Some people like clearly defined traditions, and they get comfort from doing things the way their ancestors did them.  They follow the religion of their parents and grandparents, which contributes to their spiritual identity and growth. Sharing customs and rituals with others of the same faith is part of who they are as people, and it gives them a sense of belonging.  But, not everyone finds the answers they're looking for in their inherited religion, and it's not uncommon for people to set out in search of new spiritual practices in adulthood.  In the modern world,  family structures and traditions can break down pretty easily, leaving individuals spiritually lost and alone.  To fill the void, some people start creating a grab-bag of individualized beliefs and customs to create a made-to-order systems of reference to guide them through their lives.  This is a deeply ingrained idea in our modern culture, that ideas and beliefs are there for the taking, and we're entitled to take them and use them however we want.  There's nothing inherently wrong with an individualized approach to spirituality; in most cases, people do it with the best intentions in the world.  It seems innocent enough to take what you want from the buffet of religious and spiritual beliefs that the world offers you, and incorporate it into your life in whatever way you choose.  But because so many religious and spiritual beliefs are tied to specific historical, cultural, and social conditions and to a specific set of ancestors, it's worth taking a moment to consider these beliefs as the intellectual and spiritual property of other people.

Take Santería for example.  Santería is an established religion with roots in Western Africa. Does that mean that white people shouldn't practice it? No, absolutely not.  Santería doesn't exclude anyone on the base of race or ethnicity.  Santería has roots in Cuba, where it was originally practiced in black communities, but that doesn't mean that only Afro-Cubans have the right to be part of the religion.  Many Santería practitioners do speak Spanish because of their ancestral ties to the Hispanic Caribbean, but Santería isn't confined to one geographic area, one language or even one culture anymore.  It's truly a global religion. But, it is still a religion.  That means it has sacred ceremonies, liturgical language, and rules about how things need to be done.  The rules aren't invented by individuals, but come down from the ancestors. They reflect a desire and a need to adhere to tradition, as a way of honoring the ancestors and all they did to keep the religion alive, sometimes in very harsh circumstances and against fierce pressure to let it go.  The belief system that's the foundation of Santería is ancient and sacred.  The Lucumí people believe that it was given to them by God.  They feel a responsibility to keep their traditions sacred because of their close connection to the ancestors and to the Orichás, who are God's messengers on earth.  This is one reason that the religion is based on initiation.  Initiation rituals are complex, costly, and reserved only for those who have been chosen by the Orichás through divination to enter the religion in a formal way.  Other religions have rituals that bring individuals into the church, such as Baptism, Confirmation, and Communion, and marriage and funeral rites.  But most westerners these days aren't really familiar with initiatory religions that require such complicated (and to some degree) secret ceremonies.

People can practice some aspects of Santería without being initiated in the religion.  For example, many people in Cuba go to a Santero when they have a problem, but they don't necessarily think of themselves as members of a religious congregation.  Others attend ceremonies on occasion and receive some of the lower level initiations such as receiving elekes (beaded necklaces), an amulet for protection, or perhaps even Eleguá and the Warriors.  As they become more deeply involved in the religion through these smaller initiations and with continued consultas through divination practices with consecrated Priests and Priestesses of the religion, some eventually will become fully initiated themselves, and others will not.  It's not the aspiration of most Cubans to be fully initiated Santeros/as because that represents a full time commitment to the religion that not all people can take on.

In Latino communities in the USA, that same way of thinking applies, and people practice the religion on different levels, under the supervision and with the guidance of an established (and, hopefully, reputable) Santero/a.   People who really understand Santería from a cultural perspective know that it's not a do-it-yourself kind of religion.  Whether the individual truly believes in the tenets of Santería or not, most people who have been raised in communities where Santería is actively practiced by people they know and trust understand that you don't play around with the Orichás, Santería is a religion and it must be respected.  

True, Santería is described as a syncretic religion, and has borrowed elements from other sources like Catholicism over the years.  But these were organic changes brought about over time by a community of people. It wasn't an individual choice, but a natural process geared toward the survival of an established religious system in a new setting.

