CALL TO ARTISTS

Mojuba Orisa

is looking for artists to share their Yoruba and Yoruba inspired art work.

Work is divided into two sections: Sacred and Contemporary.

Accepted work and artist statements/bios will be included in the

FEATURED ARTISTS

section.

All media are welcome including, but not limited to, fiber, beadwork, sculpture, photography, jewelry, metal, glass, drawing, painting, ceramics and creative writing.

To be considered:

send work as attachment;

images in jpeg and written work in Word.

Mail to mojuba_orisa@yahoo.com.

Make the notation FEATURED ARTIST in subject line.

If work is right for this site, a brief agreement will be forwarded allowing me to show your work.

Thank you!

Cathleen (Alá Ofùn)

Please send all questions and comments to Mo Júbà Òrisà

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Company

Willows await a newfound changeling
Moving between nows and forgotten eyes
So smooth the lane hugs the hips and the lucid knees
That held his head
That held that cat
That held that igba full of omiero[1]
That held her own head in fear and ecstacy
These lanes reach out, as the limbs and branches embrace the breath from her lungs
Breath from her gut
These dry, cold gasps fill the night once again
Alone, again, alone

But with a company of Others
The Ones that always walk with her
Silently, boldly
Holding the demons at bay
An ocean sprite ancient with salt and sand
Seven skirts are always brushing Her, and Her[2] hands

Fire woman bringing up the rear
Or trailing ahead, She whistles to the wind
Sirens calling, announcing, warning, praising
The rainbow splits suddenly from fires beneath Her nine skirts
These wisp as horsetail whips the royal ascent

By Her side stands the honeyed mother
Ancient and knowing, youthful with vices that are virtues
Magdalene but also a rock in a sweet fresh watered river
She welcomes and laughs away the dark ones
Turning them (in)to the light
Their withered masks loved into faces now healed by Her tears
Yeye is the companion that holds Her hand the tightest[3]
Tinkling with a caress every now and then the shelled crown She placed upon Her head

We can never forget the double oshe of Baba Kabiosi O![4]
He struts as never before, in brillant crimson and blinding white
Shielding, blocking and breaking with lightening the smaller beings that would hold on to freedom’s child – especially her sturdy legs and unfolded wings of glass

Along the back of the road we have the two wandering agbalagaba, randy and serene. Old wanderers: fathers of white cloth and purple robes
Kings of the moving earth underneath the feet that glide, glide, glide

And beyond and across the road—in all directions are the warriors Hatchet and bow, wise partnerships of the forest, They speak to the willows about the permission to pass, try to convince them to join our journey with their blessings as the company crosses

And, of course up front and center, and trailing very last,
as the majestic tail of a sparkler
Is the little guy holding flags and fires – calling out to the night:
“The way is open, we shall pass, the way is open, we shall pass, the way is open, we shall pass into completion.”
Foreshadowing
Sometimes it happens like a funny feeling in the gut that burns like ice

By Solimar “Adeola” Otero

[1] calabash and holy water.
[2] praise name for the deity Òsun .
[3] double axe and praise name for the Oyo deity Shango
[4] ancestors

Dr. Solimar Otero, a Cuban and Puerto Rican scholar and writer, received her Ph.D. in Folklore and Folklife from the University of Pennsylvania. She is a scholar of African Diaspora Studies with a specialization in Religious Folklore and Latino Caribbean Literature. She has conducted ethnographic research in Havana, Cuba and in Lagos, Nigeria as a Fulbright Researcher. Her work focuses on how creolized religious traditions like Santería, Vodoun, and Espiritismo, are creatively expressed in literature, folk art, and performance. She has published pieces in Africa Today, The Black Scholar, and is currently working on her book, Orunile: Heaven is Home, Afrolatino Diaspora in Africa and the Caribbean. Her current research is on the language of spirit possession in Santería ritual and literature of the Cuban Diaspora. She is currently working on a body of poetry dedicated to the Òrisà and her personal ancestors entitled Ina Jinle / Deep Fire.

