegua.
The tambor took place in the same apartment where the Obatalá ceremony had occurred during my first visit. When we arrived, the street was filled with guests entering the apartment. Unlike at the Obatalá ceremony, there were now two uniformed policemen guarding the entranceway. From the end of the street, we could see the difference in the body language of the visitors. The free-spirited feeling of community was gone. Suspicious of the police, the guests were self-conscious and uneasy throughout the ceremony. One of the initiates kept watch, following the movements of the police.
Zenaida, looking mistrustfully at a couple she had never seen before, whispered that she believed they were government agents. It seemed that everyone in the room felt the same. The couple were given the cold shoulder, and generally made to feel uncomfortable. Though they were not welcome, they chose to stay, and this served as confirmation to all gathered that they were undercover police. Zenaida explained that only the police would have la cara, the stone face, to remain.
Throughout this quiet test of nerves, my heart was paralyzed, and visions of being put in jail filled my thoughts. The drummers finally took their seats next to the elaborate altar of Ellegua. In keeping with the childlike, mischievous quality of the orisha, the red-and-black altar was piled with toys, lollipops, and bombones, hard candies.
Yards of red-and-black satin cloth had been pinned to the wall in swirls with garabatos, curved branches, reaching out from the center of a flowerlike spiral. The black-and-red porcelain bowl holding the sacred otanes was covered with rows of red-and-black beaded necklaces. A pointed red-and-black hat was placed on top of the bowl, reminding us of the precarious balance that Ellegua embodies.
In this environment of discomfort and suspicion, the batá drums slowly began. The drummers tried to build up their intensity with the drumbeats that would bring forth Ellegua. Finally, the power of Ellegua descended, as the arpon’s persuasive song took effect. The designated dancer for the tambor began to receive flashes of Ellegua’s aché. The arpon called in his ear, “Moforibale, Moforibale … Praise be, Praise be,” and the initiates responded, “Mama Keni Irawó … Bring us your goodwill.” Spinning around the dancer, the arpon furthered his insistence, “Bara Suwayó omo Yalawana … The vital force determines our path.”The call and response continued to build until the singer, now perspiring heavily, refused to let the dancer continue the cat-and-mouse game. “Mama Keni Irawó … Bring us your goodwill.”
Suddenly, the mischievous Ellegua appeared in all his childish splendor, joining the ceremony in his red-and-black satin shirt and pants. With a burlap bag filled with candy hanging from his shoulder, he gleefully threw sweets to the crowd. Hugging children and picking up toys from the altar, his delightful antics made everyone laugh.
Then his mood abruptly changed, his joyfulness abated, and his decisive adult logic came into full play as his joyous dance turned to the dance of a warrior. The branch became a dagger, poking the suspicious-looking couple that were still standing against the wall. Then Ellegua pulled the undercover couple to the dance floor and forced them to join him in his movements. The couple obviously did not know what to do, caught in a whirl of rapid dance movements and the provocative antics of Ellegua. Finally, the couple panicked and ran into the street with Ellegua in pursuit.
The crowd, enjoying Ellegua’s prank, burst into laughter, hugging the orisha and asking for his blessings. “No one can fool the fooler,”proclaimed Ellegua as the ceremony continued. When the end of the ritual neared, Pedro, who had commissioned the tambor, discreetly tried to convince Ellegua that it was time to leave. But Ellegua would not listen. He danced and played, obviously waiting for the police to reappear.
Promptly at four o’clock in the afternoon, the police arrived with rifles strapped to their shoulders. When they entered the apartment, Ellegua joyfully skipped out the front door laughing, and he danced down the street into the crossroads. The policemen foolishly stood by the door, not knowing how to react. Ellegua had again proven that he did not give in to the rules of man, that he made his own rules instead. “Nothing can stop the religion,” initiates proclaimed as they left the ceremony.
With all this in mind, my ceremony was carefully planned in secret. We told only the members of the inner circle of our religious family. Zenaida called on the elders whom she trusted, knowing that, for them, no law was greater than La Regla de Ocha, the law of the orishas. I felt as if I had become part of a crusade, a warrior in the battle to protect my faith. And I willingly participated in the secret errands for the initiation.
When all the preparations were complete, Elpidio, Zenaida, and I sat in their living room enjoying the success of our week’s work. Tired, drained from riding around at night in Ernesto’s slow-moving car, walking the streets on various errands, ordering the animals for the ceremony, and purchasing candles, we were finally able to relax. The next day, Wednesday, we would hold the ceremony that would inform my spirits of the initiation. I learned that the ceremony would also identify my specific guardian angels.
As we sat together Zenaida said, “You have changed since our first meeting. You have acquired an indefinable strength.” Almost absentmindedly, Elpidio commented, “Obatalá is already surrounding her. I see that she is already shedding her past and moving into the future. The trips she has taken have made her aware of the power of the orishas around the world. My daughter understands her mission. She understands that in unity, there is strength.”
“Initiation is the process of shedding the past and welcoming the new”; those words of Elpidio rang in my ear throughout the week of rituals that would, no doubt, transform my life. The deliberate manner in which Elpidio uttered the phrase made it clear he would not be questioned about its meaning. His approach, like many African elders, was to let the power of his words become a reality in the lives of his godchildren.
I was learning that words carry power; they have their own aché; they cause actions and reactions. Elpidio was always very careful in selecting his words,
and I knew this trait was an important one to acquire. To speak nonsense, to speak without thought simply for the sake of talking, was considered a defect that often resulted in disaster. The sobering weight of his sharp, tired voice made it clear that it was my responsibility to interpret his words based on the pruebas, the lessons of my life.
“In life, we are introduced to many roads, which we can choose to follow or not. What is good for me may not work for you. Each person comes with his or her own aché, which determines what is best for Marta, what is best for Zenaida and for Elpidio. If you try to imitate me or anyone else, you will fail because you are denying your own divine gift. Until now, you have been floating, sometimes following the best path, sometimes not. You have no blueprint or guide for your life. It is as if you had an invisible blindfold covering your eyes. You will find that Santería removes the blindfold, as the orishas guide you in helping you to understand and confront everything that comes your way,” Elpidio explained.
He alluded to the week of initiation rituals as a “rebirth,” as laying to rest my past and allowing the flowering of my spirituality. Adding to his thoughts, Zenaida said, “Initiation is like a snake shedding its skin and acquiring a new one. It is a new beginning, the opportunity to start anew.” The first ceremony before the initiation process began with a misa, a spiritual session, to identify and inform my guardian spirits. Zenaida prepared a small gathering with eight trusted women and men friends, all of whom were respected elders in the religion. Their status in the community would assure that the ceremony went according to tradition. In addition, their experience and very presence would protect us. The elders Zenaida selected would also participate in the mounting of my orisha during the final initiation ceremony rituals.
The Altar of My Soul Page 21
