Ikú and the olorisha

Recently, I am noticing a disturbing trend among olorishas that suffer the loss of their godparents or an Orisha relative. It seems that most olorishas remain in a state of limbo because they ignore or are misled about what behaviors and conduct that they are expected to observe. This is a very critical period where many unethical and unscrupulous olorishas—an embarrassment to us all—take advantage of the innocent, unsuspecting and/or fanatical. Unfortunately, in terms of this process, there is a considerable degree of ignorance in the Orisha community. However, the level of fanaticism far exceeds the lack of knowledge. People become obsessed with their own fears and insecurities, especially if their relationship with the deceased was rocky; oriatés—and pseudo-oriatés—fail to give proper explanations (often purposely) about what behaviors should/should not be observed; espiritistas add their two cents, which complicates matters further because of the theological contradictions between the Lukumí and Kardecian ideologies regarding death; and because of all this confusion, the pack of wolves goes on the prowl and prey upon the grieving and ignorant!

Olorishas need to be better informed and less fanatical. Unfortunately, instruction is not convenient to those whose living is derived from the ignorance of the vast majority. In fact, it is to their convenience to distribute myths and fables, basing them on their often questionable interpretation of odu and tradition. As long as olorishas choose to remain ignorant of their religious tenets and remain on the outskirts of religious instruction or continue to consider their godparents demigods and follow them blindly without attempting to lear about their religiosity, ignorance will prevail. As such, the wolves will always attempt to prey, and the prey, or the intended prey, will always have a complaint or seek a scapegoat to blame. Ultimately, the true culprits are those who seek to remain in the dark and practice the religion blindly or based on superstition and fanaticism. Ultimately, the wolves are only doing what is instinctive to their rapacious nature. As long as there is a lamb to hunt, the pack will do what nature equipped them to do best.

The following notes are derived from the seminar on Etutú that I have held in Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles and New York. In the course of the discussion and questions, it became all too clear to me that the great majority of olorishas today know close to nothing about etutú and Lukumí Egún rituals. Hopefully this essay will help to dispel some of the myths. Nonetheless, the ultimate responsibility lies in the hands of the olorisha. He or she have the choice—God's greatest gift to humanity. They can opt to be gullible and devoured by the wolves or learn and practice their religion without falling victim to their own ignorance and fanaticism.

Once an olorisha dies, the religious or blood family must make all the necessary arrangements to do the etutú (itutú) funerary rites. Etutú is an indispensable ceremony that has to be performed for every individual that is ordained into the Lukumí priesthood, as it is believed to liberate the soul or inner spirit of the deceased so that it may travel to orún and go before Olodumaré where the person will be judged according to their earthly comportment. Like the death of a Yoruba ruler, the treatment of an olorisha’s corpse differs from that of an aborisha.[1]

In recent years, many old olorishas, often disenchanted with the growing level of disrespect for the Lukumí traditions as handed down by our forebears, request to be buried without etutú. They ask that their descendants dispose of their orishas and their attributes quietly and bury them without alerting other oloshas of the person’s death. This is a grave mistake as in so doing they condemn the soul and spirit to exist in nothingness, a state that is worse than the most severe section of Dante’s inferno. If an individual accepts ordination into the religion, he or she accepts the religion with all its virtues and flaws. Likewise, this person must unconditionally accept the religion’s ceremonial processes. We cannot be selective in our level of commitment as we either commit to it entirely or not at all!

The etutú must be performed by an oriaté or an olosha that is sufficiently old and/or knowledgeable to do so. As soon as the olosha dies, the person’s Osun is laid on its side and all the orishas must be placed on the floor in hierarchical order to await the ceremony. The water is removed from those orishas that have water inside their jars. The family comes together to gather the necessary items for the ceremony. These are as follows:

Abamodá—Prodigiosa; Leaf of life (Bryophyllum pinnatum, L.)—is optional.

When the etutú takes place, the orishas determine if they accompany their omó to orún or if they remain on ayé in someone’s care. This is determined with the orisha’s dilogún. Once cast, two odus indicate that the orisha remains on ayé. Oshé indicates that the orisha will remain with a family member and Obara signals that a religious relative will inherit it. All other odus that fall indicate that the orisha departs with its devotee. Another important ritual in the etutú ceremony is the act known as partiendo la diferencia—breaking the difference [breaking all ties with the deceased]. Part of this ceremony requires that the oriaté and oloshas break certain articles behind their necks, where Eshú Ipakó resides. In so doing, they are symbolically placing the deceased behind themselves and inferring that this person is now a part of their past. They no longer "owe" anything to each other, as all ties between them are henceforth officially broken. Family members and Orisha relations cannot “break the ties” because their ties are indissoluble.

