Yoruba Traditions and African American Religious Nationalism

Yoruba Traditions and African American Religious Nationalism

A Volume in the Religions of the Americas Series

Sacred Spaces and Religious Traditions in Oriente Cuba by Jualynne E. Dodson

Louis Riel and the Creation of Modern Canada: Mythic Discourse and the Postcolonial State by Jennifer Reid

Strange Jeremiahs: Civil Religion and the Literary Imaginations of Jonathan Edwards, Herman Melville, and W. E. B. Du Bois by Carole Lynn Stewart

Shrines and Miraculous Images: Religious Life in Mexico Before the Reforma by William B. Taylor

Marvels and Miracles in Late Colonial Mexico: Three Texts in Context by William B. Taylor

Editors: Davíd Carrasco and Charles H. Long

Frontispiece: Handwritten spiritual prescriptions by Oseijeman Adefunmi following a divination reading for a supplicant in 1972. Photograph courtesy of Djisovi Ikukomi Eason and Lillian Ashcraft-Eason.

Yoruba Traditions & African American Religious Nationalism

Tracey E. Hucks

Foreword by Charles H. Long

University of New Mexico Press | Albuquerque

ISBN for this digital edition: 978-0-8263-5077-0

© 2012 by the University of New Mexico Press

All rights reserved. Published 2012

Printed in the United States of America

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Hucks, Tracey E., 1965–

Yoruba traditions and African American religious nationalism / Tracey E. Hucks; foreword by Charles H. Long.

pages cm. — (Religions of the Americas)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8263-5075-6 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-8263-5077-0 (electronic)

1. Orisha religion—United States—History. 2. African Americans—Religion—History. 3. Black nationalism—United States—History. 4. Adefunmi, Oseijeman, 1928–2005. 5. Oyotunji African Village (S.C.)—History.

I. Title.

BL2532.S5H83 2012

299.6´83330973—dc23

2011047655

To my parents

My mother, Doretha Leary Hucks (1936–1984),

my first teacher in life

My father, Joseph Richard Hucks,

the High Priest in my life

As co-creators, you will forever remain

the strongest leaves of my tree

Pray to the Gods who are not White, who are not Western, for your Life, for your Brother’s Life.

—James Baldwin

Illustrations

Frontispiece

Figure 1. Cristobal Oliana

Figure 2. Entrance to King Shango

Figure 3. Bus advertising Harlem’s Yoruba Temple

Figure 4. Original certificate of incorporation

Figure 5. Chief Orisa Mola Akinyele Awolowo

Figure 6. Oseijeman Adefunmi at a street rally

Figure 7. Oseijeman Adefunmi leading parade

Figure 8. Nigerian drummer Babatunde Olatunji

Figure 9. Cuban immigrants welcome President Fidel Castro

Figure 10. Oseijeman Adefunmi performs a ritual

Figure 11. Leadership of the Republic of New Africa

Figure 12. Welcome sign written in Yoruba and English

Figure 13. Shrine of Esu-Elegba

Figure 14. Arched entranceway to Oyotunji African Village

Figure 15. Founder of Oyotunji African Village

Figure 16. Oyotunji African Village residents and chieftans

Figure 17. Young Oyotunji dancer and drummers

Figure 18. Tourist brochure featuring Oyotunji African Village

Figure 19. Oba Adefunmi performing Ifa divination

Figure 20. Oba Adejuyibe Adefunmi II

Figure 21. Oba Adefunmi and Oyotunji chiefs with the Ooni of Ife

Figure 22. Advertisement for First Afrikan Presbyterian Church

Figure 23. Egungun ancestor masquerade dancer

Figure 24. Baba Medahochi Kofi Omowale Zannu

Figure 25. Members of Egbe Sankofa Kingdom of the Gods of Afraka

Figure 26. Recycle receptacle at Oyotunji African Village

Figure 27. Processional of North American Yoruba practitioners

Foreword

This text contains two interrelated and overlapping travel narratives. One of the narratives is in the form of a travel in time—the history of ideas, meanings, symbols, and images of Africa in African American culture; this narrative contextualizes the second one. The second narrative tells the story of a young African American male from Detroit, Walter Eugene King, and his journey from Detroit through a variety of times, spaces, and imaginations to his emergence as Oba Efuntola Oseijeman Adefumi I in the new space of the Oyotunji Yoruba Village in South Carolina. It is in fact this story that evoked the necessity for the larger historical narrative that encompasses it.

Both narratives are concerned with the image and symbol of Africa as a religious orientation. The first narrative traverses historical time, describing and explaining the meaning of Africa in the life and culture of black folk and especially in African American nationalist ideology. Because the narratives are concerned with religious quests, we are immediately reminded of the religious rite of pilgrimage. The encompassing historical narrative takes us through the passages of time, space, actions, and thought of persons and communities of African Americans from their initial enslavement in North America to the present. Within this fulsome narrative we are made aware of the significance, power, and necessity of a place to be called home for millions of persons of African descent who were separated from their original homeland and denied authenticity as human beings in North America. The continent of Africa, their place of origin, was remembered, invented, symbolized, and remade within the new spaces and times of North America as a foundation for their humanness as well as a vision for a viable human future.

The prominence of religious journeys in this study brings to mind the religious rite of pilgrimage, especially in the research of Victor Turner.¹ The quest of the young Walter Eugene King, which takes him from Detroit to New York, Haiti, Europe, Africa, and Cuba, corresponds to the liminal phase of the pilgrimage phenomenon as described by Turner. The liminal phase of the pilgrimage is that period between the pilgrim’s departure from home and familiar circumstances until the arrival at the sacred site that is the goal of the pilgrimage. Turner analyses the new social relations and identities that are formed during this phase and time. In addition, during the liminal period tensions, contrasts, and critique of the reigning social order come to the fore. Victor Turner’s other pertinent term of analysis, the notion of communitas, fits well with the kind of knowledges of Africa and the various practioners of African-derived religions King met and consulted with during his pilgrimage and the founding of Oyotunji Village in South Carolina as what Turner might have referred to as a normative mode of communitas.

