Ócháni Lele is the pen name of Stuart Myers, an orisha priest living in Winter Park, Florida. Most know him as the author of The Diloggún: the Orishas, Proverbs, Sacrifices, and Prohibitions of Cuban Santería (Destiny Books, 2003). Yet he has authored two other books about the Lucumí faith: Obí, Oracle of Cuban Santería (Destiny Books, 2001) and The Secrets of Afro-Cuban Divination (Destiny Books, 2000). This summer Destiny Books is releasing his fourth book about the Lucumí faith, his first book of short stories based on the religion’s patakís: Teachings of the Santería Gods. With the release of his next book immanent, I had the chance to sit down and interview this author about his life, his work, and his spirituality. This is the first of a three-part interview that I will publish in three installments over the next three weeks.
Year-in-White: How did you first get involved in this religion, and what made you go so deeply into the religion?
Ócháni Lele: My road to this religion was a strange one. I was living in Fredericksburg, Virginia, in the 80s, and I was involved in all things magickal and spiritual. From 1986 to 1989 I was writing for an underground spiritual magazine, long ago defunct, titled Grove of the Goddess. While writing for that magazine another of the writers investigated a story that was unfolding in 1989 in Texas, a bizarre series of crimes that came to be known as the Matamoros murders. Those who remember back that far might remember that in 1989, Mark J. Kilroy went missing during his Spring Break in Matamoros; and after an exhaustive search Texas authorities discovered a death cult and drug ring in that Mexican town. It was lead by Adolfo Constanzo, who, if I remember correctly, committed suicide before he could be arrested. Very quickly the authorities blamed the cult’s activities on both Palo Mayombe and Santería before any links could be proven. It was on the front page of every newspaper.
The writer of the article for Grove of the Goddess did a lot of legwork and discovered that the cult was not a part of any Afro-Cuban faith; instead, authorities were using what happened there as a slur campaign against a beautiful spirituality, a religion that had taken root on American soil and was slowly growing. This was in the same time period that the Church of the Lucumí of Babaluaiye was fighting their legal battle up to the United States Supreme Court regarding our religious beliefs, and after doing some research on my own, I wanted to know more about this faith.
At the time I was involved in Gardnerian Wica (spelled with one “c” please), and I knew well the smear campaign law enforcement officials came up with to prosecute anyone involved in such things in the 80s. The more I dug for the truth, the more entranced I was with these Afro-Cuban faiths; and I was determined to learn all I could about Santería. Late in 1989 I packed my bags and made my way to Florida. At that time there seemed to be two havens for the religion – New York and Miami, and I thought being in a tropical climate would bring me closer to the religion that had flourished on Cuban shores. It was a huge move for me at the time – I was a simple country boy from King George, Virginia – but I wanted to find this religion, its orishas, and its priests so badly that I packed my bags and ran away almost overnight. It was an impulse well-followed!
But I was wrong about Miami being the place that would bring me closer to the religion! I’m still living in Florida, the Orlando area, but during my time I not only travelled to Miami in my quest to know the orishas but also Texas, California, and Michigan. Eventually I made santo in an ilé in Brooklyn, New York. The irony of that is not lost on me, by the way! And I still live in the Orlando, Florida, area.
Year-in-White: You are now a priest in that religion. What made you decide to get crowned?
Ócháni Lele: When I started to see diviners in the early 90s and began offering ebós, I had no desire to get initiated. I was happy being an aleyo (a Lucumí word meaning outsider) and just worshipping the orishas in that small way. But something changed all that in 1993. I went to a tambour uninvited – I’d overheard talk about it in a local botanica – so I dressed in white head-to-toe and I crashed it. Respectfully, of course, but I still crashed it. While I was there a priest mounted his orisha, Oyá. For the life of me I can’t remember who that priest was, but Oyá sought me out and, shaking, I put myself on the floor to her. I thought I was about to get called on my disrespect for coming uninvited. Instead, she blessed me, lifted me, and told me (in Spanish – the person attending her had to translate), “You have no idea what I have planned for you. The only way you’ll find out is if you make santo.” That’s all she said to me, but the way she said it . . . was powerful.
I left that tambour with a new sense of purpose, and looked for an ilé to join.
When I met my first real godparents in 1994, I had been through countless houses and diviners trying to find people with whom I clicked. Just about anyone I asked would divine for me and make ebó, but because I’m white, a lot of them wouldn’t consider me as a godchild. Even at that time there were a lot of priests who figured white people really didn’t have any place in this faith. But I was determined.