People who approach Santería from the outside often come at it with a totally different idea of what it is, what it can do for them, or how they can make it part of their lives.  They're attracted by the exotic, magical and mystical qualities they associate with non-European religious traditions. They embrace superficial (and often incorrect) notions about what Santería is, and they declare that they practice Santería, without understanding the underlying metaphysical foundation, the history, philosphy and culture of the religion. They think they can appropriate the aspects they like about Santería, ignore or change the aspects they don't like or don't understand.

The Orichás are willing to interact with anyone who approaches them with sincere intentions, but they communicate with humans through established ceremonies and rituals under the guidance of initiated Priests and Priestesses.  The Orichás' aché is everywhere, especially in the elements of nature, and it's possible for anyone to have a deep spiritual experience while contemplating the immensity of the sea or the majesty of a tall mountain or the cool beauty of the forest.  The aché of Yemayá and Obatalá and Ochosi are found in those places, and people can sense it, even if they don't know about the Orichás.  If they do know about them, it's possible they feel that the Orichás are reaching out to them in those natural settings, enveloping them in love or giving them strength.  Such a thing is possible, because the Orichás can be very generous and their aché can move people in the spiritual direction they need to go in.  Sometimes such a spiritual awakening leads the individual to reach out to the Santería community and make connections with elders who can guide him into the religion.

But, sorry to sound harsh here, the person who reads about Santería on the internet or in books, and who tries to bypass the steps that will lead him into the religion in the proper way, is only fooling himself if he thinks he's practicing Santería.  Santería requires community.  The community must be led by people who are initiated in the religion, understand the traditions, and are committed to seeing that the traditions are kept sacred.  Santería doesn't permit shortcuts.  Individuals can't pick it up like a new hobby and expect to connect to it in any meaningful way.  And people certainly can't pick and choose the parts they like, throwing the rest way, and claim that they are practitioners of the religion.  The religion requires acceptance of the traditions, and respect for them.  

Most importantly, in honor of the ancestors who brought the religion to the New World from Africa, in honor of those who devoted their lives to keeping the religion alive in hostile new environments, those who taught and trained others in the religion so that it wouldn't be lost, we owe it to them to acknowledge that the religion belongs to them, it is their cultural heritage and patrimony.  We can share it with them, if we enter into it with humility and accept it as it was passed down to them, if we agree to become part of the community that practices it in their time-honored way.  If we put ourselves in the role of students and listen patiently to elders who teach us in their own time and in their own way, we become integrated into the community little by little, as it's meant to happen.  We can't take a crash course and learn all there is to know in a few months or even a few years.  There's always more to learn and more to know, and there are always those who know more than we do, who will teach us if we're humble and patient.

These are aspects of the religion that are hard for some people to grasp in our modern take-charge world. If you're used to being in charge of everything and making all your own choices and decisions, if you want to be the one who calls all the shots and does everything the way you want, if you think you're entitled to reject the teachings of religious elders if their teachings don't gel with your established worldview, you're going to have trouble with Santería.  The religion doesn't call for mindless obedience, but it does require you to go with the established program. It requires you to follow the lead of others, to respect the traditions of a community, to let religious elders guide you. 

What's the best thing to do if you want to be involved in a Santería community and you don't know how to find one?  Depending on where you live, this can be easy or hard.  Try looking for music festivals that include African drumming and dancing.  See if there are botánicas in your city, and check them out.  If there's a Puerto Rican, Cuban or Dominican community in your city, go to events they sponsor, check out lectures, films, or workshops that focus on Afro-Caribbean culture.  Ask around.  Above all, don't be in a hurry.  Don't jump into anything without knowing who and what you're dealing with.  If your desire to be a part of Orichá worship is genuine, the Orichás will guide you where you need to go, and put you in contact with people you need to meet. It may take time, but it will happen.  In the meantime, it's good to educate yourself, using reputable sources of information like this website, to understand the principles of the religion, and to know what you can expect from involvement in the religion, if you decide to go down that path.

