ORUNMILA! Eleri Ipin Ibikeji OLUDUMARE Obiriti, A-p’ijo-iku-da Oluwa mi, a-to-i-ba-j’aye Oro a-bi-ku-j’ igbo Oluwa’mi, Ajiki, Ogege a-gb’aye-gun; Odudu ti ndub ori emere; A-tun-ori-ti-ko sunwon se A-mo-i-ku,
Olowa Aiyere,
Agiri Ile-llogbon; A ko mo O tan kose A bam o tan iba se ke.”
-Morning Prayer to Orunmila
4 I waited outside of Niño’s cell for forty-five minutes, not wishing to disturb him as I watched him perform rituals that I had not seen in a very long time. He recited the morning prayer of a babalawo to Orunmila flawlessly, his command of every nuance of my people’s language was perfect and when he was done he had stood up, washed his hands and face and then turned to face me. “Ba-oni,” I greeted him in our language, “You recited the Morning Prayer flawlessly, your God would be proud.” He smiled and said “Shala-fi-ani, my friend. But how would I know if he is proud? He no longer answers me. And it is not just me; there are other babalawos here besides me, and their Gods are also silent. Those of your race are the true servants of the Orishas, the guardians of the balance, so tell me, what the hell is going on? The Orishas are never silent and Orunmila always talks to me.”
“What is it you are asking me? “ I asked warily.
“You know what is going on; why else would one of your lineage be here in this mess?”
“Why can’t I just be an adventurer? Others of my race have done this,” I replied.
“But certainly not one from your clan,” he persisted. “And what do you know of my clan, human?”
“I told you Orunmila always talks to me, even about Ile-Ife. I know yours is a clan of mighty priests and priestesses, the faithful servants of the balance.”
“Perhaps his openness with mortals is the source of his present problems.”
“Be careful, what you say, Alade, I will not tolerate disrespect to Orunmila, even from one such as you.” “And what will you do Nino? Will you try to hurt me? Don’t be ridiculous. If you know so much about me and my clan then you know there is very little that could kill me, at least not on this Earth. “
“They are your Gods too you know. You should show more respect.”
“But that is where you are wrong. I turned my back on them many human lifetimes ago, choosing exile over faith. That is why I ended up here.”
“But you were consecrated to Yemoja! How is that possible?”
“I refused the summons. I fled.” Nino looked at me exasperated and sighed, shaking his head. After a few minutes of silence, he suddenly looked up at me and smiled. “Alade, named the Crowned One, we can still help each other.” he said. “Before these troubles began, Orunmila gave me a vision that made no sense, but now your words are beginning to make me suspect that they were not meant for me at all but for you. I will share this prophecy with you and I will guide you into where you need to go. In return, you will put me on to the path to Ile-Ife. You must do this; my God needs me I can sense it. We can help each other.”
I shook my head sadly and spoke saying, “Nino, it is not that the old rules about my ancestral home still bind me, for I have always been a different sort of creature than the others of my clan. That is a relatively simple task getting you there, which can be quite easily accomplished. No, what I fear is what you will find if you were to go there now. You see the reason why your God does not answer you is because he is fading; indeed, maybe he has already fallen into stasis, a victim of the youngest God, the one called the Interloper. By the time you get to Ile-Ife there may be nothing there. For without the Gods to fuel its form, it will fade like the dream it is. And then what will you do?” He stared at me, stunned by my words, yet deep inside himself he felt the truth of them. He sank down onto his bed and bowed his head in thought. After some time, his breathing slowed and he calmed down sufficiently to look up at me and ask in a hoarse voice, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nino, why do you think I am here? Do you think it is by choice? Do you think it is my desire to be imprisoned? The events of the last few years of my life have been orchestrated in part by Yemoja, the Goddess who I fled. She has set me a task which I have been told that if I succeed it will not only put things to right within Ile-Ife, but it will destroy the Interloper.”
“You fled Yemoja?”
“Yes.”
“You fled a Goddess? Why?”
“Because I will not be anyone’s puppet, not even hers.” “And what of now, have you surrendered? Will you serve her will? “Trust me, Nino, I already am. I was recently forced to see things in a different light.”
“By Yemoja?” “No, Nino, by Esu or to be more precise, a very powerful avatar of Esu. Oh, the Goddess played her part, because her avatar visited me too, but I got the feeling that this game is out of her league. The God of Chaos is unknowable. He is very different from the others and plays a deeper game. Even now I feel his eyes on me.”
“But why? Why should two such powerful entities give a damn about a faithless exile?” He said bitterly. “Why? Because they need me to go somewhere where they cannot. They need the darkness that is in me to blossom and bear its deadly fruit. I have thought about and I am sure now that what she put inside me is some kind of weapon against the Interloper, but it needs more power to function properly, power from a place that only one with my natural powers and corrupted ase can go and survive. You know much more now Nino than you ever had before, even as a servant of Orunmila, and now you can see why I need your help. The path to both of our salvations lies in the world that you so freely move in, in that world where you are a king. Unless I enter it and survive, Orunmila and the other Orishas will fade away and our world will come crashing to an end. Ask yourself, priest of Fate, why your faithfulness and my faithlessness came together here and now?”
