Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
MARKETPLACE
VOLUME 1
EDITION 3
AUGUST 2, 1993
SANGO'S PLATFORM
By Sowande Akintunde
ALAFIA.
It would seem that, although weve
presumably gotten what we asked for,
we are beginning to lose faith with that
new blood in the United States White
House.
One would hope that, at least, we who
worship ORISA and celebrate EGUNGUN would make use of our divine
resources to help stem our temptation
to eschew rationality in our haste to rid
ourselves of the moral and spiritual
miasma that has personified the presidential administrations of the last two
decades.
It is important that we continue to
hope for the resolution of the myriad
problems that besiege the lands in
which we live, for a human being
without hope is but a zombie...bereft
of spirit and soul. However, too much
hope -- irrational, blind, unreasoning
hope -- turned without factual basis to
expectation, can be equally deadly to
the human soul, because it gives way
all too easily to the poison of disenchantment.
The image comes to mind of a man
parched and starving in the desert who
EDITORIALPAGE
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PAGE 2
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PAGE 3
proper consistency.
After the statues dry, their adornment
includes paint and embellishment with
mirrors, beads, cowries and cloth. Each
temple has its own style of painting.
The colors used range from simple,
somber combinations of black, white
and brown to greyish-blue, orange and
red.
In front of these imposing figures the
community gathers to sing, make offerings and receive the blessings and
pronouncements of OLOKUN
through their priest. OGUN,
ESANGO and EZIZA-The-Whirlwind
make appearances on the dance-floor.
Balance, harmony, and fluid arm
movements, like those of vines or
snakes, observed in an initiates body
announces the presence of OLOKUN.
After delivering messages from the
spirit world the priest is led to a secluded room to cool off and return to
AGBON. In Benin, possession by
OLOKUN is no cataclysm. It is miraculous, yes, and beyond the comprehension of the human mind. It is an
experience that is also inherent in the
worship of this deity.
Everywhere associates OLOKUN with
the idea of conception, which resonates
with the picture of a deity of the
depths, of the deepest mysteries of
life. Reflection, which involves surfaces, is also important in OLOKUNs
worship, though, as the phrase from
the song quoted at the beginning of this
article indicates. One praise-name for
OLOKUN is EZENUGHEGBE, which
translates as the Looking-Glass River.
Another, UHUANMEN, means that
OLOKUN is the Source of the Big
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 4
TIKARA - ENI
THE ELEMENTS OF SELF
By AWO FA'LOKUN FATUNMBI
The foundation of any system of metaphysics is the concept of self. Many
forms of Christianity regard the self as
either evil or unworthy. It is only
through the process of accepting a specific set of beliefs, that the individual
can find salvation. This world view,
inconsistent with African forms of IFA,
has had a subtle influence on ORISA
worship in the West. The elders of
LUKUMI and SANTERIA lean toward
viewing the individual as someone who
is always in danger of angering the
ORISA. As a result, the process for
avoiding anger is to make periodic offerings to the ORISA in an effort to make
them happy.
The ORISA represent powerful Forces
in Nature, making it difficult to imagine
either the Ocean, the Fire, the Air or
the Earth becoming angry over the
specific actions of any given individual.
Catholic notions of death, purgatory
and original sin heavily influence the
idea that the ORISA are set on punishing those who disobey them. IFA teaches,
in contrast, that the world is a balanced
system that functions with its own
internal guidance system that maintains
harmony and growth. It is the individual
job of each to grasp this internal order,
then to live according to its inherent
principles.
In dissimilarity to Christianity, IFA does
not believe that the curse of Eve
burdens humans. IFA teaches that
everyone has right from birth to receive
the blessing of abundance, good health
and family. They manifest these
birthrights by integrating all the elements of the self.
This
excerpt
is
from
the
upcoming book IBA SE ORISA by
AWO FA'LOKUN FATUNMBI.
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 5
GETTING TO OYA
By Cynthia M. Dagnal-Myron
metronome as if it were her sister,
before turning it off with a firm click,
and no fear.
Yes. This is how the journey began. But
it ended half the continent away, on the
wind swept mesas of HOPI, where I
would wind up married to a KACHINA
carver and adopted by his tribe. When
the KACHINA/EGUNGUN danced, I
understood the drums, the guttural
chants. When I danced for the first
time myself, in the ancient plaza, with
the other women, the rain came -- a
blessing from the ancestors, who knew
what my aunt had told me: Black and
red. . .black and red. This is who you
are.
And so I ran with whirlwinds, in windstorms; stood in thunderstorms smiling
as the drops hit my face. Wild, like
someone else I knew. And someone
else I did not know. But I knew other
things: having suffered a miscarriage I
went up to a windy mesa top ruin, as I
often had before, and held sherds of
ancient pottery in my hands, knowing
the old ones would heal me, and send
me a healthy child, if I prayed and fed
them. And so my daughter was born,
the next spring, eyes wide open, her
frown too old for her face. Sassy eyes,
like someone else I knew. And someone else I did not know.
