Oyimbo Diary: Chapter 3

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

My first excursion into town

I’m eager to get out of the house and see the town. I ask Baba out of politeness if I can go out. I’m taken aback when he insists that he can not permit that and that if I insist I will have to give him a signed letter absolving him of all liability. He explains that his first and foremost commitment is to keep his guests save and protect them from any negative experience. He finally agrees to let me go in the company of Bayo and two other young Babalawos. I ask him to exchange 20 dollars for me and give it to Bayo without counting it. We are out the door. I feel like I have been in a bit of a prison for days. It feels great to be off on my own even if I have three keepers with me. Bayo flags down a small motorcycle and gets on and I assume he will get another one for me. No, he waves to me to get on behind him. I’m not totally surprised as I have seen these small bikes laden with even three passengers. The two other Babalawos already have flagged down another motorcycle and we are off. It is great fun. We get off towards the center of town, For the next couple of hours we wander around. Bayo is very concerned to show me the tourist spots and undoubtedly is very puzzled by my much greater interest in the people, vendor stands and shops. When we pass a group of children they point at me and yell out "Oyimbo", white man. I'm delighted to be such an unusual event for the children.

Our first stop is to look and at statue of the first king, Laro, holding a large fish. It stands outside the kings palace. Just around the corner we go down a narrow ally. The walls on either side are beautifully painted. We push aside a curtain and enter a wonderfully painted room. I slowly realize that this is an important shrine. There are several women and men looking at us somewhat expectantly and a conversation between Bayo and them ensues. I realize it is not going well. Finally one of the men addresses me in English and explains that we are in the temple of the high priestess of Osun and that it is traditional to prostrate before her and give a gift. I tell him I’m a guest of Chief Atanda and don’t know what the conventions are but am prepared to do what is required.

He then states that Chief Atanda never sends any one with out an accompanying gift. I ask him how much is expected and he says this is all unusual he is sure that Chief Atanda will set it right but I should prostrate before the high priestess. I do so and we quickly make our exit. I have just had my first lesson in protocol. My guides were of little help in the situation because they could not give me directions and probably naively assumed I would know what the situation called for. Later I discovered that Baba had made a mistake and given me 260 nira ($2) instead of 2600 ($20) consequently Bayo did not have enough cash to provide an acceptable size gift.

The rest of our outing is more gratifying. We walk along a street market and stop off at Bayo's family compound. When we returned I asked for the money we had not spend. Bayo said it was all spend, actually he has used some of his own to buy sodas. I am puzzled were twenty dollars has gone, that is when we realized that Baba had made a mistake making change for me. When I tell Baba about our mis-adventure in the Osun temple he gets quite angry with Bayo for having entered that domain without explicit instructions from him. It will cost him to repair the social faux pas. I feel bad for Bayo. In his eagerness to be a good tour guide he got in trouble. I promised myself to make it up to him. For starters I give each of my companions 100 nira, less than a dollar but by local standard a good tip.




Sixteen Candle Light Ceremony

The ceremony originates in antiquity when the Yoruba people migrated to Osogbo, and were allowed to settle there by the deity Osun. When demons stole the light/fire from the people Osun retrieved it from the demons. The yearly sixteen candle light celebration is not only commemorative; it is required to continue the well being of the city. This celebration commences in the evening with the lighting of a tall sixteen flame oil candelabra. The flames are tended throughout the night while the populace brings offerings of prayer, music and dance. The King and his entourage are required to circle the flame three times on separate occasions the last being just before dawn. Shortly after nine that evening we, including Osunyemi aka Valeria and Osundolu aka Sherrie squeezed into the van. The two initiates at that stage in the initiation process wear bright red robes and carry brass bells that identify them as new initiates of the deity Osun.

Baba and his son Seyi are attired in magnificent colorful robes holding Iroke Ifa (short carved wooden horns) identifying them as Babalawos. We parked the van at the downtown HATTAF International building on Laro Street and walked around the block to the palace square.

The crowds part for the regally attired father and son. Many in the crowd push forward and sink to one knee asking for blessing. For personal safety reasons we are instructed not to let any stranger come close to us. Indeed Bayo places his body between us and any one who comes within arms length. The brass bells of the two new initiates have similar effect; people respectfully part at the sound of the bells to let them pass.