Please send all questions and comments to Mo Júbà Òrisà

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There Are Crossroads

October 19, 1974, 1076 Hoe Avenue, the Bronx, New York -- Adela Cotto Pacheco (Obade Dei) and Paula Rosaro (Ewin Yemi) initiate their Iyawo, Pedro (Pete) Aquino as Ala Juri (Mantel of Tears). He is thirty-six years old.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that same year -- I am a twenty-four year old mother of three little daughters. Four years later, I give birth to my fourth. Allegheny Dwellings, Belleau Drive, public housing, third floor tiny apartment. I stare out of the window, try to imagine what’s out there, wonder if this is all there is. I am a daughter, lost and aimlessly rummaging. It takes twenty-seven more years for me to remember.

There is an ancient Inuit story in which Skeleton Woman does something, and Father throws her body over the side of a hill. It tumbles into the ocean. Sea creatures eat away her flesh. Fishermen know her story and refuse to fish where Skeleton Woman’s bones reside. Another day comes. A lonely fisherman, not familiar with Skeleton Woman’s past, puts his boat into that abandoned stretch of water. The lonely fisherman finds Skeleton Woman, connects (by accident) her bones to his boat. Skeleton Woman’s appearance frightens him and he tries to escape. But he found her, and because of the connection, Skeleton Woman follows. The fisherman is lonely. Skeleton Woman is abandoned. But through honesty and simplicity, both solve the mystery of love and gain mutual respect.

What horrid, stinking, final thing pushes a father into abandoning his daughter? What happened that the fisherman is content with loneliness? The story exposes suffering, yet does not reveal its cause. Instead, this story teaches the value of reconnection, renewal, celebration and does not dwell on pain. Everyone must endure something.

Life presents crossroads. Some are easy, we skip across. Others, more difficult, may have at its conclusion, the gift of wisdom -- perhaps because we seek wisdom or perhaps because wisdom is thrust upon us. Life does not guarantee favorable conclusions, however, and sadly, sometimes a lesson is never learned.

Life does grant ultimate intersections, the crucial ones, the ones that push us forward, urge us to meet preordained destiny. In 1989 something happened to me, my daughters and grandchildren. Like the Skeleton Woman, catastrophe bullied its way in, a horrid, stinking, final thing. The event made demands, required restitution, was anxious that I salvage good and dispose of bad. I had limited skills, didn’t know where to start, had no tools, support, or understanding. I did have daughters, grandchildren, and guilt. And guilt -- real or contrived -- has devastating results. I remember wondering if the heaviness of it would ever leave. Someone told me, “Sadness surrounds you.” They were right.

Something made me remember prayer, some throw back to Sunday School, Easter clothes and bible verse speeches about resurrection. I recited the Lord’s Prayer, put in some of my own stuff and said it by rote every night lying in the dark in my bed.

Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thank you for daughters and grandchildren, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven, where can I find happiness, give us this day…

The prayer, the recitation of it, acted as a sleeping pill and my daughters and grandchildren loved me fully and without demands. I loved them back and that was the good. I stopped drinking, drugging and weekend binges. That was the beginning of the disposal of bad. “Friends” vanished also. That was good too. Still, I languished.

One day the minister from a small Baptist church near my house walked toward me as I stood in the doorway. He carried a stack of religious tracks but didn’t stop to talk with anyone. I’d never seen this minister walking among the community before or since. He approached my front door and handed me a leaflet with a picture on it of a pale Jesus with long blonde hair. I asked a question.

“Can you give me a bible verse about patience?”

I don’t remember the scripture he recited, but I do remember what he said.

“When we’re in the middle of something, it’s impossible to see growth. That’s because we take baby steps. We’re tentative. But how are you feeling today, compared to how you felt when this thing happened to you? If you feel even slightly better, that’s growth. If you’ve decided to continue feeling better, no matter what, that’s patience.”

