By Abimbola Adelakun
The Muslim burial that the Awujale of Ijebuland, Oba Sikiru Adetona, received infuriated many traditionalists and reignited the old questions about the future of our indigenous beliefs and practices in a world dominated by the Abrahamic religions. But at some point, we must also come to terms with the reality that Islam and Christianity are no longer “foreign” religions. They might not be indigenous to us, but they have existed in Africa long enough to be considered part of our “traditional” system of beliefs. To whom exactly are they still foreign anyway? Like it or not, what Oba Adetona received was still a traditional burial.
That said, Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practitioners are justified in taking umbrage at the Abrahamic religion they consider an interloper. The monarchy, which remains the major symbolic system for them to exhibit and sustain their socio-political relevance, is now being gentrified by the Abrahamic religions. Christianity and Islam, monotheistic religions that take their truths to be ultimate, are intolerant of competition. They always contend to be the dominant and definitive ideology, which is why they always strive to take over every cultural sphere. Since the monarchy system in the country caught their fancy, they have been chipping away at about the only domain where Ìṣẹ̀ṣe still exercises some political and cultural relevance. In virtually every other area, Ìṣẹ̀ṣe has been marginalised and treated like an underground practice. Hardly any politician ever claims to be an Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practitioner; they all go into office swearing by the symbols of Christianity and Islam. They furtively identify with Ìṣẹ̀ṣe, and you only get to know the power its system of belief wields over their imagination when they fall out among and reveal how they swore themselves to an oath at an Ogun shrine. By turning Ìṣẹ̀ṣe into a guilty secret, they help to maintain all sorts of misinformation about what the system of belief is about.
Part of the reason this problem is the recurring issue of the proper classification of our indigenous systems of beliefs as either “culture” or “religion”. Reading Oba Adetona’s old interview on the subject matter of Oba’s burial, I got the impression that he, too, consigned Ìṣẹ̀ṣe to “culture” and “tradition”, and which he insisted must be amenable to change in a way he would probably not have demanded of the Islam he practised. The distance between culture and religion may not seem that significant, but the difference has implications for the legal protections one can obtain in the expression of freedom of thought and worship. I have watched even practitioners of Ìṣẹ̀ṣe argue that they are one or the other, and it is hardly a settled debate. Some Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practitioners resist being called a religion because that would force them into a formalised arrangement that would not only turn them into one of the three readily available religious choices but also take away their edginess. They think referring to themselves as “culture” will make people more protective towards them, but as the Oba Adetona example shows, it only makes them vulnerable to endless negotiations of reformation that people do not direct at the monotheistic religion they practise.
Classifying Ìṣẹ̀ṣe as “culture” also opened it up to an extractive and abusive relationship to culture vultures in industries such as Nollywood who exploit its myths and symbols for commercial gain. They never conduct proper research into Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practices, nor do they even deem it a contemplative practice for everyday ethical living. They always go for the lowest-hanging fruit in their representation. When they feature a babaláwo character in their films, it is mostly as a caricature—he is either promoting evil or correcting it. The situation is no different in churches and mosques, where clerics run down Ìṣẹ̀ṣe in a manner they would not dare do with their counterparts. Since it is considered “culture”, there is hardly any accountability. They can afford to be as disrespectful as they wish. Unfortunately, Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practitioners are perpetually under-resourced to push back. They lack sufficient cultural influence to effectively advocate for their interests, unlike the organised religions. Those who canvass for Ìṣẹ̀ṣe do so informally most of the time, and they always seem to be more motivated by their dislike of Christianity and Islam than by actual faith and appreciation of indigenous systems of belief.
Christians and Muslims demonise Ìṣẹ̀ṣe to vindicate their faith. They regularly pelt us with tall tales of what Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practitioners purportedly do with human flesh and destinies. They tell those stories, not because they know them to be true, but because they need to create an enemy they will perpetually war against to sustain their relevance. When a prominent Oba passed some years ago, a fellow I knew called for prayer points to counteract the spiritual agenda that would accompany the burial. According to this person, they would bury some unfortunate people with the Oba and eat his body, and we ought to pray. I not only challenged the veracity of that account, but I also offered to pay them a substantial amount of money if they could provide concrete evidence of missing persons’ reports after the burial of that Oba. Of course, they had nothing to produce, but it still did not change their mind or those of their followers. They rationalised their lack of evidence by saying if no one was reported missing, it only meant their prayers worked!
People are so steeped in the false narratives handed down to them by colonial-era anthropologists that they imagine Ìṣẹ̀ṣe as non-evolving. They so need the false stories to be true to justify their Christianity and Islam as a means to social and moral progress. To accept that Ìṣẹ̀ṣe is as modern and as progressive is to make their Abrahamic religions redundant. Each time an Oba dies in Yorubaland, these characteristic ignoramuses circulate rumours about the ritual cannibalism that takes place during the burial. What is more unfortunate is that those who promote these stories include even the traditional rulers, whose desperation to justify the seeming incoherence of sitting on a traditional throne while practising a non-traditional religion.
I find it interesting when the Obas do that. Some of them accept nomination to the throne based on a purported selection by Ifa, and they do not turn down the honour because their religion conflicts with Ifa’s directives. Throughout their royal lives, they accept the privileges the rest of us are expected to offer them due to their status as the supposed custodians of our timeless traditions. Yet, they think so poorly of the traditions and falsely campaign against them? That’s ideological two-timing. If you think cultural traditions (and which includes Ìṣẹ̀ṣe practices) are not worth preserving, you might as well stay away from the monarchy. The most embarrassing culprit in this respect is the Oluwo of Iwo, Mr Abdulrosheed Akanbi. But then, what else can one expect from a clown bedecked in royal apparel, full of emptiness, and garrulously signifying the deprecation of the much-touted Yoruba ethical ideal?
If there is something to learn about the furore that attended the Awujale’s burial, it should be the importance of maintaining the correct balances. While an Oba reserves the right to practise any religion he wishes, it is imprudent to give preference to any publicly. Obas should embody the virtues and ethics of all religions within their domain, even if they do not believe in them. When they die, their funerals should be a continuity of the ecumenism they reflected while alive.
The Punch
