Although I'm not a Santera, I'm fascinated by the Orisha and by their legends or pataki; particularly those of Oya and Oshun. A friend of mine on the website www.ukpagan.com has recently been asking me about Oshun, so I gave her this pataki.
It's a lovely story about Oshun which says that at one point, she fell on hard times and couldn't afford to feed her children. With nowhere to turn to for money, she became a prostitute. The other Orisha found out about this and were horrified, so they took her children away from her. No child of the spirits was going to be raised by a whore!
Oshun went mad with grief. She went to the river every day and wept for her lost children. She never changed her clothes, and wore the same dress every day for months on end. Eventually her beautiful white gown became yellow with age.
One day the river spirit, Aje-Shaluga, who had watched her crying for the long weeks and months emerged from the water and came to sit beside her on the bank. "Beautiful lady, most loved of the Orisha," he said, "I have heard your grief and tasted your tears as they fall into my waters. The bed of my river is home to gold and jewels, forgotten valuables and trasures. Take them, I beg you, and bring back your children!"
Oshun looked at the handsome river Orisha with his handfuls of gold and shining gemstones, and fell utterly in love. She flung her arms around him and kissed him. There on the riverbank, they pledged their love to each other and made plans to marry. Oshun gratefully took the gold and jewels her fiance offered, and fled to the other Orisha to tell them she was rich once more and that she was to start a new life with the river spirit. They gave her back her children without complaint, and Oshun and her children and Aje-Shaluga lived happily ever after.
Nice, isn't it?
Monday, 2 February 2009
Friday, 16 January 2009
Brav Gede is a bad, naughty man.
Or, "Lies Make Baby Ti-Mazaka Cry"
Except that they don't; they make him giggle.
For the last two nights running I've had dreams involving the Loa. Wednesday night it was Badagris, and last night Brav Gede turned up with some sage words for the fet in which I'm participating on Sunday afternoon. At one point he gave me a vision of a piece of French pastry engineering with feathers and decorations that looked like part of a costume from Moulin Rouge and tried to persuade me that his brother Gede Fatras "likes girlie stuff. All fussy cakes." No, Brav, he doesn't. He really doesn't. Monsieur Gede, j'accuse. Later on he laughed uproariously and gave me instructions for a wanga to do with my house, but when I woke up I couldn't for the life of me remember it.
Incidentally, am I the only one who thinks there's a distinct physical resemblance between Brav Gede and the comedian Chris Rock? Its those intense, burning eyes and the slightly screwed-up facial expressions. And of course, Chris Rock could read out his grocery list and it would be funny. Something about his voice just creases me up.
Except that they don't; they make him giggle.
For the last two nights running I've had dreams involving the Loa. Wednesday night it was Badagris, and last night Brav Gede turned up with some sage words for the fet in which I'm participating on Sunday afternoon. At one point he gave me a vision of a piece of French pastry engineering with feathers and decorations that looked like part of a costume from Moulin Rouge and tried to persuade me that his brother Gede Fatras "likes girlie stuff. All fussy cakes." No, Brav, he doesn't. He really doesn't. Monsieur Gede, j'accuse. Later on he laughed uproariously and gave me instructions for a wanga to do with my house, but when I woke up I couldn't for the life of me remember it.
Incidentally, am I the only one who thinks there's a distinct physical resemblance between Brav Gede and the comedian Chris Rock? Its those intense, burning eyes and the slightly screwed-up facial expressions. And of course, Chris Rock could read out his grocery list and it would be funny. Something about his voice just creases me up.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
The obligatory Gede pun.
Oshun is in my drawers.
No, seriously. I'm having a Gede Fatras-style clearout of all the old random crap in my house, merrily tossing things into black binbags (or as merrily as Fatras ever gets, anyway), and I'm starting with the chest of drawers in my bedroom. Honestly, why did I ever think I'd need a million and a half shampoo bottles from hotel rooms? To say nothing of the bits and pieces from Christmas stockings past that have been languishing unused for many years. I have, however, found in my explorations a rather nice red velvet evening scarf that I'd forgotten I owned. Result!
