Ekún Fails to Make Ebó

The biggest blessing is to know one’s place in the world, and accept it.

Heaven was a place of peace and prosperity. No one wanted; no one thirsted; no one hungered. Lured by the promises of the blue jewel hanging in space, one by one everyone and everything in heaven made their descent to the new world. Oceans filled first with exotic aquatics; the land grew green and lush with the grasses and vines and trees; and the forest filled with wild animals whose forms were as varied as the stars were innumerable.

As everything took form and substance, something curious happened in the world when animals took the flesh.

Those who were small and weak in heaven became great and powerful on the earth. Those who made ebó became predators, while those who forgot to offer ebó became prey. Friends were divided by hunger, tooth, and claw, and a great cry went through the universe.

It was time for Ekún to cross; he was an intelligent spirit, and not wanting to be prey he went to Unle to make ebó. The wise diviner opened the odu that morning, and as the letters rolled onto the mat he was pleased. “You are blessed, Ekún,” he said with a smile. “The world of flesh will bring you strength. Wealth waits for you. A huge family waits for you. Power will be yours.”

Ekún, who was the leopard, smiled.

“Still, nothing in the material world comes without cost.”

“I will pay what I must to have what is mine!” Hungrily, he bit his lip slightly, and then ran his tongue over the single drop of blood his teeth drew. It was all reflex; there was no thought behind any of it, and when Ekún realized what he was doing he froze. “I feel something inside,” he told Unle. “It’s a slight rumbling, almost a need. I’ve never felt it before.”

“Your flesh on earth takes form even now, while you sit at the mat. You will not be in heaven much longer,” said Unle. “Quickly, before you go to earth you must sacrifice to Ogún. Offer him a goat, two roosters, two pigeons, and a guinea hen. At the crossroad that separates heaven from earth, you must sacrifice to Elegguá. Offer him a goat, a rooster, and a guinea hen. Once you are on earth, you must again offer a sacrifice to Ogún. Offer him a monkey. This will ensure your wealth and stability.”

Ekún’s jaw dropped, and he let out a loud sound that was almost a roar. It surprised him, and he slapped a hand across his lips. He never made that sound before, and suddenly he was afraid. “I must sacrifice a monkey? I must kill my friend, Obo?”*15 His voice was cold and angry. “Here in heaven, Obo and I have always been the best of friends. He was always good to me. I intend to remain friends with him on earth; surely our bond cannot be broken by impending descent? How can I sacrifice my own best friend?”

The odu took a deep breath and explained, “Things on the earth are a reflection of heaven, it’s true, but when spiritual beings take on the flesh in the mortal world, their natures change.” He looked into the leopard’s eyes, waiting for acknowledgment. There was none. But Unle could feel Ekún’s new nature taking hold; even at the mat he was slowly assimilating the form and features he would have on the earth.

“Here, we all live, and we live freely, and we all live harmoniously. There is no sickness. There is no old age. There is no death. Energy and ashé are exchanged liberally. It will not be like this on earth. Life will feed on life. To keep balance everything will be food for something else, and there will be sickness, disease, and death. And your nature will change. It has already changed while you sat here at the mat seeking your destiny. It is your destiny to be a powerful hunter, the predator of all things in the animal kingdom. You are meant to be at the top of the food chain, and you yourself will feed on all things—including Obo. Few will feed on you. It is how Olódumare created the world. It is the nature Olódumare imbued in you. You will see.”

With narrowed eyes and a cold heart, Ekún thanked the diviner, but his gratitude was not sincere, and as he waited for Olódumare to send him to earth he contemplated all he was told. Ekún decided, “Everyone who makes ebó prospers, but those who do not, they fail. I will make ebó. I will do all that Unle asked. But I will not sacrifice my friend. This cannot be the will of God, for friend should not kill friend.”

By the time he finished his ebó he was on earth. As the diviner promised, his form was changed.

He was long and lean, muscled elegantly; his legs were solid and tight, his trunk hard and thick. Across his body was a spotted pelt whose colors melted into the forest’s undergrowth when he hid. In spite of his strength he was agile, able to slink silently through the forest. His claws were long and sharp like small daggers, and his teeth were razor edged, perfect for shredding flesh. Sharp eyes and a keen nose made him the most powerful hunter.

He knew what hunger was, and he knew instinctively that only warm, raw meat would sate its rumbling. It was on the hunt that he met his wife; quickly her belly ripened with children, and Ekún knew it was time to find a home and settle down.

“I will make my ebó to Ogún now,” he thought. His new predatory instincts took hold, and the leopard was willing to do anything for the good of himself and his family.

What Ekún did not know was this: Obo’s nature on earth changed as well. He went to the diviners to make ebó before leaving heaven, and Unle divined for him as he had Ekún. Obo was afraid of the fate that was his, to be weak and preyed upon on the earth, so he not only made ebó, he also doubled ebó, and gave Elegguá everything he asked for, and everything he could want. Plied by his offerings, Elegguá changed his fate in life, making him agile, strong, and sly. While he was prey, now he was intelligent prey, and only with great cunning would any animal feast on his flesh. On earth, he realized few predators could climb trees, and Obo spent all his days and all his nights swinging and sleeping in branches, lazily eating the fruits that ripened out of the reach of predators.

While Ekún was a fierce hunter he could not climb, and by the time he decided to make his ebó, Obo had skills that no other animal could match. No matter how much he tracked the monkey, the leopard never caught him. His ebó remained undone. He lived his life on earth, wanderer in the forest, living as a brutal beast and not a creature of elegance and prosperity. But that is what happens when one neither makes nor completes ebó. Blessings promised are blessings lost.