Jekua Jei Oyá Yansán Iyá ni Mí: How Hilario Dávila Made Osha in Cuba I

Hilario Dávila didn't know much about Oyá for nine years. That is how much time passed between the day Orunmila marked the owner of his head as Obatalá and later when he they made kariocha to him. Orunmila had told him that he was a romantic and that he would always have trouble brought on by women.
Hilario Dávila knew that Oyá was omnipresent in the world, like the wind, storms, change, the determination of warriors, and their impassive silence in the face of death. Hilario Dávila had no idea what Oyá had in store for him.

Almost every day they said to him, "oh, your mother is going to be Oshún"; "oh, your mother is going to be Yemayá." They never thought of Oyá and neither did Hilario Dávila, except in passing. He knew that she was supposed to stand at the gate of the cemetery and receive the corpse from the death cart of Babalú-Ayé.
Hilario Dávila's madrina, Odomiguale (ibae) was a daughter of Yemayá and she was always a bit scared of Oyá.

Many years ago, when I was young, I asked a lot of questions. I was known for that. I never understood why Yemayá and Oyá didn't get along. But the babalawos never gave me an answer. So one day I went outside and I talked to the sun. I asked the sun why Yemayá and Oyá didn't get along. And he asked me to look at the sea and observe what happens when the wind passes over it. Along come storms.

Odomiguale taught Hilario Dávila that the orishas were powers of the cosmos manifested in nature. Later Hilario Dávila would learn that the wind can just as quickly decide to stop. And when Oyá decides to stop, just standing there arms akimbo with that look your grandmother used to shoot at you, she can just make people stop dead in their tracks, perk up, and listen to save their lives.
Orunmila had told Hilario Dávila that he had to make osha. But he had so many things to learn and write and finish and do that he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Indeed, one day a white haired babalawo told him that, as a child of Obatalá with the odu that came out in his awofaka, there might be many times when he'd have so many things in his head that he just wouldn't know what to do.
Hilario Dávila's godfather was going to lead him down the garden path. It also happened that his godfather lived the odu Otura Sá. Little by little Hilario Dávila got a taste of Otura Sá, but he still didn't know that Otura Sá is the path of delinquency. Otura Sá plays fast and loose with the truth; Otura Sá doesn't fulfill what he promises and he's careless with everything he has. Otura Sá is an Ifá of witchcraft. Because of his ambitious self-interest, Otura Sá even tries to make Babá Eyiogbe, who is the highest, second to himself. Otura Sá abuses his friends and betrays them. Babalawos say that Otura Sá is the Prince of the Delinquents. He has many enemies, but his worst enemy is in his own house.

Oyá is a principal resource and savior of Otura Sá. He dreams of her and, though there is "something grand" in the sky, he does not see it because of his earthly ambition and vida despreocupada. Effectively, he remains blind to the "grand thing" that is bigger than himself. "Only through me," she might say, "you can see the truth"; but Oyá is not easy. She shows the truth to those who demonstrate to her that they want to see it.

When Hilario Dávila worked in construction during college summers, the union linemen always told him, "Hilario is really intelligent, but boy is he dumb." Later, what with Isaac Delgado's incessant timba in the air, the lights, action, and girls on the Malecón , the emotional heat of the pueblo, and the magnetism of the santo, Hilario Dávila was irretrievably "caught up" in the island, as Prisma magazine described him in a profile article. Eduardo Desnoes put it best: Cuba made me so.

Still, Hilario Dávila had his doubts about making osha in the house of Otura Sá. It was a mess. Otura Sá couldn't seem to hold onto money and he was always looking for ways to get it, whether begged, borrowed, or stolen. Otura Sá had adopted all of Odomiguale's children and they had only one son together. All the sons made Ifá and the only daughter made Obatalá. Otura Sá always stole toys from his adopted son Beto and gave them as presents to his first and only born son, Augustin. Beto Osa Kana (ibae) had to find his own way because Otura Sá was his constant frustration. Miguel Angel Oyekun Biroso (ibae) drowned in the ocean in Panama. Gacho became a walking skeleton and beggar. The daughter of Obatalá went crazy. The only son-by-blood became a drunken monster and turned the house into a cave. He became obese, ambled like a gorilla, spent years in Mazorra, the nut house by the airport, chopped up an old lady with a machetazo, and sold his father's Ifá books for a liter of chispa de tren, a toxic rum made from gasoline. Whether by ego, denial, or genuine concern, Otura Sá never stopped trying to cure the monster, who had become a lost cause. Tragically, he was never to recognize the enemy in his own house. Odomiguale, the woman who found life's answers by talking to the sun, suffered every day for more than forty years. Eventually, after too many golpes, she just stopped eating, died, and returned to the sea, where Hilario Dávila goes to ask for her bendicion. Like a broken record, it was said that many of their misfortunes were caused by the powerful babalawo and brujo Oshé Yekú, a godchild of Bernardo Rojas Irete Untedí who, they believed, had done witchcraft to them thirty eight years earlier over a painful shift in alliances prior to Otura Sá's initiation.

