I saw the bony face of my mother when she was near death, her hair glowing like a halo. The image of my brother, sister, and me sitting in the living room listening to the songs of the spirits, as we tried to control our fear over our mother’s illness. The dreams of my spirit mothers flowed through my mind like pages turning in a book. I recalled my first trip to Cuba when my spiritual awakening began. Everything seemed as if it had happened to someone else a long time ago.
In reality, each one of us, regardless of our cultural traditions, undergoes rites of passage—special once-in-a-lifetime experiences that transform our lives. Sometimes it is a first kiss, or feeling the movement of our first child, or falling in love for the first time.
Unlike the other special moments in my life, the experience of initiation was a path that would fortify and expand my spiritual self. Rather than a sad good-bye, my whole being was looking forward to the spiritual renewal and commitment that would change me forever. Looking into the mirror, I asked myself, “Are you frightened?” “No,” I replied aloud. Then, glancing at my reflection for the last time for the next three months, I waved good-bye.
Zenaida called to me from the other room, “My daughter, instead of leaving this evening for the initiation site, we are going to depart this afternoon. Elpidio’s godsons are waiting downstairs and will start transporting the elders to a new location in Guanabacoa. Ernesto went to the airport to meet Laura. When they return, we will go to the initiation site in Ernesto’s car after Elpidio completes the first ceremony of initiation, El Ebó de Entrada.”
In the first ceremony of initiation, Orula would prescribe the items needed to properly cleanse me before beginning the ceremony. When I asked why we had changed the schedule and location, she explained, “Elpidio consulted with Orula this morning, and Ellegua came forth to speak through the odu.
“Ellegua advised that everything be turned upside down, that if things were to occur in the evening, they should take place in the morning. If events were to take place in one location, they should happen in another place.” I had learned that Ellegua, the master of organized confusion, reminded us that in difficult times people will change their behavior and act contrary to their ordinary habits. So in the event anyone had leaked information on the initiation location, we would be protected.
In her mother-teacher mode, Zenaida continued to explain that the spirits and orishas provided information and knowledge that at the time might seem incorrect. However, it was important to remember that the divine sight and wisdom of the spirits and orishas gave them the ability to see the past, present, and future, placing all events in context, as part of a continuum. Therefore, their advice would not necessarily provide an immediate solution but it would a long-range one.
“Daughter, you must be like your godmother,” Zenaida told me. “Learn to always question and find the best solution for your situation. The spirits and orishas insist that you be constantly aware of what is happening around you. There are initiates who sit back, thinking that the spirits and orishas will do everything for them. But no, this is a partnership,” Zenaida explained, as she finished organizing the bags of food for the ceremony. “We must internalize the teachings of the orishas and use them in our lives. The changing of the time and location of the initiation is a perfect example of how the orishas guide our lives.”
At one o’clock, Zenaida and I began to worry about Laura’s late arrival. Ernesto called from the airport and said she was nowhere in sight. Zenaida gave him the address of the new location and asked him to meet us there instead of her apartment. Finally, she determined that we should follow the advice of Ellegua and move ahead with our preparations. We waited for Elpidio, who soon returned with two of his godsons.
They quickly set up their divining trays in the living room. Consulting with Orula, they determined that the ebó prescribed should be disposed of in a grassy area in a nearby park. This would assure that the negative energy that was cleansed from me would be placed in a natural location.
Zenaida asked me to wait in the kitchen for a moment, because she had last-minute details to work out with Elpidio. As I sat at the table waiting, Zenaida came over and placed a heavy object around my neck. When I looked down, I saw it was a beautiful white-beaded necklace in honor of Obatalá. As of that moment, I had been taken into sacred custody and the initiation process had begun. From that moment on I was to be quiet, remain calm, and follow Zenaida’s instructions.