Egun sent me a church, Macedonia Baptist Church. This church had music, the kind of music that gets into your pores and comes out hands clapping on their own accord, and voice raised in holy connection to God. I joined Macedonia one Sunday. Took the long walk down the aisle into salvation while church members clapped for me and prayed, “Help her Jesus.” I joined every choir, was baptized holy by emersion and cried…often. It didn’t matter why, the tears came during prayer, collections, and announcements. Later, I realized that the energy in Macedonia made a way for Egun to surround me, wash me…ready me for the next step.

One night instead of reciting the Lord’s Prayer, I decided to pray, for real. Have the prayer be an extemporaneous expression. Me, opening up to God. I balled myself up in a fetal position in my bed and prayed with my eyes open, to Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses…everybody I could think of from the bible.

“Help me,” I cried. “I can’t do this by myself and I don’t want to be lonely.”

Nobody answered.

I prayed more earnestly, listed my failings, weaknesses, limitations. “I am nothing.”

Nobody answered, and then, I saw him… felt him. A little figure. Just there, looking at me. I felt his arms go around me. I heard him say, “You’ll never be alone. I will never leave you.”

My body relaxed. I began to feel stuff fall away, the nasty, horrid Skeleton Woman stuff. It felt good, but just as I drifted off to sleep, fear jerked me awake. The figure worried me; was contrary to my Christian religious foundation. I thought about Leviticus 26:1-3.

Ye shall make you no idols nor graven image, neither rear you up a standing image, neither shall ye set up any image of stone in your land, to bow down unto it: for I am the Lord your God.

Momentary apprehension is all, because no matter what the bible said, this image answered my prayer, this image came all the way from where ever to rescue me. I told friends and family about the image. They avoided me and I reminded my mother about the Lady who visited me as a child. We have that in my family, this visitation, where Egun appear, protect, support. My mother, Christine; her mother, Cathleen; the old great grandmother, Margaret, who was born a slave, they all had visits. My own childhood visitation came from the Lady, tall and black, who displayed her breasts, they hung down to her waist and a cloth wrapped around hid the rest of her body. She held a baby in each arm and two toddlers held on to each of her legs. My mother told me not to be afraid of the Lady, but I slept from then on with my face covered.

This present image, confused us all; however. It was different somehow, not Egun.

Another day came, a chance meeting with a grade school friend I’d not seen in many years. He told me of his new life, his initiation, his change. He used words like Orisa, Bembe, Yemoja; foreign words, but familiar.

That was the beginning of my conscious walk with Orisa, Gods that looked like me, like my old great grandmother, her black face and broad nose, her hanging breasts. That kind of beauty. Gods confident enough to offer wisdom to any searching person, minus “only way” angst, through insightful parables like the ones told by the old grandmothers – common sense acumen. You make your bed…you lie, with contractions and meanings hidden within the parable. Poverty teaches Ifa…prosperity afterwards.

Life teaches that if we are diligent, time becomes a constant catching up with Orisa’s plan for our lives. Orisa place people, situations, turning points and crossroads in our path -- teachers, friends, confidants…even adversaries. It is from adversarial situations that the best lessons are learned. Transformation, like that Baptist minister counseled, is a series of “baby steps.” We begin to feel comfortable with a different ethic, it appears newborn when in fact, it is the destiny we chose in heaven before life caused us to forget. I was beginning to remember.

Baba Temujin Ekunfeo (Obalorun) appeared and presented me with Warriors and a solid foundation. Baba John Mason (Ofun Lade) presented me with Ileke, common sense wisdom and a turning point that led me from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to the Harlem Community Day Parade. Large, spacious boulevards crowded with black people from all over the globe. Sunny day, gentle breezes, languages, dress, music, food, attitude, smells, drums, natural hair, and then that same friend -- the one who told me of his new life, his initiation, his change -- wanted to leave all of this and go to an Ocha birthday party in the Bronx. That’s where I met my Padrino, Pedro Aquino (Ala Jurie). One year later on July 7, 2001, Padrino, along with his wife, Madrina Eliza Aquino (Ofun Moyigua,), my Ojubona, Padrino Victor Battaglia (Omi Nike) and many other dedicated priests of this tradition, initiated me into Ocha.

