Disobedience Becomes the Road to Death

It was early evening when Elegguá found Disobedience standing at the gates to the road of Igbade, the Mountain of the Dead. Disobedience was alone, leaning against a thick, polished stick; he stood facing the west, gazing mindlessly at the Mountain. Although it was so distant that its base was lost just below the horizon, it loomed large against the sky, a ragged, cragged monolith with peaks hidden in dark clouds. A dying sun slid behind it, and shadows stretched out over the earth, bringing darkness to the path bit by bit even though the rest of the world was still filled with pale light.

Elegguá was immortal, an orisha, yet the road to Igbade made him shiver like a mortal. He wondered how Disobedience could stand there so calmly, staring at the Mountain. He didn't hear Elegguá's approach.

“Good evening!” the orisha said cheerfully, his voice not betraying his concern. Startled, Disobedience jumped, losing his grip on the stick. When it fell to the ground, Elegguá saw it was a hoe, the razor-sharp blade pointing up at the sky. The man laughed nervously, bending over to retrieve it, but Elegguá was faster and had the hoe in his hands before Disobedience could grab it. “What are you doing in the middle of nowhere with this?” he asked.

His disobedient son smiled a nervous smile. “I am thinking of starting a farm there,” he said proudly.

“A farm?” asked Elegguá. “Where are you starting a farm?”

“Over there.” Disobedience pointed down the darkening path.

“You want to farm the road to Igbade?”

“Well, not on the road itself. Perhaps on both sides of the road, so the road runs through it easily.” He smiled; he was proud of his plan.

“My friend,” said Elegguá, handing Disobedience his hoe, “the road to Igbade is not meant for farming. It is a road built by old age, disease, sadness, anger, loss, regret, and tears. Only those who are dead or dying can go there. Nothing can grow there.”

“Oh, you are wrong, Elegguá.” Disobedience looked at him, and the orisha saw the arrogance and madness of disobedience burning in his eyes. “The land has lain fallow for centuries. It is virgin and rich; and no one has dared claim that land for their own. Anything I plant here will prosper wildly.”

“I know you have good intentions, Disobedience, but the road to Igbade is paved with good intentions. You must listen to me. You cannot farm there.”

Elegguá's words fell on deaf ears, and Disobedience did what Disobedience does—what he wanted, and nothing more. The man took but a single step past the gates, and he raised the hoe above his head, bringing it down on the earth sharply. A great rumble rose from the earth, like thunder in the sky, and Disobedience shattered into a thousand small pebbles that rolled down the road to Igbade, catching and settling in its cracks.

And that is how disobedience became the road to death.