Months later, a teacher would arrive, a
schoolteacher who would become another kind of teacher. She had lived in
Brazil and studied CAMDOMBLE and
UMBANDA, and she would say, You
act like OYA. . .
And the journey would become a conscious one then. And as if to encourage
it, signs:
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 6
ORDER OF ODU
BY OBA ECUN
WHO IS ESU ELEGBARA ?
He is the gate opener of opportunities
(opening whatever door is closed to us)
and the one that closes the doors to us.
There is no other ORISA like ESU
ELEGBARA. He is second to OLODUMARE, not even ORUNMILA has
his powers.
In Yoruba theology, ESU ELEGBARA
is respected as so versatile a character
that one must be wary of what one says
about him. He has often been called
either the Devil of the New Testament
or Satan. He is certainly not the Devil,
who is an outright evil power in opposition to the plan of Gods salvation of
man. On the whole, it would be nearer
truth to parallel him with Satan in the
Book of Job 2, where Satan was one of
the ministers of God and had the power
of trying mens sincerity and putting
their religion to proof.
What I have gathered from many years
of research, reference and sources is
that ESU ELEGBARA is primarily a
special relations officer between
heaven and earth -- the Inspector General who reports regularly to OLODUMARE on the deeds of the divinities
and men, checking and making reports
on the correctness of worship in general and sacrifices in particular.
Some BABALAWO hold the idea that
ESU ELEGBARA is the right hand to
ORUNMILA. His duty is not to run
errands for ORUNMILA; nor to always be in attendance upon him and act
under his orders. ORUNMILA is
assigned the duty of hearing the voices
of OLODUMARE and declaring His
will to the world. Whenever
ORUNMILAs declaration is not
heeded, it is the duty of ESU ELEGBARA to bring some calamity by way of
punishment upon the recalcitrant. In
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 7
O MBAUNKO SIRE
NWON MA DUMBU RE O.
ESU ELEGBARA, MA BA MJA.
MABA MSIRE
O MBAKOJA SIRE
NWON BE AKOJA NI ORI.
ESU ELEGBARA, MA BA MJA
MA BA MSIRE.
ONIJA, O LE.
A-DI-GIRI-GIRI-REBI-IJA.
MODUPUE ELEGBARA BABAMI.
Now I will chant a salute to my
ELEGUA
OBELLIGEREN One, you are not
cruel.
The EJEMU foremost chief of
IWONRAN Town.
He will prepare himself and go to
fight.
A butterfly chances upon a civet-cats
excrement and flies high.
ELEGBA, dont fight against me.
Dont play with me.
Just be to me a giver of good luck.
You said you were playing with a
child.
I saw much blood flowing from the
girls private parts.
ELEGBA, dont fight against me.
Dont play with me.
You said you were playing with a
boy.
I saw much blood flowing from the
boys private parts.
ELEGBA dont play with me.
You were playing with a rooster.
The rooster head was torn from the
neck.
ELEGBA dont fight against me.
Dont play with me.
You were playing with a goat.
The sheep was slaughtered with a
knife.
ELEGBA dont fight against me.
Dont play with me.
You were playing with a male dog
The male dog was beheaded.
ELEGBA dont fight against me.
Dont play with me
cont. on page 21.
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 8
ASE...WHAT IS IT?
By BABALAWO OSEFAFUN
ASE...WHAT IS IT?
Since the beginning of time mankind
has been plagued by the thought of
how to become holy to get close to the
God(s). Mankind has developed all the
means in order to make life easier and
to avoid almost all physical labor.
History has seen how life as our ancestors knew it evolved from the six simple
machines -- the pulley, level, incline
plane, wheel and axle, wedge, and
screw. These simple machines changed
the world; that is the physical part of
ASE. To an extent that is wonderful
but only to an extent because what we
created to make our life easier really
enslaves us to our work. We get
farther away from our creator. When
man developed the first construction
crane he created a way to speed up
production. That which took him ten
years to manufacture can now be done
ten times faster but the focus is not on
cutting time. What has actually been
created is GREED. As a computer
tech, it has been taught that computers
were originally designed to help man
speed up calculations and retrieve
masses of information as quickly as
possible. Today those uses are still
realized but there are also people
working overtime in order to meet
deadlines or making sure they dont
lose the stock market Qs - all this
man has created but how has this been
possible?
According to the oral tradition handed
down to me by my godfather Carlos
ODUNJO Canet and from his IFA
godfather, the renowned late ARABA
of Lagos, Nigeria, FAGBEMI
AJANAKU (my great-grandfather in
IFA IBA-E BAE TONU!) all this has
been possible through the power of
ASE.