At two o’clock, Zenaida decided we should go to Guanabacoa. Tato, Elpidio’s godson, volunteered to drive us. I remained silent during the car ride, though I was wondering if something had occurred in New York preventing Laura’s arrival. Reading my thoughts, Zenaida assured me that nothing was wrong. She reminded me that Ellegua had said that there would be some minor difficulties; however, everything would be resolved if we cleverly changed our plans.
“ We have done everything according to the instruction of the spirits; nothing major will go wrong,” she said with great confidence. “The ebó that Elpidio prepared is an added protection for us all, don’t worry. The ceremony will be the best Havana has seen in a long time,” she continued, trying to alleviate my concern. I looked out the window, recalling the similar landscape during my ride to Ile Ife. The swaying palm trees, rich soil, and small wooden houses painted a picture I had seen time and again during my recent trips.
Tato took us to a farmhouse in an isolated wooded area on the outskirts of Guanabacoa, quite a distance away from Havana. The old wooden building, in desperate need of paint, was much like the one Elpidio had used for Javier’s initiation. This location had been selected because, although it was far away from the city, it was still close enough for people to travel back and forth without too much difficulty. Those who lived a significant distance away would be staying at the initiation site during the weeklong ceremony, while others would leave late and return early in the morning.
Soon after entering the house, I was instructed to sit in a chair facing a blank white wall and to wait for further instructions. Zenaida suggested that I meditate and relax. I tried to remain focused on the upcoming ceremony; however, my mind kept drifting. Had Omar gotten sick? Was Sergio involved in an accident? Had Laura missed the plane? Thoughts kept popping up that I just could not hold back, and it was impossible for me to relax.
We later found out that Laura had been detained at the Havana airport because of the white sheets, towels, and other ritual items she was bringing in for the ceremony. Since they were attempting to control the initiation of foreigners, they made her leave all these items at the airport. She tried to convince the officials that she had a skin condition that required her to use cloth that had no dye coloring. When she told us the story, we all burst into laughter.
The airport officials refused to accept her false claims. They promised that the items would be returned to her when she left Cuba. Ultimately, however, the items were left at the airport because we were afraid to go back to the officials to reclaim them. The santeras and santeros were preparing the special initiation room, hidden by a white sheet, as I sat looking at the wall. I heard the low murmur of voices while secret preparations were made. Sitting on the chair, lost in my thoughts, I did not notice when eight santeras quietly surrounded me and gently asked me to follow them.
Like graceful white swans they surrounded me as Virginia, my ayubona, my second godmother, guided the procession out the door and toward the river. After we had left the house, I noticed that Madrina Zenaida had remained inside. Virginia, then, became the elder in charge of my purification ceremony at the river.
As the procession moved toward the river, we were surrounded by rustling old trees and a field of blue-green grass. The crumbling, colonial buildings of Havana seemed millions of miles away. A gentle breeze set the leaves whispering as it cooled the heat of the warm afternoon. The sky was a clear blue covered with white clouds moving slowly above my head. As we walked away from the house, glorious gifts of nature unfolded before me. Th
e only thing on my mind now was the vividness of the trees, the intensity of the sky, the brightness of the sun, and the snapping sound of grass beneath our feet. The santeras, absorbed in their own chatter, seemed to be a significant distance away from me. I remember wondering, Why are they so far away?
When we reached the riverbank, we all paused to look at the beauty of Yemayá-Ochun. The spot to which I was taken was the point where salt water and sweet water came together. Then Virginia instructed all the santeras to surround me. She instructed me to remain silent, to close my eyes, and to follow her instructions.
As I stood by the river’s edge, the soft earth enveloped my bare feet. Virginia, a daughter of the orisha Ochun, turned to the river and began praying. She tossed silver coins and copper pennies into the river as she informed Yemayá-Ochun of the purpose of our visit. She explained to the orishas that I was going to be initiated into the Santería religion, that I had been brought to them to receive their purifying waters and blessing so I would be fully prepared for initiation.