Everyone knows stories about people claiming to be Santeros/as who charge huge fees for services and ceremonies of doubtful quality.  In short, they have a racket going, and they take advantage of naive clients.  Yes, unfortunately this happens sometimes, especially now that Santería has become (in some circles) a commodity that's for sale to anyone who has money and interest.  It's hard to understand sometimes why monetary value has to be placed on the spiritual.  Why can't Santeros/as just perform services for free, out of the goodness of their hearts?  Doesn't it take away from the spirituality of the experience to attach a price to it?  Spiritual people aren't supposed to care about money, right?

Well... it's more complicated than that.  Being poor isn't a blessing. Everyone wants to make a living.  In Cuba, as in other parts of the world, many Santeros/as have full time jobs doing something totally unrelated to the religion, and they don't perform services and ceremonies for other people because they don't have the time.  Once in a while, when an initiation or a tambor (drumming party) is going on, a lot of helping hands are needed, so the person organizing the event will contact other Santeros/as to see if they're available to work.  It is work to carry out these ceremonies, have no doubt about it. The whole house needs to be cleaned thoroughly, people have to go shopping and find food for a large crowd, someone needs to prepare the food, sometimes there are special clothes that need to be sewn, or the room has to be arranged and decorated in a specific way.  Some people have to play the drums (which looks like fun, but is actually exhausting work), some people have to dance sacred dances (again, fun, but also work, it requires effort to dance for hours on end). All of these people are bringing their aché (sacred energy) into the room, and guaranteeing the participation of the Orichás they represent. There might be herbal baths and potions to prepare, which requires hours of intense work. For an initiation, which lasts a full week, there are daily chores like washing the clothes of the initiate, as well as complex ceremonies that require many participants and witnesses.  People take off from work and spend the day praying, singing,  carrying out rituals, doing all the things that have to be done for the initiation. For this, they get paid a derecho, which translates into money.  How much? It depends on the place and the customs of the house, as well as the amount of time and work that went into the effort. But everyone gets paid a derecho, because it's not only a way to compensate them for lost time at work, but also to show gratitude for the work carried out by those who are the children of the Orichás and stand in for them at religious events.  Some of the money earned as derecho always goes toward meeting the needs of the Orichás, such as adimús (food offerings), new altar cloths, new soperas (soup tureens used to house the Orichás), flowers, beaded necklaces and tools, and other gifts to keep the Orichás happy.  In this way, the payment of a derecho is not so different from the collection plates that are passed in Christian churches.  Observing religious traditions sometimes costs money.

When someone goes for a consulta (reading with cowrie shells), there's a derecho.  If some kind of ebó or adimú (sacrifice or offering) is required, there's a charge for that as well.  How much? It varies from place to place, and on the customs of the house. But, nothing is without charge, unless it's a true emergency and the person in need has no money.  Like doctors, ethical Santeros/as won't turn away godchildren in need because of lack of money. But, when the godchild's emergency passes and it's possible to pay, he owes it to his godparent to address the issue.  If he can't pay in money, he can offer his services in some way, or offer a gift. Something needs to be done to express gratitude, and it has to take material form, not just an empty "thank you."  It needs to represent some kind of sacrifice on the part of the giver, in acknowledge of the help that was given.

Initiation into Santería is very costly because it requires the work of many people, and because many purchases have to be made during the course of the week.  There are vegetables, fruits, grains, and many animals to buy - chickens, roosters, doves, ducks, goats, etc - how many depends on the individual's path in the religion and the requirements of the Orichás.  The animals will be sacrificed and later eaten by the initiate and all the Santeros/as present at the ceremonies. Animals cost a lot of money, even in rural communities where people routinely raise farm animals for food consumption. If you have no experience buying farm animals, believe me, they cost more than you think. There are many other things to buy, special soap, white sheets and towels, buckets and mops for cleaning (each initiation requires a new bucket and mop, because it's a new beginning), bolts of cloth, herbs, candles, bowls.  In a sense, it's almost like planning for the birth of a new child.  There's a lot involved, and none of it is free.  It all needs to be paid for, along with money paid to the godfather or godmother, and all the other people who work the ceremonies.