Many who are initiated to our faith,
whether it is called SANTERIA, LU-
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
IL RNML
AFRIKAN IMPORTS
We deal in authentic
RS paraphernalia:
OPN IF, RK IF,
YR OSUN, EW IF
(herbs), IKIN IF,
PL, African RI
(shea butter), feathers,
EFUN, shells, ALE
(medicine for men),
RNML magazines,
cloths, fabric, art, and
so on.
Open Mon. - Sat.
11 a.m. - 6 p.m.
515 W. 21st Street
San Bernardino, CA
92405
P.O. Box 2265
Tel. (909) 886-6023
(888) 678-6645
Fax: (909) 475-5850
PAGE 9
F I R E
B I R T H
M O R A L I T Y
S I L V E R
O B A T A L A
L I F E
B R A S S
O S U N
COMPASSION
W A T E R
S P I R I T
I F A
G O L D
WISDOM
AIR
OGUN
I R O N
D E S T R U C T I O N
D E A T H
E A R T H
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 10
RE,
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
Lead: By this time of tomorrow
Chorus: Elephant, elephant, elephant
AGADA A MA SE F,
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
Narrator: N OJ KAN
KNM A MA SE GB
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
Lead: The sound of the clubs will be
heard everywhere
Story:
In ancient time, there was a town that
was constantly terrorized by a mighty
elephant. It was not very easy for
hunters of the town to kill the elephant
because of its size. To kill such a big
elephant required the joint effort of
several powerful hunters. At that time,
elephants were not friendly with people
because elephants lived in the forest
and human being lived in villages or
towns. That means that there were no
zoos then, therefore, Elephant and Man
regarded each other as enemies. There
were not many powerful hunters in
that town at that time. Therefore,
elders of the town had a meeting with
the OBA (king) and their discussion at
the meeting was on what to do to save
the town from the elephants reign of
terror. This meeting of the elders is
called JO GB, Council of Elders.
At the Council of Elders, the elders
agreed that an announcement be made
that whoever could capture or kill the
elephant would receive a big reward.
The following day after the Elders
meeting, the town crier went round the
town with AGOGO (a gong - musical
instrument) announcing to the town
people that the King had a reward for
whoever could kill or capture the terror
elephant. At this ancient time, there
was no radio, no television, no
newspapers, and there was none of the
modern mass media equipments.
Announcements were usually made by
town criers.
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 11
ERIN K REL , K W
JOBA
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
Lead: Elephant, lets go home and be
made a king
Chorus: Elephant, elephant, elephant
WY
LA
RE,
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 12
IFA
BY CHIEF FELA SOWANDE
The late Chief Fela Sowande was a
professor of Pan African Studies for Kent
State University/ Born in OYO, Nigeria, in 1905, he received a good deal of
his higher education from British schools.
He discovered that for all his learning
his roots held the true knowledge. He
returned home to research his culture
and wrote a number of papers on
traditional YORUBA. The unpublished
papers were left to the Department of Pan
African Studies at Kent. Permission has
been given to share some of his work with
our readers. Discussion is certainly
welcomed as well as critique. The
following is an continuation of an
unedited excerpt from Chief Sowandes
paper entitled IFA. - SG
Acknowledgements are due to the Ancient Religious Society of African Descendants Association for permission to
quote freely from their collection, and
to those who readily granted access to
private libraries of rare books. They
remain anonymous as a protection
against the curious-minded, whose
curiosity is only equaled by their forgetfulness to return borrowed books. Fela Sowande.
We have therefore in the YORUBA
System, OLORUN, ELEDA & OLODUMARE. Of the three, OLODUMARE is the least rarefied, be He is still
neither Matter, nor conditioned by Matter. He is the Root of that which
eventually becomes Matter; the Root
of that which eventually becomes Form;
we may perhaps regard Him as the
Germ from which the Principles of
Form and of Matter subsequently develop. He is pure Spirit, but so near to
manifestation, that He enters into virtually every aspect of Manifested Life,
not because He is the Supreme God,
which He is not, be because He may be
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 13
AfriCarribean BBS
We are proud to announce the creation of an electronic Bulletin Board System
that will focus on those issues near and dear to those appreciative of ancient
African tradition and its progeny in the New World.The service will provide
many of the general BBS features such as message centers, chat modes and
E-mail along with a few features unique to our particular needs. It is scheduled
to "boot up" on October 4th of this year and will be available to all users
of IBM compatible computers with modems. For more information, contact
OYA'S MARKETPLACE, P. O. Box 21521, Canton, OH 44701-1521,
(216) 588-9549.
TO BE CONTINUED...
