Chapter 8

EIGHT MOUTHS ON THE MAT

The diloggún is one of the most complex yet most beautiful systems of divination practiced not only by adherents of the Lucumí faith but also by the Yoruba people in Nigeria. It is a living, oral body of wisdom that took on flesh when the sixteen principle odu (patterns of cowrie shells that can fall in the diloggún) became mortal, living beings, each in one of the sixteen ancient kingdoms of the Yoruba Empire.

When a diviner casts the sixteen shells on the mat, he obtains a numerical value from zero to sixteen. The number corresponds to a particular odu in the divination system, and the associated orisha (spirit) uses this odu to speak to the priest. Each of the odu forms a spiritual organism that forebodes various blessings (known collectively as iré) or misfortunes (known collectively as osogbo). Depending on the question asked, the diviner and client determine the ebós (offerings to the orishas) necessary to restore harmony.

Unle Is Born

It was early morning and Olódumare [God] was alone, standing motionless on a balcony overlooking both Heaven and Earth. His eyes were closed to what lay before him: his mind was focused on things in other worlds. So deep was his concentration, so motionless was his body, that he seemed a black marble statue, permanently poised over creation. A light breeze lifted the diaphanous robes swathing his body; they filled the room behind him with their fullness as they twisted and turned in the night air.

God took a deep breath and opened his eyes as if he had only blinked. He lifted his arms to the sky and felt warmth as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. The sun, the body of Olorún, trailed above as it had for thousands of years, slowly dispensing ashé [energy, power] throughout creation.

“As above, so below,” he whispered, knowing that as Olorún spread ashé through Heaven, he was also spreading it on Earth.

Then came the predictable morning knock at his chamber’s door: every morning, there was a knock at his door, some new soul who yearned to travel to Earth, experiencing life.

In a single motion as fluid and effortless as breathing, Olódumare withdrew from his balcony, and seated himself on his throne. His light, gauzy robes were still drifting and trailing through the air as he extended a hand toward the door and bid it open.

It was Unle, and the odu stiffened with awe as he stood in the doorway and saw God for the first time. Sitting in state, Olódumare’s statuesque quality returned, and had it not been for the supple sheen of his face, or the soft glow of omnipotence in his eyes, Unle would have thought him a statue. But most impressive to Unle were Olódumare’s white robes. It seemed God wrapped himself in all that was pure and clean, a tapestry of white light, not cloth.

For what seemed an eternity, Unle stood and gazed at his creator. Ashé filled the room; it suffused everything in it, and swallowed Unle like a hungry beast. It was love; it was life; it was power, and it was thick. He could barely move.

Olódumare smiled, and that simple acknowledgment brought tears to Unle’s eyes. Finally, he knew God was seeing him face-to-face. Having no words to express the feelings welling up in his heart, Unle approached the throne and put himself on the floor in reverence.

He felt strong hands on his shoulders that sent currents of ashé through his body as the rich, elderly voice intoned, “May you be blessed. Arise!” Strong arms lifted him, embraced him, and for a moment Unle forgot he was Unle, and he was one with Olódumare.

Gently, Olódumare broke the embrace, and Unle shivered; it was loss, it was sadness; it was separation, and for a moment he couldn’t bear it until God spoke, “Why have you come, Unle?” It was an invitation to speak, not a question. God knew everything.

“I have come to request my destiny on Earth.” Unle’s voice wavered, and it ended in a whisper. A destiny on Earth meant a separation from Heaven. Here, in God’s presence, he couldn’t bear that thought.

Olódumare touched his chin firmly and lifted his head so their eyes met. “What would you like to do on Earth, my son?”

A thousand and one desires rose in Unle’s thoughts, but Olódumare’s voice plunged deep inside, pulling Unle’s true destiny to the surface. And before he could answer willingly, Unle found himself saying, “I want to help others.”

“How would you help others, Unle?”

Again Olódumare’s question touched something deep inside him, and Unle found himself saying, “Teach me how to divine so that I may know how to divine. Teach me how to appease the orishas so that I may appease the orishas. Teach me how to prescribe sacrifices so that I may prescribe sacrifices; for wisdom is all that I am seeking, and this wisdom will be my wealth.”

“Wisdom and knowledge are your grace. But what you accomplish with your long life and wisdom is in your hands. As a diviner, you will know how to avoid all manner of misfortune and bring all types of blessings to yourself. Use those gifts wisely.”

Olódumare stretched out his hands, taking Unle’s head into them. Unle felt a powerful ashé flowing; it was warm, like fire, yet liquid, like water, and he shuddered as God cried,

“Fun mi ashé lenu lati nsoro. Ashé tó, ashé bó, ashé bima! Ashé ishe’mi!”

“Give my tongue the ashé with which to speak. Ashé is sufficient; ashé envelops all; ashé is born. Ashé, work for me!”

His voice caused the very fabric of Heaven to rumble and shudder, and in his hands appeared a wizened, humbled head. It was Unle’s new head, the one that would accompany him to Earth. Olódumare whispered,

“Good luck, my son.”

Unle was in Heaven no more.