Now while this text is a biography of Walter Eugene King’s bildungsroman as a religious pilgrimage, it is much more than this. It is at the same time a descriptive and critical history of African American nationalism as a religious phenomenon. It shows how the image and symbol of Africa became the basis for an alternate authenticity for the communities of African Americans in North America. From this discussion we are confronted with the broader issue of the meaning of religion in the contemporary world. The text employs a variety of methods ranging from ethnohistory, history, history of religions, and political science. In so doing, the issue of theory and method in the disciplines of religious studies is raised. Tracey Hucks as the narrator and author of the biography of Walter Eugene King/Oseijeman Adefumi I and the interwoven narratives of African American nationalism suggests a hermeneutical position that parallels the role of a novelist. This novelistic tonality refers us back again to the thematic and stylistics of religious pilgrimage—pilgrimage as the sources of knowledge that combines both the larger context of the history of African American nationalism and the biography of Walter Eugene King. Such a procedure in method is reminiscent of an older meaning of pilgrimage as not only the visit to sacred sites, but equally pilgrimage as the mode for the acquisition of knowledge—pilgrimage as theoria.

It is at this juncture that we should remember that our word theory is from a Greek term that means spectacle—seeing, sight. Seeing here refers to knowledge and knowing. Echoes of this older meaning were revived by Michel Foucault when he introduced the term gaze as a mode of knowing. Theory as sight refers to a meaning it had in the fourth century BCE in Greece. It did not, however, imply the abstracting domineering gaze of scientific technology made popular by Foucault, but it is rather more closely related to what Clifford Geertz, the anthropologist, has called thick description.

Andrea Wilson Nightingale has recently explored the hermeneutical, religious, and philosophical meaning of theoria in Greek thought and culture.² At one place she describes the pilgrimage structure of theory: When directed towards a religious sanctuary or festival, theoria took the form of a pilgrimage in which the theoros departed from his city or hometown, journeyed to a religious sanctuary, witnessed spectacles and events, participated in rituals, and returned home to ordinary civic life.³ This description fits the pilgrimage of the young Walter Eugene King almost perfectly. There is an added dimension when we understand the context of the body of knowledge that evoked his pilgrimage, on the one hand, and how the theoros (pilgrim) journey enhanced the meaning of this body of knowledge.

In the same book, Nightingale notes that scholars of Greek thought have debated the meaning of theoria, some emphasizing theos, thus interpreting theoria as having to do with sacred things, while others have insisted on thea, spectacle and sight. Nightingale wisely suggests that both meanings are and can be incorporated into the meaning of theoria. In this book, Tracey Hucks has presented to us in a masterful way the rich complexity and seriousness of those religious forms, modes, and styles of a neglected modernity. She has shown why any adequate study of African American religions must undergo a kind of metaphorical pilgrimage that traverses many of the passages, rims, and borders of modern time, space, and imagination. Through her undertaking she has added immeasurably to the theory and method of the study of religion.

—Charles H. Long, coeditor, Religions of the Americas series

Preface

In Oyotunji African Village, nestled off the coast of South Carolina’s Lowcountry, Her Royal Grace Iyashanla beckoned me to wait as she performed a ritual divination in search of a new name. Revealed for me was the Yoruba name Ifasanu—"Ifa Has Mercy."¹ After more than a decade of archival and ethnographic research (1994–2009); thousands of miles of travel throughout the United States, Nigeria, and Cuba; steadfast attendance at Yoruba-related ritual ceremonies and national and international conferences, along with hours of richly textured interviews with African American and Latino/a Yoruba practitioners, Yoruba Traditions and African American Religious Nationalism has indeed culminated in a gift of Ifa’s mercy. This work is not simply a compilation of research. It represents an experience of research and an exercise in lived history gathered among communities of African descent in North America whose religious identities, inimitable practices, and shifting social realities form the center of my scholarly investigations.² Similar to Brazilian Candomblé practitioners’ struggles for cultural freedoms in the early twentieth century, black North Americans in the 1950s and 1960s "pioneered the politicization of African-based cultures as an important aspect of their struggle for self-determination.³ Practitioners, as historian Kim Butler suggests, created a transformative discursive space where African identity became an articulation of personal choice, rather than an indicator of birthplace."⁴

At its core, this book undertakes the study of a religious symbol—Africa—as historian of religions Charles H. Long critically theorized it close to forty years ago and examines it within the historical context of an extrachurch black-nationalist tradition that chose to revitalize this religious symbol as an effective strategy for mobilization in the second half of the twentieth century.⁵ As a study in dynamic symbolism, it allows multiple, often competing, interpretations of Africa to emerge rather than seeking one definitive historical truth.⁶ It chronicles the voices of African Americans and their journeys to and through the complex alternative meanings of Yoruba in the United States as its production includes, but remains unbounded by, religious practice, cultural appropriations, and distinct diasporic racial ontologies. It also encourages new theorization on the complex relationship between religion and geo-symbolism, examining the ways physicality and land (i.e., Africa, Jerusalem, Mecca, Rome, and so forth) are infused with geo-theological meaning and geo-sacrality. By negotiating a complicated association with distant origins, blurred genealogies, reconstituted identities, and subaltern yearnings, Yoruba Americans framed new discourses on how Africa could be seen as what Ernst Cassirer calls an index symbol.⁷ Africa as index symbol ultimately became envisaged as the transubjective center of a religio-nationalist movement in the New World. Through African reflections of God, they entered into a new religious correspondence that brought new names and new experiences to the history of Yoruba religious studies, thus expanding the geographical, ideological, and theological landscape of Yoruba locales across the globe.