Abruptly, Nino stood up and put on his jacket. “Going somewhere?” I asked carefully, for he was obviously upset. “Yes,” he said “We both are. Go get your jacket and meet me on the compound, I am going to show you the prophecy and let’s see what you make of it, because to me it makes no sense and I see now that time is of the essence.”
Nino was sitting at one of the many metal tables which dotted the compound, though this one was as far from the maddening crowd as was possible in a prison as large as this one. I sat down opposite him and watched him carefully as another Colombian came close to him and spoke a few rapid words in his ear while handing him a wooden box that was decorated with chalk symbols of various colors. It was obvious Nino was uneasy now in my presence from the way he continually kept shifting his gaze from the box then to me, and then to the group of men who were sitting at a nearby table pretending not to be watching us. His hand was visibly shaking and I reached out with my own and covered his while looking at him dead in the eye. “Nino,” I said, “You said you had something to show me, well here I am. If this is the prophecy in that box then you best let me see it. I can feel it vibrating within the box and despite your attempts to keep it contained, it calls to me. Please let me have it.”
“And what of our agreement? What of Ile-Ife? Will you show me the way there?”
“I have already shown it to you; you have yet to realize it.”
“No games please, Alade. You must place me firmly upon the path and I shall give you what you want.”
“You will give me access?”
“Yes, I will give you access.”
“Then let me see the prophecy.” He passed the box to me without any ceremony and as soon as I held it in my hands I knew that I had miscalculated. The box slid open with its own power and a dark and sinuous coil of power reared itself up and struck me, spitting the words which would bind me to my fate into my eyes and cementing them to the roots of my soul. My body was burning up, I felt as if immersed in molten gold and as the pain became unbearable it spoke these words in my mind:
“Darkness approaches
Denied by its birthright
Damaged by despair
Now separate from the Light which created it.
In humility
It seeks the way which lies closed to it
Its access must be bought with shame
The Gatekeepers hold the knowledge it seeks
So that the child of its destiny will live.
A weapon forged in pain
That the Destroyer will be reborn.” I felt hands grabbing me, lifting me back onto the seat from which I had fallen, and looked up to see the concerned eyes of Niño looking at me my face. “What did it tell you?” he asked. I looked at him, my forehead dripping sweat and my breathing ragged hoping that the words that had seared themselves into me were not real and that there would be mercy for me at the end of the day. But I knew better and as I stood up and moved from the table I looked over at Niño and said, “when would you like to begin?”
In Ile-Ife, hidden from the eyes of both Gods and men, Inioluwa, sat watching in the scrying pool the darkness enveloping his beloved child. How does one fix something that is not broken but needs to be fixed, he pondered? How does one undo an action that was necessary for the benefit of all? As Inioluwa, watched the darkness that was steadily swallowing his son Alade, tears filled his eyes and for the first time in his long existence, he wept.
6 Now that I had completely fallen, I sought out knowledge where most men lose their sanity. Nino had promised me access and access he had given me but as the prophecy had declared, at great cost to myself. My memories of Ile-Ife were like poison to me now so I willingly administered the strong cathartic that Nino offered me to purge myself of them. He would find his map to my ancient homeland and I would find the key to the underbelly of the world. It was a kind of bondage that we shared with each other, as every day we came together he prepared me for the criminal world by purging and devouring from me any last memories of my old world and any lingering doubts that I had about just what I must do to excel in my new world. It was not beautiful this bondage, just simple and morbid tranquility, framed by a growing shame and horror so encompassing that I soon realized that I was a slave to my passions now, a slave to the blackness that I could not control growing inside me. I did terrible things in those last few months in prison, and I obeyed Nino without question and quickly gained a reputation of being both canny and violent, someone to be respected and feared. As for Nino, he got what he wanted. What had begun as a pious duality between us had become a shameful ritual of my own degradation as I revealed every secret about Ile-Ife that was no longer mine to tell. I was no longer dignified; I was dishonored and debased by my treacherous actions and every day as I grew in power, I bled more and more of my true character out into the fertile criminal world which was quickly becoming my own. I grew wiser though, in my new state of being, and though I had not yet crossed the threshold I knew that my native intelligence would give me the tools I needed to successfully pass its many tests. I was a well-oiled machine, molded and maintained by Nino, which devoured every source of knowledge and information like some monstrous amoeba engulfing and digesting all the tools to make me stronger and more equipped to thrive in my new world. And in my despair, something broke down in me and a part of me died, killed by the gluttony of the dark hunger rising in me and I opened my heart and embraced the wretched darkness and was Alade no more.