For all these reasons and more--were more required?--many people told Hilario Dávila not to make osha in the house of Otura Sá. But Hilario Dávila was a cabezón. Besides, it couldn't be all that bad. Many of his brothers and sisters in osha were the cream of Havana professional society: they were successful doctors, lawyers, filmmakers, journalists, painters, and intellectuals. His Oyubona of Ifá, Beto Osa Kana, was the King of Cayo Hueso and Vedado. Otura Sá even read Ifá first for Noriega in Panama and then for Hugo Chavez in Venezuela, although after Augustin destroyed an entire hotel lobby in Caracas they were all kicked out of the country. In a twist of fate, everything he prophesied to Chávez turned out to be wrong and only a last minute intervention by a political godfather higher up the state food chain saved him from Fidel's wrath.

After nine years of waiting, when Hilario Dávila told Otura Sá and Odomiguale that he was ready to make osha, they were very excited and almost started dancing. Otura Sá was pretty relieved because he just got through dispatching another godchild, the painter, from the house. They never really got along anyway because the painter had so much success and money, which he flaunted, and Otura Sá had it on good authority, or, at least, embraced a story that seemed to work for him: the painter was a homosexual. Babalawos, of course, can't make Ifá to gay people. Now he could relax knowing that he could later make Ifá to Hilario Dávila, which would be a pretty big coup in Havana, since Hilario Dávila would be his first Ifá godchild from the Yuma and he'd be able to visit the United States.


Hilario Dávila had to supply every last item for his osha, down to the plastic pails, palm oil, and powder paint, since his madrina had nothing in the house except one old frying pan, because the monster would sell it for alcohol. Hilario Dávila's two conditions to his godparents were that they rent a house to make his osha because the itá of his awofaka warned him against being around drunks or violence. Hilario Dávila couldn't bear the thought of making osha in the house where the monster prowled. His second condition was that he would bring his Oyubona from the Yuma, Ocan Oñí. It was pretty atrevido for the future iyawó to be setting conditions. Still, Odomiguale signed off on the plan. She met with Hilario Dávila and Ocan Oñí just before dusk as the warm western sun poured through the floor to ceiling high shutters. Ocan Oñí would take care of the room and she would give her ashé to Hilario Dávila. Sounded pretty good. Hilario Dávila put $1100. on the floor in front of Yemayá, asked for her blessing, and then Otura Sá asked Odomiguale for some of it. Odomiguale snapped it up, stuck it in her apron, and shot back, "I might be old but I'm not stupid." She gave him just enough to take Hilario Dávila over to rent the house on Calle Salud, between Oquendo and Marqués González. Everybody loved this house, because it had a huge sala for drummings, a spacious cuarto de santo, an outdoor kitchen. The beautiful mulata María Oshún lived there with her daughter and her father, Lázaro, a babalawo. Far enough away from the precinct of the monster, the house seemed ideal. Wouldn't you know that the babalawo was a violent drunk who regularly raised escándolos and beat his family.

The next day Hilario Dávila, Ocan Oñí, and Tony Irosun Sá, Hilario's good friend, went to the beach at Mariel to collect otá for the santo, a beach known for it's beautiful stones. The wind was alive and the water was bracing. Medium white stones for Obatalá and smaller yellowish stones for Oshún. There was not a black stone to be found in all of Mariel for Shangó and Yemayá and, as luck would have it, Hilario Dávila had brought black otá from botanica El Congo Real in New York City. What to do about Oyá. "Do you want brown stones for Oyá," Ocan Oñí asked, "or do you like these unusual otá?" They were gray with white stripes. They had a presence. Something about them said Oyá and Obatalá together. Hilario Dávila liked them.