Yoruba Traditions is a study that examines the performativity of Africa as enacted within a wider theatricality of nationalism.⁸ It seeks to understand the Pan-Yoruba Diaspora and its multiple articulations (Ifa, Ocha, Santería, Lucumi, Orisa, Orisha) not as a single fixed religious tradition but as a global religious complex developed within varying socioreligious locations.⁹ Within these various geographical embodiments of Yoruba religious culture, innovation, dynamism, and fluidity in practice are all diversely expressed.¹⁰ What have come to be known as Yoruba religious cultures in North America, Africa, South America, the Caribbean, and parts of Europe can best be understood not as one rigidly bounded religion but as a decentralized network of lineages, cults, and disparate public and private ritual practices that readily intermingle across definitional boundaries with other religions.¹¹ Because of the emergence of Yoruba as the emblem of the Africanization of the Americas,¹² we must, as anthropologist J. Lorand Matory advises, understand Yoruba worship not as a permanent or predetermined tradition but instead amid its modern political, economic, and ideological conditions.¹³ The orisa acquire significance less in fixed historical domains than in their meaning as living entities across the globe. Thus, orisa worship in the twenty-first century cannot be easily relegated to a single geographical region but exists instead in what Eugenio Matibag identifies as the domain of the extraterritorial¹⁴ and comprises multicultural, multilingual, multilayered traditions and expressions that span across the globe.¹⁵ However, as Olabiyi Babalolo Yai discerns, One of the paradoxes of globalization is that it encourages or produces standardization as it creates multipolarity.¹⁶ These dynamic tensions between standardization and multipolarity are explored throughout the book. A primary assertion is that it is through Yoruba’s myriad of global religious, cultural, and linguistic expressions that we might come to ultimately value the elastic and innovative points of view derived from what Christopher Antonio Brooks labels localized Yoruba practices.¹⁷ For the descendants of enslaved African communities in North America, what W. E. B. Dubois calls their foster land,¹⁸ Yoruba religion invokes a meaningful connection to Africa as originary space that substantiates human value and provides restorative ontological, historical, and spiritual integrity.¹⁹

In this book, Yoruba religious culture speaks in vernacular—African (North) American vernacular. This vernacular discourse celebrates the dynamic endurance of African religious expressions not as they remained in static and bounded spaces on the continent but as they were creatively embraced and adapted to fit the socially and spiritually tortuous climate of the Atlantic diaspora. Within this geohistorical context, the book explores a distinct path of those Jennifer Morgan identifies as a network of diasporic racialized subjects who use vernacular creativity to express their own unique ritual grammar, distinctive vocabulary or languages, and social systems of meaning.²⁰ Meaning within this diaspora configuration is never resolutely fixed but is constant (not given), multiple (not univocal), contested (not shared), and fluid (not static).²¹ North America is an emerging site where African, Latin American, African American, and Euro-American Yoruba traditions have created a plethora of interactive and integrative meanings.

This text is not a history of linear approaches to cultural and religious retentions in the African diaspora.²² Yoruba Traditions instead is a historical analysis of the processes of religious transliteration. Figuratively, I engage in an exercise of religious phonetics determined to reveal representations of how Yoruba religion is articulated and exercised in North American expressions and the ways its subjects choose to be purposefully African in this context.²³ Africa as such is embraced not so much as concrete materiality but as shared, public fact whose symbolism can be analyzed … regardless of its source or objective truth value.²⁴ Increasingly indebted to the works of George Brandon and Steven Gregory for their North American studies, I concur that a Herskovitsian model of retentions is not the exhaustive analytical measure of Yoruba religious cultures in the diaspora and that alongside this model, diasporic religious cultures can also be viewed theoretically as a sociohistorical site or ‘space of resistance’ … to racially and ethnically-based forms of social domination.²⁵ Moreover, George Brandon’s trispatial understanding of Yoruba religion as "global, New World, and local-national provides an important lens for contextualizing this North American study. It allows for an analysis of Yoruba religion in North America whose primary focus is not on the retention of African tradition but rather the convergence of the reintroduction of African tradition by immigrants from areas where African religions have been retained with greater influence and greater fidelity, with the purposeful revitalization of that tradition by U.S. blacks and Puerto Ricans.²⁶ Thus, Brandon asserts that the issue of Africanisms in the United States becomes not only an historical one but contemporary as well and concerns processes of culture change that can be observed in the present and over the very recent past."²⁷

Yoruba Traditions is a study of the very recent past and a reflection of my intellectual interests in the cross-fertilization of religion and nationalism; the fluidity of black religious practice; and the historical ambiguity of home, place, and national identity for African Americans. I am fascinated by the religious power of African Americans to rename, rehistoricize, ritually produce, culturally express, and textualize in the midst of this ambiguity. It is this power of intentional agency and self-established authority that weaves throughout the pages of this text, seeking to understand what bell hooks names the authority of experience in the lived conditions of African American religious life in the United States.²⁸

Above all, Yoruba Traditions is a story of diaspora and an Atlanticized Africa.²⁹ Amidst a growing trend of specialization within Diaspora Studies that often draws an invisible circumference around the Caribbean and South America, my efforts are to maintain the geographical suppleness of diaspora by adding this study to others such as Carol Duncan’s outstanding Canadian study This Spot of Ground: Spiritual Baptists in Toronto, which describe important components of Africa’s North American diaspora and re-diasporaed communities. Because each diaspora has unique historical circumstances and choices of identity and integration vary within diasporan groups, a dynamic understanding of diasporan identities, particularly in North America, can readily be accommodated to include the ethnonationalism of communities like African American Yoruba whose territories have little to do with physical space.³⁰ If the black Atlantic can be defined as a geographical focus, an identity option, and a context of meaning-making, rather than a uniquely bounded, impenetrable, or overdetermining thing, then black North America is clearly a key contributor to its development.³¹ Thus, this story begins in the same North American social setting of racialized subjectivity where James Baldwin once aptly acknowledged that the auction block is the platform on which I entered the Civilized World, and therefore, my diaspora continues, the end is not in sight.³²

