The Pact between Orishaokó and Olófin

Orishaokó was the first of Olófin's children to discover his innate ashé; he was a skilled farmer, able to turn rocky, untamed land into fertile fields. With his ox and plow and his farming tools in hand, he redesigned the earth's landscape a little bit at a time until it yielded bountiful crops. Orishaokó had an abundance of food.

While Orishaokó labored, the other orishas rested; the earth was pristine and full of mystery, and lazily, they explored the world wantonly. It seemed that was their only purpose in life, while Orishaokó worked feverishly. Olófin fed all the lazy orishas; every day, he produced huge, lavish feasts to nourish his children. Finally, weary of the burden, Olófin came to Orishaokó to ask his help.

“Orishaokó,” he said, “I am old and tired. Since we all came to the earth, feeding the orishas has been my job. I have harvested the fruits that grow in orchards and the berries that grow wild in the forest. I have gathered herbs and slaughtered animals, and no one helps me. You, son, have a natural ashé for making the earth bountiful, and in a single season, you grow more food than I can provide in a year. Please, feed the orishas so I can rest.”

“There is a time to plant, and a time to harvest,” Orishaokó said. “There is a time to give, and a time to receive. There is a time to work, and a time to rest. There is time in this world for everything that needs to be done, and there is time to do everything. My brothers and sisters are lazy. They do nothing. Why should I feed them?”

“You are a prodigy among them all, Orishaokó. You found your ashé quickly. They have no idea what their powers or purposes are yet. In time, your efforts will be rewarded.”

Orishaokó took a deep, indignant breath, and held it for a moment. Then he blurted out, “It's not fair!” He stammered like an angry, spoiled child. “Every day since the world began, I have labored and I have toiled like a slave making this world beautiful. They enjoy its beauty, and I get nothing back. I have plowed the fields until the soil was mud from my own sweat! And they, in their laziness, sit back and do nothing. And now I am to feed them, when they can't give me anything in return?”

Olófin smiled one of his deep-knowing smiles, and reached out to the stammering orisha. “Give me your hand,” he ordered, but gently. Orishaokó reached out his right hand. “You have many fingers on this one hand. But none are the same as the others. The thumb is not like the index finger, and the index finger is not like the pinkie. But each digit has ashé; and if all five work together, the hand can do incredible things!”

Orishaokó stared at his hand while Olófin continued, “Each finger has ashé, a talent; and all that ashé must come together if great things are to be done. Each of my children is like a single finger. And all the fingers are children of the same hand; none can separate if great things are to be done.”

Orishaokó pulled back his hand and challenged Olófin, “But these are my fingers doing the work! The earth has taught me that nothing comes for free. Everything has its price. My sacrifice in this world is my labor. What will their sacrifice to me be?”

“Orishaokó, I have made up my mind. While everyone is alive and has a body, you will feed them and nourish them. You will do this for no reason other than I tell you to do it. But know this: At the end of life, when the dead are put to rest, you, who are the life of the earth, will feed on them. Just as all is nourished by you in life, you will be nourished by their death, and the earth, from which their sustenance and your ashé come, will be reinvigorated when it feeds on their flesh.”

Thus was the pact between Orishaokó and Olófin born: He feeds all beings in life, and they feed him through death. When at last the body is laid to rest in the earth, he rises up and consumes it.