Yemayá's Quest

With no husband and no home, Oshún Ibú Olólodí did the only thing she knew to do: She fled Ilé Ifé, and traveled to Abeokuta to live with her sister, Yemayá.

In her home, the years passed slowly. Oshún busied herself with the work of the diloggún, divining for those who came to her from all over Abeokuta for help, and Yemayá, curious about the work her sister did, assisted her, and learned all she could about the divining shells. Eventually, Oshún began teaching Yemayá one-on-one, and before too many years passed, Yemayá was almost as proficient a diviner as she.

One day, Yemayá Ibú Achabá asked her sister, Oshún Ibú Olólodí, “You always speak of these signs, and how the mouths that face upwards mark the ‘odu.'”

“Yes, you caught on very quickly to the odu and their names. There are sixteen of them.”

“Yes, but we are always ‘marking' the odu with the shells. We tell our people the proverbs and meanings of the odu that fall. We use the odu to mark the ebós and sacrifices that improve their lives, and cleanse them of osogbo. But, what are the odu, Oshún?”

“What do you mean, ‘What are the odu'?”

“I mean just that. What are they? We mark them. We talk about them. We say they influence people's lives, and they get caught up in their spiritual currents. But what are they exactly? And where do we find them?”

Oshún was silent as she thought. “I don't know,” she admitted finally. “My husband never taught me all there was to know about the diloggún. Olófin told him as long as we remained married, he was to be my teacher, and we were to work hand-in-hand with the two oracles. But he grew weary of teaching me, or perhaps he grew afraid that a woman would know as much as he. We always talked about the odu and what they meant, but we never talked about what they were, or where to find them.”

Yemayá laughed a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe he himself did not know? I want to know what these odu are. I want to know where they live. I want to know them. I will find them!”

“But, how?”

“Sister, I am Yemayá! I can do anything. Watch me.”

Yemayá Ibú Achabá left Abeokuta that day; she left in search of the sixteen sacred odu. For what seemed an eternity, she traveled the earth, looking in its most secret places, and speaking to the wisest men and women she could find in each place about these things called “odu.” Finally, when she realized the earth did not contain the secrets of the odu, she went to Heaven, and scoured its most secret, holy places for the sixteen odu. She wandered and searched there for many years; still, she did not find them.

Olófin, however, heard of her quest. And when Yemayá was exhausted and about to give up, he called her to his palace in Heaven.

Yemayá answered Olófin's call, and she found him in his palace, seated on his throne as was his habit whenever he received guests. In spite of his advanced age, Olófin was an orisha whose presence emanated ashé; his lightly wrinkled black skin was supple, almost evanescent in appearance, and his white, wooly hair glowed with a preternatural sheen. His robes were beyond regal; they shimmered and scintillated with a white light that seemed to originate in the fabric itself. Olófin was the perfect embodiment of wisdom and ashé in Heaven.

Before such a powerful display, Yemayá threw herself to the floor from side to side, a horizontal, stylized curtsey in homage to the mighty Olófin. Strong hands brushed her shoulders, and bid her to rise. They embraced.

Yemayá looked at Olófin lovingly; to her, he was always the perfect father. “Why have you summoned me, Olófin?”

The wise orisha smiled; and Yemayá marveled that his teeth seemed the perfect ivory, a beautiful contrast against his dark lips. “I heard about your quest, Yemayá, to find the sixteen primal odu of creation. All of Heaven and Earth knows that you are looking for the ultimate power and wisdom.” Yemayá bit her lower lips, unsure if she was about to be congratulated or castigated for her searching. “Have you found them yet?”

“No, Olófin, I haven't. I have searched everywhere, and I'm starting to wonder if such a thing really exists.”

“They exist, Yemayá. They are hiding, in secret, waiting for the time when they will be unveiled to the proper orisha. Such is their power that they could never fall into the wrong hands, no matter how much someone looks.”

His voice was kind and caring, yet Yemayá knew she had just been chastised. Even when angry, it was not Olófin's nature to raise his voice, or make idle threats. “I am sorry, Father. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries. I only wanted to know . . . what they were.”

“And know them you shall!” Olófin smiled a huge, loving smile, and again he embraced Yemayá. “But it is not your ashé to know them directly. Another orisha must reveal them to you, slowly.” Olófin turned his back to Yemayá, and he reached beneath his throne. He pulled a simple, plain calabash from beneath it. The massive lights that surrounded his throne seemed to dim, but just slightly.

“Take this to Orúnmila for me, Yemayá, and take it quickly. Don't stop to look inside, because what I hold is meant for Orúnmila's eyes only. If he chooses, it is up to him to share what is in this box with you.”

“But what of the knowledge of the sixteen holy odu? How will I find them?”

“Yemayá, there are more than sixteen odu. There are 256 odu. And you will know them all in time.”

Yemayá took the calabash from Olófin's hands; ashé stronger than any she had ever known flowed into her body, and for those few fleeting moments she knew . . . everything. Everything, that is, except for the fact that she held the most sacred, 256 odu in her own hands. But she did know that the secrets in that container did not belong to her. They were meant for Orúnmila. So with that box, and with Olófin's consent, she took that box down to Earth and put it in the diviner's hands.

“Olófin told me to give this to you,” Yemayá said, touching the floor with her fingertips and then kissing them in respect for the wise diviner.

“Another gift from Olófin?” he asked, taking the box from her. When he felt its ashé, he thought he would faint. He didn't, and instead stood there gazing at Yemayá while the most sacred, secret knowledge of the universe flowed into his body and his mind. Love for all things in creation welled up in his heart as he knew . . . everything . . . and when he looked at Yemayá Ibú Achabá, he thought that his heart was filled with love for her.

“Marry me?” he asked, still under the spell of the ashé that coursed through his body.

“What?” asked Yemayá, stunned. She looked at Orúnmila; he was the wisest man in all the land, and since abandoning Oshún, was one of the most eligible orishas in all of Heaven or on Earth. And he wasn't a bad-looking orisha, either.

Again, Orúnmila asked, this time on his knees, and holding the box up toward Yemayá. She put her hands on it, and felt the immense ashé traveling through them both. “Marry me,” Orúnmila insisted.

They were wed that night.