Researching a religious tradition that values modes of African sacred knowledge and authority has not been without its challenges. Quite often, combinations of Western Christian hegemony and maligning anti-Africanness both on the African continent and in the African Atlantic diaspora have questioned the legitimacy of Yoruba religious cultures and their merits for scholarly inquiry.³³ For example, while I was conducting research in Nigeria, an ethnically born Yoruba and religiously affiliated Deeper Life Church member asked me why I was spending my time studying witchcraft among Nigeria’s Yoruba babalawos, specialists, healers, and practitioners. During my time in Nigeria, I also listened intently as Yoruba Christian ministers on the campus of Abafemi Owolowo University in Ile-Ife definitively pronounced from the pulpit those who were going to hell, positioning all Yoruba traditional practitioners and participants in Ogboni and Mami Wata at the head of the hellward bound processional. Yoruba traditional priests such as Oyebanji Awodinni Marawo (Baale Marawo) who perform Ifa divination in Nigeria speak candidly of these pejorative trends in Nigeria when remarking that today, many people hate Ifa, it is like a filth to them, they call us eaters of sacrifice.³⁴ Along similar lines, several Oyotunji African Village residents in North America revealed the deep sadness they faced as family members vilified their choice to revere the gods and ancestors of Africa and often chose to distance themselves over time. Thus, I have discovered that to write about the unique Yoruba religious cultures of black North America has meant I must challenge what E. U. Essien-Udom calls anti-African feelings and the stereotypical misreadings of voodooism.³⁵

This study spans the period from the earliest decades of the twentieth century through the 1960s, to the subsequent creation of Oyotunji African Village in Sheldon, South Carolina, in 1970, to Yoruba religion’s urban proliferation, and concludes with new trends in the twenty-first century. Published three years after the fiftieth anniversary of Oba Oseijeman Adefunmi’s (formerly Walter Eugene King) 1959 initiation into Cuban Santería, Oseijeman Adefunmi is considered to be among the first known non-Hispanic African American males born in the United States to undergo full initiation in Cuba into the diasporic Yoruba tradition of Santería/Lucumi/Ocha. His initiation solidified a new, pioneering, non-Hispanic American Yoruba lineage during the 1950s and 1960s in the United States, joining a small community of initiated priests and priestesses in the United States, such as Pancho Mora (1944), Juana Manrique Claudio (1952), Mercedes Nobles (1958), Asunta Serrano (1958), Christobal Oliana (1959), José Manuel Ginart (1959), Julia Franco (1961), and Marjorie Baynes Quiñones (1969), the latter initiated by Leonore Dolme (1957) and the first U.S.-born African American woman to receive full initiation.³⁶ This new African American lineage was created not by giving preference to the traditional priestly seniority of other Second Diaspora Caribbean or South American orisa communities already in the United States but by appealing to new standards of purity and authenticity based somewhat paradoxically on hybridized models of African restoration, recovery, and re-ownership.³⁷

Although this study foregrounds the life of Oseijeman Adefunmi I, he cannot be isolated from numerous other African American practitioners in the United States who have brought and continue to bring texture to the broader African American Yoruba chronicle. Some among those who have sustained and continue to sustain this religious and cultural community were or are North American–born practitioners and their Caribbean-born supporters like Mama Keke; Cristobal Oliana; Pancho Mora; Queen Mother Moore; Katherine Dunham; Marjorie Baynes Quiñones; Clarence Robins; José Sardinas-Alabumi; John and Valerie Mason; Orisa Mola Akinyele Owolowo; Baba Medahochi Kofi Omowale Sangodele Zannu; Akanke Omilade Owolowo; Oya Dina; Larry Neal; Djisovi Ikukomi Eason; Lionel Scott; Teddy Holliday; Baba Alfred Davis; Edward James; James Hawthorne (Chief Bey); Barbara Kenyatta Bey; Baba Bernard; C. Daniel Dawson; Ted Wilson; Oba Lumi; John Turpin; Osa Unko; Manuel Vega; Oreste Blanco; Olobunmi Adesoji; Majile Osunbunmi Olafemi; Yeyefini Efunbolade; Osun Meka; Cynthia Turner; Lloyd and Stephanie Weaver; Oseye Mchawi-Orisa Aiye; Irene Blackwell; Tejuola Turner; Adekola Adedapa; Baba Ifatunji; Omowunmi Ogundaisi; Obalumi Ogunseye; Ayobunmi Sangode; chiefs Ajamu, Olaitan, Akintobe, Eleshin, and the entire chieftancy and male and female priesthood of Oyotunji African Village; Oba Adejuyibe Adefunmi II; Oba Sekou Olayinka; Iyanla Vanzant; Luisah Teish; Marta Moreno Vega; Angela Jorge; Awo Fasina Falade; Mary Cuthrell Curry; Baba Ifa Karade; and a host of many others too numerous to name who first encountered the deities of Africa on diaspora soil.³⁸

This study is not one of a single movement but an exploration of a series of Yoruba religious networks that African Americans have formed throughout and beyond North America.³⁹ Studies of these religious networks are in progress, and I encourage and especially look forward to the future publication of those women scholars whose doctoral research has made outstanding contributions to expanding North American Yoruba scholarship: Marta Moreno Vega’s Yoruba Philosophy: Multiple Levels of Transformation and Understanding, which provides an important regional study of the Yoruba community in New York City; Velma Love’s Odu Outcomes: Yoruba Scriptures in African American Constructions of Self and World, which examines the role and meaning of the Ifa sacred oracle among African American Yoruba practitioners in New York City and in Oyotunji African Village; Velana Huntington’s Bodies in Contexts: Holistic Ideals of Health, Healing, and Wellness in an America Orisha Community, which explores wellness practices among American orisa practitioners in the Midwest; Elizabeth Pérez’s Returning to the Drum: Healing and Conversion in an African American Santeria Community, whose work, like Huntington’s, documents the regional breadth and expansiveness of orisa religious networks as she explores its practice on Chicago’s South Side; Patricia Williams Lessane’s Tell My Feet I’ve Made It Home: African-American Imaginings of Home and to Find the Orixas, whose work as an anthropologist continues in building an important corpus of work on Candomblé in Salvador de Bahia, Brazil, and looks specifically at African Americans who opt to perform initiation rites there; Suzanne Henderson’s The African American Experience of Orisha Worship, which brings an interesting view to the discourse on African American Yoruba through the discipline of psychology; and Amanda Holmes’s Spirits in the Forest: Yoruba Religion and Ecology in Cuba, whose work in ecological and visual anthropology brings a unique disciplinary gaze to African diasporic traditions.

