Why Orúnmila Eats Hens, and Not Roosters

Graciousness begets graciousness, but evil brings more of the same.

For most of his life Orúnmila lived in the town called Ilé Ifé; but he was bored, and one day he decided to see the world. So he packed his bags and mounted his horse, and alone he left to see the world. In his hand he had a map, and that served as his guide.

City-to-city he rode along the well-traveled road, but each place seemed as boring as the one previous to it. After days of riding he came to a fork, and one path seemed less traveled. He checked his map—it was not there. Orúnmila took a deep breath and guided his steed down the unworn, unmapped road. After a half-day’s travel he came to a small town, a village named Mono. At its gate was a strange-looking, short man covered in hair. Orúnmila slid from his horse and greeted the stranger, asking him, “I am traveling from Ilé Ife, and have never seen this town before. What is its name?”

“The town is called Mono,” said the young man. His accent was strange, but still the orisha understood his words.

“And my name is Orúnmila,” the orisha said. “I am pleased to meet you. What is your name?”

“My name is Mono,” he said.

Orúnmila scratched his head. In the town of Mono was a young man named Mono. It seemed bizarre, but not too farfetched. To make conversation, he asked, “You seem quite young? Where are your parents? What is your father’s name?’

“My parents are at home, and my father’s name is Mono,” said the boy.

Orúnmila smiled. It was a strange smile; he was in the town of Mono talking to a boy named Mono, whose father was named Mono. “And your mother? What is her name?”

“Her name is Mona,” the boy said.

He couldn’t take it. “This is the town of Mono and your name is Mono. Your father’s name is Mono, and your mother is Mona? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes, I have an older brother named Mono, an older sister named Mona, a younger brother named Monito and two younger sisters named Monita!”

Not liking this, but not wanting to be rude, Orúnmila said, “Thank you for speaking with me, Mono, but I don’t think I like this town. I am going to keep riding. Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” said Mono, and he watched as Orúnmila left.

Orúnmila rode his horse until he came to a new town alongside the unmapped road; there was a sign by the front gate that said Elefante. “This is a strange name for a town!” Orúnmila said to himself, and he slid down from his horse and walked it past the city gates. In time, he found a strange-looking young girl playing in the streets.

“Hello,” said the orisha. “My name is Orúnmila. There is a sign outside the front gates that says Elefante. Is this the town’s name?”

“Why, yes it is!” said the little girl, who stopped playing her game and looked at the orisha kindly. “And my name is Elefanta,” she said.

He gave a disturbed grin, but the young girl only smiled. “And what is your mother’s name?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

“Elefanta!” she said, still smiling.

“And would your father’s name be . . . Elefante?” Orúnmila asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

“Yes!” the young girl said. “How did you know?”

“It was a good guess,” said Orúnmila, rubbing the girl’s head. “Have a nice day. I must continue my travels.”

As he mounted his horse, the young girl went back to playing her game.

As the days turned to weeks, Orúnmila came to many new lands. There was the village of Perros, where everyone had the name Perro or Perra; there was the land of Ratos, where everyone had the name Rato or Rata; but, finally, Orúnmila came to the town of Gallina, and the place seemed different. He stopped to speak to a young girl who was walking casually in the street.

“I am tired,” he said to her, “and I am afraid I am quite lost. My name is Orúnmila. What is yours?” The orisha had a weary smile on his face, and the young girl looked at him curiously.

“My name is Pollita!” she said, and she held an animal skin bag up to him. “You look thirsty. Would you like some water?”

Orúnmila took a great drink before speaking again. “So, you are Pollita, and this is the town of Gallina?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “Where are you from, sir?”

“Ilé Ifé. I’ve been traveling for weeks, looking for someplace new to settle. It is beautiful here. Can I ask you . . . what is your father’s name?”

He held his breath until the girl answered, “Gallo!” And then he smiled. He was happy, for this was the first town in which people seemed to have different names.

