The Earth and the Wind

One never knows what destiny will bring—only ebó can save us.

Owani divined for Afefe (the wind) and Ayé (the ground) on the day that the two decided to travel together into the world. “If you want to be successful on the earth,” she told them, “you both need to make sacrifice with your own hands. You need to make ebó to both Eshu and your own guardian angels. Offer a palm leaf, a red parrot feather, and feed your orishas with all the animals they eat. Cook the ashés and season their meats well. Do all these things, and you will be prosperous in the material world.”

Ayé was stable and strong, full of good character and patience, and he took his time making his ebós. To both Obatalá and Eshu he made sacrifice with birds and goats, and he ended it all with the gift of a single guinea hen. During the day he labored, plucking and skinning the animals and removing their inner organs. These he cooked with the blood and fresh herbs from his garden. When he was done Ayé presented two gourds—one to Obatalá and one to Eshu—each filled with their ashés. He spent the rest of his day seasoning and cooking the meat. Lifting the ashés from their shrines the next morning, he gave them platters of freshly cooked meats, laying each plate on top of a single palm leaf and placing a single red parrot feather beside each. Only when that was done did he make preparations to go into the world.

While Ayé made sacrifice Afefe was impatient; she ran about heaven listlessly, bored out of her mind yet too lazy to make ebó. “I will do it later,” she thought to herself. “Right now, I can barely think about the trip at hand.” She waited and waited for Ayé to finish his ebó, and when he was done, hand in hand they left heaven together; quickly, they made their way down to the material world.

At the gate between life and death, Olófin’s ashé separated them, and they were forced to walk separate paths.

Ayé landed on the earth with a thud, and quickly his form changed. His spirit spread out over the world; he was thin and tenuous with no more substance than a ghost, but after he spread he became solid, turning into the dirt on which all living things walked. So well had he made sacrifice that Ayé became the foundation of all living creatures, both the anchor and the foundation for everything else that came down from heaven. He nourished the plants that nourished the animals, both becoming the nourishment for humans created by Obatalá’s hands. Everything drew substance and strength from the rich, fertile earth; and Ayé became a thing worshipped and loved, much as mortal beings worship and love the orishas themselves.

For making ebó Ayé was blessed.

Afefe’s feet never touched the earth; but quickly her form did change. Her spirit spread out over the world; she was thin and tenuous with no more substance than a ghost, but while Ayé became solid she remained wispy and weak. “I don’t like this!” she screamed, and in vain she tried to rise back to heaven; but, the gates between the worlds were closed to her, and her yearning to return created the wind. Listlessly she floated through the sky; she rustled the leaves in the trees, and she caressed the earth with phantom arms. Nothing paid her any mind.

For not making ebó, Afefe was cursed—forced to wander the world without substance or form.

That is why we draw our sustenance from the earth and not the wind; that is why we walk on Ayé and not Afefe. That is why we adore the earth and pay little mind to the breezes that blow across her face. And that is why we make ebó in Owani Meji—so that we are strong and enduring like the earth, and not weak and ephemeral like the wind.