Although the narrative aspects of this study begin in Detroit, Michigan, it is my home of Harlem, New York, that historically surfaces as one of the formative centers of Yoruba religious practice among African Americans in the United States. For the emically trained specialist in Harlem geography, I grew up in El Barrio—a short distance from La Marqueta—amidst a Cuban, Puerto Rican, Dominican, Honduran, and Panamanian world of rich cultural sounds, tastes, and aromas from Cuchifritos restaurants, coquito icys, ganipas in brown paper bags, green and yellow platanos, Chuck-a-Lug, street-corner dominoes, three-card monte, corner bodegas, Puerto Rican Day parades, Valencia’s cakes, and congas in the summer night air. For an African American, El Barrio coalesced with Harlem creating a parallel African American landscape consisting of architectural icons like the Nation of Islam’s Mosque #7, centrally located on 116th Street, the Nation of Islam’s Steak-in-Take restaurants featuring Hunger Stoppers and bean pies, the black-owned 125th Street Carver Savings Bank, Sylvia’s Soul Food, the world-famous Apollo Theatre, fish ‘n’ chips joints, record shops, Olaf’s sporting goods store and basketball tournaments, the Lenox Lounge, lodies game boxes painted on the ground, Sherman’s Ribs, the men and women on tenant patrol at the James Weldon Johnson Houses, the sounds of hip-hop and scratchin blanketing crowds five hundred strong in New York City’s public parks, Well’s Chicken and Waffles, Better Pie Crust, Harlem Week, Mr. Softee with the scratched record, opening the pump on a hot summer day, Adam Clayton Powell’s Abyssinian Baptist Church, and community center or down the ramp wedding receptions and blue-light parties.

This African American/Latino community was physically bordered and spiritually resourced by four botanicas—El Congo Real at 1789 Lexington Avenue, Otto Chicas Rendón at 60 East 116th Street, Botanica Almacenes Shango at 1661 Madison Avenue, and Paco’s Botanica at 1864 Lexington Avenue. Paco’s Botanica on Lexington Avenue was where my mother purchased her white, red, green, blue, and 7 African Powers candles that prominently burned on a faux gold ornate mirrored shelf in our home. Paco’s Botanica also supplied the fresh herbal leaves she boiled for cleansing as well as her Murray and Lanman’s Florida Water that perfumed away all bad luck. In Harlem, a mysterious spiritual and folkloric world of Africa was revealed to me most intimately through African American migrants from the South like my mother. My mother, of Cherokee and African American parentage, undoubtedly knew little or nothing about the spiritual world of Santería that the descendants of my Latino neighbors practiced long before their various migrations to the United States. In sharing religious pharmacopeia and botanicas, however, these two sacred worlds comingled, enabling each, like my mother, to draw on spiritual reservoirs from distant places. Thus, Harlem’s community of mestizo and black Latino/as, Caribbean immigrants, and African Americans form the backdrop to this study. It represents a moment in American religious history when Latino/a, Caribbean, and African American cooperation in the persons of Oseisjeman Adefunmi (Walter King), Christobal Oliana, Asunción Sunta Serrano, and Mama Keke helped bring to life in 1960 the African Theological Archministry Inc., giving birth to a new North American trajectory in the wider Yoruba cultural and religious geography.

I come to this text, therefore, blending two worlds, the world of Harlem, which bequeathed to me spiritual and cultural sustenance, and the world of the academy, which affords me the freedom of public scholarly and literary expression. I embody both worlds and continually translate the hieroglyphics of one world into useable fodder for the other. When these worlds collide (as they often do), I am never ambiguous about my location. Like womanist scholar Barbara Omolade, I understand that you must always choose the integrity of your ancestors. For me, however, the ancestors are not a homogenous spiritual entity lacking distinguishable histories and identities but scholarly motivation for perfecting my craft as a religious historian seeking to uncover the multifarious ways in which people of African descent have been religious in the Americas. Thus, this story seeks to broaden our understanding of religions of the Americas and the lived experiences of religiosity that African Americans have contributed to its development. It examines the descendants of those who were denigrated to the point of invisibility, inaudibility, and inconsequentiality and their attempts to create a discourse through which they could be seen, heard, and respected as part of the American family.⁴⁰ Therefore, although its historical actors speak "in the name of Africa and African identity, it is in actuality a complex negotiation of what pastoral theologian Lee H. Butler Jr. calls an African past that is coordinated with an American past.⁴¹ Thus, it is ultimately a narrative that is fostered in America and is an integral part of American history and life."⁴²