I remember. I am a daughter no longer lost or rummaging aimlessly. Sadness does not surround me.

My Padrino says, “Orisa teach you to find your own corner.”

Ashe.

Cathleen (Ala Ofun, the cloth that covers Obatala.)

Please send all questions and comments to
Mo Júbà Òrisà

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SEE ALSO, One Artist’s Journey and Tarot

From Look Magazine to Ocha, A Conversation with Baba Temujin Ekunfeo

Baba Temujin Ekunfeo, (Obalorun), priest of Aganju, husband, father, artist, teacher and writer, consented to a series of interviews during January 2005. The following is the result.

35 years ago, I was living in Harlem on 119th Street between 8th and Manhattan Avenues. A year before that I was living in the very house I live in now in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was an 18-year-old high school student who had no idea that eight months later, his whole life would change.

I was preparing a woodworking and blacksmith shed in my back yard when I came across a copy of LOOK MAGAZINE dated January 7, 1969. The entire issue was dedicated to topics concerning black people in America. However, three specific articles intrigued me:
• Black and White Fusion in the Now Music,
• Jimi Hendrix Experience; and
• Harlem's Yoruba.

I found the first article informative. As a Hendrix fan, the article about him interested me also. But the third article changed my life forever. How wondrously strange that an article in a now defunct publication could be the catalyst for so much change.

FROM LOOK MAGAZINE January 7, 1969
BLACK AMERICA'S AFRICAN HERITAGE, by Jack Shepherd

We lied. We tried to hide the shame of slavery by calling Africans lazy and uncivilized. We taught the lie; we murmured it over tea. We created Tarzan and Amos 'n' Andy. And now we reap the darkness of it. In truth, man's sunrise glowed first in Africa. He began there.

In West Africa, historical homeland for most American Negroes, he built the powerful states of Mali, Songhai, Kanem, Benin, that thrived long before the Europeans came. The old Ghana Empire lasted 1,000 years, 1240. Timbuktu, Jenne, Kano traded gold, ivory, slaves. Nok and Ife art had no equal.

Two centuries before the first Christmas, Nok artists of the Niger-Benue country crafted quartz jewelry, iron axes, tin beads and finely molded terra-cotta heads. This art, West Africa's oldest, inspired the magnificent brass heads cast in Ife around 1000 AD.

West Africa's glory lasted 1000 years. Songhai, Mossi Dagomba and Benin enjoyed law and order and stability. They built palaces, large armies with fast cavalries, a civil service. Trading reached northward into Asia and Europe. Ife and Benin art flourished.

The Portuguese came first. They warily probed the seacoast, reaching into powerful empires that had strong chiefs, counselors, armies and laws. They found no Stepin Fetchits in Mali, Timbuktu, Oyo, Denkyira, Ajwamu. They were welcomed at Benin in 1472, the first Europeans to see the city. They traded with the Oba's merchants and joined his army. Benin and Lisbon exchanged ambassadors. Both prospered.

Africa's life had soul. Imagery exerted strong moral power. One folktale warned: "A missile thrown quickly misses its mark.” Yoruba priests told: "The Sun cannot rise on your wrath.”

The weeping began quietly: 12 slaves stolen in 1441. Over 400 years, 20 million more were taken, draining Africa. Perhaps one third dies marching, another third at sea. They were branded and stuffed on ships so crowded they could not stand, shift or lie down. Africans and Europeans profited from their misery. In 1619, some 20 blacks were sold at Jamestown, VA.; about 500,000 made it here. By 1744, 300 ships had sailed out of Liverpool. The Africans fought back. They rebelled in Hispaniola, 1522, Puerto Rico, 1527; Panama, 1531. And in America in 1969, they are putting the black fist to our lie.