Does that mean they're doing it just for the money? Usually, no.  For the most part, what they get paid doesn't come near what their time is worth. They're often working for pennies an hour, and the work can be exhausting. Clearly, most people don't do the work out of need, but out of devotion to the religion and a desire to be part of the community.

Santería is above all a practical religion, and one of the things Santeros/as pray for is prosperidad (prosperity).  The notion of prosperity is not limited to money, but it includes it. It means having what you need to live comfortably, and happily.  No one is happy for long when they live in poverty.  Santeros/as, like everyone else, want to progresar (make progress in life). This means lifting themselves and their families out of poverty to have a few more of the things they need to live comfortably.  In Cuba, this can be as simple as money to buy an extra packet of detergent to wash clothes, or a new pair of shoes for a child.  The derecho isn't going to make anyone rich, but it's like icing on the cake; it's a sweet extra touch.

At the heart of it all, though, is the issue of respect for the Orichás. Santeros/as are the children of the Orichás and carry out services and ceremonies on their behalf.  To work without payment is an offense to the Orichás, who are doing a favor for humankind by getting involved in their business. The Orichás aren't obliged to help us; they help us if they choose to. And if they choose to, we should be grateful.  Orichás don't need our money, clearly.  But they need us to be willing to give up something that matters to us. And, in most cases, that is something that translates into money.  If we aren't willing to pay for something, how much do we value it?  The cost should be enough that we feel it as a sacrifice, but not so much that it causes us economic hardship.  The willingness to pay is a test of how sincere we are about wanting help from the Orichás.  Since prices vary hugely from one place to another and one community to another, it's important to have everything out in the open before entering into any business with a Santero/a.  It's important to know what the cost is likely to be.  Although people tend to be reluctant to talk about money matters, it's possible to find out what other people have paid for similar services if you ask some discreet questions.  If you've taken the time to get to know the Santero/a offering services to you, you should have a sense of how honest that person is.  If you have doubts, talk to someone in the community you trust, and take your time to make up your mind before you hand over your money. 

For some reason, people who don't know anything about the religion tend to call Santería a cult.  I suspect they don't know what the word cult means, or if they do, they don't know enough about Santería to understand why cult's the wrong word to describe it.  The dictionary definition of cult says that it's a new religious movement with a limited set of followers.  It's organized around a self-appointed charismatic leader who isn't accountable to anyone else.  Cults use psychological coercion to recruit, indoctrinate and retain members.  None of these characteristics apply to Santería.  Santería's roots are in Africa and date back to the era before Christ.  Millions of people around the world practice Santería. No individual is at the center of the religion.  Religious beliefs are passed down from the ancestors and dogma isn't developed by any one person.  And, Santería doesn't recruit new members.  People who are initiated into the religion have free will.  They can study the religion, be involved with the community, and practice the religion to the degree they want. 

When we look at secondary definitions of the word cult, it becomes a little clearer why some people choose it when talking about Santería.  Webster's Dictionary, for example, says the word cult is used for religions that are considered unorthodox and spurious (that is to say, phony).  Another dictionary says it refers to a small group of people whose religious beliefs are considered strange or sinister by other people.  Cult carries negative connotations, and is used to put down the beliefs of people who are perceived to be outside the mainstream.  So, doesn't the choice of the word cult imply religious intolerance?  To me, it does.

Religion has a more positive meaning for most people  It refers to a belief system that puts human beings in communication with a higher power that's recognized as divine and sacred.  Religion helps humans understand the universe, their purpose in life, and proper conduct in human affairs.  Santería has all of these defining traits.  For anyone who practices Santería, there's no doubt that it's a religion.  Why are others reluctant to use that word to describe it?  There are some complicated thought processes at work behind the choice of words, and it's worthwhile to look at some of them more closely.