African American and Yoruba are experienced as a complex composite within North America. Throughout my research, I have found that African American practitioners do not readily make historical claims of an uninterrupted or continuous Yoruba cultural heritage (as tacitly assumed in many postslavery South American and Caribbean contexts), nor do they claim a geographically natal and linguistic specificity equivalent to Nigerian Yoruba. The complex pronouncement of Yoruba Americans, however, is this: while positioned in North America, they embody a self-identification as ritually reborn Yoruba as Stephan Palmié asserts, yet they also invoke what Fran Markowitz calls an anterior authenticity in order to confront and transcend diasporic displacement.⁴³ As a component of this anterior authenticity, they posit an undeniable and historically factual ancestored authority that enables them to reclaim the religions and cultures of Africa, recover and re-own Africa as a continental entity of primordial origin, and use Africa in religious and cultural strategies of rehumanizing and rehistoricizing their despised identities as located within the most brutal … and prolonged of human dispersals or diasporas.⁴⁴ More important, as Palmié fittingly suggests, because of complex notions of "racially emancipatory—diasporic connaissance," they do not consider themselves converts but instead reverts to traditional African ancestored epistemologies.⁴⁵ Thus, Yoruba religion becomes a complex vehicle that historicizes the African-American within the traditional African context.⁴⁶ Yoruba functions as a spiritually pragmatic gateway for ethnicizing ancestral connections broadly understood as African. Its African American expressions reflect the ways the Africas produced in the diaspora and the religious traditions they have inspired have been important responses to what James Baldwin calls a wider terrified dialogue within the imperializing presence of white supremacy and its subsequent alienation of blackness.⁴⁷ Yet, as these African Americans navigate a shipwrecked identity in the New World, they make no pretense of a possible return to a preslavery original Africa, for as Stuart Hall reminds us, it is no longer there. It too has been transformed.⁴⁸ In the end, therefore, Yoruba religious expression among African Americans is not a classical journey of return to a recoverable original Africa but instead the undertaking of a new journey—one that has been ultimately transformed into "what Africa has become in the New World."⁴⁹

Paris, France

Acknowledgments

We acknowledge that we are here today because of something someone did before we came.

—Sweet Honey in the Rock

I begin by acknowledging my paternal great-grandparents, Jacob Octavius Dozier and Lelia Dozier, and my maternal grandparents, Bertha Bond and John Henry Leary. Jacob Octavius Dozier was born in 1852 in Virginia among the community of the enslaved. Following emancipation, he learned to read and write and dedicated his life to the education of Virginia’s African American population. After the Ku Klux Klan twice tried unsuccessfully to end his life in Virginia, he fled to Bertie County, North Carolina, where he continued his educational mission, opened a general store, purchased three hundred acres of land, and built an eight-bedroom house on a lake that became the site for social activities for African Americans in a segregated South. He met and married his wife, Lelia, who became a renowned midwife, skilled herbalist, and known healer to the Bertie County, North Carolina, community and who eventually gave birth to my grandmother, Margaret Dozier Hucks. Together my paternal great-grandparents bequeathed to me the interconnected roles of educator and healer. My maternal great-grandparents, Metta and John Bond, gave birth to my maternal grandmother, Bertha Bond, born in 1914 in North Carolina as a member of the Snowbird people of the Cherokee Nation. She and my African American grandfather, John Henry Leary (named after the famed folkloric figure of power and strength) were among the vast southern migrants to New York City in search of a better life. It is through this maternal lineage that I eventually came to be born in the rich cultural nexus of Harlem, New York, where this study flourishes. These ancestors are among my family’s divinized dead and are the sources of my inspiration and sacred reverence.

Other sources of inspiration have been extended family members from the Dozier, Bond, Leary, Speller, Sutton, Catten, and Hucks lineages. I especially give thanks to Joseph and Doretha Hucks, whom I would choose forever and again as parents in every lifetime. I thank my sister, Terri, who embodies love and protection for me. It is she who gave birth to two of the greatest gifts in my life, my niece, Kareemah Shaeton Mims, and my nephew, Omar Kasim Mims. My grandnieces, Sanai and Kareemah Mims, begin a new generation for those of us who gone up North. To Dr. Darrell Cleveland Hucks, you fill me with immense pride, love, and laughter. Charlene Hucks Richardson—you are the light of God in my life, God’s divine favor in this world. In 1999, my family expanded with the marriage of my father to Joan Dalton Hucks, bringing a new family of brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces. I thank my siblings Dawn, Dondi, and his wife we affectionately call Lu, my nephews Kevin, Drew, Dee, and Julian, and especially my niece, Cheyenne, who is one of my greatest and most endearing fans. Life has also encircled me with a compassionate circle of friends: Cynthia Alvarez, Marcella Hyde Roulhac, Amira Delle, Sunni and Juhudi Tolbert, Evelyne and Ronel Laurent-Perrault, Lamine Diaby, Stephanie Sears, Tracy Rone, Ian Straker, and James Noel.

To the teachers of my sound, I thank you. I give particular thanks to the late Manning Marable, Josiah Young, Harvey Sindima (who taught me to write from my center), Lewis Baldwin, Perla Holder, Kwame Anthony Appiah, Christopher Vecsey, Marilyn Thie, Don and Wanda Berry, Coleman Brown, Anne Ashbaugh, Margaret Darby, John Ross Carter, and Peter Ochs. I also give thanks to Nell Painter, Albert Raboteau, and Cornel West, whose mentorship and teaching were invaluable to me while on graduate exchange at Princeton University. I extend special thanks to David D. Hall, who devotedly taught his doctoral students the instincts of the historian and the commitments of an interested fieldworker. An added debt of gratitude goes to Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham and J. Lorand Matory, who modeled and expected nothing short of quality and excellence; I thank them immensely for their high standards. While under their collective tutelage at Harvard University, Hall, Higginbotham, and Matory subsequently taught me deeply meaningful and enduring lessons in loving partnerships as they engaged their beloved Betsy, Leon, and Bunmi. Even in the midst of losing Betsy and the Judge, I never lost their commitment and support as their student.

I am indebted to the works of the late Carl Hunt and the late Djisovi Ikukomi Eason, along with Mary Cuthrell Curry, George Brandon, Steven Gregory, Marta Vega, and Kamari Clarke, for forging intellectual pathways for African American Yoruba studies in the academy. I am exceedingly grateful to Mikelle Smith Omari-Tunkara, who helped to provide my first entry to Oyotunji African Village over a decade ago. I also give special thanks to Gina Bonilla. Our travels to Ocha and Palo communities throughout Cuba and New York City were deeply invaluable for me and for this book.