And then four pages later I found, Harlem's Yorubas: A search for something black to believe in, written by George Goodman, photographs by Bob Clark, with two pages full of color photos and text. On the second page of the article, I found the following:

When the white man scoured the coasts of West Africa for blacks with whose flesh he built the Americas, he took Mandingo and Efik, Fanti peoples and Ibo, Hausa and Yoruba, Dahomean and Senegalese. They were lumped together, branded Negro, baptized Christian and scattered throughout the hemisphere.

For whatever reasons, the Yoruba religion survived-everywhere but in North America: as Shango in Trinidad and Recife and as Candomble Nago in Bahia. It flourishes in Matanzas, Cuba where Serge King of Detroit became Baba, the priest of Harlem.

I lived in Greenwich Village before becoming Yoruba," says Baba, "but I never dreamed about even visiting Harlem . . .Not until 1957 when Ghana got its independence. Then before I knew it, I was in the nationalist movement and I was angry because most blacks I knew didn't know black culture. One thing led to another, and a Cuban friend took me down the road to the past.

LOOK MAGAZINE January 7, 1969 hit the Newsstands the day after my 18th birthday.

CLICK HERE TO VIEW LOOK MAGAZINE COVER

I was already in the nationalist movement, wearing African attire and had abandoned my "Slave Name," for a "Free Name." John Henry Reynolds Jr., became Temujin Chaka Harambee. A "Free Name," freely taken from three different cultures, two African, one Mongolian. Temujin, from Temujin the Ghengis Khan, forger of the Mongolian empire, Chaka, from Chaka the founder of the Zulu empire and Harambee, a Ki Swahili word meaning “let us pull together.”

Five months later, I graduated South Hills High School, and two months after that in late August of 1969, I was living in Harlem, a member of the Yoruba Temple on 119th St., just three blocks from where I was living.

I had come to the Harlem Yoruba Temple to become Baba Oseijiman's Adefunmi’s student, and just like in Baba Oseijiman Adefunmi's story, "one thing led to another." The same Cuban who took Baba to Cuba and down the road to the past, took me down that same road.

That Cuban was Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi. Not only did he take Baba Oseijiman's Adefunmi to Cuba, he was his twin in Kariocha, in Jovellanos, Matanzas Province on August 26, 1959. Because Baba Oseijiman Adefunmi was marked to become an Olo Obatala he was "born" first and Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi who was marked to become an Ala Aganju was "born" second. Christopher Oliana, an African American of Cuban parentage was raised in New York City. His early exposure to his African heritage was through the Afro-Cuban dance form known as Rumba. In the 50's he made frequent trips to Cuba to "dance Rumba and play Bongo." While on a trip, he inadvertently attended what he thought would be a Rumba party only to find he had walked in on a Bembe. He was sure he was going to be killed because he had stumbled upon what he knew to be both a secret and sacred occasion. The Priest in charge (who if memory serves me was Susana Cantero. I say this because Chris gave her name in the list of names in the Mojuba he taught me) told him he had nothing to fear. Then she said "Look what Yemoja has brought me from across the sea."

This chance occurrence would lead him and Serge King of Detroit to Priesthood in this ancient belief system. While the armies of Fidel Castro and Fulgencio Batista contended for control of the small island nation, Walter Eugene King and Christopher Oliana went to Cuba to be initiated into the Yoruba/Lukumi Priesthood. Through Christopher Oliana's Cuban connections, they became part of a line of Yoruba Priesthood established in Cuba in the 1800's by Fermina Gomez, Ocha Bi.

Seven months after reading Harlem's Yorubas, I was dancing and singing on Friday nights at the 119th St. Temple. My name changed again. Now that I was a “Yoruba" I wanted a Yoruba name. A reading was done by Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi Ala Aganju, with the Dilogun of Elegba. It was said that I should keep Temujin. “Because,” Elegba said, “Temujin suits the personality, a smoldering 18 year old Martial artist/Soldier in the Revolution."

Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi replaced Chaka Harambee with Ekùnfeó, because Elegba said I was descended from nobility in Yorubaland (which was confirmed some years later) and that I should have a name that reflected that nobility. Ekùnfeó means, Beloved of the Leopard. Oba Ilu Mi Ala Aganju told me that among the Yoruba people Leopards are considered more regal than lions.

Nine years later, Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi Ala Aganju took me farther down the road to the past. On November 25, 1978, Chris Oliana, Oba Ilu Mi, and John Mason, Ofun Lade, Olo Obatala, took me to Kariocha, making me the first in my family as far as I know, to assume the title Olorisa in the New World.

My name was not "changed," but I was, changed in ways more profound than I could understand at the time. I was made an Ala Aganju, a member of the priesthood of the Orisa Aganju. I spent seven days "on the throne," one year and seven days as an Iyawo Orisa. And I was given another name in addition to Temujin Ekùnfeó, the name was Obalorun.

13 years after my Kariocha, my journey into the past took a quantum leap. On a brisk but sunny Saturday in March, when a friend, Ron Facundo Harris, Alayimi (also an Ala Aganju) received Dada, I met my guide for the second and current leg of my journey, my Padrino in Pinado Gilberto Martinez, Baba Funke, (Father gave me this one to pet or spoil) Olo Obatala.

The following day March 19th, Alayimi took me before the Aña of Orlando "Puntilla" Rios, Obatilemi to be presented. Now, nearly 14 years later, Gilberto Martinez, Baba Funke has taken me to Cuba twice and opened doors for me I didn't know existed. Gilberto Martinez, Baba Funke, was born of parents of Cuban Spanish descent on July 3 1927, and initiated as an Olorisa on July 23, 1944 in Guanabacoa Cuba. His Kariocha was made in the house of his Godmother Raimunda Fonts, Chango Bi Oni Chango, which was on the corner of Cruse Verde and Candelaria. Raimunda Fonts, Chango Bi Oni Chango was a descendant in Kariocha of Ayai Latuan, who according to her daughter, Minga, brought order to the chaos captivity imposed upon Orisa worship as it had been established by fellow captives in Cuba.

Now, nearly 36 years after having read The Yorubas of Harlem, I have Godchildren in Kariocha and have received Orisa from the hands of Baba Funke that I thought had not made the Trans Atlantic trip. I am a 54 year old father of three birth sons and two foster children. My wife, Marsha Ayabarinde Ekunfeo (Adekun Ode, the crown of the hunter Ochossi) is an Olo Oya of 12 years. Our eldest son, Ojutobi Ekunfeo (Oba Oni Ilu , king of the drums) is an Oni Sango of 10 years.

My Ocha name, Obalorun, can be translated as: King of the Sun. Gilberto Martinez, Olo Obatala Baba Funke says that Obalorun can be translated as: King who shines like the Sun. So I have a lot to live up to either way. Baba Funke was born July 23, 1924 and will be eighty-one this year.

I am a descendant of Egba captives on both sides of my family. My paternal grandfather, John Henry Reynolds was born in 1850, during the time of slavery on the Reynolds tobacco plantation in Martinsville, Virginia. My maternal great grandfather was born in Ile Egba country, brought to America in chains and renamed Jasper Pridgeon. This as told to me by my mother, Eula Reynolds.

The Harlem Temple community moved to South Carolina, about two years after that article was published, and founded Oyotunji, The Yoruba Village, located in Sheldon, South Carolina. I try to stop and pay a visit to one of the chiefs every year when I drive to Florida to work. I have not seen Baba Oseijiman Adefunmi in quite a few years. In the past, it seemed that my timing was just bad. The last I heard, however; Baba Oseijiman Adefunmi has stopped spending winters in Oyotunji because of his health problems. He now spends winter months in warmer climates. Since I pass through in January/February I will in all likelihood continue to miss seeing him.

