CLBA JOURNAL 2000-05
By:Ana Maria Figueredo
A Year of
White
For an iyawo, the year of wearing white immediately following priesthood ordination can be a real eye-opener to both oneself and others. My experience was quite surreal, mostly because I am a business traveler and had to travel across the continent almost immediately after my ordination ceremony. The extreme feeling of vulnerability walking through airports, hotels and conference halls was beyond belief, and the sense of having left my sacred tureens behind didn’t help. The reactions of my family, friends, co-workers and strangers I came across during my year as an iyawo was both revealing and determining in the relationships’ path. Some instances were painful, some comical, but always interesting. Alas, I survived it and have grown stronger in my sense of self and convictions of my faith. It is not easy to follow an ancient religion at the end of the twentieth century as an iyawo.
So why do it? Well, many people go through their ordination
due to health problems or some other crisis in their life. That was not my problem. Obatala called me
to take this path for my own spiritual growth and
evolution. As a priestess, I am working
on bettering myself in an astral way to make up for spiritual baggage some that
I have acquired on my own and some inherited.
My ancestors were
landowners in Oriente, Cuba. Like most plantation owners, my family had
slaves, then cheap servitude and Haitian field workers. As far as I know, my family loved and cared
for their plantation workers a great deal.
All the stories I ever heard were positive, and my father laments the
terrible fate “his” Haitians faced with the dawn of communism. He almost breaks down in tears when relating
how the lack of freedom to work their own piece of land killed them. I grew up feeling a tremendous amount of
respect for the sense of free will and spiritedness my parents told me the
Haitians they lived amongst had.
Before finding out I was
chosen to be ordained. My godmother had
a dream about one of my family’s former slaves.
The slave had told my godmother how much she loved my family, and that
she was calling me to her gods. I was
her claim for the religion.
So, I did it. It was not an act of redemption, or crisis
resolution, but merely following my heart.
I didn’t know what I was getting into, but it felt right. More importantly, I had complete faith in my
godparents and their guidance. It was
similar to falling in love; I just let go and let whatever must take place
happen. No regrets.
Since I didn’t really know
what I was getting into, I had no expectations.
The ordination process took me on a whirlwind ride into a different
world of experiences. I had no clue how it
would change my life or how others would react.
Somehow that didn’t concern me, since I am not particularly sensitive to
being judged or frightened of change.
Not caring what others think is one of the great comforts of getting
older. People are going to accept or
reject what they perceive no matter what so living sincerely is a good
option. My family had already not
approved of countless decisions I’ve made, my husband was accepting of my
decision and it is really not anyone else’s business what I do. I feel sorry for people who do this in more
vulnerable stages of their life.
Choosing a religious path triggers powerful reactions from others
regardless whether it is positive or negative.
Reactions from Family
Members
Nine years earlier, I had also
fallen in love and married into a Jewish family. Aside from accepting my non-Jewish
background, my husband’s family is very open-minded about other religions. My
sister-in-law was the person who brought me to get my first reading with
shells. She, my husband and his parents
were all at my ordination party.
Although as Jews my religion is against their first commandment, and
they could never fully accept my belief system, they respect my choosing a
religious path. My mother-in-law loves
seeing me in white outfits and missed it once my year was over.
My husband got to live with
my Orishas more than I did due to my business
travel. During that year, he learned to
pray. At a drumming Ochun
descended and placed honey in his mouth.
She told him, “Look up to the sun and ask Olofi
for what you want, he understands all languages.” Since then, my husband does his own version
of a moyuba every morning while walking the dog. Even if he prays to Olofi,
he is still a Jew.
My immediate family members
are dispersed throughout the United States, so in the brief three-month period
between knowing I had to go through an intense spiritual transformation and the
week in which it occurred, I didn’t tell anyone. My family had never been particularly
religious. As children my brothers,
sister and I were baptized in the Catholic Church, but only my sister married
in that institution. As a child I was
sent to Catholic school, because I displayed signs of spirituality and it was a
good choice for the rough neighborhood we lived in. Faith was regarded as superstition and
unscientific, but tolerated and respected, just in case.
During my first three
months, I met with my oldest brother for lunch one day. I had the whole garb including a shawl and
covered head in the middle of a sunny day.