The spirit of the deceased is always present and surrounds his or her descendants until the ninth day after the death. In fact, the belief is that the deceased actively supervises the etutú and funerary rituals. Idowú said that in Yorubaland, the belief is the same: “the deceased stand apart and watch all the performances of the burial and funeral rites.”[3] In the past, it was customary to perform the etutú with the deceased’s corpse present in the room, lying on a mat. In preparation for the ceremony, the oriaté prepared an omiero using the above herbs. As in the ordination rituals, all the oloshas washed the head of the deceased. Afterward, the person’s ojigbona (if living) or an elder olosha did an eborí—a ritual feeding of the devotee’s head. The body was then placed on a mat in the igbodú or wherever the etutú took place. In Matanzas, oloshas “withdrew” osun from the devotee’s head by scraping the crown of the head with a piece of charcoal. The Matanceros believe that this practice opens the crown that was sealed when the devotee was ordained, allowing the soul to depart from the body in which it was enclosed.

Awolalu described a ceremonial washing of a deceased person’s corpse. Though this is clearly not a ceremony for an olorisha, there seem to be interesting parallels in his description:

Great importance in attached to the washing of the corpse because it is believed that one has to be clean in order to be admitted into the abode of the ancestors. It is believed that if a corpse is not washed, it will not have a place with the ancestors but will become a wandering ghost, called iwín or isekú. After the bath, the corpse is dressed in beautiful and dignifying clothing. It is brought into the sitting room and laid on a well-decorated bed to lie in state. Music, dancing and feasting then begins.[4]

The Lukumí also believe that the soul of the olosha that is buried without etutú is never truly liberated. It remains encapsulated in the body and has no chance of reincarnating. In addition, the olosha that does not have etutú has no right to the other ceremonies that follow such as the Breakfast ceremony and the Honors, because the soul never ascended to orún, it was never judged, and as such, it never officially became egún.

Though funeral homes were not unheard of in Cuba, most wakes for oloshas took place in the deceased’s home. In the United States and other areas where the religion has been replanted, funeral homes are the norm, and though it is not impossible to celebrate the wake in the home, it seldom occurs (if at all), as there are too many health code regulations and other legal requirements that complicate the process. Albeit, though the etutú should take place in the late olosha’s ilé, the other related ceremonies such as the oro and the “dismissal” of the deceased can be done at the funeral home.

When the initial funeral arrangements are made, it is customary to inform the funeral director that the deceased was an olorisha and that specific ceremonies will take place at the wake. Usually, funeral directors are accommodating to the family’s needs. The family must also provide the funeral home with the clothes that the deceased will wear. Ideally an olosha should be buried wearing the outfit and crown he or she wore for the ordination. When this is not possible, white is the color of choice. After the etutú, various objects are separated that must be sent with the deceased, specifically the deceased’s river jar—a clay jar that was used for the deceased’s river ceremony prior to the ordination—the ebó or paradó from the etutú and the cowries of all the orishas that chose to depart with the deceased.[5] The jar is filled with water and placed on the floor under the casket, close to the head. The ebó should be placed inside the grave before the casket is lowered, and if this is not possible due to health code or cemetery regulations, it can be sent inside the casket with the body. The bags containing the cowries must be placed over the deceased’s heart or in the hands.

At the funeral, before the oro, the oriaté has to cast obí to ensure that everything is in order with the deceased. Thereafter, the oro begins. Only olorishas should be present for this ceremony. During the oro, the orishas possess their "mounts" to “cry” for the deceased. This is a spontaneous possession that does not follow the traditional patterns seen at wemileres and other ceremonies. The possession occurs almost instantaneously, and especially when certain súyeres are chanted that the orishas must respond to in specific ways. If Oyá should come, because of her connections with Ikú and Egungún, she must remain in possession of her mount, continuously passing an iruké over the deceased, until the burial takes place.

Though it seems to be occurring more and more often, Ayán—consecrated or unconsecrated batá drums—should not go to the wake. The oro is sung without drumming. Ayán may be present for the burial, though, to accompany the deceased to the grave. This occurred very often in Cuba when a celebrated olosha passed away. On the day of the burial, the casket was carried through the town to the cemetery with Ayán leading the funeral procession. In the Lukumí Diaspora, where most processions are motorized, this custom has been lost.