It was Oba Ilu Mi who first encouraged me to create art for the Orisa. Baba Funke continues to encourage me, and is the motivation behind most of the beadwork represented in the photographs. My interest in art began in high school woodshop. My concentration, African sculpture, made me lose interest in creating chairs, tables and television cabinets. I’d see an African sculpture in a book and try to reproduce it. From there, I developed an interest in making drums. My shop teacher Mr. Fischer, a German guy and sculptor, taught me how use and sharpen gauges and chisels. Mr. Fischer encouraged me by presenting me with beautiful pieces of wood, like black walnut and mahogany. I still have all of the pieces I created in Mr. Fischer’s woodshop class. They are proudly displayed in my home.

The woodworking led me to blacksmithing. I suppose you could say that I’m a self-taught artist, but I cannot take all the credit. I was urged on by who ever it is that stands behind me when I’m working. I found out later that my grandfathers, Norman Miller and John Henry Reynolds, were both blacksmiths. I have a set of wheel tires made by John Henry Reynolds. I also have some of Norman’s tools.

When I started doing blacksmithing, putting beads on the handles of things, I developed my own technique of bead working. Later, a story about Ogun and Oya led me into making jewelry. As the story goes, Ogun and Oya worked together in the forge, Ogun shaping and bending and Oya pumping the bellows. After making his tools, Ogun went out into the world to fight and use his new tools. Oya wanted more time with him, but Ogun didn’t heed the warnings and continued to go off into the world. Ogun, finally realizing his mistake, began making jewelry for Oya, to appease her, to win her back, but it was too late. So I figured it would be a good idea to make a woman’s jewelry first, when I met her, as opposed to giving jewelry later on.

I’m twenty-seven years initiated into this tradition. I’ve learned that it’s not about hocus-pocus, getting help with love relationships or exacting revenge. Many people are drawn to this tradition because they’re looking for a quick fix. They make mistakes, fail to ask the right questions and rush into things. My understanding of this religion is that through time, study and devotion, Orisa help you become better: mothers, fathers, sisters, friends, citizens; and that through your Orisa-given gifts and talents, you then help the world become a better place.

Obalorun Temujin Ekùnfeó

Please send all questions and comments to
Mo Júbà Òrisà

For direct questions to Baba, mail to Baba Temujin

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Ebo, to Worship

Ebo, beseech; a reaching out to heaven. Certain elemental forces define, for the practicing Yoruba, motivation for making Ebo to Egún or Òrisà. Necessary to each purpose is sacrifice, the loss or offering of time, money, food or other human need. Reasons for making Ebo may include:

• Observance - service to Egún or Òrisà, devotion
• Cleansing – necessary purification
• Petition – soliciting Òrisà’s help; and
• Obligation – a debt that must be paid for one’s successful continuation.

Ebo, service to and worship of Òrisà is often time-consuming and demanding work. But that’s how Òrisà love you back – tough, unbreakable love. For example, during Obì divination, a letter may come such as Éjìfé or combinations of Àláfíà and Étawá, to mean, “Yes, this Ebo is accepted.”

There are times when the light sides of Obì fall on top of each other to mean ire (goodness, money). Certain other times the brown side may fall on top of a light side or another brown side to mean the outcome of this Ebo may be blocked. In the case of Éjìfé, or combinations of Àláfíà and Étawá, the blocked response still means “yes,” however, Òrisà may be saying, “Yes, this Ebo is accepted, but, are you interested in going the extra mile?” An inquisitive person might then ask, “Is there something else I can do?” It is most often in the “something else,” the going the extra mile, that catapults prayers onto the fast track to heaven.

As we serve Òrisà, they love us back by stripping down negative layers – accumulations of hatred, insecurity, jealousy, envy and sadness. Sometimes negative feelings enamor us, captivate us and when Òrisà strip away harmful attitudes, we feel empty, lost, even unimportant. What will we do with our days and nights if we cannot ruminate daily with ourselves and other people about raw deals, familiar scars, our sicknesses, our enemies, our despair?