He had so many issues about himself he needed to discuss, that I never
got a word in about myself. Exhausted
after hearing all his problems, I merely agreed with his comment that I was
wearing a lot of white.
Soon afterwards, I visited
my sister for a long weekend. My head
was already uncovered, but I barely had any hair. The long white skirts and sweaters made her
look at me quizzically and shout, “Hey are you chasing comets and drinking Kool Aid, or what?”
That was the end of the conversation for me. At my Ita
I was forbidden to justify my choice of religion.
Finally, I visited my dad
and told him the path I had decided to follow.
He listened carefully and had me tell him everything beginning with my
very first reading and why I had chosen to get it. Then he told me about how a Haitian Voodoo
priest in
My other brother didn’t
find out until a year or two afterwards, but he had always considered me a
pagan.
Friends
There is one instance that
rings strongly in my mind. One day,
while shopping for shoes a friend of mine started ridiculing “Santeria” in a
cynical and cutting tone. I kept quiet
while in public, but as soon as we entered her car, I terminated our
friendship. She was not my friend if she
could not respect my religious path. I
didn’t expect her or anyone to adopt my belief system, but to trivialize my
feelings was intolerable. My anger was
so great; it surprised me as well as her.
As many times as she apologized both on the phone and in letters, I
never spoke another word to her again.
My best friend from college
visited one day and said, “Hey you look like a iyawo!” I responded
I was. He thought I had done it years
ago, and was shocked it took me so long.
Many of my other friends
are hardcore Christians, including Southern Baptists. They understood Lukumi to be devil worship
before I introduced them to my lifestyle as a priestess and encouraged them to
get readings when in hard times. I can’t
say they embrace Lukumi, but they are better informed, and know me to be a good
and decent person.
Some friends see it as
cool. “Wow, you are a priestess!” It doesn’t surprise people who have known me
for many years. They view me as a free
spirited person, who pursues spiritual growth.
One of my high school friends has me guest lecture at his world
religions class at a community college. I am his show and tell priestess, and
his students get a kick out of it.
Throughout the year,
friends either adapted or exited my life.
Both sides learned from it, so it wasn’t really a loss at all.
Co-workers
My co-workers during my year
of white were mostly mid-western Christians.
They had no clue as to why I was in white or what the other stuff I had
on meant. They weren’t surprised either,
because they viewed me as a Miami-Cuban, eccentric and different. The most adorable moments were when I’d have
groups of my colleagues salute Olofin in the morning
as we left the hotel and walked to meetings.
Their hands were waving in the air, as they’d thank the sun for another
day and wish for good things.
During business
presentations, I’d sometimes see members of my audience whispering about my
outfits. No one ever mistreated or
embarrassed me in public about my appearance.
It was never an issue.
The CEO of the company I
was working for was the only idiot I encountered professionally. I was still covering my baldhead. He approached me from behind, took off my
white beret and rubbed my head asking, “Should I send you flowers or not?” His insinuation was that I had cancer. Covering my head immediately, I responded,
“Yes, you’d better.” He grew pale and
left in a hurry.
Strangers
The reactions from
strangers were the most memorable during my iyawo
term. Sometimes people caught themselves
smiling at me adoringly without knowing why.
They were responding to the radiance of the Orishas
that is reflected on an iyawo. It was important for me to realize that and
not feel it was personal, because it was too intense to see it otherwise.
Some walking wounded types
also grew attracted to the energy I was emitting. They wanted to steal the power they felt,
either to control others or for some personal gain. It was disappointing for many when I couldn’t
let them wield the power they thought they could tap into. The level of sacrilege in these people’s
hearts was alarming. It inspires keeping
one’s head covered at all times.
I guess the bottom line is
that people reacted in mainly two ways.
They either wanted to explore what they perceived or exploit it. Once having experienced both reactions it is
easy to understand why an iyawo should not go out at
night, to crowded or otherwise exposed areas.
As the years pass, I feel increasingly protective of my religion and my Orishas. Now, I
expect strong reactions and welcome curiosity as well as interesting
discussions. As long as everyone keeps
their hands off my head and tureens, everything is fine.