Oyimbo Diary: Chapter 1

In the summer of 2006, Rainer Doost and his wife Valeria Watson-Doost spent three weeks in Nigeria as guests of Chief Ifagbenusola Atanda. In this series of 9-weekly installments Rainer, a videographer will share his experiences in words and video.

Oyimbo defined:

1. In Osogbo, Nigeria a bunch of little kids seeing me, excitedly pointed their fingers and yelled to each other “Oyimbo”. I loved it!

2. Someone wrote my wife an outraged e-mail stating “How can you be a priestess in our religion and be married to an Oyimbo!” It made us sad.

Preamble

Our host, Chief Atanda, adopted both of us into his family some months earlier in a lengthy trans-Atlantic ceremony conducted by telephone. Chief Atanda, a widely respected and superbly educated Babalowo, is the Aseda Awo and Aare Alasa of Osogboland and founder of HATTAF International. HATTAF is a traditional temple with locations in Lagos and Osogbo, Nigeria as well as London, England, Mexico City, Mexico and Sacramento, California.

Earlier that year Valeria had found his telephone number on the internet and begun long distance study with him. He had suggested that she not only visit Nigeria but also undergo a traditional initiation in Osogbo the home of the Orisa, Osun. Incidentally, Osogbo, in Osun state, Nigeria, is also the location of the Osun Grove a UNESCO world heritage site. Now we were here to discover what all of that meant.

Arrival in Lagos

We arrive at Lagos airport, it is the evening of July 25th, 2006. We left home 27 hours ago. Tired and confused, in a sea of black faces, we wait for our luggage to come off the conveyor belt. We waited and waited … finally after an hour, three pieces arrive in relatively short succession; the fourth suitcase takes another hour. Welcome to Nigeria! So far so good, next we have to find our host who promised to meet us at the airport. A bit anxious we wonder. Is he here? Did he send someone else to meet us? How will we know him? What if nobody is here?

We have a code word to put on the PA system in case we have trouble recognizing each other. (Why a code? So no one could impersonate our host. Abductions and robberies of unsophisticated foreigners are not un-common.) As we come past customs, a tall man in magnificent robes walks towards us calling out “Valeria”. (my wife’s name).

Two men and a woman accompany him. Chief Atanda (we call him Baba, father) embraces us warmly and introduces us to the three men, all Babalawos (priests), and the woman, an American, who has arrived some days earlier. Baba takes the hands of the two women and leads the way. A young man reassuringly takes me by the hand and takes a suitcase while the other two men carry the rest of our luggage. In minimal light, we make our way to an almost pitch black parking lot. A dim figure emerges near a white van and greets us. He too is a Babalawo. He has been guarding the van. We pile in to begin the twenty mile trip into the city. Traffic crawls and it takes us two hours.

Chief Atanda, the only English speaker of the local group, cheerfully talks away while negotiating traffic, enormous potholes and vendors darting around the moving vehicles. Not being used to his heavy accent, I understand little. Who cares, the view out the window is fascinating. The traffic crawls along roads lined with street vendors, illuminated by the car headlights and oil lamps consisting of thick wicks floating in bowls of oil. Vendors carrying their wares knock on our windows to draw our attention to their goods. When the traffic picks up speed, they run along side the vehicles to complete sales. I am fascinated by the sights but also feel sad. What a hard way to make a living. So few people buy from the numerous vendors scattered through mile after mile of crawling traffic!

Finally, we arrive in front of a steel gate, the entrance to a "gated community". A guard pushes the gate open and we proceed. The road is in terrible shape, we have to zigzag to avoid the deepest ruts and rain water filled depressions. After two blocks we approach another tall solid steel gate. Baba has been on his cell phone just moments before and the gate swings open and swiftly closes behind us. This time the gatekeeper is Sola, Baba’s youngest son who greets us in good English.

We drive up to a low garage opening in the house. The garage space is wide and deep. It is illuminated, carpeted and lined with chairs. Several men and women in embroidered robes come out bow to the ground before Baba and welcome us. They are all initiated priests and priestesses including Baba's wife, an Iyanifa, who welcomes us in fluent English. As we duck into the spacious garage we see an altar at the far end. A woman is lying on a mattress next to the altar. Her head is shaved. Half of the top of her head is painted white and the other half red. She is swathed in white and wears a headband that holds a single red parrot feather to her forehead.

Baba introduces us to her and tells us she is completing her second day of initiation as an Ifa priestess or Iyanifa. For the next thirty minutes we participate in a welcoming ceremony. Prayers are chanted, kola nuts are cast, Ifa is consulted and gratitude for our safe arrival is expressed. By now, it is past midnight and we are shown to our room by Sola. He and his mother occupy this house.

Before we retire Baba invites us to participate in the continuation of the ongoing Ifa initiation. That means getting up at five AM. Baba helpfully tells us we are not here to rest but to learn and that we can catch up on sleep when we return home. Yikes! Does that mean little sleep for three weeks?

Our room lit by a dim green bulb is not clean, to our standards. We are given an electric fan. Electricity is provided by a droning generator. (We will learn that public electric power is at best unreliable and usually not available after dark.) We actually have an adjoining bathroom. The toilet has no seat and the shower is cold this morning. What do we care, we are in Africa, are excited and very glad to be horizontal even if the mattress is foam rubber! The fan keeps the air moving and makes the humidity bearable…until the generator is turned off. Sola’s wakeup call seems to come just as we fall asleep. Shyly we show up in the large ceremonial room. Several of the men from the night before are making preparations. They greet us but clearly do not speak English. Soon Baba arrives he embraces us and helps us get oriented to the proceedings. He gives me permission to video tape but warns me that there will be times when he will tell me to turn of the camera.

Five Ifa priests under Baba’s supervision conduct the continuing initiation.

Concerned not to be intrusive with my camera I mostly limit myself to my chair. Filming under florescent lights gives everything a green cast. The ceiling fan throws constant shadows and the electric generator in the yard makes audio questionable. Despite these limitations, I feel so privileged. I know that I am capturing rarely seen footage. Baba is always ready to stop the proceedings and explain what is going on and translates word for word when necessary. And then I realize I did not turn on the microphone and therefore have no sound. I'm really upset with myself. I know better than not to be wearing headphones so I can monitor audio. The process I am witnessing is visually compelling but it needs the audio to feel right. Here is a sample.




The new initiate is from Mexico and has limited English language skills. We all sympathize as she struggles to understand Baba’s excellent but very heavily accented English. Concurrently we are touched by the gentle patience of the Babalawos as they guide her by touch and gesture through the often-complicated process.

The rituals are spellbinding, complex and visually beautiful. I love the pageantry. However, I am also frustrated. I miss many video opportunities because I have no idea what is coming next and do not dare move in close to get a decent camera angle.Several times the new initiate fills a large wooden bowl with various offerings and carries it on her head to the Igbodu to the altar of the Diety Esu. She is lead by a staff-carrying priest and followed by three additional Babalawos.

They slowly, reverently walk the 100 feet to the altar accompanied by singing and rhythms played on traditional hand held bells. I finally get up my nerve and follow them to the entrance of the grove.




There is a final life force offering. I have witnessed life force offerings in the past but still find them difficult to watch. I’m a bit irritated with my squeamishness after all I eat meat and know that I will be eating the goat tomorrow.

The Ifa initiation draws to a close shortly after noon. Baba tells us that we will be leaving for Osogbo after lunch but it takes us another 3 hours before we depart. In the next three weeks I will learn that time here is incredibly flexible. “Be ready to leave at 8 AM” can easily end up in an actual departure of 3 PM.