To return to my original subject, I like to put a big piece of wrapping paper in the bottom of the drawers and sprinkle it with perfume before packing it full once more. Last time had a clearout I used Rose Croix by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. This time I'm using Oshun, by Conjure Oils.
Mmm. Pumpkinny.
No, seriously. I'm having a Gede Fatras-style clearout of all the old random crap in my house, merrily tossing things into black binbags (or as merrily as Fatras ever gets, anyway), and I'm starting with the chest of drawers in my bedroom. Honestly, why did I ever think I'd need a million and a half shampoo bottles from hotel rooms? To say nothing of the bits and pieces from Christmas stockings past that have been languishing unused for many years. I have, however, found in my explorations a rather nice red velvet evening scarf that I'd forgotten I owned. Result!
To return to my original subject, I like to put a big piece of wrapping paper in the bottom of the drawers and sprinkle it with perfume before packing it full once more. Last time had a clearout I used Rose Croix by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. This time I'm using Oshun, by Conjure Oils.
Mmm. Pumpkinny.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Nagini's Random Vodou Observations, #526
Serving Erzulie ge Rouge will result in unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Florida water REALLY HURTS when it gets into the unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Florida water REALLY HURTS when it gets into the unexplainable cuts appearing on your fingertips.
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Top Ten, Vodou style.
You know you're a child of the Gede when…
10. You can swear in three languages, and know obscene hand gestures in at least two more.
9. You consider hot peppers as one of the four food groups…
8. And you describe Nando's extra-hot chicken marinade as "pleasantly tangy".
7. You don’t know a single clean joke.
6. You would probably sell your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
5. You actually have sold your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
4. During Night of the Living Dead you were rooting for the zombies.
3. At Halloween, you've run up to someone dressed as an undertaker with your arms outstretched, squealing "Daddy!!!"*
2. No matter how old you get, hearing about other people's explosive diarrhoea is still funny.
1. Your bar tab is the size of the national debt.
With apologies to David Letterman.
* Yes, I actually have done this.
10. You can swear in three languages, and know obscene hand gestures in at least two more.
9. You consider hot peppers as one of the four food groups…
8. And you describe Nando's extra-hot chicken marinade as "pleasantly tangy".
7. You don’t know a single clean joke.
6. You would probably sell your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
5. You actually have sold your soul for a hand-tailored suit.
4. During Night of the Living Dead you were rooting for the zombies.
3. At Halloween, you've run up to someone dressed as an undertaker with your arms outstretched, squealing "Daddy!!!"*
2. No matter how old you get, hearing about other people's explosive diarrhoea is still funny.
1. Your bar tab is the size of the national debt.
With apologies to David Letterman.
* Yes, I actually have done this.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
Insanely catchy Vodou music
I was googling for information on the Loa Mambo Dayila the other day, and instead came across the website of a fabulous Haitian lady based in New York who, with her band The Nago Nation, writes and sings songs for the Loa.
Her name's Manze Dayila, and she's well named. She seems to sum up for me what Dayila is all about - not the prostitute part, obviously, but that of a beautiful and artistic woman who does anything necessary to survive. She refugeed from Haiti on a leaking boat when she was a heavily pregnant 19 year old, and is now firmly entrenched in New York's music scene. She's not only gorgeous, talented and with huge force of will, but she also busks on the subway while dressed as Gede, fighting off rappers who try to steal her stereo. How cool is that?
You can listen to or buy her debut album "Sole" (I think that means "Freedom" in Creole) on CD Baby. Here's the link: www.cdbaby.com/cd/manzedayila I particularly love "Change: the Barack Obama Song".
