Uncle Lucas?s farm for the three years I went to work for the Dominican sugar companies. Nicolas is our houngan ? our priest.
But his loa is Ogún, the god of war and iron. This is not his domain. It is yours. Can you pray to Agwe for us? We know you
call her differently, but it does not matter that our ancestors were Fon and yours Yoruban. In our bones we are all from Guinea.
We trust that you will know what to say.?
I only hope I can do this right.
She started, of course, with the greeting to Elegba to clear the road for the rest of her requests, then quickly slipped in a brief
prayer to Changó. She wondered if somewhere far away Barbara could sense the call to the energy which linked their spirits
together. Then she concentrated and pulled from her memory every invocation to Yemaya she had ever heard.
Iya mí late o Yemaya asayabí Olokun ibutá gana dedé wantolokun okaba yiré ayaba ibú la onu kofiedenu Iya mí ayuba?
Yemaya olodo Iyá lokoto Olodumare. Iyá omi tuto omi oyé sina woto abila Iyá mi onio moké taro ero awa lu ma fon ma yon
minie ma yon ba tioko eminiacho kuerio?
Her prayers - punctuated only by the occasional hiss and pop of the flares - were a soothing melody delivered at a measured pace
that ignored the storm?s insistence on panic and frenzy.
Everything is as it should be, she thought, and recalled Barbara?s reassurances in the night. There is no shame in this, and I am
in good company. And it is a good thing ? if I am to leave this world ? to be of service up until the end and to give honor to all
the generations of my ancestors that survived unspeakable misery to grant me the moments of happiness and pleasure that I stole
from the enemies of life.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
To be continued.
Feedback to ortizbriggs@aol.com .
Federico García Lorca?s ?Romance Sonámbulo? (?Sonnambulist Romance?) ? inadequately translated by me ? used without
permission. The second poem referenced is ?La Casada Infiel? (?The Adulterous Wife?), taken from the same collection,
Romancero Gitano.
Translation of ?Cantares? (?Songs?) by Joan Manuel Serrat, adapted from the poetry of Antonio Machado.
?Everything passes and everything remains/But it is ours to pass/To pass making roads/Roads over the sea./ I never pursued
glory/Or to leave in the memory/Of men my song./ I love the delicate worlds/ Weightless and graceful/ Like soap bubbles./ I like
to see them paint themselves/ In blue and scarlet as they fly/ And beneath the blue sky tremble/ Suddenly and pop./ I never
pursued glory./ Traveler, your footsteps are/ The road and nothing else/ Traveler, there is no road/ One makes the road by
walking./ By walking one makes the road/ And when you turn and look back/ You see the path that will never/ be stepped upon
again./ Traveler, there is no road/ But the wakes breaking the sea./ Some time ago in that place/ Where the forests dress
themselves in pines/ The voice of a poet was heard yelling/ Traveler, there is no road/ One makes the road by walking./ Beat by
beat/ Verse by verse./ The poet died far from his home/ He is covered by the dust of a neighboring land/ As he left he was seen
weeping./ Traveler, there is no road/ One makes the road by walking./ Beat by beat./ Verse by verse./ When the goldfinch cannot
sing/ When the poet is a pilgrim/ When praying serves no purpose,/ Traveler, there is no road/ One makes the road by walking./
Beat by beat/ Verse by verse.?
