The Altar of My Soul

by Marta Moreno Vega

  The soft murmuring voices slowly woke me from my deep sleep. I felt myself swim up from the depths of an ocean of clouds to a clearing where the welcoming rays of the sun embraced me. In the background, the whispering voices of Zenaida and Virginia broke the silence and helped call me back to reality.

  I had been sleeping on an estera, a straw mat, covering the wooden floor. The small bare room next to the igbodú would be my home for the rest of the week’s rituals. The white room had a surreal quality. A candle flickered from the corner of the room, creating long, distorted shadows of Zenaida’s and Virginia’s bodies on the wall. The doorway, covered by a white sheet, isolated the room from the rest of the house. Zenaida and Virginia sat on low stools waiting for me to awake. When I awoke, Zenaida told me she was pleased that I had slept so peacefully. Enjoying my pampering, Virginia laughed as she fondly recalled the similar care she received during her first week as an iyawo, a new initiate.

  Turning to me, she said, “You will always remember this week. Yesterday was the day of your rebirth. This is a week of introspection and revelations that will guide you throughout your life. You are our newborn child, and your mothers are here to care for you and teach you.” Virginia opened the remaining window shutters, letting in the strong rays of the late-morning sun. She went to the closet and pulled out a change of clothing, towels, and soap in preparation for my shower. Zenaida went to prepare my breakfast. This was the day when I would be presented to the public, and they were both nervous and excited. Virginia helped me up from the floor and guided me to the bathroom because my light-headedness made me unsteady.

  The first thing I noticed upon entering the bathroom was that all the mirrors had been covered with white towels. From a pail on the floor, the sweet fragrance of perfume, cascarilla, and tuberoses filled the air. I showered and then followed Virginia’s instructions to pour the floral mixture over my body as I prayed for the health and happiness of my family. The splash of cool water quickly cleared my head, reviving me. I felt rejuvenated and healthy.

  I returned to the estera where my breakfast had been set out on a white plate next to an aluminum cup filled with water. A large spoon was the only utensil placed on the mat. Anticipating my question, Virginia informed me that for the next three months I would be eating on the floor seated on an estera with a similar place setting. She explained that, according to the tradition, I was a child and could not use a knife or fork. During the first three months, my head was to be covered, and in public I was to wear a shawl and stockings. Virginia explained that the first three months would probably be the most difficult, as I became accustomed to the rules and practices of the religion. Silently, I prepared mentally for the endless stares that I would attract in New York, dressing in white for a full year.

  My godmothers began addressing me by the name that denoted my status as an iyawo. Zenaida again explained the importance of the year of cleansing that I would experience as an iyawo. “You will soon forget that you are dressed in white. It will become normal,” she explained. In retrospect, I now realize that she was absolutely correct. My first year was a process of focusing on my spirituality and surroundings. I did lose sight of myself.

  After breakfast, my godmothers dressed me in preparation for my public presentation to the Santería community in a ceremony called El Dia del Medio, which means the middle day; it is the ceremony after initiation and before the major divination session of initiation, the itá, that takes place on the third day. El Dia del Medio is the day the Santería community publicly acknowledges and celebrates the initiation of a new iyawo. The iyawo is dressed in the ritual colors of his or her orisha. The ceremonial clothing is especially designed for the iyawo, and will be worn twice in the life of the novice. The first time is for presentation to the public, then again for their burial ceremony, the itutu.

  My regal white dress and crown were made of a Nigerian woven cloth I purchased in Ile Ife, and had been designed by Virginia and myself. The crown, sleeves, and hem were covered with pearl-like beads and silver strips of material that glittered subtly against the textured cloth of my dress. The style was a cross between Spanish colonial and West African fashion. The puffed sleeves and skirt were accented by a long shoulder scarf with appliqués of Obatalá symbols—a fly whisk, staff, and doves in flight.

