Babalaos in Cuba preview 2010

By Aurelio Pedroso

Doves, roosters and even the shy and harmless jutías – those tree-dwelling rodents that leap into the void at the barking of a dog – will not escape the slaughter that awaits them this year in Cuba.

All this because of the famous Letter of the Year, that kind of practical guide issued by a board of babalaos, or Santería priests, who every January gather to tell “Cuba and the whole world” the predictions made by a handful of snail shells flung on a velvet cloth.

Some people are attracted by curiosity, by the novelty of the thing, and others by honest devotion. The truth is that half an island (or island and a half) begins the year by asking if the Letter is out, so they can prepare for the future. At the very least, they want to decipher personal problems and concerns, matters involving family, health, society and even high-government policies that involve U.S.-Cuba relations.

I remember that some years ago the babalaos announced from a rooftop in Old Havana, in the presence of the foreign press, that important heads would roll. A French colleague, who spoke with a thick accent, asked whose heads and got this simple and indisputable answer: “We’re not talking about Cuba. This is international.”

It is indeed an international Letter, which, on two sheets of paper, will “lead” us in the following 12 months. On this occasion, the priests have forbidden us to wash ourselves with rain water, drink alcohol, and, among other injunctions, “loiter unnecessarily late at night,” something that the police will be grateful for.

As in the case of similar topics, I must acknowledge and respect all those who, beyond practical, day-to-day life, believe in something. If they believe that, in order to keep their “saint” happy, they must emulate Jack the Ripper and decapitate an innocent dove or a virile rooster who provides constant joy to its harem of hens, well, let them do it. My thinking will remain intact, like the brains of the polemicists who gather in Progreso Weekly to spout their opinions without anesthesia.

The Cubans’ predilection for Santería, wherever they may live, is a very serious thing and this article in no way attempts to find or explain the reason why so many “educated and learned folks,” as my grandmother used to say, cling to beliefs that border on Stone-Age primitivism.

In Cuba, we have two groups that announce the Letter. They’ve been trying to unite for years, but still haven’t. And I don’t think they will, unless a snail shell (Cyphoma gibbosum) of the type used for the predictions determines it someday, or if a major force of nature brings them together.

One is the Yoruban Cultural Society of Cuba, which is undeservedly described as the government’s “official” seer, maybe because its chairs display the words “Ministry of Culture.” The other is the Miguel Febles Padrón Organizing Committee for the Letter of the Year, situated in the Havana neighborhood of La Víbora.

This year, the contradiction is notable. For the Yorubas, the ruling goddess is Yemayá and the flag will be blue and red, in diagonal stripes. For the MFPOC, the ruling divinity is Obatalá, under a white flag with violet borders.

The snail shells thrown by the youngest of the babalaos at the La Víbora temple (the ritual is the same for both groups) predicted that we shall see significant changes in the social sphere, an intensification of the struggle for political or religious power, a high number of deaths among public personalities, and a number of coups d’état. There are 12 other predictions.

Among the noteworthy predictions are two whose local significance is hard to ignore: “A warning that there will be shortages due to lack of organization in the distribution of goods.” “A decrease in trade relations involving both importation and exportation.” I say this because these forecasts won’t affect German santeros. They’re too well-organized and punctual.

The truth is that those predictions have already been made by the specialists, the economic and political authorities and the priest at Saint Rita’s Parish in his year-end sermon.

Someday Progreso Weekly should do its own Letter of the Year.

I counsel no one to behead a dove, because it’s the symbol of peace, of the concord we so desperately need. Whoever wishes to offer a sacrifice should open a bottle of liquor and pour some drops at every corner of his block.

Happy dawning of the year.

Aurelio Pedroso, a Cuban journalist, is a member of the Progreso Weekly team.