Marriage and beginning the trail to find Orisa in Osogbo, Nigeria

At our Marriage the words Orisa and Osogbo were unknow to us!

Soon it will be fourteen years since I fell in love with this extraordinary person I call my wife. Marriage was far from my mind when I placed a ‘tongue in cheek’ ad in a local singles paper, “Looking for a Black/Brown Beauty”. Valeria was the first to respond and our adventure together began. She, a spiritual seeker and I, a dyed in the wool empiricist, needed to find a common language.

We began to study and practice Zen meditation. Over several years Valeria became increasingly disturbed by the fact that she never saw another black face (mine is Caucasian) at the various meditation retreats we attended.

Her search for an African based spiritual tradition began in earnest in our fifth year when we fled the oppressive heat of Phoenix and took up residence in the Sonora desert; a mere stones throw from the Mexican border. Our hilly, arid 160 acres in the Mule Mountains of southern Arizona reminded us of Africa or rather what we both imagined Africa might look like. It took eight more years before we got to see a sliver of that vast continent.

Living in the desert, miles from the nearest paved road is a spiritual practice in itself. We built our house and studio with our own hands, collected our yearly supply of water from the roof during monsoon season, set up solar collectors for our power needs and made friends with the foxes, coyotes, snakes, birds, deer, javalina and assorted other creatures of the desert.

For Valeria our move initiated a period of intense study under the guidance of the Oloye Ifa Karade. Two years later in 2000 she completed her initiation as a priestess of the Orisa, Osun. She continued to study with two additional Babalawos (priests) both raised and trained in Nigeria. However she felt that her full initiation into this ancient African spiritual tradition would not be complete until she could set her foot on the motherland and receive the blessing of her African peers.

Last fall, after nearly eight years in the desert, we moved to Asheville to soak up some moisture (yikes!) and find a cultural setting of kindred spirits. Shortly thereafter Valeria contacted Chief Atanda, a widely respected, superbly educated Babalawo (the word means father of wisdom) and founder of HATTAF International.

HATTAF is a temple with locations in Lagos and Osogbo, Nigeria as well as England and California. We call Chief Atanda, Baba (father) informally, a normal way of addressing an elder in Nigeria. Baba invited Valeria to come to Nigeria to undergo a full traditional initiation as priestess of Osun. She and I were formally adopted into his family in a lengthy telephone ritual in which his family in Nigeria welcomed us into their family.

We arrived at Lagos airport on the evening of July 18th,2006 after a 27 hour trip. Tired and confused we were in a sea of black faces waiting for our luggage to come off the conveyor belt. We waited and waited … finally after and hour three pieces arrive in relatively short succession the fourth suitcase came up an hour later. Welcome to Nigeria! So far so good, next we had to find our host who had promised to meet us at the airport.

We had a code to put on the PA system in case we had trouble recognizing each other. (Why a code? Security! So no one could impersonate our host. Abductions and robberies of unsophisticated foreigners are common.) As we came past customs, a tall man in magnificent robes came towards us calling out “Sijuwola” (my wife’s African name). He was accompanied by three men and a woman.

Baba embraced us warmly and introduced us to the three men, all Babalawos, and the woman an American who had arrived some days earlier. Baba took the hands of the two women. A young man took my hand and a suitcase while the other two men carried the rest of our luggage.

In minimal light, we made our way to a very dark parking lot swarming with people. We arrived at a white passenger van that was being guard by another man. We piled in and began the nearly two and a half hour journey of less than twenty miles into Lagos. The incredible traffic follows rules that border on chaos.

Street vendors line the road and hawk there wares to the passengers of the barely moving vehicles. Light is provided by oil lamps consisting of a bowl of oil with a thick wick. Potholes make the roads a constant hazard. Side roads are dirt, in terrible shape and have to be negotiated at a crawl.

Finally, we arrive in front of a steel gate, the entrance to a gated community. The gate is pushed open by a guard and we proceed several blocks on aforementioned dirt roads to another tall steel gate. Baba has been on his cell phone just moments before and the gate swings open and is swiftly closed behind us.

We drive up to a low wide 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 beautiful robes come out bow to the ground before Baba and welcome us. They are all initiated priests and priestesses. 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 has been shaved and she has been painted white with cornmeal. She is robed in white. She 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.

We are invited to participate in the continuation of the ongoing initiation ceremony. 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 is lit by a bare bulb and not very clean. We are given a 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.) The toilet has no seat and the shower is not appetizing. What do we care, we have made it, 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.

