Sankofa. It means to go back.
To give thanks and praises to the Creator, regardless of the name in which we call Him/Her.
To remember our ancestors, we know not by name, and their ultimate sacrifice.
To remember our recent ancestors, and the wisdom their lives left behind.
To reflect on where we have been, to be clearer on where we are headed.
This is my personal diary of the last decade of experiences with attending Sankofa: The Caravan to the Ancestors, hosted by the Houston Chapter of the National Black United Front….and how these experiences changed my life.
The intent of this is not only to inspire all who have attended a Sankofa: Caravan to the Ancestors to share their their stories, but to bring an artistic and literary perspective to the history of this ceremony. The art of storytelling has long been a part of ancestral tradition.
2011’s diary gives my reflection of the the first time I encountered an Egungun Priest in masquerade….it got real. Hear the audio version of these diaries infused with old skool music and other mystic teachings on 222.9 The Mothership Internet Radio, and read the written part of this diary on www.poeticallymused.org/echoesoflegacy.
Pataki. Oni mi Ojo Abameta, Owara Marundilogun, Odun Egbawa Mokanla,
Marundilogbon ojo Igba Ooru.
Translate: Diary. Today is Saturday, October 15th, 2011, 25 days into Autumn Equinox.
The day vibrated on a 1, a day of new beginnings
The Moon was waning in the 3rd house of Gemini.
It was a 4 year, ideal for new beginnings.
This was the caravan’s 14th year in production, themed “Revolutionizing African People.” It was also the International Year of People of African Descent. I was sooo happy to be there!
Life had been more intense than the year before, but my level of understanding of ancient African traditions, and Sankofa was better. The drums this year seemed louder to me than before, as if my heart was the goatskin. The ocean waves were larger, and I was happy to know enough to call the ocean by Her name. I went and greeted Yemonja first. It was a bright, festive, and sunny day. We were fully engaged in the drum circles, the dance, the offering ceremony. I allowed myself to feel the supernatural presence of the ancestors and orisa without fear. As I danced, I found myself spinning in spirals as the dance became more of an out-of-body experience. I think I received twice as many hugs and wisdom talks from the elders and priestesses, as I began to notice how they always seemed to have a way of… separating me from the crowd.
Then, it happened. The masquerade prophecies as told through an Egungun priest. He ripped through the crowd like a tornado, delivering messages to whomever was divinely appointed to receive. He was covered from head to toe, black hood over head, mask over face, closed toe shoes o the beach. As he finished with the second message, he ran a ways forward down the beach, abruptly stopped, and sharply turned around. My mate and date from the year before was by my side then, and he decided it was a good idea to nudge me right in the masquerading priest’s path. He pointed his blade directly at me, and instantly my knees gave from under me. The energy was real. My head was bowed, hands buried in the sand, he spoke to me…but I wasn’t alone under prophecy. He who I was with at the time was right by my side, head bowed, hands in the sand, receiving prophecy.
His voice was a gravely snarl of ancestral truth. I could hear them in unison …and I felt heat coming from behind the mask. I felt it again, the recognizing of our ancient ways that was being reintroduced to me. He told the man I was with “Death is an illusion…” among other things. “He told me, “Set your spirit free like this butterfly….” as he picked up the butterfly amulet I was wearing and used it to lift my face from the ground. Interestingly, the same butterfly would later be consecrated as an amulet to Oya. Amist many things he said to us, the one thing that stuck with me the most is this: “Jesus is as powerful as He is because people gave him that power…” Those words rang in my mind for years after they were spoken. I rose from the sand, feeling like the esoteric side of my life made more sense. My mate and I just looked at each other, wondering why we were spoken to together.
2011’s caravan was the longest we lingered after the main ceremonies were done. In the midst of the mingling, we ended up going back to the beach house where the Egungun Society from Dallas was residing. He went where the men were, and I with the women. It was a very welcoming energy, like spending the day with extended family. They were all very pleasant, welcoming people, especially the priestess. There was fried fish and salad, bonding, rum, deep talks, and lots of hugs. I recall a moment where the priest and father of the house was walking around, feeding us small slices of bean pie off of a blade. When it came my turn, I ate the pie, but I looked into his face. My mind flashed back to the masquerade man on the beach. I added one and one. Wow. Why did this moment feel like some sort of …clue?
We had such a time at the beach house, we didn’t leave Galveston until 3am the next rising. Ogun showed us love. I-45 was cleared…all the way home.
Ase in Love,
iiiYansaje T. Muse