The tied up bags of stones filled half of the backseat of Tony Irosun Sá's twenty year old Russian Moskvich whose secrets only the babalawo knew. Tony took them to Ocan Oñí's apartment and left them to sort the stones out by divination. Only those otá appropriate to Hilario Dávila's santo could be used. Irosun Sá, ever the politically-savvy babalawo knew that he couldn't be seen to have any meddling hand in the preparations for the ceremonies, or he might raise envy and distrust among the in-group of the house. It was controversial enough that Hilario Dávila had introduced Ocan Oñí into the game, since he was a relatively unknown quantity to Odomiguale and Otura Sá. Anyone present who was not screened through repeat invitations to work could mean conflict of method, misinterpretation, or criticism of errors made in the ceremonies. Everybody knew stories like that of Oshé Yekú and Otura Sá.

Rock the boat or make waves. The first storm signal brewed when Hilario Dávila and Ocan Oñí proudly brought the selected otá to Odomiguale. Her permissive one-point plan for Ocan Oñí to "do the room" and for her to "deliver the ashé" hadn't lasted the night. Perhaps she was right. "You have to select the otá on the floor right in front of my Yemayá! How else is she going to know what's happening?" Hilario Dávila and Ocan Oñí, like well-behaved sailors, professed nothing but fair intentions to the wrathful sea. In compromise, Odomiguale permitted them to interrogate each bundle of selected otá before Yemayá. Oyá was the sole orisha who gave ocana to her otá, but she came around when offered epó. The wind had made waves over the already agitated ocean. "You have to interpret that ocana," Odomiguale said darkly.

Tony Irosun Sá was a credentialed merchant marine and ship's captain by vocation. Supertankers and sea-mining ships were his stock-in-trade. He'd braved unspeakable storms, but Yemaya-Achabá was a formidable squall. His role in the stone scandal was more serious. Hilario Dávila and Ocan Oñí were just santeros. Irosun Sá was a babalawo, the godson of Osa Kana and the Ifá-grandson of Otura Sá. Shouldn't he know better than to meddle? Was he trying to control the santo and steal Hilario Dávila as his own ward? The child of Irosun Sá knows that he is set upon by enemies from all sides and must seek his tranquility. A consummate diplomat, Irosun Sá assured Odomiguale that she had replaced the mother he had lost early on in his life. It was far beyond him to meddle where he did not belong.



Hilario Dávila and Ocan Oñí spent the afternoon pacing the ornate tile floor in the house of santo on Calle Salud waiting for Otura Sá to begin the ebo de entrada. Finally, Orunmila was ready to clean Hilario Dávila and open the way before Hilario Dávila would "go to the river" to be bathed by Oshún on the eve of the santo. Summoned from the kitchen to the igbodún, Hilario Dávila felt real trepidation for the first time. Hilario Dávila gingerly stuck his head through the door way. There was Otura Sá on the mat with the round tablero de Ifa between his legs. And there was the monster sitting quietly on a stool next to his father. Hilario Dávila fairly jumped back. "I can't go into the room. Coño, padrino, you know why we rented this house." Hilario Dávila just couldn't. Otura Sá, trying to take control, assured Hilario Dávila that the monster was tranquilo. But Hilario Dávila just couldn't. They backed away from the door into the pasillo. Always the supportive one, Ocan Oñí said that he didn't have to go in if he didn't want to. He didn't. Otura Sá promptly got up from the mat, shook his head, and left. Me piro. Que Antonio Irosun Sá lo haga (I'm gone; let Tony do it). Eleguá saw everything right there in the door way. As he would later say it best in Oshé Bara, the drunk thinks one thing and the bartender thinks another. More to the point, a difficult child is like a thorny forest.
The sun was already beginning to drop. Oshún was waiting at the river and there was so much to do to prepare the igbodún for the santo. Oshún Ibú-Ikolé is renowned for her uncanny ability to make and mend connections. Ocan Oñí fairly flew the five blocks to the house of Otura Sá. After a tense hour a creaky blue Lada pulled up carrying Odomiguale, Otura Sá, and Ocan Oñí. Oshún had restarted the santo. Emerging triumphantly from the back seat, Ocan Oñí escorted Hilario Dávila's padrinos into the house; "God, do I have a fuckload of ashé." Hilario Dávila couldn't disagree.