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 14
Journey to Self
by Omope Daboiku
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
compared to the forward journey. Of one
thing I am certain this is no vacation. I
cannot afford to be a tourist. I must drink
it, breathe it, and dissect it all. I cannot be
a passive observer: I am going home and
home is where youre an integregal part
of the whole...they need you as badly as
you need them. ASE, I sigh as we rush
headlong further and further east toward
the rising sun.
When I woke up, the sun was glistening
off the floor of clouds below us. As I
marveled over the phenomena of flight, I
noticed the clouds part and Mother Africa
peep through. I could not see Her clearly,
but the sighting alone pulled at my
umbilical center so that I immediately
searched my bag for the handkerchief
that Aunt Zelma (actually a maternal first
cousin, once removed) had given me
especially for The Trip. Here I am choosing
to fly into the arms of fate, back to my
mothers bosom; I reflect on the sensation
of terror They The Departed could
possibly have felt being torn from the
same mother. Tears flow for those lying
between shores all those safe in
OLOKUNs kingdom, fertilizing all life in
the biosphere. We ride over land for a
long while before those expert in this
passage begin to reach for luggage. The
plane lands like a snowflake on glass.
Everyone applauds the pilot; yes, they
actually clap and shout praises on the
ability of their countrymans skill how
African!
The Test began the moment we
deplaned: We had just crossed the
Atlantic Ocean solely dependent upon
extremely sophisticated technology and
upon arriving at Murtula Mohammed
Airport must climb down like a bus station
only there at least one gets delivered
to a covered curb, just in case of rain; but
here, no such courtesy. Then, The Line.
Waiting to enter, everyone waits on line.
Passport, with visa stamped in, and
medical papers are examined cursorily,
oh so slowly, as if slowness insures
some level of quality.
Its hot inside the airport, humid hot;
sweat, several levels above perspiration,
pours between the creases of my body.
I now understand what people who are
claustrophobic feel. The air is still, tepid.
No exhaust fans are blowing. Nothing is
automated except for the folks in line; they
behave like trained animals, patiently
standing on line knowing there is no
value to being impatient.
PAGE 15
It dawns on me that uniforms are
everywhere; its like a business suit it
seems that everyone in charge of anything
has on one. The women have wear
anklets and pumps looking more like
Girl Scouts (Guides) than Madonna. The
colors of the uniforms reaffirm the
dullness of the earth and trees, with every
now and then a skyblue flash of some
ranking officer. Nigeria was to be like just
that dull and dirty with flashes of
brilliance the textiles, the architectural
forms, murals, sculptures, rivers,
mountains and the people juxtaposed to
the dirt, trash, pollution, disrepair and
jumbled development.
Suddenly, my mind shifts and I realize
that all hosts are waiting outside, not
allowed to come inside to greet their
guests. As Im trying to digest this new
issue of control, a guard motions to my
husband and the following conversation
occurs, Sir, welcome home. Sir, this is
a camera, yes? It is too obvious. I would
suggest placing it inside your luggage.
Oh, your cases are full. Well, then, tell me
what you have for them. I realize he is not
concerned for us; he is the frontman
looking for the marks. The them are the
armed guards searching luggage as
you go out. I hold the camera in my right
hand and turn toward them presenting
my left hip on which I had that charming
15 month old girl. We pass through to
waiting arms.
I am overwhelmed with smothering
greetings from faces I recognize from
photos sister-in-law and husband,
distant cousins (and general on-lookers)
to see the African American wife. The
women are pressed and starched in IRO
and BUBA; the men are casual GQ.
Everything is snatched from me; for the
first time in 15 months my hands are free.
(I carried nothing for the duration of the
trip with the exception of a bottle of
whatever to drink and water with which to
bathe. That aspect of respect is definitely
worthy of preserving!) We bustle off to a
car and then were off. And, I mean off. I
see no speed limit signs and our driver
(anybody thats anybody has a driver)
seems determined to see how far he can
make the speedometer needle go into
the red zone. My husband says, No
faster than 90 please. I become
conscious that my right hand is gripping
the doorhandle, the left is grabbing for
the child, and my mind is screaming, Ok,
ok, Im impressed, already! as we swing
into a curve crossing one of the many
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 16
THE BRIDGE
(from private conversations)
AFS 1983
In April of 1984 I, along with a fellow
seeker of truth, began a series of dialogues that led to the appearance of
"Dialogues," the second of five essays
entitled "The Bridge" to be published in
"OYA'S MARKETPLACE." In November of 1984, I had my first reading by an
IFA priest. In April of 1991, I was
initiated as a priest of OBATALA. This
summer I was initiated to IFA and am
now a BABALAWO. My name is
OLUSEGUN. To me all of this is
related to the material we call "The
Bridge." It is a statement of the agreement between ORI and IPONRI; that
is to say our consciousness and our
higher self or spiritual double.