Five AM comes soon enough. Sola, one of Baba’s sons, knocks on the door to get us started in the pre-dawn day. The continuing initiation ceremony is conducted by five Ifa priests under the supervision of Baba. I am allowed to video tape but not wanting to be intrusive, I feel very inhibited.

At various points, offerings are prepared and taken to an outdoor altar at the distant corner of the large walled yard. The ceremony is performed in Yoruba. Baba periodically interrupts the process to explain what is going on and translates word for word when necessary

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 frequently frustrated. I miss video opportunities because I have no idea what is coming next and do not dare jump in 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 garden altar of the divinity 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. The ceremony comes to a close soon after a life force offering of a goat is made.

In the afternoon we will be leaving Lagos to drive to Osogbo, the city of about half a million residents most closely identified with the divinity, Osun. The initiation draws to a close shortly after noon but it takes another 3 hours before we depart.

The seven seat van is loaded with luggage and eleven passengers. I have to hold my large camera bag on my lap. Being a guest of honor I at least don’t have to sit on the narrow shelf behind the front seats. The trip can take as little as two and half hours under ideal conditions. But this is Nigeria and the infrastructure is in chronic disrepair!

We depart just after 3 PM and arrive shortly before 8 PM with one brief rest stop. At the rest stop the men are directed to a wall to relieve bursting bladders. The three women simply grit their teeth and expand their bladder capacity. There are few public restrooms! If there are restrooms bring your own tissues.

Baba is a superb driver under frequently challenging conditions. Getting out of the chaos of Lagos traffic takes over an hour. Not bad! Then we hit the four lane divided highway. After years of neglect it is fraught with deep potholes and sudden “slow downs”. When things get too congested on our side of the divide highway everybody crosses the divide into oncoming traffic. Passenger vehicles quickly cross back to their proper side when things clear up but not the big trucks they enjoy the fast lane of oncoming traffic. We witness a spectacular head on between one of the trailer trucks and a hapless oncoming passenger car.

It is dark as we weave our way through Osogbo to Baba’s house. Once again a heavy steel gate is rolled aside and we drive into a carport. As we pile out of the van, we are met by four drummers and a sizable collection of men and women who touch foreheads to the ground before Baba and welcome all of us warmly.

Valeria, bladder bursting, is whisked away by Bayo, one of the younger Babalawos. They disappear into a modest house across the street. I learn later, it is a tailor shop. The tailor has been waiting to measure her and prepare gowns she will need later that night when her initiation as a priestess of Osun commences.

As in Lagos, we are not permitted to carry our own luggage as we are shown to our rooms. Valeria and I have the luxury of a room with an attached bathroom. No matter that it is not very clean and smells of mold. The sink is full of dirty water which won’t drain but we do have a cold water shower.

There is a fan and the door can be closed although it is typical not to do so during waking hours. Privacy is maintained with a door curtain. Keeping air circulating in this hot humid climate is important. As it is most houses and buildings, we visit smell of mold. It reminds us of home in Asheville, a humid climate also!

Dinner is waiting for us and we gather around a table for ten in the living room. We are served fried chicken and yam paste. Baba warns us in the future we will be getting African food. There is bottled water and fruit based drinks in sealed containers.

Baba's daughter in law, Bimpe and son, Seyi serve us. Bimpe has a master’s degree in commercial fish production. She has her own business raising catfish. Seyi is a hospital based OBGYN physician. Respect for the elders is deeply embeded and children make the needs of the parents’ priority.

Two hours later, around eleven PM we are back in ceremony. This time it is Valeria and Sherry, the other African-American woman’s turn. Baba has explained that he does initiations to Ifa in Lagos where as initiations to Osun can only be done in Osogbo.

The altar room is on the third floor of Baba’s large house. In addition to the small altar room this floor also sports a large, maybe 30 x 60 foot room and an open deck area of 25 x 40 feet from which circular stairs assent to a fourth level deck as well down to the ground floor.

During the next three days of initiation this public space is almost continuously occupied by the four drummers and about twenty women. Many of the women have small children and babies. The babies are carried on their backs in fabric slings. When they get tired, they sleep on the cement floor on the cloth that otherwise serves as a baby sling.

For the first several hours, Valeria is out in the big room with us as Sherry goes through several phases of initiation. Every, hour or so she is brought out by the priests and priestess and presented to the rest of us. The talking drums play prescribed rhythms and every one dances. In this setting drumming and dancing are forms of worship and prayer. The dancing and drumming builds in intensity for about half an hour and then the initiate, priests and priestesses return to the altar room.