Otura Sá sat back down on the mat to perform the ebó de entrada. He'd relented before Ocan Oñí's diplomatic entreaties, explaining laconically, me incomodé. He probably also realized that it wasn't worth losing a series of opportunities over a small flap if it could be fixed. At the end of the ceremony, Otura Sá had Hilario Dávila holding a huge, nearly unmanageable load of birds. Tony Irosun Sá and Ocan Oñí had never seen so many big birds for a sign that had come with iré. Funny that all of these lovely birds would end up in cages at Otura Sá's house, ready to be used for another person's ceremony over the weekend, instead of being set free as was the custom.
It was way after dark when they took Hilario Dávila to the river in Reparto Mañana in Guanabacoa and then he spent his first night on an old mat in the house of santo. Early the next morning at sunrise Hilario Dávila, to his delight, Lazaro the babalawo offered him coffee. Lazaro loved coffee, especially, as Hilario Dávila would find out later, when his rent-out kitchen was liberally stocked with the iyawó's provisions for the week.

Fortunately for Hilario Dávila, Ocan Oñí brought in his trusted second, Raquel Obákedún, an elder santera from Guanabacoa, to attend to the iyawó for the week. Obákedún was an angel from heaven. Immediately Obákedún reorganized the iyawó's wicker basket of white clothes, selecting just two or three sets of whites and sending the rest home. In her experience, the initiation of a Yuma always meant that just about everything was open to pilfering, as if the room were a department store on a prizewinning free shopping day. Funny how even Otura Sá liberated spaghetti and sauce from the kitchen as take out for the insatiable monster at home. During the Middle Day of the santo, when everyone comes to celebrate the new iyawó, most of the fresh meat from the animals magically disappeared from the kitchen so that Hilario Dávila's long-lost family could be fed.
Hilario Dávila spent a long time sitting in a stiff chair facing the wall by the front door of the house. He was supposed to be quiet. It seemed like hours. Then Otura Sá and Odomiguale made a grand entrance and showed everyone the present they had brought for the santo, six big terracotta bowls for the osains, because the ones in the house were old and moldy. Then, for some reason, Otura Sá started pestering Ocan Oñí to reimburse him for the six fula that he spent on the bowls. Obatalá was going to be made, but somehow the six fula became a major drama of the santo, which would reach it's climax during the matanza.

For Hilario Dávila, the santo went on a long time, blindfolded as he was. Fortunately, the Obá was an affable, gentle man named "El Curro," Pablo Fresneda and his presence, along with Ocan Oñí, Obákedún, and Tony Irosun Sá, gave Hilario Dávila confidence.

Being blindfolded while people are doing all kinds of things to you is not easy and it was really hard for Hilario Dávila to remember everything that happened. He got all wet, heard lots of voices, and felt his head stinging. The rest was pretty much a blur, except when it was time for the ceremony that the babalawos always told him was an important moment in the santo: the "presentation of the razor" to the iyawó's head.

Since this was a house of Ifá, it is Orunmila who opens the iyawó's way to the osha. The babalawo is his first and most important godparent, which is symbolized by his Eshú, with the green and yellow beads incrusted in the little cement head and the "hand of Orula," received by the iyawó prior to the santo. The presentation of the razor symbolizes the transfer of the iyawó's head from the babalawo to the madrina of santo, who puts her ashé on his head during the kariocha.

The people seemed to stop what they were doing and the Obá asked for the babalawo to come and present the razor. Nothing seemed to happen. They called him again. This went on for a long time. Then Hilario Dávila heard someone say, "he's not here. I guess we'll just keep doing what we were doing." So much for tradition thought Hilario Dávila in the haze of the moment.



After a really long time of beautiful hypnotic chanting, they started putting all this stuff on Hilario Dávila's head and a lot of people whispered really sweet things in his ear. Then Hilario Dávila felt like he was floating and a big bell started clanging in front of him. All kinds of bodies were around him and it was pretty hot. For a while he didn't know where he was and he felt like his body was moving on its own. Suddenly the singing stopped and they told Hilario Dávila that he could open his eyes. Sitting on the wood mortar he could see the throne of beautiful white cloth decorated with four colorful paños. They told Hilario Dávila that this was "his new house." They helped him up from the mortar and walked him over to his house and turned him around so he could see everyone smiling at him. It was a relief and a revelation but it had all taken so long and since he had gone away for a little while, Hilario Dávila was now back and couldn't stand up very well.
Otura Sá was the first person to come up to him. To Hilario Dávila, he seemed really short and he had a half-burned cigarette hanging out of his mouth with the ashes falling on the mat. "I need you to give me six dollars." Hilario Dávila had no idea what he was talking about. Otura Sá came back looking a bit crestfallen and he told the new iyawó that, because Obatalá had come during the santo, he wasn't going to pass to Ifá. Otura Sá then brightened up and told Hilario Dávila that they would, however, wash his hands in añá so he could become a drummer and sooner or later he would need to receive Odudúwa from the babalawos because he had made Obatalá. Otura Sá then walked away and made that unmistakable gesture of dusting off his hands--well, so much for making Ifá to Hilario Dávila--and left the room.