DIALOGUES
1987
Chapter One: Wanting to Change
We are writing now for those people
who know, in their hearts, that they
have to change. They dont like their
lives as they are. They feel cut off or
distant from their own deeper, or higher,
sources. They have a sense that people
can be more than people seem to be,
that life on earth can and should be
different, less violent, more whole.
We are writing for the man and woman
who have come to realize that life lived
for the externals alone, that is, life lived
for job, family, house, money, is not
enough. This man or woman experiences technology, and while perhaps
appreciating the human creativity be-
hind it, feels that the external advancements of the day have somehow missed
a more subtle inner truth about human
life. This man knows that instantaneous, worldwide communication has
become a fact, yet he feels very alone
and out of touch with anything of
lasting value, lasting meaning.
He searches. He reads. He joins groups
or tries methods for meditation, spiritual
growth, self actualization. Perhaps she
senses a religious connection to God, or
knows of the reality of the psyche. But
nothing seems to work for very long.
Her life, his life, do not really change,
do not get better. There may be ups and
downs in terms of material success or
times when relationships are more
positive or times when ones physical
condition is less of a problem. But
underneath, there remains a yearning, a
longing, that no amount of external
comfort can fulfill. Men and women
have felt this way for a very long time.
The search for meaning is the oldest and
most basic endeavor of the human mind.
It is the source of all religions, all
traditions, all schools. It is the search
that comes from the realization that
ones own experience of living is at once
profound and meaningless. In this
knowledge there is pain.
In general, people seem to react in one
of two ways to the discomfort of this
most basic paradox of life. The majority turn away from it, almost as a
reflex, and find satisfactory relief in
external actions -- whether in church, in
sport, in wealth, in anything outside of
themselves that can at least present a
passable illusion that life is fine the way
it is. Those who have made this choice
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 17
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
The Magnitude of
PAGE 18
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 19
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
SANGO -
OYA -
PAGE 20
OLOKUN
cont. from page 8
The statues in OLOKUNs Benin
temples, which ought to shed some
light on the question, customarily depict this deity as male. However,
OLOKUN is never shown alone, but
always attended by many courtiers. An
unmistakably female EHI, or souldouble (what we call the IPORI) accompanies OLOKUN in one shrine. In
another, the masculine-appearing EHI
wears a type of crown associated with
the Queen-Mother in this world, and
with ORA, OLOKUNs favorite wife,
in the other.
Many find this sexual ambiguity uncomfortable. In this hemisphere, they
usually identify OLOKUN as masculine, paired with a feminine YEMOJA
for the sake of balance. There is the
impression that notions of what defines
masculinity and femininity are useless
at the level this deity operates. There
are elders who say it doesnt matter but
suggest speaking of OLOKUN as male.
Others report valid and enriching
visualizations of OLOKUN as female,
a mermaid in a palace on the ocean
floor.
No one knows what is at the bottom
of the sea. Scientists speak of glowing,
volcanic cracks from a newly formed
Earth. They report phosphorescent,
foot-long worms and other exotic
creatures clustered around these sources
of heat and light. In what we perceive
as darkness, though, there may be other,
stranger forms of life.
In honoring OLOKUN we honor the
known and the unknown; that which
has been brought to us from heaven and
that which we have not yet received.
Hopefully in sharing these words we
may prepare ourselves to receive more.
ASE.
RIDDLE
"The power of the word is very strong,"
the teacher was telling his student. "In
fact, there are certain words, when
spoken, that can kill an animal without
ever having to touch it." The student
was fascinated and begged to be told
the mysterious words. The teacher
looked to the student and replied, "Ah
yes, but how can I tell you?"
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 21
TORTOISE
cont. from page 11
ERIN K REL , K W
JOBA
ERIN Y Y , EERIN Y Y
BOR BOY
Coming attraction: FUNDAMENTALS
OF THE YORB RELIGION (RS
WORSHIP) by Chief FAMA.
ODU
cont. from page 7
O Belligerent One, you are not cruel.
He who smartly accrues himself and
goes to the fight.
Thank you, ELEGBA my father.
PROVERB OF OKANAMEJI (1-1)
A KI IRU ERAN ERIN LORI KI A
MA FI ESE TAN IHO IRE NILE
(In front of child you could never say
that someone is going to be decapitated
because when the child sees a man with
a knife he will automatically be looking
at his own neck.)
This pataki could be applied to the
ODU of IFA EYEKUMEJI.
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
11
the Kingdom had access to the beautiful Princess. This old lady had the only
key to the bed chamber of the Princess.