Her MySpace page is here: http://www.myspace.com/manzedayila
I'd also like to add that I'm incredibly covetous of that lovely red dress covered in golden veves she's wearing on the cover of the CD and on the MySpace page. What can I say... when you serve either Freda or Dayila it all comes down to fashion in the end.
Her name's Manze Dayila, and she's well named. She seems to sum up for me what Dayila is all about - not the prostitute part, obviously, but that of a beautiful and artistic woman who does anything necessary to survive. She refugeed from Haiti on a leaking boat when she was a heavily pregnant 19 year old, and is now firmly entrenched in New York's music scene. She's not only gorgeous, talented and with huge force of will, but she also busks on the subway while dressed as Gede, fighting off rappers who try to steal her stereo. How cool is that?
You can listen to or buy her debut album "Sole" (I think that means "Freedom" in Creole) on CD Baby. Here's the link: www.cdbaby.com/cd/manzedayila I particularly love "Change: the Barack Obama Song".
Her MySpace page is here: http://www.myspace.com/manzedayila
I'd also like to add that I'm incredibly covetous of that lovely red dress covered in golden veves she's wearing on the cover of the CD and on the MySpace page. What can I say... when you serve either Freda or Dayila it all comes down to fashion in the end.
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
OLD. SO VERY OLD.
Happy Birthday my olde friend
It seems this horror show will never end
Any moment's your last breath,
Here's to another day closer to death.
The cake is on the table
And it is awfully bright
'Cause there's so many candles on top.
But you are so decrepit,
Your chest so tight,
When you blow them out your lungs are gonna pop.
You cannot complain
Each time you feel a pain,
Though you have arthritis and gout.
'Cause when you start kvetching,
All your teeth fall out.
So have another cigarette,
Have another beer,
Raise your glass to one more year (GONE!)
Happy birthday my olde friend
It seems this horrorshow will never end
Any moment is your last breath
Here's to another day closer to death. - "Happy Birthday my Olde Friend", Voltaire
Yes, your snakey narrator was 30 years old on Sunday. Horrible thought, really. I haven't really celebrated yet, as such. My party plans for the forthcoming weekend have been somewhat curtailed by an impromptu visit by relatives, but I'm going to be organising something as soon as I can.
I spent much of the evening of my birthday itself in Erzulie Freda mode; reclining in a very deep bath with an Amandopondo bubble bar from Lush and a glass of sparkling wine. (As much as I'd like to use the word champagne, my inner wine buff refuses to allow me to do so).
As soon as I poured the wine and before drinking any myself, I took the glass through to my altar room and thanked my spirits, splashing a few drops on each of their altars. Even though the vast majority of my Loa don't normally drink bubbly, I felt they were all happy with the offering.
I got to thinking while I drowsily sipped the rest of the glass, watching steam rise into the candlelight, just how much of the events and lessons of my life may have been down to the Loa. I've always found it a fascinating question; how much of our nature do we owe to our own will and how much is granted to us by the Loa who walk with us? The answer I've come to is that we are not responsible for our natures, but we are responsible for our actions. This is something I'm sure to come back to in a future entry.
To all the Loa who walk with me and who do not walk with me; to all who have touched my life over the last year and who are yet to touch it, I thank you. Originally I planned to write a paragraph for each Loa , detailing the role they've played in my life; but I was just told in no uncertain terms to delete it - that couched in however guarded terms it was still too personal and it should remain between me and them. So for that reason, I'll just offer a list of names and my deepest and most loving thanks. They know exactly why I've named them, as do the deities from outside the Vodou pantheon who I've included here.
To Papa Legba, to Grand Soleil. To Met Agwe, to La Sirene. To Maitress Mambo Erzulie Freda Dahomey, to Mambo Dayila. To Silibo. To Anaisa Pye. To Ogoun Badagris, to Ogoun Feray, to Ogoun Shango, to Ogoun Sen Jak, to Ogoun Balindjo. To Gran Ibo. To Kalfu. To Erzulie Ge Rouge, to Erzulie Dantor. To Baron La Croix. To Baron Cimitiere. To Baron Samedi, to Maman Brigitte. To Baron Kriminel. To Brav Gede, to Gede Nibo, to Gede Fatras, to Gede ti-Mazacca. To my ancestors.