Later, Hilario Dávila chewed and chewed a series of square coconut pieces each seasoned with little grains of African pepper as sets of orishas was fed in the matanza. Just as cool water balanced hot blood, cool coconut balanced hot pepper. In theory. Hilario Dávila was always told that the room "heated up" during the matanza de santo; the air could be so electric that people would be montado por el santo. He was surprised when it heated up in a way he hadn't predicted, but, in retrospect, it was inevitable that things would come to a head.
Otura Sá had brought his inexperienced godson Cesar with him to help with the matanza, instead of using his experienced Ifá-grandson, Tony Irosun Sá, because the house had already branded him a traitor. Cesar strutted about confidently with his big knife strapped to his calf like a scuba-diver and demonstrated with gusto how effortlessly he could flop over and hold the chivito of Eleguá. It was also Cesar's job to pull the animals from their pens in the kitchen. Unfortunately, as it turned out, Cesar was either distracted by his self-importance or hadn't studied closely enough the sex traits of animals. When it came time to feed Oyá her auré, Cesar brought out an aunkó instead. Otura Sá was evidently a bit distracted himself. Not long into the eyebale, Ocan Oñí and others remarked that Oyá was receiving the wrong offering. Otura Sá took note, had Oyá washed, and then he re-fed Oyá her auré and Obatalá his.



Now Otura Sá had a little problem on his hands. With one aunkó wasted, he would be one short when it came to feeding Oshún and Agayú--as each required its own four-legged offering of aunkó. Likely, given his money worries, the need to cover his embarrassment, and because Otura Sá is despreocupado, he tried an utterly pathetic and transparent sleight of hand. Otura Sá pushed Oyá and Obatalá back against the wall and pulled out Oshún and Agayú, who eat together, making sure that the spent lerí auré lined up right in front of Oshún--presenting a little make-believe that she had already received her offering. Hilario Dávila saw all this but remained speechless.

And everyone saw it; but for a moment, no one said anything. Otura Sá proceeded as if nothing had happened. Ocan Oñí pretty much had enough. He later told Hilario Dávila that he left the room to consult with the elder santera Raquel Obákedún. She probably had forty years in osha and had worked at a thousand santos. But she earlier split to the living room because a younger santera disrespected her in front of everyone. Ocan Oñí vetted his position with her: he was the Oyubona and had responsibility for the quality of the ceremony and the life of the iyawó, not least because Odomiguale was seventy years old and was oblivious to the proceedings. She sat in her chair of honor in the corner of the igbodún. Hilario Dávila saw Ocan Oñí, the santero of eight years, reenter the room to confront a babalawo of thirty-eight years in Ifá.

Oshún can be diplomatic and she can be fierce. Gently, Ocan Oñí explained to Otura Sá that the lost aunkó created a problem for Hilario Dávila's sister-in-Ocha, Gisella, who was receiving Agayú during the ceremony. Ocan Oñí then explained that because there remained only one aunkó, and neither Oshún nor Agayú had been fed, one or the other would not be able to speak in the itá on Monday. Coño, padrino, ya tú sabes, analiza, Oshún lleva su propio chivo y para hablar tiene que comer. Still, the problem was even bigger, reminding the very babalawo who performed the ebó de entrada of the odú's signal warning: hay muchos vicios pero una sola virtud. Correctness was paramount and at the heart of this santo.

Hilario Dávila saw that Otura Sá was disarmed, but, like a bruised fighting rooster, was still poised to raise his spur. For a minute the room was frozen in time. No one moved. Then Ocan Oñí broke the spell. Oshún was no longer the diplomat, but the candela brava. Ocan Oñí swooped down and slid the lerí auré across the floor and out the door like a ski-ball leaving a thick trail of ejé. To Hilario Dávila, the already diminutive Otura Sá got a bit smaller.

People got together in the middle of the room. They decided that Tony Irosun Sá would go out and buy another aunkó. Hilario Dávila had no money and he knew that Ocan Oñí was the only soul in the room and probably in all of Cayo Hueso at the moment capable of paying for an aunkó on the spot. Tony Irosun Sá took the seventeen fula and was back before Otura Sá could say chivo capón.