  Since I was considered a child, Zenaida and Virginia dressed me for my public presentation. The dress slipped smoothly over my body. My crown felt heavy on my newly shaved head. Bracelets identifying the orishas I had received were placed on my arms. The metal bracelets chimed gently as I moved around the room trying to adjust the layers of crinoline that held up the bell-like shirt of my dress. Zenaida and Virginia were my eyes since I was not allowed to look into a mirror. They fussed over me, making certain I looked perfect.

  Zenaida called in Laura, who was waiting to see me. As she carefully pulled back the curtain and entered, I could see the sign of relief in her eyes. Laura had not seen me since her arrival in Cuba and had been unaware of the lengthy religious ceremonies I would undergo. She was understandably frightened and apprehensive as she watched the activities from afar. As she was the only member of my family able to attend my initiation, I was grateful for her courage in supporting my decision to initiate.

  “You look absolutely beautiful,” were her first words as she marveled in amazement at my appearance. “It is unfortunate that the rest of the family is not here to witness this important step in your life,” Laura continued, as she walked around, admiring the dress.

  “That is why it is so important that you are here,”Zenaida remarked as she fussed with the crown on my head. “There is at least one who is the eyes for the whole family.”

  “How do you feel?” Laura asked.

  Trying to find the right words, all I could say was, “Renewed.”

  When we were ready to leave the room, Zenaida placed a white iroke in one of my hands and a white lace fan in the other. Pleased with my appearance, they were ready to present me to the religious community.

  They escorted me to the front room, where I saw an elaborately decorated altar in honor of Obatalá. Constructed in the corner of the room and draped in the ceremonial cloths lent by the elders, the throne was magnificent. Like a nineteenth-century parasol, it was covered with lace, intricately embroidered materials, and decorative doves, creating an environment of dignity and elegance. The artist who had constructed the throne had created roselike swirls from lace cloth, letting streamers of white satin ribbon erupt from the center. In place of the porcelain bowl with the sacred stones at the center of the altar, I would sit on a stool covered with white satin cloth, in my ritual dress, and the altar would become my throne. The throne radiated pride and pulsated with an energy that engulfed the room.

  Zenaida and Virginia helped position me on the stool, spreading the skirt of my dress and placing my hands in a comfortable position to hold the iroke and fan for the long celebration. “Remember, my daughter, Obatalá is a king, and you are his daughter. You are royal and reflect his aché,” Zenaida whispered as she arranged my dress. I felt magical.

  The room was filled with well-wishers. The elders who had spent the night were the first to acknowledge my initiation. Family and godchildren of Zenaida, Elpidio, and Virginia had arrived, lending a festival atmosphere. I was reminded of my childhood Christmas celebrations in El Barrio when everyone assembled to enjoy one another’s company; the rhythmic voices were the music, and their laughter the instruments. So it was with this gathering. Although there was no music, the chattering voices were like the flow of a dance beat. The saucy smell of hot food filled the air as the clatter of dishes joined in the escalating noise of the room.

  Well-wishers graciously blessed me, as five iyawos sat on the floor surrounding me. The others entertained themselves with the most recent gossip, while the iyawos and I talked about our initiation.

  Sonia, a middle-aged mother of three who had initiated four months before, began the conversation, saying, “Ele
ctrical currents were running through my body as I sat on the throne. I was in a dream world. When my husband saw me on the throne, he cried with happiness, telling me I looked more beautiful than on our wedding day.”

  Then Tina, a small, perky teenager, joined in the conversation. Speaking with a nervous giggle, she said, “I initiated six months ago. When I sat on the throne dressed in the ritual dress of Yemayá, I felt like a queen. I didn’t want to take off the dress at the end of the day.”