For the burial, oloshas should carry the casket or walk beside it. The oriaté or a responsible elder walks in front with the opágugú, chanting:

The word gbagá as used in the súyere is probably gbagán—carry agán. This probably refers to the agán ceremony performed by Egúngún priests in Yorubaland. Agán is a sacred symbol of the power of egún and the Egúngún cult. Babayemí said that in some areas of Yorubaland, devotees carried agán “in the form of a long piece of cloth.” Possibly, the cloth contained the symbols or attributes of this entity.[7] It seems that agán is a type of executioner used by members of the Egúngún cult to enforce justice. Babayemí wrote, “ . . . but in emergencies, the Agan could be used to reject an Obá, such an Obá is said to have been carried to heaven by Agan. A wicked witch, a malevolent Iroko tree could be destroyed by the members of the egúngún cult, they would claim that Agan had done it . . . Agan is the power of the Ancestors . . ..”[8]

In the case of the Lukumí, though agán is not what is carried before the deceased, the river jar conveys as much power as the Egúngún agán as it was the vessel with which the devotee was born that is now returning home. As the chorus responds: ení odó wale—all humans return home to the river. The deceased will eventually return to the river as gbogbó’wán olodó. Idowú recorded a Yoruba proverb that lends credence to this notion of returning home to the river: ¿nit’ o kú ti re Òkè-Odò: o ti f’æwö ræ igi ìgbàgbé—The deceased has gone to the other side of the river: he has laid his hand on the tree of oblivion.[9]

The deceased’s ojigbona (if living) or any willing olorisha will carry the river jar, walking either behind or alongside the oriaté. Once the procession takes off, whether on foot or by car, the jar must be smashed on the ground. Possession, following the same patterns as during the oro, is expected as the casket is being carried to the hertz, during the procession (if on foot), and may occur at the cemetery when the final farewells are being said. The orishas, grieved by the loss of an omó, are expected to join the living in their lament. Following the burial, the family returns home to repose until the ninth day and the breakfast ceremony.

The desayuno—breakfast—takes place on the ninth day following the death, counting the day of the death as day one.[10] Still, some oloshas start counting from the day of the burial and celebrate the ceremony a day or so later. Nonetheless, it is the ninth day following the death that should be observed. The Lukumí believe that during these nine days, the spirit remains on earth, living amongst its family and familiar surroundings as if he or she were still alive. The trip to orún for the Divine trial does not begin until the ninth day. On the morning of the ninth day, many Cuban oloshas that abide by the multi-religious traditions will have a mass said for the deceased in a Catholic church. Following the mass, they return to the deceased’s home where a ritual breakfast takes place.

A small section is set up somewhere in the ilé for egún. Flowers, a glass with water, a lit white candle, a plate with coconut pieces and a gourd with water, and the opágugú are all placed there for the ceremony. The ritual begins by casting obí and then singing oro for egún. Afterward, all the participants sit at a table where they share a communal meal with the deceased. The table is set with an elegant tablecloth, china and cutlery.[11] A place is set at the head of the table where food and drinks are served for the deceased before any of the other participants can serve themselves. Pastries, bread, ham, cheese, butter, juice, coffee, milk, and other breakfast foods are prepared for this ritual. Also, a bouquet of flowers is placed in the center of the table. The deceased is offered a bit of each of the foods served at the table. Once everyone has finished eating, the deceased’s food is taken and placed with egún’s service on the floor. He or she has now officially become an egún for the ilé.

Some lineages fill a bottle with water and seal it with a cork. This bottle is present for the etutú, the wake, the burial, and is finally placed on top of the breakfast table. Once the participants have finished eating and the foods and service have been removed from the table, the flowers, crumbs and this bottle are the only items allowed to remain on the table. All the participants rise, and holding the tablecloth, walk in silence toward the entrance to the home and the street. Finally, the tablecloth is shaken in the air and the crumbs, flowers and bottle fall to the ground, the bottle shattering to pieces. Possession again takes place here as the orishas come to bid the deceased farewell for the final time. Some lineages just walk out the tablecloth following the above pattern. Others simply rise from the table after everyone has finished eating and the table has been cleared.