During the years from 1994 through 1996 I took many initiations in the religion: elekes, warriors, Olokun, Ibeyi, and santo lavado (Obatalá). But a series of personal setbacks in that house turned me away from my path; not completely, but just enough to where I was happy with the initiations I had but not too interested in becoming a priest. Fast forward a few years: I met an incredible oriaté in Brooklyn, New York, who many know by the name Checo Yemayá. I found his youth, his knowledge, and his enthusiasm for the religion refreshing! While originally I was looking only for the Lucumí faith, he was also a Tata Nkisi in the Congolese faith Palo Mayombe. Very quickly I was cut as a palero and Tata Nkisi in that house; and not long after, I was initiated as a priest in the Lucumí faith. If there was anything that made me decide to become a priest, it was my godfather, Checo – with him, I finally “got it” when it came to the Lucumí faith. People might be “bad” but the orishas were not; and he rekindled my love for them.
My journey took me from King George, Virginia to Orlando, Florida, and Miami, Florida, and then all over the country before my head finally found its home in Brooklyn, New York. It was an exhausting journey, but it was well worth the effort!
Year-in-White: After you made ocha, were there any unexpected changes in your life for the better or for the worse?
Ócháni Lele: To summarize that question, let me say that if I had not made ocha, I would be a very sick man today, if not a dead man. The week that I spent in the initiation throne was a week that I should have been in the hospital. I went to New York in Congestive Heart Failure. My cardiologist wanted me as a direct admission to a local hospital, but the orishas had other plans for me. Today, I’m incredibly healthy and happy with not a health problem in sight! The story itself is quite long, so if you don’t mind I’d like to direct your readers to my blog with the following link:
http://ochanilele.lit.org/wordpress/?p=904
It’s a long story, and those who are interested can read about it there.
Year-in-White: How long did it take you to learn to become proficient at reading the diloggún?
Ócháni Lele: I have been studying the diloggún, its mechanics, and its odu for more than a decade and a half, and even now I ask myself if I’m proficient! There are days I’m not so sure! But divination is what I love and divining is what I do, and with Elegguá I have worked a few things that have seemed almost “miraculous” for other people. So I must be doing something right.
If diloggún is nothing else, it is a lifelong study. For some reason modern priests think that the oral literary corpus supporting this system is short and simple, when in truth it is vast. Think of the Vedas of the Hindu faith. They’re rather exhausting to think about. Now multiply that by 16, and you have an inkling of the wisdom contained in this system.
Proficiency with this system cannot come overnight. In my opinion, it can’t come from months or even a years’ worth of study. If one wants to know the diloggún and all the odu encompass, one simply must study daily. I’ve approached these patterns with an almost rabbinical passion, and I can’t imagine anyone else studying this system without the same zeal.
Lucumí divination is not something one can approach casually or liberally. One simply must devote a lifetime of study to it, in my opinion.
Year-in-White: Is there any advice you’d like to share with new-comers to the religion or those, like me, who hope to one day make ocha?
Ócháni Lele: Actually, there is! When my godchildren take their first steps in the religion, receiving their elekes and warriors, there is a short speech that I give them that I think everyone in this faith, whether they are an aleyo, aborisha, or priest, should keep in mind.
“Priests are human; we are creatures of flesh living and moving in a material world, just as those without santo done are material and living in the same. All of us make mistakes. All of us stumble. All of us fall. None of your faith should be in priests; we are just the ones who guide you into the mysteries of the orishas. All of your faith should be in the orishas; they are divine and make up the body of Olódumare, who is God. If you keep your eyes on the orishas and if you keep all your faith in them, when the day comes that I or any of us stumbles and falls in front of you, your faith in them will be intact. Put none of your faith in priests: Put all of your faith in the divine.”
I wish someone had been around to tell me that when I started this path 21 years ago; I might have been initiated a decade or more sooner.
Year-in-White: Thank you so much for the interview! I’m sure my readers will be looking forward to parts 2 and 3 over the coming weeks!
Ócháni Lele: It has been a pleasure. Thank you for having me!
Ócháni Lele’s book is available online at amazon.com. You can also find the other books he has written throughout his career as both a writer and a priest there. Click on the link below to find his latest book, Teachings of the Santería Gods, released on July 7, 2010.