I thank the Fund for Theological Education for supporting this research, along with Haverford College’s Faculty Research Support Fund. I also thank my colleagues, past and present, in the Department of Religion at Haverford College—Michael Sells, Anne McGuire, David Dawson, Ken and Naomi Koltun-Fromm, Travis Zadeh, and Terrence Johnson—for embracing collegiality, cooperation, and collaboration as its highest departmental ideals. Our departmental reputation for running like a fine Swiss watch is well deserved. I also want to thank Kathy McGee, Andrea Pergolese, and Julie Coy for their administrative and digital support. Numerous Haverford colleagues and students have assisted and supported me in my work over the years and include Lucius Outlaw, Kimberly Benston, Mark Gould, Raji Mohan, William Williams, Wyatt McGaffey, Sunni Green Tolbert, Evelyne Laurent Perrault, Yolande Thompson, Dalila Zachary, Princess Toussaint, Joslyn Carpenter, Shani Meacham, Nicole Myers Turner, Benesha Bobo, Abayomi Walker, Erika Powell, Nicholas Jones, Carri Devito, Elana Bloomfield, Drew Steinberg, and Cathy Norise, along with some of my greatest student cheerleaders of past years Amina DeBurst, Brady McCartney, Amanda T. Brody, Sam Edmundson, Tamia Harris, Neil and Ali Kronley, Dorcas Davis, Craig Dorfman, Raymond McLeish, Jeremy Kanthor, Ned Tompsett, Anna Mudd, Barbara Breckinridge, and Jasmine Harrington. Finally, I give special thanks to Haverford College reference librarian and bibliographer James Gulick who has demonstrated throughout the years the true meaning of professional support and generous giving.

To those colleagues in the discipline who inquired about the book for their courses and awaiting students, I thank you—Lillian Ashcraft Eason, Judith Weisenfeld, Shawn Copeland, Wallace Best, Barbara Savage, Monica Coleman—and chiefly to Michael Sells, Yvonne Chireau, and Eddie Glaude Jr., who offered good counsel on earlier drafts of the manuscript. A special thanks to Joyce Flueckiger at Emory University whose wise words from Amma in her healing room made it okay for me to cease writing and live with the fact that if I had another hundred years, I could never finish this story. As women ethnographers, Joyce Flueckiger and Karen McCarthy Brown were inspirations to me and made it permissible for me to work within my own scholarly time frame. If this book proves as meaningful to its readership as In Amma’s Healing Room, which represented fourteen years of research, and Mama Lola, which represented twelve years of research, then I know I fall within good scholarly gendered company. I also thank Severine Menetrey for her flat in Paris’s Montparnasse area, Paris’s Jazz station FM 89.9, and My Suites flat with a view of the Swiss mountains for providing me beautiful spaces to revise and complete my writing.

To the University of New Mexico Press—I thank you and your staff for a supportive journey to publication. I especially thank Elizabeth Ann Albright, Felicia Andrea Cedillos, Elise M. McHugh, and Meredith D. Dodge for the professional graciousness, expertise, and care given to this manuscript. Davíd Carrasco worked tirelessly to make this intellectual union happen, and I thank him with a profound indebtedness and appreciation.

I thank Wande Abimbola, Kola Abimbola, and Jacob Olupona for their intellectual respect for the study of Yoruba religious cultures in the Americas and the Caribbean. I wholeheartedly thank Jacob Olupona for following his ori into the Peabody Museum at Harvard University where we met and from that day allowing me to experience a level of selflessness, support, and generosity I will forever honor. I also want to extend deep appreciation for Rachel Harding and her generous expressions of support, spirit, and friendship.

I reserve the deepest love, affection, and intellectual reverence for Dr. Charles H. Long. In you I have known unconditional, steadfast, and unwavering support. You dared to challenge and disrupt sacred Western epistemologies in the humanities and the social sciences, dared to think that the study of black religion deserved sophisticated and complex analysis and theorization, and I dared to believe you. Your prophetic presence in the field has transformed my life forever. I owe you a debt only the ancestors can repay.

My gratitude extends to the members of the Society for the Study of Black Religion for their warm encouragement and reception of my work at the 2008 annual meeting; Marcia Riggs, Shawn Copeland, Larry Murphy, Art Priestley, and Stephen Ray especially come to mind. Special thanks go to its former executive director, Anthony Pinn, for extending this warm invitation. I also thank the president, Lee H. Butler Jr., who continues to lead the society in the dignity, honor, and grace of Africa and whose proverbial wisdom will forever resound, God is the First Ancestor with whom we are to be connected.

I create a special place of acknowledgment for Dianne Stewart Diakité: like Rebecca Jackson and Rebecca Perot, the womanists before us, our intellectual destinies and legacies have been inextricably bound. At the end of our life journeys as friends, colleagues, and sisters, I hope to say that we were compliant to the same inner voice of the divine that commanded Mother Rebecca Jackson in 1830 to travel some and speak to the people. As you gaze in the mirror of Oshun, may you always see a reflection of your own giftedness, beauty, and power.

Moreover, I give thanks to Esu-Elegba, my Orisa Osossi, and to those who reside in the Room of Spirits in my home. Among those, I honor the spirits of my great-grandparents, grandparents, my mother, Doretha Hucks, S. P. Tatum, and my blessed Angel spirit. You teach me to be a loving healer on this earth by loving me daily into the fullness of life. Together we commune, and I am able to glimpse the face of God.

Finally, a nineteenth-century writer once wrote, The truest [eulogy] that one can make of [a] book is to love its very faults. I, therefore, encourage readers to love the book’s strengths and as well as its very faults. Know that as a dynamic story forever unfolding and in the making, my humble words could never exhaust the wealth of history, memories, experiences, and spiritual resources of North America’s Yoruba. And lastly, to HRH Adejuyigbe Adefunmi II, the residents of Oyotunji African Village, and all of the practitioners of the orisa in North America who granted me access to your spiritual lives, your orisa, your shrines, your iles, your bembes, your homes, and your hearts, I thank you. This text is deeply enriched because of your narrative presence. It was an honor to work with such vibrant living data. I grieve that HRH Oseijeman Adefunmi I, Baba Medahochi, Chief Ajamu, Djisovi Ikukomi Eason, and Edwina Wright did not see this book come to completion. May they read it in spirit with ancestral eyes.