When Oyá's auré was opened and presented to her, all could that see she had been pregnant with ibeyi. Hilario Dávila watched with wonder the still-breathing placenta on a large plate and two chivitos cuddling each other inside. He thought: luck. Otura Sá tried to get his six dollars from Ocan Oñí again. By this time, Ocan Oñí really had Otura Sá's number. He calmly replied, "padrino, I'm sure you realize that you actually owe me eleven dollars if you subtract the cost of the bowls from the seventeen I spent on the aunkó." No luck. Otura Sá never raised the subject again.
See Part II:

http://meandmannyphdbaseball.blogspot.com/2008/07/jekua-jei-oy-yansn-ni-iy-m-how-to-make.html

Hilario Davila's Dream

Hilario Dávila went to the house of Ifá and Orunmila made osode for him. Orula told him that he was a very romantic person; he had to be careful whenever he had feelings for a woman because she could manipulate him, just like the female dove could hurt the male dove. And it was in his nature to prosper in business, but people would always get envious of him, forcing him to move. Therefore, he would always wander, just like Asojuano, and it's not a coincidence that when ever you move Asojuano, you have to sing to him: O foro foro / Asojano o foro foro / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe. It was really important that Hilario Dávila get close to Asojuano. He didn't know it yet, but his whole future was wrapped up with this beautiful old man.

Later, the orishas told Hilario Dávila many things. Obatalá was his ultimate authority, but Shangó would always overcome his enemies, no matter what. Oyá
would would keep him on the straight and narrow laid out by his itá.

One night, Juan Gutierrez Boza came to Hilario Dávila in a dream. Contrary to Juan's virtuosity as a singer and teacher in life, he was now silent. He held up a painting to Hilario Dávila and looked at him with the most sincere expression on his leathery face, as if to say, "this one here is going to help you, but you also have to help him." In life, Juan had been important to Hilario Dávila. Juan was the Mokongo of a famous Abakuá lodge and, not coincidentally, was a son of Shangó and Siete Rayos.

For days, Hilario Dávila racked his brains to reproduce the painting from the dream. He came up with an approximation; not bad. For years it cast its reflection through a goblet of water on a beautiful white table.

One day, Eleguá took out a sign for Hilario Dávila that had a lot to do with illness, journeys, and healing. It was here that Obatalá set out to another land to visit and cure the Anai people. It was here that the Lucumí kicked Asojuano out of their kingdom and he had to make the journey to the neighboring Arará country, where he would be crowned king. The Lucumí mocked him, saying that he never paid them what he owed them. "I'll tell you what," he replied, "I've already given all of you payback, because I'm leaving you full of illness." And then he started out. Appropriately enough, Eshú Afrá, Asojuano's companion, is born in the sign Eleguá took out for Hilario Dávila and his job was to fight all of the witches who would make his movement difficult. One of the things Hilario Dávila always remembered about Asojuano's journey was that Shangó looked out for the old man, now a pilgrim. Shangó took Ogún's dogs and gave them to Asojuano to give him comfort on his way to the Arará country. Hilario Dávila knew a little about the Arará, but Eleguá told him on this day that among his most important allies would be people from the Arará country. Hilario Dávila started to feel like Asojuano's journey was a little like his own.

Over time, Hilario Dávila learned a few things about the man in the painting Juan Gutierrez Boza had shown him in the dream. The man would enable Hilario Dávila to help people and to help himself. He wasn't always around, but when it was important, he would give Hilario Dávila just the right ebó to fix a situation. For example, the man permitted Hilario Dávila to tell a besieged woman that she had to have Oshosi at her door to protect her from the criminals in the house across the street.

Pretty soon, Hilario Dávila learned that the man would show him the truth, the way things really were and were meant to be. He would tell him what needed to be done. No one else could see these things, but the man was very generous and let Hilario Dávila see things he would never have seen on his own.

One day, a son of Asojuano from the Arará country took Hilario Dávila to an old house just as Asojuano was about to begin some important ceremonies. The room was big and everything about Asojuano was so beautiful, because there he was, a king on his throne. Hilario Dávila made moforibale to Asojuano, touching his head to the feet of the king. Boom. It was like a soft but powerful explosion and it blew Hilario Dávila out of the house and onto the porch. He fell asleep for a long time and for a while he didn't really know where he was.