Virginia handed me a calabash filled with oranges, molasses, and honey. At her instructions, I knelt by the water and carefully allowed the ingredients of the calabash to flow into the water as I prayed to the water orishas for their protection. Then I stood up and waited silently as Virginia chanted the songs praising the divinities.
Then Virginia and the other santeras began smoothly to rip away my clothes, tossing the shredded clothing into the river. My light yellow dress, my slip, my underwear flowed away in the lazy current, symbolizing the death of my old life. As I heard my old clothes fall into the water, feeling them move farther and farther away, a spiritual dream-state deepened within me. My mind was now filled with a white, iridescent haze.
Bathing in the sacred waters of the river goddess would be the final purification ceremony before entering the initiation room, the igbodú. Zenaida’s assistant, my ayubona, led me into a shallow clearing by the river’s edge and started bathing me from head to foot with castile soap. As I stood motionless with my eyes still shut, chants to the orishas filled the air.
The cold water against my skin made me shiver until my body gradually became accustomed to the temperature. I felt drowsy and separated from the physical world, as if a great force was trying to pull me deeper within myself. I struggled to hold my consciousness, praying to the water goddesses to care for me, to cleanse my thoughts and body in preparation for receiving Obatalá. Most of all, I asked Yemayá and Ochun to help me protect my family.
When the santeras dried me with large white towels, I felt as if I were watching myself from afar. The santeras then moved me to a nearby grassy area and dressed me. I stood still, both feeling and not feeling their touch. Soon, new white clothing covered me. When I was fully dressed to Virginia’s satisfaction, the procession commenced. Virginia finally told me to open my eyes as we walked toward the house where my initiation ceremony was about to begin. A clay pot of cool river water was placed on my head by Virginia. At this moment, my soul felt even more detached from my physical body, as if it were suspended in midair. The feeling was similar to the sense of distance that had overcome me at the misas—as if there were two of me, the outer physical self acting as a container for my inner spiritual being.
When we neared the house, it seemed very far away. It felt as if we would never reach our destination. Finally, we were at the front door. It was opened by Madrina ringing the agogó, the bell of Obatalá. The ringing of the agogó filled my head with an overwhelming, metallic sound.
I vaguely remember Madrina taking me by the elbow as Virginia told her, “Here is your daughter.” Then Zenaida led me toward the initiation room. From behind the white curtain a booming voice demanded, “Why have you come?”
I responded, “To find orisha.”
“Which orisha?” asked the voice.
“Obatalá,” I responded.
The spirit force of Obatalá claimed me as the white curtain was drawn to the side, and I entered the igbodú. As I was transported to the spiritual realm of my orisha, the physical world faded away.
A Message from My Godparents
My madrina, Zenaida, took great care in explaining that initiation into Santería is a serious, lifelong commitment. “My daughter, initiation is the process of having the aché of the orisha that has claimed you ceremonially mounted on your head. Identification of the orisha in our house is determined by Orula in a divination session with ikin conducted by a babalawo. In some houses, santeros or santeras determine the orisha with cowry divination and also give warriors. In our religious house, this is the domain of the babalawo.
“The iyawo, the novice, during the first year must carefully follow the tenets prescribed by the religion. You must dress in white for a year. Until the ceremony that marks your three months is performed, women wear no pants, must always wear stockings and a shawl, and have their heads covered. Remember, the first three months you cannot look into a mirror. It is necessary that you get home before sundown. To eat, you will sit on the floor on a straw mat, using a spoon and a white plate, and you will drink from a tin cup. During this year you may not shake anyone’s hand or accept anything given to you from a noninitiate.” I understood that these changes in my lifestyle symbolized the process of shedding unconscious habits, spiritually centering while analyzing my daily behavior. The process developed greater awareness of every thought and action, forcing me to live in the moment, connecting the secular and spiritual realities.