She was in charge of bringing to the
Princess whatever food she consumed
every day. The diet of the Princess
consisted of some of the most delicious
foods served in the Kingdom, but it was
served to her in very odd ways. The
OKA (bread) was given to her without
the crust, the almond with no peel -only the white part of the bread and
almond was given to her to eat; anything given to the Princess to eat had to
be white. This was the way it had to be
because the elders believed that in this
way the body and soul of the Princess
would be kept purified.
(Do keep in mind that the Princess in
this story is the ORISA JEWUA and
she is everything virgin in this world.)
The entry to her bed chambers was
forbidden to everyone in the Kingdom.
But one day the old maid forgot to
close the door to the Princess room
when she retired. ESU ELEGBARA
had, for the longest period of time,
been curious to find out who lived
behind those walls and was nearby that
day. Taking advantage of this opportunity, he walked inside the bed chambers of the Princess and came very
close to where she was eating her food.
What strange food they are serving
you, my lady, he said when he noted
the food in her plate. Bread without
the crust and almonds without the
peel, what a pity! Everyone knows the
best part of the bread is the crust! The
crust of the bread is where all the
nutrition is, the same for the almonds,
and fruits. Without the crust the bread
tastes very dull, it has no flavor!
ESU ELEGBARA said all these things
to the beautiful Princess but he knew
who she was - she was JEWUA,
OLODUMAREs favorite daughter.
ESU ELEGBARA also knew that he had
no reason to be there because it was
forbidden for all men in the Kingdom to
see JEWAU. She was the symbol of
virginity to every living creature on the
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 22
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
JOURNEY
cont. from page 15
NO sewage system. While watching
animals and humans relieve themselves
in the black stream of a ditch, I marvel that
all the children dont die of tetanus or
typhoid as I see one breech the muck to
retrieve a ball. Yet, no one seems troubled
by the stench (which by weeks end has
reduced itself to a comforting smell like
a familiar latrine), nor did anyone else
seem to realize that every speckle on that
sludge was a mosquito skipping. People
with running water fill their pans with
pride and accomplishment unaware of
drinking lead with every drop. Roaches
are as big as the specimens in the zoo;
those guys dont run. Fleeting (Fleet
brand name pesticide) the house each
night to kill Draculas dive bomber squad,
I learned
cont. on page 23
to sleep despite that lone zoomer in
the room and found out why everyone is
Nigeria uses medicated powder. The
menthol in it deadens the evervasive
smell of mold and mildew. I could wax
poetic about that essence; every now and
then I still come across an item from
Home long folded and upon opening it a
slight draft vividly recalls the smells of
that place. Unique, never experienced
here. So full of the living of life.
Comparatively, we here are antiseptic.
So free of filth that we must infect
ourselves artificially through inoculations
to remain healthy. I think of all those who
want to Go Home and wonder if they
could jump this hurdle of inconvenience;
no regular trash pickup or even the
customary US convention of a kitchen
garbage can. Lets not quibble about
paper or plastic; over there its about
containment, period. And, personally, I
prefer an outhouse or even an enamel
slopjar to an enclosed toilet with no water
to flush it. You see, in an all-electric
upscale town apartment, which is superlarge and the envy of any American visitor,
water is pumped to the reservoir and
when it goes out, water becomes a scarce
commodity; bath-tubs are flooded to
assure water to drink, bath and cook. No
one even thinks to empty any waste water
down the toilet. Simple things are not
worthy of contemplation. Take your own
fan and bedsheets to the hospital if you
want comfort. Visitors coming with or
arriving home late to food in thermal
flasks (food bottles) of all sizes,
PAGE 23
marketed there like Tupperware; foofoo
wrapped in plastic wrap and still warm
inside the insulated bucket. Cooker
(stove) looks like any other except the
gas comes not by line, but by cylinder
which the household buys. When the
government really wants to get funky,
there is a shortage of cooking gas despite
Nigerias status of an OPEC nation. But
then this is also the country that posts
billboards asking the people not to abuse
their paper money (wadding it up vs.
folding neatly) and mints coins which the
populace boycotts because it is too heavy
to carry enough to pay for the highly
inflated goods the woman I shopped
with calculated payments by the batch:
Thats X number of =N20 notes.
We move to a relatives house in
another section of Lagos, a city of 9
million people making New York City
resemble Cincinnati, Ohio in
comparison. This part of town is more
sophisticated; there are concrete plates
over the sewers and broken glass along
the rims of the walls of each apartment
building. This house belongs to one our
mothers junior brothers; he is an attorney
whose Mercedes is in a constant state of
repair, but he has one and that alone
lends credence and status. The Auntie
there could have been the sister to my
own fathers sister-in-law in Texas. The
children were lean, clean and welleducated with Western desires:
Swatchwatch and Walkman wants.