I stepped off the bus at Union Station in downtown Washington D.C. and took a deep breath of the filthy city air. Ye Gods how I had missed it, the cloying smells of exhaust and various ethnic foods seeping through the air into one’s lungs like a midnight prowler searching through one’s most secret belongings. I quickly crossed the terminal and exited the station, making a beeline for the nearest payphone, and without hesitating I dialed a number from memory and waited for someone to pick up. After three rings, a female voice picked and said, “Yes, who is speaking please?” in a South American accent. Quickly I replied, “Nino sent me.” There was a long pause before she spoke, and I got the feeling that she was not comfortable speaking to me, for by now she would have realized my identity. “You are to proceed to 6921 Georgia Avenue, in Northwest Washington D.C. Once you are there call this number. Someone will meet you and give you your instructions. Come prepared to work.” With that she hung up. I sighed knowing that my day had just begun and it would be a very long day indeed. Come prepared to work, she had said. Oh well, I thought, I better find a hardware store quickly, I would need a few items for this day’s work.
Since there had been no time limit on when I needed to get to my destination I took some time to buy a new outfit from Macy’s, and throw away my prison issued jeans, shirt and shoes and stop by an army surplus store to pick up some boots, overalls, heavy work gloves, watch cap, overalls and a heavy canvas shirt, all items which are essentially untraceable and easily disposed of. I also purchased from CVS a box of durable latex gloves without talc, a roll of duct tape and a prepaid cell phone. At the local music store, I bought some guitar string and a pair of drumsticks, and finally at Lowe’s a power-drill with multiple attachments, and a box cutter. I checked into the Motel 6 on Georgia Avenue and laid everything out on the bed and began to assemble what I needed. I cut the drumsticks in half and drilled a small hole in the center of each one through which I looped and secured about three feet of guitar string, so that now I had two strong garrotes. The duct tape and gloves I put into a bag and took off my clothes and redressed in the coveralls and canvas shirt with the watch cap and boots. I put the garrotes in one pocket and the box cutter in another then looked at the time. Showtime, I thought.
Georgia Avenue at the 6000 block was still a drug infested high crime area, and as I walked the three blocks to 6921 my dark ase was rumbling contentedly as it snacked upon the despair that permeates the air in and around addicts and those who supply them. It was the perfect place of exile for creatures such as me; for its dark ambition and bloody despair had folded it into a unique pocket of existence that was neither part of the real world nor part of the supernatural world, a nexus of nothingness where the rejects of both worlds came to hide and ultimately dwindle down into nothingness. It this strange pocket of sadness even the Gods were blind to us and it was here that I would be safe to begin my growth into what my Goddess had mandated me to become. It was 10PM now as I drew up to the building and I called the number that was given to me, and told the voice on the other that I was here. They said they would be there shortly, so I sat down on the steps watching the street, for I was not from this world and I could feel its inhabitants stirring. The hard metal object which I suddenly felt in my back did not scare me, on the contrary it pissed me off for I was angry with myself that in my reverie I allowed one of these junkies get the drop on me. I turned around slowly to face my would-be robber, and saw a stocky young Black man, who was obviously not a junkie, smirking at me from behind the gun he had pointed at my chest. “Give it up nigger; watch, wallet, phone and jewelry” he said, so sure that I was scared senseless, “and as a matter of fact,” he continued, “I don’t like how you are looking at me so get butt naked right now.” I did not say a word to him, instead I moved seemingly as if to comply, all the while watching him carefully and once he saw that I was obeying him he relaxed and took some pressure off the trigger and that is when I struck. I have said that my race is far stronger physically than humans but we are also much faster and it is with this speed that I disarmed him and then pointed his own gun at his face. He began to beg and plead, “No man, I was just kidding! Come on man, please don’t” and the inevitable “! I got kids!” But I said nothing, instead just watched him hungrily for a few moments and inside myself I began to gather my dark ase. I knew how this must end and I felt no pity, so I handed him back his gun and said to him, “leave now and live. Or stay here and be my dinner.” He looked at me incredulously and started to laugh, taking several steps back from me, and said “fuck you nigger, you should never have given this back to me. You’re dead motherfucker.” And with those words he pulled the trigger.
When Nino’s people arrived to pick me up they found me sitting on the steps with my would-
be attacker lying on his side with the gun still in his hand, looking as if in peaceful sleep. “Come on let’s go,” one of the three men said to me, looking at the prone man nervously, “What the fuck happened to him,” he asked, “is he high or something?”
“No, “I said calmly. “He tried to rob me and failed miserably. Now he is dying.”
“You shot him?”
“No, I ate his soul. But come on, don’t worry about him, let’s go. I gather you have a lot of work for me do.” They took one last look at the now dead attacker and shrugged their shoulders, “Nino said you were different,” the tallest one said, “He said your skills would be useful, but make sure that they remain useful to us and us alone. You can’t be killing people indiscriminately, even would be robbers, my man, you will call attention to yourself and you don’t need that, right? Remember what he told you. You will need our help.” I got into the car thinking about my future, this divinely sanctioned journey into the depth of the abyss and about my utter and complete transformation into the wretched creature that I must become. I would behave for now and obey my new masters, because despite my growing powers, I still needed access and because of my pact with Nino, these men would give it to me.
Alade (Irunmole Saga) Page 8