  Mario, a strong mulatto man in his thirties, smiled and thought carefully before he shared his experience. “I am a father of two children and have a wonderful, devoted wife. Before initiation I was always in nightclubs, had many women, and didn’t attend to my family. Going home drunk one night, I was hit by a car and hospitalized with a broken leg. The doctors thought they might have to amputate my leg. I asked a babalawo friend of mine to divine for me to see if there was anything that the orishas could do. Oggun stood up for me in a divination session and said he would repair my leg, but I must initiate soon after leaving the hospital. He also said that I must change my life and take care of my family. Oggun has tested me this year. I avoided getting into fights. I’ve been faithful to the rules of the religion. I get home early, don’t drink, and have not gone to nightclubs. My home life is wonderful, and it has been a very peaceful year,” he said with a smile.

  Virginia was right; I would never forget this moment. I felt spiritually engulfed by my ancestral lineage, family, and community. Like the others, I did not want the day to end. That evening, I was escorted back to my room by my godmothers.

  Visitors came all during the week, sharing their memories of initiation. The feeling of rebirth I was experiencing and the sense of being guided onto an enlightened path were reaffirmed in the stories they told. During my week’s stay, Zenaida took every opportunity to share information with me, and she gathered material for me to study when I arrived home, including a series of mimeographed pamphlets developed by initiates.

  Although I missed my family, it felt wonderful to have this glorious time to revel in my thoughts and surrender the responsibility of making decisions. My godmothers cared for me completely during this first week. I lived in a small space on the floor, sleeping, eating, and studying, and I was able to think and examine the meaning of my initiation and how my life would change. I did not worry about daily chores like selecting clothing, fixing my hair, preparing food, finding shoes, or looking in the mirror to check my appearance. During this week the responsibilities of taking my children to school, getting to work on time, writing proposals for funding deadlines, and cleaning the house were not a problem. My former life seemed to be eons away.

  Emptied of the thoughts that generally filled my mind, I searched for new ideas. I gradually realized that my mind had been filled with thoughts of things I had to do, instead of the quality of being, or a contemplation of my family, my community, and myself. My life had been occupied with the doing of things, instead of the careful selection of priorities that would allow me time to find joy in daily occurrences.

  The conversations with my godmothers were empowering; they told stories of miracles the orishas had performed, and of their faith in the powers of the divine gods and goddesses.

  According to Zenaida, we live our lives between two worlds— one of the ancestors and orishas, and another in our secular existence. It is the successful intertwining of these realities that guide a healthy and prosperous life.

  “The orishas are all-knowing and powerful, my daughter,” Zenaida concluded. “You will witness this tomorrow, the day of itá, the special divination session of initiation.” In preparation for the next day, she recommended that we rest and get to sleep early. Virginia slept on a cot in my room, and Zenaida went to the front room to stay with Elpidio.

  The darkness of the night quickly mellowed out the excitement of the day. Lying on the straw mat felt surprisingly comfortable that night. Virginia had opened the shutters, and the light of the moon filled the room with a pale yellow glow. As I silently recalled the details of the glorious celebration, the room suddenly became filled with the presence of my spirit mothers. The three were sitting on stools set on a throne similar to the one that had been built for me. Unable to move, I listened as they spoke to me.

  Smiling in my direction, they assured me that I was on the right path. In the background, the overpowering beat of the batá drums grew louder, as Abuela stood up and danced to the rhythms of Obatalá. She raised her hand, swinging the iroke above her head, while her steps assumed the strength of a warrior. Then my mother and my great-grandmother joined her, following the powerful movements of my abuela.

  My body, weighed down by an unseen force, remained immobile on the floor as the sound of the drums faded away and I fell into a deep sleep. When I shared the dream with my godmothers, they decided that my spiritual mothers wanted me to be presented to the sacred drums before returning home. Zenaida indicated that she would make the necessary arrangements immediately.

  The next morning was similar to the previous one. After I showered, Virginia prepared breakfast and accompanied me, while Zenaida and Elpidio prepared for the divination session of initiation on the day of itá, El Dia de Itá. Virginia warned me that it would be a long session, but a rewarding one. Each of the orishas I received would reveal their names through the cowry shells of the oriate, the santero diviner, and my future would be determined by my orishas through the patterns of the shells.