“These restrictions assist you in concentrating on your new path and help you reexamine your previous lifestyle. Before I initiated I would often dress in white. It allowed me to focus and concentrate on my spirituality instead of worrying about my appearance. I recommend this for everyone. Remember, it is important to be faithful to the commitment you have made to yourself and your orisha.”
Each orisha has different roads, caminos, on which to project a different aspect of her or his powers. On each road, the orisha has a different name, one that identifies the particular powers that are manifested. Obatalá has various roads in which he appears as a man, others as a woman, a young warrior, or a wise old man. In these varied manifestations, Obatalá is called Orisha Ayé, Obatalá Orishanla, Obatalá Igba Ibo, Obatalá Oba Lufon, Obatalá Ocha Grinan, Obatalá Ekanike, Obatalá Acho, Obatalá Oba Moro, Obatalá Alaguema, Obatalá Talabi, Obatalá Yeku-Yeku, and Obatalá Ayáguna.
Obatalá Ayáguna, the young warrior, is the road of Obatalá that claimed me. In this manifestation, he is a fierce young warrior, riding a white horse, swinging a staff in one hand and a sword in the other. He was once a king who fought in many wars until he reached Asia. His children are identified by wearing a white eleke, with one red bead. When he possesses his children in a drumming ceremony, he dances as if he were in a battle. The children of this orisha share his warlike qualities in their defense of just causes.
According to legend, Obatalá Ayáguna was challenged by an enemy to compete in a contest. When they saw how young Ayáguna was, his enemies assumed that Ayáguna did not possess the strength to meet the challenge. Angered by his enemies’ disbelief, Ayáguna challenged them to prove who was the best warrior. His enemies went into battle and cut off 201 human heads by the following day, which they brought to Ayáguna to show their bravery. Ayáguna waged battle the same day and that evening brought 201 heads and placed them before his enemies. To make certain that there was no question of his valor, he proceeded to cut off the heads of his enemies.
Olodumare created Obatalá in his image. Obatalá is the father of all the orishas, and his word is law. In Obatalá, the day and night were born; that is, life and death, the good and bad. As a child of Obatalá Ayáguna, one possesses the warlike qualities of this orisha, but one must beware of controlling one’s temper.
Pleased that the initiation of Paco, the Puerto Rican drummer, was about to start, Doña Rosa turned to me. “My daughter, it is time to reflect on the changes Obatalá has brought into your life. What has occurred t
o you in these eighteen years since Obatalá came into your life?” I explained that I realized that living with the orishas was a continuous growth process, one that encouraged me to understand myself so I could share my knowledge with others. Like placing the pieces of a puzzle in their proper location, the orishas had guided me to the areas of my life that needed attention and helped me find solutions. It is a never-ending journey. I am part of the process of regeneration. What my madrina has shared with me, I must share with others.
Although I knew that Obatalá had claimed me, it wasn’t until the day of itá, the third day of the initiation ceremony, that the diviner El Chino identified the particular name of my orisha: Obatalá Ayáguna.
I entered the igbodú with my eyes closed. As is tradition, they remained closed throughout the initiation ceremony. I was seated on a stool and instructed to remain silent. I felt the gentle touch of one of the santeras as my hair was shorn. The snipping sound of the scissors echoed in my head, and the pungent scent of fresh plants tickled my nose. The sensation of the razor scraping against my scalp caused shivers up and down my spine. As I struggled to remain conscious, a light airiness filled my head and a numbing sensation spread throughout my body.
In the distance, an immense figure emerged from a shaft of intense light. He was dressed in a white iridescent robe that completely covered his body. Slowly, this majestic figure moved toward me holding an iroke, a white horsetail whisk, the symbol of Obatalá, covered with sparkling white beads. He radiated a pure calm that penetrated deep into the inner recesses of my mind. A series of mild explosions went off in my head as Obatalá extended the whisk toward me, silently encouraging me to accept it. The last thing I remember was willingly reaching for the iroke. I was initiated with the orisha Obatalá Ayáguna on August 11, 1981.
The Altar of My Soul Page 23