Hilario Dávila wanted to stay close to Asojuano. He knew there was something important about touching his head to Asojuano, but he was a little bit scared that the same thing would happen again that happened in the old house. So he thought about it and he remembered something impressive that he witnessed one time when the Arará people let him see the ceremonies of a man being consecrated to Asojuano. But it took the man in the painting put it all together for Hilario Dávila, including something that Hilario Dávila's godfather had always said about the power of otí, a strong rum that invigorates the head and that Asojuano likes a lot.

Hilario Dávila prayed hard to Asojuano, naming as many of his ancestors as came into his head. There were so many that the moyuba prayer lasted more than twenty minutes. Then the man told Hilario Dávila to kneel very close to Asojuano with his head right over Asojuano's pot and pour a bottle of otí over his head so that the strong cane rum fell directly onto Asojuano. Hilario Dávila quivered from head to toe. It lasted a long time and then everything became very tranquil. Hilario Dávila wasn't knocked out of the house. Instead, it was just like a movie.

A well traveled dirt road curved up around a cul-de-sac like a big floppy 'U'. The cul-de-sac sat on a hill and on the hill was a palace with a veranda. The earth was very red, but it was moist and it crumbled when someone went by. On the veranda of the palace was a throne and on the throne sat Shangó. He was resplendent in his dyed and beaded robes, which were beautiful against his dark skin, which bore not a wrinkle. He was ageless and his face was beaming. Hilario Dávila wanted to know what he should do, but Shangó was silent. He didn't say anything. He just made Hilario Dávila feel like he was under the protection of this great presence and nothing would ever go wrong.

Just then an old man passed by. He was dressed in earthy clothes and had a shock of gray hair. It was funny. Here was Shangó's palace that looked like it was in Africa and here was this mulato who looked like an old campesino from the farmlands in the middle of Cuba. And as old as he was, he had a spring in his step and moved with such forward determination. Hilario Dávila looked at the old man and then looked at Shangó. Shangó still didn't say anything, but he was smiling incandescently.

All of a suddent the man in the painting reminded Hilario Dávila all about the odu Oshe Bara. "You can have a long life if you purify." In order to realize your creativity, intelligence, and grace, control your tongue and exert discretion; respect your elders; remember who and where you are; stay focused; put down all of that heavy ancestral baggage; keep moving forward; and so much more.

The tongue is the body's whip.
He who talks a lot makes a lot of mistakes.
A difficult child is like a thorny forest.
The drunk thinks one thing and the bartender another.
Sweep out what doesn't work.
The needle carries the thread.

There was so much to remember and so much to do.

Without even thinking Hilario Dávila knew for sure who the man on the road was. His name was Jose Franco Trinidad Menocal. He knew him intimately as if they were blood. Born in 1846 to a freed mulato landholder, he went to Havana when he was only eighteen, but by the time he breezed by Shangó's palace, he was already seventy-seven years old. He was a priest of Towosí, the Arará deity who is compared to Yewá, the Lucumí goddess of the fosa within the cemetery.

As inspired as he was by Jose Franco Trinidad, Hilario Dávila began to worry. One day, Jose was so tired that the spring in his step had given out and he faltered, so much so that Asojuano had to carry him. But Asojuano, as old as he was himself, was also getting tired.

Hilario Dávila looked desperately to Shangó, but he offered no spoken answer. Still, the wise king reached behind his throne and took out an osain. He placed it on the ground and gave it a little push forward, as one nudges a toy sailboat out onto the water. It came to Hilario Dávila that the king wanted to be reforzado and to have an osain made for him so that Jose Franco Trinidad Menocal could at least walk again. But Shangó himself knew that Hilario Dávila was going to have to do some really strong work to get Jose Franco Trinidad moving again.

Soon it got dark. Hilario Dávila's heart nearly sunk when Asojuano opened a creaky old wood door and, in the candle light, there was Jose Franco Trinidad Menocal bound to a wood chair with thick leather straps. He couldn't move. It seemed hopeless.

For the first time, Hilario Dávila saw Shangó's face grow concerned. Even Shangó needed help. Shangó called out for his old rival Ogún, a great warrior. But Ogún was far away, deep in the monte. Shangó motíoned to Hilario Dávila, bringing his hand up to his mouth as if he wanted to eat; he reminded Hilario Dávila of the odu in which Shangó and Ogún eat akukó together. A ha!, thought Hilario Dávila. Ogún will certainly come out of the monte if he can eat together with Shangó. Satisfied that Hilario Dávila understood exactly what he had to do, he gave Hilario Dávila the "thumbs up" sign. So, there was a solution after all.

