Afefe owó òtún nse ewé agbon gbaorogbaoro
Afefe owó òsìn nse ewé agbon gbaorogbaoro...

Iyanipa stifled a yawn, trying not to disrespect his village by making a spectacle. It was a large gathering this time, both their village and their closest neighbours, and his father and the other village's Babalawo were both presiding over this ceremony. It was a time of hardship for their people - game was scarce, and they'd heard tell of a strange disease not too far from here, one that covered people with sores and made them turn red and bleed. Iyanipa's people lived in small villages, and did not often face catastrophes like such diseases, but from his understanding, Côte d'Ivoire was rife with it, and it was starting to spill over into Ghana now. They didn't believe in modern medicine or hospitals or anything, even if they could afford them, which they couldn't, and so instead they appealed to Babalu Aye when someone fell ill, and used Ifà to attempt to discern their prognosis.

Being that they were small villages, and very poor, they could not afford huge sacrifices for something that was basically preventative, but Iyanipa's father understood the seriousness of the disease, and so the two villages had come together, and had just enough to give proper offering to both Orishas, Babalu Aye and also Oxossi, the Orisha of the hunt. They hoped for success, for blessing, for sustenance to last them through the drought, and the celebration was grand indeed. On one side of the huge altar sat seven lovebird feathers, gold and green and blue in the colours of Oxossi, as well as seven hand-hewn arrowheads and seven arrowtails. The other side held carvings of two dogs done in dark wood, and was draped in carefully dyed purple and black Kente, his colours. In the centre, aside from the usual beans and grains, a bottle of white wine someone had somehow managed to procure for Babalu Aye sat among the roughly cut wooden bowls and handmade fabrics and weaponry looking so anachronistic that Iyanipa wanted to laugh.

He refrained though, turning his attention back to the centre, where his father and the other Babalawo were chanting together now. His father was painted in black and purple, the other man in gold and blue, and together they were calling on the Orishas to keep their villages safe, let them persevere and prosper so that they might continue to serve; the rhythm of the drums and the monotonous chanting was dizzying in the oppressive heat, and Iyanipa wanted to dart back inside, wash off the hot sticky berry-paint, and go back to his game. But one glance at his mother told him all he needed to know about that idea, and halfheartedly he joined in the chanting, hopping from one foot to another as the ìgède droned on.

What seemed like hours later, the chanting finally stopped, and the two Babalawas came together around the fire, reaching around it and clasping hands as if to take the fire into their collective self, the drums reaching their climactic conclusion and then halting altogether as the two men dropped hands and stepped back, hands and faces raised to the sky in supplication. The energy of the people around them was palpable as they poured their will and want and worship into the closing moments of the ritual so the Orishas would feel their respect and love and be moved to help them.

Iyanipa sighed, relaxing his arms and raising one hand to scratch the itchy painted skin across the bridge of his nose. He had sigils painted on him in purple, to match those painted down his father's arms - his ritual attire, which was similar and yet different to that of everyone else present. Most people were painted in blue and gold, for Oxossi, but as Iyanipa did not wish for a prosperous hunt but did concern himself with the spread of disease, his fealty was solely to Babalu Aye.

Even though the offering was presented and the sacrifice done (he'd turned his face away when his father had slit the throat of the little white-and-black goat), the ceremony was far from over, and he shuffled closer with everyone else as his father sat on the ground and pulled out the opon and iyè-iròsùn.

"Iyanipa," his father said, looking straight at him as he poured the sand onto the opón, and Iyanipa blinked in surprise, and bowed his head. He was often called on to help his father with Ifà, but had never done it in a ceremony before, especially with another village, and the honour was not lost on him.

At his father's nod, he picked up the çn and bëê kö stones, and took one in each hand. This was a long process, and Iyanipa was well aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes boring into him as he squared his shoulders and intoned the words agreeing that he would speak for the village. His father then asked whether he was in good fortune or bad, and cast.

"Good," he announced after two full successful cast sets, and a collective sigh curled through the villagers. Iyanipa smiled at his father's approving look, and prepared to ask his questions.

"What will this week hold?" he asked, his small, high voice ringing clearly through the collective breath-held silence.

His father cast carefully, the only sound the clicking together of the ikin. "Òkànràn-Òfún," he announced once the eight casts had been done, the little figure drawn into the sand. "The end of trouble and tribulations."

Out of the corner of his eye, Iyanipa saw his mother glow with pride that her son should bring such glad tidings, but he kept his attention staunchly focussed on his father, and asked his second question. "What will be the outcome of the ìÿôdçidç?"

"òsé-Egúntán," pronounced his father, and a collective cheer went up. A fortunate hunt then, good fortune, which meant they would find much game were they to leave on their hunt soon.

"What must we do to ensure this?" he asked carefully, not wanting to celebrate too soon.

"Ìrosù-Òbàrà," his father said over the celebrating. "Share with others."

Well this was already decided - the two villages were going to hunt together. As it seemed that signs for the hunt were looking good, and there wasn't much left to ask, Iyanipa moved on.

"What is the reason for the disease my people suffer?"

The cheer gave way to silence, and dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on Iyanipa's father as he painstakingly drew the figures into the sand. "Òyèkú-Ìsé," he said quietly after a long moment. "The ending of a cycle and the beginning of a new one, as part of the natural order."

Well, that made sense. Iyanipa bowed his head and asked, "What must we do?"

"Òyèkú-Ìretè," was the answer. "Find a cure."

"How must we find a cure?"

"Ogbèatè. Travel, to find a resolution."

Well that seemed straightforward enough. "What must this travel involve?"

"Òkànràn-Ìwòrì. Share problems with others."

So they were to travel together then. Again, that wasn't surprising, and it was already planned as such, so that was simple. "What must we do to ensure our safety?"

"Ogbèfún. Chiming instruments to scare away evil spirits."

Great, thought Iyanipa. That meant there would be another ritual in store, and he would have to contend with chiming all night long. He wasn't much looking forward to it. But then, he also wasn't looking forward to catching the disease and dying, and he'd choose the chiming anyday.

One last question then. "Is there anything we must remember, o Orisa, so that we might be successful and prosperous for many moons to come?"

Silence, as Iyanipa's father cast the last stones, and then lifted his head. "Òbàrà'Wòrì," he pronounced. "Prosperity is important, but not as important as wisdom, knowledge, health, and good character."

Iyanipa held that information in his mind as he thanked the Orishas in careful words, then retreated to think as the others gathered together to feast on the sacrificed goat and the other dishes. He wasn't hungry, and wouldn't eat the goat anyway, but he was full of many thoughts, and having participated in the ceremony had made him feel so much more connected to the outcome of all of this. The hunt itself was not of his concern - he was not a hunter, and would be Babalawo after his father, so he would not be expected to become a hunter. But he did know enough about Ifà already to know that his father had omitted some things. Òkànràn-Ìwòrì, for instance, also meant to expect visitors, and Ogbèfún didn't just mean music. He also wondered about that last one. Their village was hardly greedy, and they did not take more than they needed, but with his feelings about living in harmony with nature differing from the rest of his people, he still wondered if perhaps the hunt itself was a bad idea.

Not that there was much to do about it. They would hunt anyway, and his people would eat the meat the hunters brought back, and life would go on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

About Ifà:

Epega, Afolabi A and Philip John Neimark.The Sacred Ifa Oracle. New York: Harper-Collins, 1995.