Modupe.

The Harlem Window: An Introduction

On a cold winter evening in the early 1970s, my uncle Johnny Spip Speller accompanied my cousin Debbie, my sister Terri, and me to the place where the sacred had allegedly manifested itself to the people of Harlem through a cross of light.¹ We arrived at an old Harlem brownstone and proceeded on our journey up several flights of stairs. As we reached the final landing, we entered a crowded apartment filled with numerous African Americans forming a single queue leading to a room at the end of the corridor. Murmurs and chatter filled the apartment as each person exited the tiny room and voluntarily left a small monetary offering in the adjacent shoebox. When my turn came to enter the room and look through the window, I remember not being tall enough to reach the sill and being lifted onto a wooden stool in order to see the great mystery. Filled with the anticipation of a young child, I could hardly wait to see what lay beyond the frosted window: three glowing white crosses. A single large cross loomed in the center of two encircled crosses, all three arising from a smoky haze. The affirmations of those who preceded me confirmed that what I beheld was indeed real. Images of the firmament of heaven and God filled my young mind as I was quickly whisked from the stool to accommodate the long processional behind me, a community of witnesses who peered through a window above the streets of Harlem and believed in the power of divinity. Although I was but a child, I understood that this was no ordinary manifestation. I, along with a community of others in Harlem, believed that something transcendent was orchestrating this supernatural moment. In a sense, this event defined one of my earliest formulations of religious meaning and experiences of how communities interpret notions of the sacred.

The black southern migrants who populated Harlem in the 1960s and 1970s were no strangers to spiritual signs and wonders. My uncle, like so many other Harlem residents, had gone North carrying old southern religious orientations to new northern spaces. In the American South of the descendants of Africa, encounters and visitations from the supernatural were not uncommon. Believing in the Harlem window was not unlike believing in the stories my mother told me of people who could see spirits, death being able to knock on the door, or dreams that served as premonitions. In Harlem, these beliefs persisted through northern and southern transmigration lores: Dad’s Harlem barber traveled to consult with one of the succession of Dr. Buzzards in South Carolina whenever in serious crisis; spiritual closure was still sought by driving the bodily remains back past the house before interment; and a 7-day African Powers votive candle burned in the home could clear away negative spiritual energy as well as help you hit an occasional bolita in the illegal numbers system.

At the core of these North/South transmigration dialogues regarding the supernatural was a sustained allegiance to African diasporic folk cosmologies, an allegiance constantly reinforced through the print media of Harlem. Northern newspapers such as the New York Amsterdam News, which South Carolinian James Henry Anderson established in 1909, regularly featured advertisements for spiritual consultations and healers as a service to its southern migrant readership. Scholars such as Yvonne P. Chireau in her book Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Tradition examine the multiple strategies of self-authentication used in these advertisements to establish spiritual expertise and African authority.² Maintaining spiritual ties to the African diasporic heritage of America’s black South was an important part of a larger negotiation of identity politics in Harlem. Regarding the Harlem window, the reader might think it absurd for an African American community to believe that God sent a sign through a window in Harlem. Yet the real value in the story lies not in the implausibility of such an event but in the assertion of a community’s agency in the realm of religiosity.

For scholars of religion, emphasis is placed less on the authenticity or provable empiricism of events deemed sacred and more on the processes or authenticity of intent involved in constructing these events as religiously meaningful.³ Similar to the African Americans who found religious meaning in a Harlem brownstone in the 1970s, African American Yorubas found meaning in the new gods of Africa that appeared to them in the late 1950s. Nearly two decades after viewing the Harlem window, I found myself in the royal compound of Oba Oseijeman Efuntola Adelabu Adefunmi I at Oyotunji African Village in South Carolina. Like my uncle, Adefunmi also came to Harlem in the 1950s. Arriving from Detroit, Adefunmi (formerly Walter Eugene King) represented a generation of young migrants attracted to the bohemian life-style of New York City and the black-nationalist fervor of Harlem. Cofounding Shango Temple in 1959 and Yoruba Temple in 1960, Adefunmi and other African Americans in that period renamed themselves Yorubas and engaged in the task of transforming Cuban Santería into a new religious expression that satisfied African Americans’ racial and nationalist leanings and eventually helped to place them on a global religious schema alongside other Yoruba practitioners in Africa and the diaspora.

Depending on the source of one’s statistics, the number of practitioners of Yoruba religion worldwide can range from Sandra Barnes’s 70 million to Kola Abimbola’s close to 100 million ‘black,’ ‘white,’ and multi-racial peoples in Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Columbia, Cuba, France, Haiti, Italy, Jamaica, Japan, Mexico, Spain, Trinidad and Tobago, UK, USA, and Venezuela.⁴ African Americans in the United States form a small subset of this number and are now approximately three generations or more in the making. Some scholars estimate a combined figure of African American and Latino-American practitioners in the United States at half a million.⁵

Many within this number enter Yoruba religious traditions through paths of nationalism and identity politics; from affiliations with other African spiritual traditions; as a way of alleviating malady and misfortune; as a rejection of a racist and oppressively political, cultural and economic system; to fill a religious or spiritual void created by a secularized world; in search of a more corporeal, earth-centered spirituality or feminine empowerment; and desirous of spiritual grounding, clarity, healing and guidance.⁶ These devotees include a broad class range of professionals such entrepreneurs, health practitioners, state senators, social workers, educators and professors, Christian pastors, full-time diviners, scholar-practitioners, musicians, artists, journalists, masons, life coaches, actors, and dancers. Collectively, they form a network of adherents with varying degrees of religious insidership ranging from those with full orisa initiation to those with elekes or beaded necklaces; with spiritual pots of the warriors (Esu-Elegba, Ogun, Oshosi, Osun); with one hand of Ifa-Orunmila (the deity of destiny and divination); the uninitiated participants who attend bembe drum ceremonies as well as the clients who seek spiritual