Valeria begins the process near 2 AM. The initiates make a final joint appearance at dawn after which they retire with the priestesses in the altar room and the rest of us are free to get some sleep.

Baba wakes me four or five hours later, gives me a warm hug and tells me that Valeria may come to the door of the altar room and talk to me but we can’t touch. He wants to reassure me that Valeria, now newly named Osunyemi, is fine. I appreciate his concern for my well being. Bayo takes me up to see Osunyemi aka Valeria. She is ecstatic; the experience is everything she could hope for, yet nothing she could have anticipated.

Let me digress and introduce, Bayo of whom I became fonder with every passing day. He is Baba’s godson. That is to say, he has been initiated and is a Babalawo in training. Bayo is twenty one and has recently finished the equivalent of high school. He hopes to eventually attend the university.

He is also the grandson of the Araba of Osogbo. (The Araba is the highest-ranking Babalawo in the city of Osogbo while Baba ranks third. These rankings carry with them status, respect and tremendous social responsibility.)

Bayo has studied English in school but understands very little and speaks less. I suspect that his English teachers were also not fluent. To attend university his English has to improve greatly as classes are taught in the “lingua franca” of Nigeria, English. As Baba’s attendant he also has responsibility for our safety.

Over the coming weeks we learn to love Bayo. As time passes he begins to feel comfortable with Valeria and me and we get to enjoy his playful side. We soon learn that in times of perceived or real danger he will fight and put his body in harms way to protect us. He is delighted when I show him how to use the video camera and microphones.

By the time we leave three weeks later I’m determined to find a way for him to come to study in the US. Young dedicated people like Bayo will play an important part in fostering the self-respect of future generations of Nigerians.

Of the approximate 150 million Nigerians, only 5-10 % still practice the traditional religion. It is commonly, but inaccurately, known as Ifa Yoruba. Some claim that this monotheistic religion can be traced back nearly six thousand years. If this claim is accurate the religion predates most other world religions.

Islam or Christianity is practiced by most of the remaining 90% of the populace. These are the religions of the conquerors. For a very long time economic well-being has been closely associated with being able to claim membership in one of the two dominant religions. To this day religious conversion and economic opportunity go hand in hand.

As one Babalawo said, “By day most people are Mohammedans or Christians but by night many still practice the traditional ways.” This is of course problematic on many levels. A people whose heritage is denied or denigrated are a people who suffer a profound loss of self worth.

Colonialism thrived on undermining the indigenous people and perpetuated the unfounded claim that Africans lacked culture, where primitive and fundamentally inferior. The continuing misery in our African-American communities bears witness to the social devastation that loss of identity and cultural continuity entails. In present day Nigeria the territorial colonialism of the past has been replaced by economic and spiritual colonialism. The consequences of the former are Africa’s ongoing bloody birthing pains. The effects of spiritual colonialism are more subtle but none the less destructive.

Most large buildings in Nigeria are mosques or churches. Typically, billboards are advertisements for churches and their leaders who promise that membership will lead to spiritual and financial well being.

In a country were it is estimated that 70% of the population has a per capita income of less than a dollar a day there is powerful incentive to go to were the money is.

Traditional spiritual leaders lacking foreign sources of funding can not compete and thus the spiritual heritage continuous to be under attack.

The ceremony originates in antiquity. The story goes that the Yoruba traveled to Osogbo, and were allowed to stay there by the deity Osun. When demons stole the light/fire from the people Osun retrieved it from the demons.

This event is celebrated each year with the lighting of a tall sixteen flame oil candelabra. The flame is tended throughout the night while the populace brings offerings of prayer, music and dance.

In the early hours the King and his entourage is required to circle the flame three times on two separate occasions.

Shortly after nine we, including Valeria and Sherry 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 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 two blocks to the king’s palace.

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 were instructed not to let any stranger come close to us. Indeed Bayo confronts any one who comes within arms length. The brass bells of the two initiates have similar effect; people respectfully part 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.

A horseshoe of benches face the flames and one of the front benches is reserved for the ten member of our party. Ifa drummers occupy another front row bench. There are about a hundred seated dignitaries all attired in beautiful traditional robes.

Baba’s dazzling lime green robes make him a king among princes. He has to leave us for some time to take 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.

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 space in front of us is supposed to stay open and frequently has to be cleared.

Here we stay until dawn. We sit in wonder of the spectacle with its chaos and holiness all happening at the same time.

Tomorrow Osunyemi and Osundolu will go to the Osun Grove to be bathed in the waters of Osun.

Rainer Doost 2007