Private, religious schooling. Family
prayer at bedtime with special invocation
of protection against armed robbers in
the night. Prayer again at 4 a.m. I believe
in the paradigm of praying unceasingly
and pass. Roosters wake me. I have
slept with crossventilation controlling the
occasional skeeter. Its amazing what a
little concrete can do. The walls of this
uncles parlor (living room) are filled with
books; the furnishings are Ebony 1964.
Its comfortable like grandmaws house.
From here to IBADAN to be with my
husbands older sister, her husband, 4
sons and live-in sister-in-law. Ive
passed the first test, on to the next.
IBADAN is a gemstone; you can feel
the depth of its importance to the cultural
fabric of Nigeria. Hilly, all the buildings
feel really old with no more settling to do.
The earth is red like Virginia clay; all
structures have a ribbon of iron oxide at
their foundations so everything matches.
From a high vantage point, I look down
on a section of the city; it stretches as far
as the horizon. Everywhere I look is
IBADAN, city of iron roofs. I imagine how
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
at the feet of my childs great-grandmother.
Her husband is recently deceased; he
could remember raids taking people
away. My head is in her lap, the tears are
flowing; my heart is so full of joy I feel like
its about to burst. I am lifted and turned
to the daughter, my mother-in-law who
looks me deep in the eyes and sizes up
my character instantly, grins and hugs
me. The YORUBA flies so fast I cant
catch it all, but emotion is universal. This
is home; these are my relatives.
Schooled in sociology and a student
of YORUBA culture for over fifteen years,
it is not difficult for me to fit into the family.
Our uncle in OWO (another brother junior
to my mother-in-law) has five wives and
a multitude of children; I recorded fifteen
names to call on a daily basis. From
outside one would not imagine the house
contained over twenty rooms. The original
four above four structure was expanded
to a u shape with ten rooms up and down.
Each subgroup of the family has at least
two rooms which are connected but can
only be entered by one door, creating a
parlor with private sleeping room.
Mothers quarters are at one end of the
upper corridor allowing a wonderful cross
breeze even during the hottest hours of
the day. The children are the first to explore
me. They stand outside Mothers parlor
as I eat the first meal OBE and IYAN
stew and pounded yam. I have heard so
much about pounded yam and upon
eating it I comprehend the African
American love affair with mashed
potatoes. The children wait to see my
reaction; I wait for Mothers lead and
begin to eat. The stew is H-O-T but
delicious. I eat heartily and eventually
sniff as my sinuses testify to the pepper
level; but, I keep eating without taking a
drink of water. Mother soon sniffs too. All
the kids cheer; I have passed the first test
and am certain their various mothers will
get the full details.
I learn quite a bit while here, like why
my husband expects food to be instantly
ready. Here there are five full grown
women who are constantly in the state of
preparing or supervising something.
Activity within this compound begins as
the sun cracks the sky. The bustle was
strangely familiar like being a counselor
at camp, you know. Water splashing,
fires smoking and the sound of enamel
pots clinking. I did not wash a dish or
diaper; here a wife has so much support
that despite the amount of preparation
necessary to do anything, much more get
accomplished than in my own household
PAGE 24
with its hygienic technology.
When asked by Nigerians how I felt
about being there so far away from home,
I found myself replying, I feel like I just
descended down some stairs. It was
comforting like a house party in a cool
basement. I had fun, especially when the
roadtrip began. The first aspect of this
experience was not being able to
distinguish the direction of travel. I try to
get a fix on the sun, but even it behaves
differently here. There are no posted road
numbers or speed limits; everyone
seems to drive by intuition. It is useless
to ask the mileage from point A to point B;
every measure is metric, folks determine
distance by time travelled anyway and
since they move at 90 mph (the odometers
are usually marked that way) its hard to
keep a US perspective on a road with no
lines whatsoever, just macadam for
miles.
From OWO to ONDO City where an
OGUN festival is in progress. Dogs
hanging from trees that are obviously
sacred as they are partitioned off by
concrete walls like a small city park; dogs
being dragged at leash length behind
motorcycles. Oil covers mechanics and
taxi drivers blocking roads for dash
(cash) and running around smoking
cigars and carrying cast iron pots of fire
as if defying nature to set them ablaze.
ADESOLA, the baby, begins to dance to
the rhythm of BATA drums but becomes
frightened when they approach her and
play her praises. Suddenly from nowhere,
an EGUNGUN on stilts corners me and
begins to shout on me. Im slightly
dismayed that my husband is
preoccupied with his own video
experience and I am left without a
translator. But, my heart knows that it is a
specific message that Im being given
and it feels heartening. As we drive out, I
am given MARIWO by the exit gateman. I
am pleased and tuck it in my keycase
where I know it belongs.