When we arrive at a large square thousands of people surround us. At times Baba has to raise his staff of office to part the crush of people as we pass through to the other end of the square where a ten to twelve foot tall metal candelabra supports sixteen burning oil lamps.

Horseshoe shaped benches face the flames and one of the front benches is reserved for the ten members of our party. Ifa drummers occupy another front row bench. Behind the drummers are about a hundred seated dignitaries all attired in beautiful traditional robes. I am beginning to realize that Baba’s position in the community commands enormous respect. In the days to come I learn about the historic and current importance of his family and the reasons why the Laro street property adjoins the kings palace.

Baba’s dazzling lime green robes make him a king among princes. He has to leave us for some time to take his seat among the traditional leaders of the community. Except for the flames from the candelabra, there is a little additional light given by a few light bulbs on the side of buildings and some oil lambs in vendor stalls. Camcorders are good in low light but not that good! My only decent shots are when the king and his large entourage circle the flames accompanied by television crews with blazing camera lights. I wish I could mill around with the crowd but Baba won’t allow it. He is determined that his guest will be safe at all times.

The crowd is a sea of milling black faces attired in a mix of western and traditional clothing. It’s a National Geographic moment. The flames are regularly replenished by tenders who ladle oil into the bowls as needed. There is a constant procession of people coming to the flames to pray and often dance. The drums go on all night, as does the singing. On occasion Seyi takes the place of one of the drummers. I’m impressed he is almost as remarkable as his father. Here we stay until dawn. We sit in wonder of the spectacle with its chaos and holiness all happening at the same time.

However the mundane creeps in. My, Valeria and Sherrie’s bladder are insistently full. Seyi leads us back to the Laro street house with it’s two toilet facilities. One has a traditional toilet and is obviously of recent vintage. The other which I use is simply a shoulder high enclosure in which you can stand or squat with a water faucet near the ground and a side drain through the wall. This basic facility will serve us well enough in numerous locations.

At some point a young man tries to push past Bayo to approach us. Gentle lovable Bayo instantly turns into a fierce warrior and it takes his mother blocking him to stop him from pursuing the offender. I really think he misread the intentions of the man but I also know that Bayo will give his all should the need arise.Suddenly the candelabra is lowered to the ground, extinguished and carried away. Tradition requires that the King must not see a trace, not even smoke when he makes his final appearance at dawn. With the first light of day Seyi leads us back to the van and we head ‘home’ to the temple across town. Osunyemi aka Valeria and Osundolu aka Sherrie retire to the altar room with their attending priestess. I retire to my bed and am lulled to sleep by the voice blaring from the Mosque across the street.




After only a few hours Bimpe knocks on the door to tell me breakfast is on the table. We foreigners get a choice of dried cereal, fruit, bread, jam and margarine. The locals eat meat and one of several types of bland starch pastes. Eating with their fingers, they take a bit of the paste and dip it into spicy sauce before popping it into the mouth. Meat dishes usually are a stew, mostly goat, very spicy and contain every part of the animal including the skin. I decide while I’m here I will eat with my fingers and eat everything that is placed on the table. Of course eating with your fingers is also a learned art. I make a mess but soldier on using up several napkins in the process. Oh my god is this food spicy! Baba asks me “isn’t African food delicious?” Delicious? My mouth is burning I can hardly taste a thing!

After breakfast, I go up to the third floor and out on the deck. There are about twenty people present. They have been camping here for the last two days. They are mostly Osun priestesses dressed in white. Several have babies with them. The babies are carried in slings on their back. I’m fascinated by how they tie these nifty baby slings out of piece of cloth which only minutes before served as mattresses on the concrete floor.

I love standing on the deck, looking out over the city, and watch the goings on three stories below. The temple is in a Hausa neighborhood. Hausas are largely Muslim so the women cover their hair with colorful scarves. Anything that must be carried is balanced on the head including heavy buckets of water. I am amazed to see preadolescent children come to one of three wells I can observe, hoist up water fill their large buckets and lift them (sometimes with help of a bystander) on their head and walk home. Every one is slender and exhibits excellent posture. Looking into several neighbors’ yards I can observe family live. Here early in the morning baths are taken using a water kettle as shower, food is prepared, laundry washed, friends are welcomed and arguments settled. I feel so fortunate to be able to look in as they go about their daily lives. Goats are a constant presence. They roam everywhere and delight me with their curiosity and agility.