  We entered the room of initiation, where tureens containing the sacred stones of the orishas born on the day of my initiation lined the walls. The oriate sat on a straw mat on the floor. On a low stool next to him sat Justina, who was to record in a book the names of each of my orishas, their prophesies, my new African name, and the names of the witnesses present.

  Virginia explained that special care is always taken to make certain that these readings are conducted by expert oriates, because this reading would establish the foundation of special rules that would guide my life. Virginia cautioned that when I received the book, the libreta, it would be a detailed record of the way I must behave the rest of my life.

  “It is your personal bible, your detailed horoscope,” she added, trying to explain the profundity of my itá.

  A tall, thin Asian man nicknamed El Chino welcomed me into the room. In a scene that reminded me of the photographs I had seen of the Afro-Asian visual artist Wilfredo Lam, El Chino was surrounded by the elder santeros and santeras. I sat on a low stool facing him, with my bare feet placed on the straw mat. When he began to move the sixteen cowry shells in his delicate hands, everyone stopped talking and focused their attention on him. El Chino began sprinkling drops of cool water on the ground, reciting the prayers calling the ancestors and then Ellegua to guide his hands.

  Acknowledging all the santeros and santeras in the room, he then turned to me and asked, “Do you understand the significance of the itá?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “My orishas will talk to me through the cowries. I will be told how best to guide my life, things I should do and things I shouldn’t do. What to eat for my health and which foods will be harmful to me.”

  Satisfied with my response, El Chino continued with the reading. Casting the dilogun, cowries, on the straw mat, he carefully studied the patterns. The patterns of the dilogun kept changing as he gathered them in his hands and gently let them fall again. The pleasant rustle of the cowries in his hands was the only sound in the room. With measured words he began to speak.

  “Ellegua says to be cautious with your business negotiations. Read everything three times before signing any papers. Try to finalize your business negotiations during the day when the sun is bright. Ellegua says that when the time comes, he will bring many godchildren to your door. You will be very surprised at the large orisha house you will have.” El Chino ended by saying, “Your Ellegua wants to be surrounded by toys, and he promises to care for you as long as you care for him.

  “Oyá says to or
ganize yourself totally. In your home, job, and social life, you must place everything where it belongs. She warns that your lack of organization will one day publicly embarrass you. Oyá says you should dress in white as much as possible. She wants you to place a tiger skin over your Shangó. Oyá tells you not to eat fried food. She says fried food is not good for your digestive system.” With a shy smile that revealed his sparkling gold tooth, he said, “You enjoy fried food?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Well, Oyá is telling you to stop immediately,” he said gently. “Ochun is saying that many people talk about you. Whether it is good or bad do not worry. This is good for you; it means that people have to think about you. You are not invisible to the world. Ochun tells you that once you have made a decision, stick to it. She tells you to beware of where you eat. Your food must not be of the extremities of the animal. No tail, feet, or head. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I don’t eat those parts anyway,” I responded.

  “Ochun is telling you not to start,” El Chino murmured. “Yemayá tells you to honor your spirits; they will bring you health. When you have problems, go to the sea and tell Yemayá your problems. She will listen and help you to solve them. Yemayá tells you to make certain that you repair anything that is broken in your home. If it cannot be fixed, throw it out. Yemayá says to document everything you do; you will find out one day how important your notes will be.

  “Shangó says that you must live your life without desperation. You must be calm in the face of adversity. Always leave with plenty of time to get to your location. He doesn’t want you to rush anywhere; it is with calculated calm that things will come your way.” El Chino then added, “When you leave a place, never return immediately. Walk around the block, come back the next day. Avoid making hasty decisions.

  “Obatalá wants you to be very respectful of children. Children will bring you joy and all that you desire. Embrace your children and yourself every day. Remember that Obatalá’s domain is all that is white in the body. Go for checkups regularly, especially your eyes and teeth. Obatalá says that he wants you to give a tambor for the spirits of your mother and grandmother, because they are very close to you and are pleased with this important step you have taken.”