Enter the rocky, uncertain phase of transformation. The time for study and meditation, the moment to ask, “What is my life’s work?” This is also the time for patience and faith. Patience that because of Ebo, Òrisà will intervene in their time, and satisfy emptiness, reverse feelings of unimportance. Spirit time. My mother used to say about God, that old song, “He may not come when you want Him, but He’s always right on time.” And faith that Òrisà will imbue our lives with purpose because they are pleased with our self-examination, our confrontation with past transgressions, our recognition of shortcomings.

It is not until we self-examine that we truly begin to feel Òrisà’s walk, as if it’s a new thing. But Òrisà have always been there. They wait patiently for our skid to a stop in the midst of turmoil. They listen for our plea. They wait for certain Ebo, the meaningful ones doused in sincerity and goodwill. They watch the ensuing actions of the petitioner. Then Òrisà form circles around us; out front, their machetes, knives, strong horses, cauldrons, picks, shovels and cleansing water clearing our path. We no longer feel alone, abandoned. No matter life’s agitations, they will be many. No matter financial situations, friends or lack of them.

The revelation is Àláfíà. Peace beyond our understanding. Àláfíà. What better place to begin personal reconstruction.

Cathleen (Alá Ofùn)

Please send all questions and comments to
Mo Júbà Òrisà

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A Few Words About Òrisà

Obàtálá, purity, creativity, laughter and wisdom. Obàtálá, King of the White Cloth. The colors white and silver metaphorically illustrate Obàtálá as Divine Light, a dazzling energy that teaches and requires ethical, decent and honorable behavior. He is enlightenment, and reveals all things. Nothing can hide in the light. Not our own limitations, nor resentful responses and/or negative intentions of others.

Elégbá, owner of the crossroad, that place where choice reigns. The options are movement and experiencing the effects of choice. Movement either left, right, straight ahead, or, remain stagnant, dull. Elégbá is forward thinking and advises against discontinuing, our backs against the wall, that feeling of no way out. When we fall short because of insecurity or fear, Elégba, mischievous, goads us through trickery. Fool’s gold, shiny trinkets appear behind us and, like the old folks say, “Sometimes you have to take two steps backwards to get a good one forward.”

Ògún represents the depths of our soul. This notion of hard work, excavation, getting in there and bringing it all up. Ògún is the sentinel, the courageous soldier ready to help us unearth our shortcomings, our failings and deficiencies, in order to reveal our diamonds. Machinery and technology are Ògún’s territory, the skilled craftsmen, the artisan, the ironworker who bends and shapes life, the internet where ideas are shared, and people are found. The energy of Life, the locomotive in motion, at times heavy and overpowering, but with effort and Ògún’s intervention, transformed into peaceful days.

Òchóòsi, the swift and sure hunter. His intellect, sight, bow and arrow, all implements of certainty. Òchóòsi typifies refinement and sophistication, and teaches discernment, how to thin the herd. What we hunt is time – for a good living, health, prosperity, comfort, our niche – our rendezvous with destiny. We must differentiate, with one glance, between the lame and the healthy, the liar and the truth-teller, the thief and the giver. We must also recognize those differentiations within ourselves.

Cathleen (Alá Ofùn)

Please send all questions and comments to
Mo Júbà Òrisà

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Guinea

It's the long road to Guinea
Death takes you down
Here are the boughs, the trees, the forest
Listen to the sound of the wind in its long hair of eternal light

It's the long road to Guinea
Where your fathers await you without impatience
Along the way, they talk
They wait
This is the hour when the streams rattle like beads of bone

It's the long road to Guinea
No bright welcome will be made for you
In the dark land of dark men:
Under a smoky sky pierced by the cry of birds
Around the eye of the river the eyelashes of the trees open on decaying light

There, there awaits you beside the water a quiet village,
And the hut of your fathers, and the hard ancestral stone where your head will rest at last.

Written by Jacques Roumain, (1907–1945), Haitian author, ethnologist, political activist.

Guinea translated by Langston Hughes. (The Langston Hughes Reader, George Braziller, Inc., New York, copyright, 1958, p. 138)

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