How a Man and a Woman Found Love

It was late evening and the house was dark, but no one slept. The young woman lay in her bed, crying softly into her white sheets as she strained to listen to her parents' conversation in the next room. They thought their daughter was sleeping and felt safe speaking in hushed tones.

“I'm just worried about her,” she heard her father say. His voice softened, and the walls muffled his words, but then she heard, “A woman her age should be married by now!”

“I know. I know,” her mother agreed. She could almost see her putting both hands on the crown of her head, throwing them up to emphasize her words. That was something her mother always did. “But have you found a suitable husband for her yet? No. All the available men are already wed.”

“She's too old as it is. We will never find a man to take her,” her father lamented. The rest of their conversation was blotted out as she buried her head in her pillows, crying herself to sleep.

Early the next morning, Irosun sat on the mat facing Elegguá, and the orisha manipulated the cowries on the mat. He smiled at his old friend, Irosun, who fidgeted on the low stool. Elegguá stopped; the cowries were a formality. He always knew the reason his clients came to see him. Irosun smiled back, but the smile was insecure.

“Irosun,” Elegguá said, rolling the cowries from his open palm and counting the mouths facing upwards, “I already know why you've come to see me. You're lonely. And you're not getting any younger.”

He sighed and attempted another smile, but it was only a sad frown that stretched across his dark face. “I am very lonely,” the odu said. “No matter how hard I try, I can't find a wife.”

Elegguá put two ibó in his hands, and cast the shells again to mark ebó. He did this several times in succession. “Oshún will help you,” he promised. “But only if you make ebó.”

“Anything!” he said, grateful for the help.

“Offer Oshún honey in the river. Take your ebó to the most secluded spot you can find. After you sweeten her, bathe with honey soap, and let her waters bless you. She will set you on a course to find love. Just have faith.”

Irosun thanked the orisha and left quickly for the market. As he was leaving, a young woman brushed past him. Their shoulders touched lightly; embarrassed, Irosun said, “I'm sorry. Excuse me for being so clumsy.”

She smiled shyly, nodding her head. Elegguá watched, amused.

He knew she was as lonely as Irosun.

At the river, Irosun walked downstream until he found a lonely, secluded spot to make ebó and bathe. On his knees, he prayed to Oshún as he poured the sweet syrup into the river, touching it with his index finger and tasting it. The honey rippled the river's smooth surface and floated a bit before folding into the water. When the last of it was gone, Irosun stood, stripped, and walked in. Leisurely, he did as Elegguá said, and bathed.

While he bathed, the river's current strengthened. It was gentle at first, but soon the water pushed at him forcefully, and he was afraid. “Time to get out of the river,” he thought to himself.

Irosun took but a single step; his foot slipped on a smooth stone. He yelled as he fell back, but the scream was cut short as the current pulled him under. A forceful kick against the riverbed propelled him back to the surface, but the current carried him farther downstream, where the water was deeper, and no longer could he touch the bottom. No matter how forcefully he swam, Irosun was trapped in the current.

The young woman sat on the riverbank, her legs folded beneath her as she poured honey into the river. It was what Elegguá told her to do as ebó. When the last of it was gone, she watched the water ripple, breaking her own sad reflection on the surface. She saw her eyes reddened from tears, her cheeks stained with traces of salt; and she sobbed. “Oshún!” she cried, waiting for the echo to fade, “Why am I so alone?”

As if to answer her, she heard a loud splash, and a shout for help as Irosun came flailing down the river. With a gasp, she recognized him as the man she had bumped into at Elegguá's house.

She ran to him, not caring that her skirts were wet, and he swam to her, not caring that he was naked; and when they met in the river, by impulse they embraced, and kissed.

They were wed the next day; such is the power of ebó.