Upon the loss of an Orisha relation, and especially after the loss of a godparent or ojigbona, the Lukumí mourn for specific periods during which they must follow a series of ritual proscriptions. The proscriptions and the length of the mourning depend on the relationship of the individual to the deceased.

Though the dress code is relatively flexible, black is not appropriate for this period as it is with other cultures. The Lukumí consider that this color is very negative and it is proscribed by many odús. In general, white is the color of preference for all Lukumí rituals. Ideally, whenever attending an etutú or any ritual associated with egún or ikú—death, white is the ideal color to wear. This includes head covering, which is indispensable for rituals related with Ikú. Interestingly, in his review of Oyo-Yoruba Egúngún traditions, Johnson stated that “. . . it is disrespectful to pass him [an Egúngún masquerader] with the head uncovered.” According to Johnson, during a period of mourning, Yoruba tradition has it that the mourner does not attend to such needs as shaving, bathing and other personal needs, including the use of filthy garments.[12] This custom is unknown in Cuba. In fact, the opposite is emphasized as bodily cleanliness is stressed as ritually important, even during mourning.

When an olosha’s godparent passes away, there is a three-month mourning period during which time the omorisha must refrain from participating in any religious ceremonies. This includes attending ordinations and other rituals, wemileres or agbés (drumming feasts), orisha anniversaries, and the like. The individual cannot place offerings to his/her orishas, including sacrifice, and divine or perform ebó or other Orisha-related ceremonies for others. If the olosha’s anniversary falls within this three-month period, the celebration must be foregone as well. Bascom also mentioned that families observe a three month mourning period in Yorubaland after the loss of a relative.[13] In the past, this proscription was observed for an entire year following the death of ones godparent.

Any time after the third month, the omorisha must perform a ceremony usually called quitar las lagrimas—removing the tears, or quitar la mano del muerto—removing the “hands” of the deceased. This is a ritual that is performed for the omorisha’s deities; those consecrated for the individual by the deceased godparent. This ceremony is believed to sever any and all worldly and material ties to the deceased. Nonetheless, the omorisha is forever linked to his/her godparent spiritually as the deceased is the source of the individual’s initiation into the religion.

Some elder oloshas rightly argue that one can never sever ties with ones godparent and use this argument to support their view that the lagrimas ceremony is unnecessary. They further argue that when the godparent ordained them, he or she was alive, and therefore every ritual directed by the godparent was done en vida—in life. If these rituals took place while the godparent was alive, and they were laughing and cheerful, as one is supposed to be every time one performs a personal ceremony, then, goes the argument, “there are no tears to remove as it was a joyous celebration.” Most adherents of this ideology do not perform this ceremony when their godparents die and insist that their omorisha refrain from doing so upon their own passing too.

The opposing view maintains that though the initial consecration took place with all participants living and enjoying the renovating and life-giving effects of the ritual, when the godparent dies, the orishas created by the deceased are momentarily grieved by the loss of the elder. They stress that it is this grief that is cast away with the lagrimas ceremony.

A recent trend is the removal of the lagrimas after the ninth day of the godparent’s passing. This is an unorthodox practice. The only orishas that have lagrimas removed on the ninth day are those that orishas that at etutú chose to remain on earth and not accompany the deceased on the passage to orún—the “inherited” orishas. These must have the lagrimas ceremony on the ninth day before the person who inherited the orisha can take it home.

Bascom discussed a ritual performed in Yorubaland after a woman is buried that he called “tears of morning.” He wrote that the morning after the burial, all the wives of the compound to which thee woman belonged ate together. After the meal, they sing and dance to the beat of large calabash drums. That same day, the deceased’s oldest child provides a sheep that is slaughtered and cooked. The wives eat the meat with other foods, and the dancing continues after that. It is the last gathering of all the wives of the household with the deceased.[14] Natalia Bolivar mentioned that in some traditional families in Cuba, at the nine day ceremony following n olorisha’s death, devotees played for the deceased using two upside-down half-calabashes floating in a basin with water. Pashán—twigs—are used to beat the bottom of the calabash, which produces an almost ghostly echo in the water.[15] These calabash-drums are also used in Brazil for the axexé (asheshé) ceremony celebrated for a deceased olorisha.[16]

Mourning for one ojigbona is much briefer. The mourning lasts nine consecutive days during which time the individual observes the same behavior as when the godparent dies. After the ninth day, the person returns to the normal religious practices. This tradition does not impede the individual who had very close ties with the ojigbona from observing a longer mourning period if he/she so chooses. This is a matter of individual feeling and sentiment, though.