In the simplest terms, cults are bad and religions are good.  To grant a belief system the status of religion means showing respect for the people who practice that religion, having an awareness of the history and the culture that produced the religion, and being tolerant of religious differences.  In Western culture, the Judeo-Christian tradition is the predominant one.  Immigrants introduced other religions like Islam, Buddhism, and Hindu, and while people who practice those religions aren't necessarily integrated into the mainstream, for the most part there's an awareness among the general population that "foreigners" sometimes practice a religion different from our own.   They can be the victims of religious intolerance and negative stereotypes, but for the most part, no one questions that Islam and Buddhism are religions.  At least I've never heard anyone call them cults.

Santería is practiced by an estimated million people in the USA today, and globally, we're talking about as many as 100 million practitioners.  These aren't small numbers.  But, Santería isn't as visible as some other religions. For example, there aren't Santería churches where people congregate on a specific day of the week to attend Mass or hear a sermon.  There's no way to immediately identify a Santería practitioner, because they can be people of any race, ethnicity, age group or profession.  Many are people of color, bringing up the whole issue of racism for us to consider - notice how often people call Santería a "primitive" religion? What makes it primitive?  It's association with Africa?  African had highly developed civilizations when people in Northern Europe still lived in caves.   There's still a shadow over Santería, associating it with "those people" who are dark skinned and poor, due to the fact that for years in Cuba and elsewhere in the Caribbean, it was a religion embraced by slaves and the descendants of slaves rather than the wealthy white elite.  Today, there are Santeros/as who are doctors, lawyers, engineers, professors, architects, writers, artists, businessmen and women, entrepreneurs; not everyone who practices the religion is poor and undereducated.  The religion has been embraced by smart people who are leaders in their communities, but not everyone knows they practice Santería.  Why?  Because there's still some fear of rejection, loss of position and prestige, social marginalization by others who find Santería objectionable.  How many people in mainstream society would feel comfortable going to a doctor who openly declares that he's also a practicing Santero?

The process of making Santería more acceptable in mainstream culture is a slow and painful one.  It's something like the process of a gay person coming out of the closet.  There's risk involved.  Rejection.  Loss.  Punishment.  Despite the fact that our constitution says we have religious freedom, there's still a lot of intolerance for religions that are too different from the mainstream ones.  I don't know that there's any solution to the problem, but I do know that words matter. Choosing to use the word religion and correcting people who use the word cult to talk about Santería is a very tiny step, but at least it's a step in the right direction.  First, admit that it IS a religion, and from there, we'll work on correcting other misconceptions.

Some people are horrified by Santería because they know it involves animal sacrifice.  Well, yes, it does, but much less than you think.  In very specific circumstances, blood sacrifice (of fowl or 4-legged animals like goats or sheep) is required for reasons I'll explain later, but most of the time, sacrifice in Santería takes other forms.  I want to get the image of blood-stained altars out of the way right now, because that's not part of daily life for Santeros.  The Orichás and egun can be honored with very simple gifts, like a glass or bowl of fresh water, a few pieces of fruit, a candle, some flowers, a cigar, a small dish of honey or molasses, a small glass of rum.  They don't need all of this heaped on them at one time like a spoiled child on Christmas morning.  What they want is a steady and sincere expression of devotion.  Santeros who take time to pray to the Orichás, to sit with them and keep them company, who clean the altar, put a fresh white cloth down, leave them a small token of affection: these are the signs of daily devotion that the Orichás and egun like.

In divination, if the reading comes with osorbo (misfortune) or if the iré (good fortune) isn't firm and guaranteed, an ebó (offering) is made to the Orichás who stand up to offer assistance to the client during the reading.  The diviner asks what the Orichás want by throwing the dilogún and asking the client to manipulate the ibó to get yes or no answers.  A good diviner always starts with the simplest and most basic form of ebó.  Depending on the tastes and preferences of the Orichás, they communicate what they want through the diviner.  Remedies are usually fairly simple and relatively inexpensive.  The Orichás, for the most part, aren't greedy and don't ask more than the client can give.  Most of the time, they only want a symbolic offering that shows the client is grateful for the guidance they're offering. 