To Oya. To Shango. To Yemaya Okoto. To Oshun.
To Sulis.
To Nemesis.
To all who I've named and who I haven't named, I thank you for your presence in my life, for helping me reach the grand old age of 30 and for the blessings you have given me. Special mention also goes to the wonderful Vodouisants I've met over the past few years. As with the Loa, they know exactly who they are. Ache!
Nagini
It seems this horror show will never end
Any moment's your last breath,
Here's to another day closer to death.
The cake is on the table
And it is awfully bright
'Cause there's so many candles on top.
But you are so decrepit,
Your chest so tight,
When you blow them out your lungs are gonna pop.
You cannot complain
Each time you feel a pain,
Though you have arthritis and gout.
'Cause when you start kvetching,
All your teeth fall out.
So have another cigarette,
Have another beer,
Raise your glass to one more year (GONE!)
Happy birthday my olde friend
It seems this horrorshow will never end
Any moment is your last breath
Here's to another day closer to death. - "Happy Birthday my Olde Friend", Voltaire
Yes, your snakey narrator was 30 years old on Sunday. Horrible thought, really. I haven't really celebrated yet, as such. My party plans for the forthcoming weekend have been somewhat curtailed by an impromptu visit by relatives, but I'm going to be organising something as soon as I can.
I spent much of the evening of my birthday itself in Erzulie Freda mode; reclining in a very deep bath with an Amandopondo bubble bar from Lush and a glass of sparkling wine. (As much as I'd like to use the word champagne, my inner wine buff refuses to allow me to do so).
As soon as I poured the wine and before drinking any myself, I took the glass through to my altar room and thanked my spirits, splashing a few drops on each of their altars. Even though the vast majority of my Loa don't normally drink bubbly, I felt they were all happy with the offering.
I got to thinking while I drowsily sipped the rest of the glass, watching steam rise into the candlelight, just how much of the events and lessons of my life may have been down to the Loa. I've always found it a fascinating question; how much of our nature do we owe to our own will and how much is granted to us by the Loa who walk with us? The answer I've come to is that we are not responsible for our natures, but we are responsible for our actions. This is something I'm sure to come back to in a future entry.
To all the Loa who walk with me and who do not walk with me; to all who have touched my life over the last year and who are yet to touch it, I thank you. Originally I planned to write a paragraph for each Loa , detailing the role they've played in my life; but I was just told in no uncertain terms to delete it - that couched in however guarded terms it was still too personal and it should remain between me and them. So for that reason, I'll just offer a list of names and my deepest and most loving thanks. They know exactly why I've named them, as do the deities from outside the Vodou pantheon who I've included here.
To Papa Legba, to Grand Soleil. To Met Agwe, to La Sirene. To Maitress Mambo Erzulie Freda Dahomey, to Mambo Dayila. To Silibo. To Anaisa Pye. To Ogoun Badagris, to Ogoun Feray, to Ogoun Shango, to Ogoun Sen Jak, to Ogoun Balindjo. To Gran Ibo. To Kalfu. To Erzulie Ge Rouge, to Erzulie Dantor. To Baron La Croix. To Baron Cimitiere. To Baron Samedi, to Maman Brigitte. To Baron Kriminel. To Brav Gede, to Gede Nibo, to Gede Fatras, to Gede ti-Mazacca. To my ancestors.
To Oya. To Shango. To Yemaya Okoto. To Oshun.
To Sulis.
To Nemesis.
To all who I've named and who I haven't named, I thank you for your presence in my life, for helping me reach the grand old age of 30 and for the blessings you have given me. Special mention also goes to the wonderful Vodouisants I've met over the past few years. As with the Loa, they know exactly who they are. Ache!
Nagini
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