Òrìṣàbùnmi

For most humans, greed was the driving force that hurtled them to the doorsteps of Ìyá Alaanu’s ibùdó. However, they always left more confused than they came because Ìyá Alaanu had a way of spinning riddles upon them that their minds, shallow as they were, would never be able to solve. While seeing the future was her gift, Ìyá Alaanu’s sacred duty was to protect the world from the destruction the greed of humans would bring upon it and though by virtue of this she could never tell a lie, there was no hard-set rule that said she couldn’t send them on a wild goose chase with convoluted versions of the truth.

It was fate that had brought Òrìṣàbùnmi to Ìyá Alaanu’s ibùdó. She had been married off to her father’s bosom friend as soon as blood began to flow from her body. It was a promise he’d made to his friend when they were little boys, a gift for saving his life from a ferocious snake.

After three stillborn sons, the midwife had finally declared her womb rotten and unfit to have children. Things only went downhill for her after that declaration. Her husband had returned her to her father; she was damaged goods, and he hadn't wanted her infecting his household with her bad luck. His other wives had been more than happy to see her go.

Shortly after she was returned to her father's compound, where she had been treated worse than a slave, a plague broke out in the village, and a unanimous decision was made by the village chief and his advisors to drive Òrìṣàbùnmi out of the village, after all, a woman who could not have children was a curse from the gods, and her continuous presence in the village could only cause destruction.

And so, Òrìṣàbùnmi had become a wanderer. For years she had moved from place to place, searching for her purpose, wanting to end her life but lacking the courage to do so.

In a trance-like haze, she had found herself on the doorstep of Ìyá Alaanu’s ibùdó. The old woman had smiled at her and welcomed her into the shrine.

“Come in, child,” Ìyá Alaanu had called to her and still in a haze, she had stepped into the foggy shrine.

After three days of drinking from Ìyá Alaanu’s healing pot, Òrìṣàbùnmi had begun to feel life running through her veins, only then had she looked to see where she was. The shrine smelled dank as it was completely dark, and not even the tiniest ray of sunlight was allowed to permeate the hut, the only light in the shrine was from an ever-flickering oil lamp. Ìyá Alaanu was seated on a stool made out of stone, clothed in white, her head was bald, and her eyes were milky white, as she was completely blind, her neck, wrists and ankles were adorned with heavy-looking white beads, her hands were placed on her thighs, and although she was blind, she seemed to be watching Òrìṣàbùnmi, who was staring in awe at the strange white writings on the mud walls of the ibùdó.

“What are these?” She asked, marvelling at the beautiful symbols and wondering how she could see them in the darkness of the ibùdó.

“That is the language of the deity, knowing what they mean would cause you the most excruciating pain, only those who know their purpose in life are permitted to know the language of the deity,” Ìyá Alaanu had answered, her voice sounding a bit sad and groggy.

"But I have no purpose. I'm a woman with a rotten womb. Of what purpose could I be when I can have no children?" Òrìṣàbùnmi replied, her voice carrying all the pain she had borne over the years.

“Then, I must have allowed a dead girl into my shrine,” Ìyá Alaanu had said testily.

“I’m not dead –” Òrìṣàbùnmi had begun to protest, but she was cut off by Ìyá Alaanu.

“You must be a rotten corpse, buried deep within the earth with maggots crawling in and out of your molten flesh to have no purpose. I shouldn’t have allowed you into my house. Leave now, I don’t want you here, I don’t want a dead girl here,” Ìyá Alaanu had waved her hands, shooing Òrìṣàbùnmi out of the ibùdó.

Òrìṣàbùnmi got to her feet, surprised at Ìyá Alaanu’s sudden hostility, her eyes had cut to the words on the wall, she didn't want to leave, she wanted to read the words on the wall, they were beautiful, and they called to her, she wanted to become one with the words, she felt like learning to read those words, were her…purpose in life. The realization of it had hit her with so much force that she had staggered to keep her balance.

“Leave,” Ìyá Alaanu repeated, this time as she said it, she rose to her feet, and it seemed like she had the full force of the wind behind her, her white eyes shone brightly, and Òrìṣàbùnmi had had to cover her eyes to prevent herself from being blinded by the white light.

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Òrìṣàbùnmi spoke, but her voice shook with fear.

“Leave!” Ìyá Alaanu’s voice sounded like the rumbling of thunder, and any sane person would have run for their dear lives, but Òrìṣàbùnmi had been tired of running; she needed a place to call her own, a purpose to keep on living.

"No, I am not going anywhere, I want to learn the language of the deity, and you are going to teach it to me," Òrìṣàbùnmi said, with a lot more conviction than she had ever had in her life. It was that conviction that Ìyá Alaanu needed, everything quieted down, and Ìyá Alaanu was back on her stone stool as if she had never even lifted a finger.

“Sit,” she commanded softly, and Òrìṣàbùnmi sat crossed legged before her, ready to take on a new path in life. That was when Ìyá Alaanu had told her of the seven battles she must fight for her to read the language of the deity.

The first battle had taught her independence, as she’d had to begin all her journey without any help from Ìyá Alaanu, the second battle had taught her endurance as she had to travel through a ringlet of fire, the third battle had taught her bravery as she had to battle a depraved demon in a pit of darkness. The fourth battle brought her to a village. When the men and women worshipped her body and made her body do things that she had never thought were possible, they taught her that there was no shame in her sexuality. The fifth battle had taught her kindness. She became a caregiver to the orphan children that she had found in the course of her journey. The sixth battle taught her love. It brought her into the arms of the one who truly loved her. With each battle she fought and won, a tattoo appeared on her left forearm, stark white against her dark, ivory black skin, each a sacred symbol from the walls of Ìyá Alaanu’s ibùdó.

This was her seventh and final battle. Over the years, she had dreaded the final battle, not knowing when it would happen, doubting that she still possessed the strength it took to fight and win the battle. Now she stood on the plain field, spear in hand, the sun shining down blessedly on her, staring at her adversary who was poised for battle. Òrìṣàbùnmi eyed the woman from head to toe. From the beautiful black dreadlocks that ran down her back to the red beads that adorned her ankles, the woman was her exact replica, albeit with an evil scowl on her face. She finally understood what the final battle was. It was a battle against her inner demons.

She grinned at her evil twin and yelled with all her might, "I am worth it!" Her adversary was rattled. She had obviously not been expecting her to say that.

"I deserve everything I have; I am worthy of my life. I am a woman who has walked through fire, battled demons, I have found purpose; I have found freedom, and I will not let you take it away from me." She spun her spear and poised for attack, but her adversary only smiled and dissolved into the atmosphere.

A searing pain shot through Òrìṣàbùnmi’s left forearm, sending her to her knees. As a new tattoo appeared on her skin, the symbols on her forearm moved and fused together, forming the word; Obìrin.

She was a deity, and her womanhood was her language, it was proud, imposing and beautiful, and she would speak it loudly for the whole world to hear.

GLOSSARY

1. Ìyá Alaanu – Mother of Mercy

2. Òrìṣàbùnmi – Gift of the Deity

3. Ibùdó – Shrine/home

4. Obìrin – Woman

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