One of my favorite offerings takes the form of adimú, which usually translates as cooked food prepared for the Orichás.  Sometimes this can be food that you, yourself, plan to eat, too, but if you're preparing it as an adimú, you always serve the Orichás first.  Don't give them leftovers!  After all, they're the honored guests.  Sometimes, though, you prepare food that's just for them.  Ogún likes a sweet potato, baked or fried, rubbed with red palm oil and maybe a little molasses.  Ochún likes an omelette with a little chard and dried shrimp.  Changó loves fried okra.  There are recipes books, recipes on the internet, and even programs on youtube that show you how to cook food for the Orichás.  The recipes, manner of preparation and ingredients, can vary from one cook to another, but the most important thing is that the adimú be prepared with love and devotion. It should be served on a nice plate reserved just for the Orichá, and disposed of in the right way, as determined by divination.  For example, it might go in the garbage, or it might go to the railroad tracks, the river, the crossroads, or the wilderness.  The Orichás say how long to leave it and where to take it to dispose of it.  It's important to dispose of it in a way that doesn't harm the environment or cause unsightly litter.  The Orichás express themselves through the elements of nature, so they want you to respect the natural environment and keep it clean.

The word ebó comes from Yoruba and means both "sacrifice" and "offering" because these two things are interconnected.  Sacrifice doesn't always mean cutting an animal's throat and offering blood. Sacrifice means giving up something that means something to you, as a way to show you're devoted to the Orichás and appreciate what they do for you. When you buy flowers and put them for the Orichás, you're sacrificing the money that you would otherwise be spending on yourself. You're taking time you could spend doing something else to go to the market and buy the flowers. You arrange them in a vase with care and love. These actions require effort on your part, and they constitute a sacrifice. When you make food and give it to the Orichás, you're sacrificing food you would otherwise eat yourself.  Again, this may not seem like a big deal when you have plenty of food to go around, but Santería comes from a culture marked by economic hardship, where offering food to another was truly a meaningful sacrifice.  Another form of ebó is behavior modification, such as avoiding alcohol or staying away from large crowds. That's a sacrifice, if you like to drink and party.  Spiritual cleansings and baths are also considered ebó, because there's some time, expense and effort involved in getting the ingredients together and taking the bath in the prescribed way.  It's not just about money; it's about giving the time to the Orichás to carry out their wishes, and showing obedience by following their advice.  For people who are willful, used to getting their own way, and doing whatever they want, showing obedience and humility can be a major sacrifice, because it means giving up behavior that displeases the Orichás.  

All living things have aché (spiritual energy), so even a seemingly small gift like a glass of cool water has great metaphysical importance.  Water's the source of life. Without it, the planet would die.  Fruits and vegetables come from the earth and depend on rainwater to thrive.  Without them, we'd starve.  Honey and molasses make life sweeter.  Oils, like cocoa butter or red palm oil, make things go smoother.  Simple, natural ingredients make the best adimús and offerings because they're so closely connected to life itself.  Flowers bring beauty into our lives. Candles offer light and warmth.  When you understand the spiritual properties of these offerings, they're no longer simple things but profoundly meaningful ones.

So, rethink the concept of sacrifice, if you're put off by it.  Maybe it's not what you think it is.  Yes, once in a while an animal dies and there's blood. But most of the time, it's not that. It's something simpler, fresher, cooler, and gentler, because the religion is all about living in harmony with nature, with other people, with egun, and with the Orichás, and most of the time, that's accomplished with gestures of love and devotion, not the drawing of blood.


Here's a link to the Adimú Network, which teaches you how to make traditional foods for the Orichás.  The recipes are prepared by an experienced Santera who also happens to be a great cook!