We travel outside the city a bit to the
bush. The landscape changes and huge,
smooth black granite rocks appear. I
imagine stories of heavenly elephants
and their droppings feces of the Gods,
I muse to myself. We arrive at the house
of the local chief OGUN priest. We are
welcomed to a parlor with three foot high
carvings around the room; on the walls
are faces reflecting life before
independence. Stories are told about
how the statues used to talk and how this
priest was chosen in childhood and the
struggle to maintain tradition when the
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
at her home. We were not disappointed.
She excitedly received us and outlined
our itinerary. The next morning we set out
for EDE her own birthplace and a town
I had heard much about, for a cultural
mentor had lived there for some time
during his own quest for self. The TEMI of
EDE received us warmly and upon
hearing of the DABOIKU/IJALANA clans
of OWO, picked up his telephone and
called the wives quarters. Within
moments a woman appeared who
greeted my husband warmly and asked
of her sisters and brothers at home.
She was a close relative which meant we
were related to this kingdom through
marriage. We received a gift of yams from
the royal stockpile and were escorted to
the Shrine of SANGO where supplication
was made and offerings laid. Here on
this site TEMI and GBONKA suffered at
each others hands because of SANGOs
egotistical needs. I sigh as I ponder the
price pride often exacts from us. My
thoughts are interrupted by the amplified
call to worship at a large mosque across
the street. IFA and Islam are constantly in
conflict at the street level so it must be
really rough in the political arena. As we
drive back to OSOGBO, we are too late to
go to the Grove; darkness is settling. I
sleep soundly, my soul satisfied with the
events experienced and slightly agitated
about what tomorrow will bring. I am no
longer new meat; the mosquitoes leave
me alone. Perhaps my pepper level has
risen to the native proportion. (Smile.)
After eating breakfast, we head for the
Palace there to see the IYA OSUN. There
is nothing European about this structure
no Prince Charming here. We duck
down a side path and must step over a
streamlet of fresh water before crossing
the threshold. There she sits, mat on
Earth. She speaks softly. I strain to hear
what she says to the petitioner in front of
her. The hair on her head is braided into
a fabulous top knot; it dawns on me that
it is a wig and I imagine her pulling if off
and it sitting on a bureau with no need for
a mannequins head. My turn. As I hand
her a N=10 NAIRA note I see she is also
blind. She passes her hand over the bill
and declares it is too small. Her eyes
may be blind, but obviously her
consciousness
is
expansive.
Embarrassed by the declaration, I hand
her an additional twenty NAIRA note;
someone behind me protests. But, I know
its the appropriate sacrifice; it should
have been twenty from the get-go. She
begins to chant and someone is
PAGE 25
translating, but Im preoccupied. The
OSUN festival has just ended and OSUN
is down; the niche where the vessels are
kept is draped in various types of elaborate
cloths. The IGBIN drums are in front and
so is ADESOLA, picking up the sticks and
playing a recognizable rhythm. I am quick
to call her; please, take no offense YEYE.
Leave her, is the reply, she is doing
what she is to do. After the drum salute,
the baby toddles over and sits squarely
in the IYA OSUNs lap. Their laughter
together is like tinkling crystal. The baby
hops up and goes to sit on a mat at the
rear of the room. Reserved for the
princesses, Im told. Jeez. My childs
intuitive behavior baffles me; I know now
that I am only the custodian.
From here to the Grove! As we drive
down the road, BINTU hails a male friend
who accompanies us. This is it; this is it.
I have known of Susanne Wagners
sculptures here since 1978. Ive seen
them in books; now, Im here on the
same page with them. As we pull into the
first enclosure, the Muslim prayer beads
on the rearview mirror slip off without the
string breaking and hit the floor. The sun
is shining and the air is sweetly still.
Secretly, Im ecstatic that we are here
alone without the throng of humanity
present the previous week. As we step
inside the second enclosure, I begin to
feel moisture. It is drizzling inside the
circle of the inner sanctum; the sun is still
shining and no clouds can be seen.
Tears of joy like a Mother greeting a
longlost child. I find we are whispering. I
approach the river and dip my ILEKE
OSUN in the swirling water. Our escort
fills a liter bottle with water before I can
even make the request. I bend to ask the
Earth for a keepsake and pick up a stone
from the rivers edge. The resident
priestess comes and takes my hand
leading me to the innermost enclosure.
I kneel and pray. She hands me a gourd
of OMIERO; I drink praising OSUN for the
gifts of home and children given as
she had promised in 1978, ten years to
manifest double five. MO FERE FUN
OSUN; A DUPE. I retreat knowing not to
turn my back. The priestess is following
us, but I am unaware. I mention to our
guide that I would like to take the stone
with me. He says to wait, speaks to the
priestess who says: It should be of a
particular type. Like this one. She bends
down and picks up a stone directly at my
feet. As she hands it to me, I open my
clenched hand. The stones are identical;
the priestess smiles, embraces me and
OYA'S MARKETPLACE
PAGE 26
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