If the individual received any orishas from the ojigbona, a period of three months must also be observed before the lagrimas ceremony takes place.

Nine days are also the required period observed when an omorisha passes away, for both the godparent and the ojigbona. Observing a longer period is a matter of individual choice and determined by feelings. The godparent and the ojigbona are not required to perform any further ceremonies after the ninth day of the omorisha’s passing.

When an orisha sibling passes away, nine days are the required period that all the deceased’s siblings and other orisha family members are expected to observe.

After the third month of an olorisha’s passing, the deceased’s omorisha have to carry out the Honras—honors ceremony. This consists of three days of rituals in which homage is paid to the deceased’s egún and orishas. Though the Lukumí can offer sacrifice and tribute to any egún, not every deceased olosha is entitled to Honras. This notion is comparable to the Yoruba belief that only certain individuals have the right to funerary ceremonies and burials.[17] In Yorubaland, the prominent men of the community hope that when they die their descendants carve an Egúngún mask for them and perform the proper ceremonies.[18] Likewise, the Lukumí olorisha, and especially those who have enjoyed prominence in their lifetime, deeply desire that their omorisha perform their Honors. In some cases, oloshas have left the money to cover the expenses for this ceremony, which can be very costly, as they are aware that their omorisha may not have the resources to do it on their own.

To qualify for Honras, the deceased had to have ordained at least four persons during his or her lifetime. Serving as an ojigbona, regardless of the number of times, does not count in this case. Ideally, the deceased must have been presented to Ayán. Though this is a ritual that must be carried out soon after ordination, for a variety of reasons there are people who put it off. There have been cases of olorishas who have died without this ceremonial presentation to the drums. Finally, the deceased had to have the etutú ceremony. As is the case with the presentation to Ayán, every olosha has to have etutú when he or she dies. If these conditions are not met, the deceased is not rightfully entitled to have Honras.

The level and prestige of the ritual also varies according to the status of the deceased. If the deceased ordained many people, the degree of the ceremony varies greatly for there will be more contributors for the event. Johnson wrote that after a couple of months, wealthy Yoruba families could perform a ceremony he called “laying the dead upon its other side,” that consisted of feasting and dancing in the deceased’s honor.[19]

[1] J. Omosade Awolalu. "The Concept of Death and the Hereafter in Yoruba Traditional Religion." Sierra Leone Bulletin of Religion, Vol. 1 (Dec. 1980), 25-36; 28.

[2] William Bascom. The Yoruba of Southwestern Nigeria, 2^nd ed. (Prospect Heights: Waveland Press, Inc., 1984) 68.

[3] E. Bolaji Idowu. Olodumare, God in Yoruba Belief (New York: Wazobia, 1994), 192.

[4] Awolalu, The Concept of Death . . . : 29.

[5] If the original jar is no longer available, a substitute must be purchased to use in its place.

[6] Some oloshas argue that the original purpose for passing the iruké was to swat flies away from the body, and that this is an unnecessary remnant of the past when modern embalming techniques were unknown.

[7] S. O. Babayemi. Egúngún Among the Oyo Yoruba (Ibadan: Board Publications Limited, 1980) 8.

[8] Babayemi, Egúngún Among the Oyo. . . : 8-9.

[9] Idowu, Olodumare . . . : 191.

[10] For this reason, sometimes this ceremony is also referred to as los nueve días—the nine days.

[11] Disposable plates and cutlery are unacceptable for this ritual.

[12] Samuel Johnson. 8^th ed. The History of the Yorubas. (Thetford: Lowe & Brydone Printers Limited, 1976) 30 & 101; Awolalu, The Concept of Death . . . : 27.

[13] Bascom, The Yoruba . . . : 68.

[14] Ibid., 68-9.

[15] Natalia Bolivar and Carmen Gónzalez Díaz de Villegas. Itutu: La Muerte en los Mitos y Rituales Afrocubanos (Miami: Editorial Arenas, 1992) 103.

[16] José Beniste. Orun Aiye—O Encontro de Dois Mundos (Rio de Janeiro: Bertrand Brasil, 1997) 196.

[17] Peter Morton-Williams. "Yoruba Responses to the Fear of Death." Africa, Vol. 30, no. 1 (1960), 34-46; 34.

[18] Morton-Williams. Yoruba Responses . . . : 36.

[19] Johnson, The History . . . : 101.