We're not very good at keeping secrets in our modern culture. Social networking and text messaging make it possible for us to follow the intimate details of our friends' lives and receive tons of information from all around the world at the touch of a little button.  A lot of people have trouble understanding why they need to keep anything secret unless they've done something bad and they don't want anyone to know about it. Secrecy suggests underhanded, suspicious behavior, and anything done in secret must be either illegal or immoral.  Otherwise, why keep it secret?  Popular magazines exist for the sole purpose of uncovering people's secrets.  Just think what happened the last time a celebrity or politician tried to keep a secret.... It usually leads to scandal.

In Santería, secrecy has a completely different meaning, and a different social function.  It creates a barrier between insiders and outsiders, making sure the religion remains in the hands of people who will safeguard it and respect it as it was handed down to us by the ancestors. There's no real reason why outsiders need to know certain information.  What would they do with the information if they had it? It would be useless to them, because they don't have the aché (divine energy) to understand it fully.  Santeros don't have an evangelical mission and don't try to convert outsiders to the religion. It's irrelevant if outsiders understand Santería or not.  Those who practice it understand it, that's what matters. Santeros don't feel any particular zeal to get everything about the religion out in the open and share it with the world.  If someone doesn't know about Santería or doesn't appreciate it, it's their loss.  Contrary to what many outsiders think, the secrecy surrounding Santería isn't there to cover up evil deeds.  Secrecy surrounds the religion because the knowledge that comes from Santería is so precious, it can't be squandered.  No one would put a pot of gold in the front yard and stick a sign on it saying: take some.  Santeros feel the same way about the sacred teachings of the religion.  Knowledge is for those who've made a serious commitment to the religion, who respect tradition, and who will use the knowledge to good ends.

Sometimes it's hard to know who's your friend and who's your enemy.  If you share knowledge with someone you think is a friend and later he turns against you, he can use the knowledge he got from you to harm you.  We're not just talking about gossip and the potential for blackmail. We're talking about spiritual power, too, because practitioners of Santería learn how to align themselves with the aché of the Orichás, who bring them health, prosperity, success, and allow them to overcome their enemies, not through witchcraft but through the spiritual protection the Orichás offer their children.  Through secret ceremonies, Santeros strengthen their own personal aché and enlist the help of the Orichás to solve problems.  The secrecy of the ceremonies isn't to hide evil; it's to protect what's good and necessary in life, and keep it in the right hands. Those who are initiated into the religion have a sacred obligation to do the right thing.

In part, Santería's reputation for secrecy goes back in time, when the slaves in Cuba couldn’t practice their religion openly.  They hid the Orichás behind the saints, and kept their ceremonies and rituals secret so those with political and social power (the masters) wouldn’t punish them.  This historical experience taught Afro-Cubans to be quiet, guarded, and cautious.  But, there is something deeply engrained in the religion itself that promotes this careful approach to life.  So many of the refranes (proverbs) of Santería talk about the dangers of talking too much, of telling people information that they can use against you, of teaching others everything you know and finding yourself suddenly replaced.  Knowing when to be quiet and listen is much more important than having the gift of gab.  People who talk too much and too freely aren't to be trusted.  This isn't a paranoid or fearful approach to life but, rather, one that encourages discretion.  Think before you speak. Think about what you're saying, and who you're saying it to. Does it need to be said, or would it be better left alone?  A person who's fearless or smart or strong doesn't need to declare it to the world; his actions speak louder than words. Modesty and humility are important in Santería and a person who constantly boasts about his own greatness ends up looking small in the eyes of his community.

So why are some aspects of Santería kept secret? Santeros would reply: if there's no reason for others to know, why tell them? Tradition says these things are to be kept secret, so they’re kept secret. It's that simple.  Maintaining secrecy is a way of honoring tradition and the sacred teachings of our ancestors. When and if a person needs to know something, the Orichás will lead him into the religion through the proper channels.

By the way, none of the information I'm writing about on this website is secret. The information I'm sharing is general enough that anyone can have access to it. Imagine it as the tip of the iceberg, the part that's visible. There's more under the surface, but not everyone can see it.