Hilario Dávila fed akukó meyi pupuá to Shangó and Ogún and consecrated the refuerzo of Shangó.

Soon, Jose Franco Trinidad Menocal was back on the road, with a spring in his step, moving along like never before. He whistled a tune: O foro foro / Asojano o foro foro / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe.

Before Hilario Dávila knew it, December sixteenth was upon him once again. It was the eve of Asojuano's feast day, when everyone went to the ilé, a throne of cundiamor was built, and a big awan was made to clean everyone.

Only ten days before, the old man in the painting had revealed to Hilario Dávila that he had been a Congo in life and that he needed a prenda of Siete Rayos in order to work, just as Hilario Dávila was told years before in the itá of his santo. For the first time, the man told Hilario Dávila that his name was Moises Samuel Fernández Brito, that he was born in 1897 and that he died in 1967. Hilario Dávila hoped that Moises Samuel would be present at the awan and tell him what he had to do.

At the ceremony Asojuano talked long into the night to everyone and offered great comfort to Hilario Dávila. Asojuano hugged him for a long time and rubbed his heart. Asojuano knew all about the suffering that Oshún had told Hilario Dávila about many years before when she spoke in his itá of santo. Then, a flood of ideas and images came into his head. Hilario Dávila quickly got a pen and paper and began writing as fast as he could right there on the terracotta tile floor. By the time he finished, he knew almost everything there was to know about the prenda, including all of its ingredients, how it was to be painted, and how the firma looked. Moises Samuel wasn't the unassuming man in the painting any longer. He showed himself dressed in full regalia, with a machete in his belt, a painted fajín around his waist, and crosses drawn in chalk on his chest, hands, and feet. He danced endlessly while holding a kiyumba on his head.

Still, Hilario Dávila was new to all this. He had a pocket full of shiny coins but didn't know how to spend them. His ilé was soon going to give a misa, but Hilario Dávila couldn't make it. He lamented that he might not learn how to make the prenda that Moises Samuel wanted.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the misa had already started. But Hilario Dávila had to work. A car pulled up and some people came into his botanica. They saluted the santos and just like that one of the people told him that he was a tata of Regla de Congo. Hilario Dávila respectfully asked the tata if he would teach him how to mount the prenda and enact the pacto espiritual that Moises Samuel told him he would have to make. Hilario Dávila had spent the week asking everyone he trusted about the task before him, but each person had strong opinions; indeed, he felt that even though these were people he trusted, they all wanted him to do it their way. This tata was different. He looked at Hilario Dávila and then slowly and patiently explained everything he would have to do, including how he had to make the pacto espiritual. On the very day he had to miss the misa, Hilario Dávila got all the information he needed. The tata even promised to come and help him. Hilario Dávila didn't go to the misa; the misa had come to him.

The succeeding weeks were a swirl of activity. Hilario Dávila went to the crossroads, the monte, the cemetery, the hill, the river, and the ocean, collecting everything he needed. He got it all together faster than Moises Samuel himself could have way back then, because Hilario Dávila was able to find so many things on the internet.

Hilario Dávila made Siete Rayos a beautiful red and white pot and built him his own little house in the back yard. Every time he found something else he needed, he put it in the shed, which he locked up tight.

As soon as he can get the fresh plants he needs, Hilario Dávila is going to enact the pacto espiritual and build the prenda so that Siete Rayos, along with all of his other allies, will help him keep moving forward.

The prenda is not yet finished, but just today, Hilario Dávila realized perhaps the most important thing, something his itá of santo had already told him. An egun would come to him and tell him how to build his prenda espiritual. Jose Franco Trinidad Menocal was Hilario Dávila's sign of his own forward movement on his path and Asojuano his enabler, giving Hilario Dávila access to revelation. Juan Gutierrez Boza's Shangó loved Hilario Dávila so much that when he appeared in the dream, he bequeathed to Hilario Dávila Juan's own personal muerto in order to help him. When Moises Samuel comes to Hilario Dávila, he knows things he could never know otherwise. Finally Moises Samuel will have his own house and his prenda. Hilario Dávila hopes that Moises Samuel Fernández Brito will be with him for a long time.

O foro foro / Asojano o foro foro / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe / Mina Yawe.