“And your mother? What is her name?”

“Gallina,” said the girl.

“Pollita, I have traveled far, and I am weary. Would you take me to your house so I could speak to your parents?” And Pollita led Orúnmila to her home.

When Orúnmila arrived at Pollita’s house he saluted Gallina and explained who he was. “My good lady,” he said, “I am the orisha known as Orúnmila, and I am weary from my travels. Please let me stay here a bit in your fine home, and rest.”

Gallina looked sternly at her daughter, and then warily at Orúnmila as she said, “You may be who you say that you are, but my husband is not home; and when he is not here I do not accept male guests in the house, not chaperoned as I am. You may not come inside, nor may you stay near my land. Leave me in peace now!” she demanded. Orúnmila was exhausted, and now he was angered. Without saying goodbye to Gallina, he turned to Pollita and bade her farewell. Then, slowly, he left.

Orúnmila strode his horse, riding off angrily. After a short while he saw a strange man walking the way from which he had come, and again, he slid off his horse and greeted the stranger. “I am Orúnmila,” he said, “and I have traveled far from Ilé Ifé, looking for a new land in which to settle.”

“Welcome to the town Gallina,” said the man pleasantly enough. “You will find that our town is as good a place as any to settle.”

“Yes,” said Orúnmila, “but not everyone is as friendly as you. I met a woman named Gallina, and she all but threw me off her land.”

The man looked disturbed, and looked back in the direction from which Orúnmila had ridden. “Gallina would be my wife. I am Gallo. And I am sorry for her inhospitable nature. She is not too trusting. But, please, it would make me happy if you would come back to my home and rest, and have dinner with us tonight.”

The orisha accepted Gallo’s invitation; together on Orúnmila’s horse, they rode back to Gallo’s house. Gallina saw her husband and the stranger approaching, and her voice was shrill when she said, “Not just this afternoon I threw this man out of my house and off my property. How dare you bring him home!” Her voice sounded like little more than an angry cluck, but Orúnmila, who knew all the languages of the world, understood every word she said.

As the two men slid off the horse Orúnmila told Gallo, “Your wife has insulted me not once but twice today and I am no ordinary man. I am Orúnmila, an orisha, one who deserves respect. I will stay in your home as you have offered, but only as long as I am not alone with this miserable woman.”

Gallo hung his head in shame; in front of an orisha, he had been embarrassed, but he understood. And every morning after that, when Gallo left to work in the fields, Orúnmila left as well.

Never once did Gallina make Orúnmila feel welcome, and as the days passed, he discovered that her true nature was one of bitterness.

The morning came when Gallina had enough of her unwanted visitor, and while he dressed in the guest’s bedroom, an argument broke out between husband and wife. In anger, the orisha listened.

“I cannot take another day of that man!” she wailed. “Every day I have to cook for him and clean up after him, and at night when he comes home with you, we have no privacy. This is our family’s home. Not a motel.”

“He is an orisha,” Gallo said, “but more importantly, he is my guest. I will have him as long as he wishes to stay.”

“I want that man out!” she screamed, and she began to peck at her husband. “I want him out, and I want him out now!”

Gallo, not knowing what else to do, let his wife peck him out of his own house; and once they were in the front yard, she turned and kicked dust in his face.

Orúnmila stood on the front porch. Inside the house he had peeked from his room to see Gallina pecking at her husband, and now that he saw her kicking dust in his face, he got angry. In a movement as swift as the wind, he bored down on the vile hen, grabbing her by the legs and holding her upside down at his waist. Gallo’s beak dropped open.

“Gallo!” he said, “You will always be treated as one of my best friends for you alone treated me well in this house, but your wife knows no respect—not to you, her husband, and not to me, an orisha. She needs to learn a lesson!”

It was there, in front of her own husband, that the hen became the favored sacrifice of Orúnmila; and it is for that reason that even today, Orúnmila will eat hen, but never a rooster.