You might be a Santero If....(top ten)

Kevyn...

I think we all could add to these top 10 !!
Like:

If you ever had your hands itch from the EWE and realize you just touched another spot on your body and its starting to itch as well ...

Just realized that I still have not located the three machetes that belong to Yemaya. They got put away on my birthday and, have not appeared yet. Which I guess makes me a Santero, having machetes in the house for something other than cutting the trees.

You know youre a Santero when the subject of cooking dinner comes up, and you spend 15-30 minutes discussing who can eat what, or not.

How about when you go to Kmart, and see a pair of twin black dolls, marked down to $10.00, and have to have them because they are perfect for the Ibelli? Or you go to Target, and can't make up your mind whether to buy the blue, white or, red cookie jars. Or your heartbroken because that precious little casserole (red with a little blue flower) is only one and, not two. Or you have to buy it, because down the road you might have a use for it.
You know your a Santero, when your house begins to look like Pottery Barn having a half price sale.

This is some HILARIOUS stuff!!!!!


Oh guuuuudddd!!!

OK, I just wolfed down some chopped liver on rye, so my strength is up and I can share THE PLUMBER STORY.

It was about the 8th Osha I made, and it was about 10 years ago. The gang in Miami still didn't know quite what to make of our All-American ile, but we had fun anyway. We rented a house in Miami to do the Osha, as we still didn't have quite enough Oloshas in Michigan to do them here (I believe the next one after the one I'm talking about was the first we did up here).

So the day before the Osha a pigeon (a freelance one, not one we bought for the Osha) flew into the house. I wasn't quick enough to grab and kill it, and it flew back out. The reason I was going to kill it is because Kev had told me some kind of hillbilly hoodoo about never letting a bird that gets in the house escape alive or it will take someone's soul with it. When it comes to hillbilly superstitions, I listen to that kid.

It was all downhill from there. The reading of entry predicted death, but also said that it didn't have anything to do with the Osha, and that we would see death but would all be fine. How precisely that was going to work I didn't know, but hey, diviners always throw some doom and gloom in the mix, don't they?

First bad sign: The out-of-shape Iyawo went cyanotic on the pilon and we had to massage his limbs to get the circulation going again. Osha done, sacrifice done, all was well. THEN the plumbing went.

They called Methusela the plumber, who heaved and wheezed his way into the back yard carrying a ladder (yes, the fucked-up Miami construction required that access to the plumbing was gained via the roof ... don't ask me). The plumber deposited his ladder against the back of the house and made his way back toward the truck. Suddenly we hear a couple of elderly santeras screaming at the side of the house.

We rounded the corner in time to take note of the plumber, now rolled up in a ball and bright purple, laying in the middle of a circle of Santeros who then scattered like bats (Miami Santeros are not notorious for doing well in crisis ... especially the kind of crises that involve calling the police). Kevyn, trained in health care, and another individual who worked part time at an old-folks' home took to the task, starting mouth-to-mouth. They were a little uncoordinated at first, and Kevyn's first chest compression caused the old guy's teeth to shoot into the mouth of the person preparing to give him the breath of life. He spit the teeth out and they fell down the old dude's throat. There was then a lot of unceremonious fishing around in the plumbers esophagous to retrieve said teeth.

During this process Mr. Mouth-to-Mouth dropped the plumber's head on the cement with a sickening, melon-like thud. The one remaining Santera who didn't take to the hills crossed herself at this point.

Kevyn and his assistant were at one point successful in their efforts. The plumber began to breath on his own and his heart was pumping. The ambulance whisked him away and left us all in stunned silence. We just sat there staring at the ladder, still leaning against the house. Then the church giggles set in. I know, out of context, it sounds really horrid, but our brains went into survival mode and all we could do was laugh ... like "What the FUCK just happened???" My sister Asabi went and lit a candle next to the ladder. That's when we really lost it.

A few hours later a resident of the house had received a call from the hospital. His English being limited, he walked out to our little group and said "Zee Plommer..." and then dragged his finger across his neck in a cut-throat manner. He even made the "slit" noise.

The high point came the next day when the plumber's daughter came to visit. We sort of pushed poor Kev out the door to console her. He pulled nervously on his cigarette and said things like "He said 'tell my daughter ...' You're his daughter, right? Yeah, he said 'tell my daughter I luv 'er." Puff, puff, like Bette Davis on the cigarette. Kevyn = BAD LIAR.

So that's the plumber story. Coming soon: "Calling the Police on My Own Osha" by Afolabi