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Nigerians meld Christianity, Islam with ancient practices
11
Oct 2007- Nigeria - Wasiu Olasunkani drops to his knees in the
sacred grove, lowers his chin to his chest and turns his palms skyward:
a gesture of thanks to a traditional water goddess embodied by the
massive stone idol with outstretched arms that sweep over an ancient
shrine.
Olasunkani, a Muslim whose 1998 pilgrimage to Mecca fulfilled one of the
five pillars of Islam, joins tens of thousands of ethnic Yoruba people
each year to pray before the idol and offer libations to her
mermaid-like spirit, Osun. Last year, Olasunkani beseeched the goddess
for a baby. This year he's thanking her for twin boys, Farook and
Cordroy.
"If
you want to get a baby, you come here and pray, and you'll certainly
have one," said the 46-year old doctor after finishing his riverside
reverie. Speaking of his fellow Yoruba people of southwestern Nigeria —
20 million strong and roughly evenly split between Christians and
Muslims he says: "We've been doing this for centuries."
Across West Africa, churches or mosques can be found in virtually every
settlement: evidence of deep Christian and Muslim roots sown by the
merchants, missionaries and slave traders who brought the religions
hundreds of years ago. But also firmly settled in the red soil are
indigenous practices that West Africans integrate with the foreign
beliefs.
The
results may sometimes seem to flout the monotheistic holy books, the
Bible and Quran. But many West African faithful say their
interpretations are equally valid although they don't always tell their
pastors or imams. He says his prayers to Osun, only one goddess in the
Yoruba pantheon, are cultural, and shouldn't be considered in conflict
with Islam's monotheism.
"I
believe that there is God. What I mean is that we should have the fear
of God," he says, water still dripping from his face after ablutions in
the river also called Osun, near the city of Oshogbo. "In Saudi, they'll
tell you that this isn't good. But God is our creator, and he made
everything. If God thought this wasn't good, he wouldn't allow it."
Tunde
Osunleti, a Christian also at a recent festival celebrating Osun,
agrees. "Jesus is the one who created this Osun. I just believe we're
serving one God," says the 19-year old artist. "My pastor would say,
'Don't go here.' But my pastor is not my God. I only believe in God, and
myself. In the largely Christian areas farther south, many professed
Christians have more than one wife, which tallies with pre-Christian
practices where men took on many spouses to ensure survival of the
bloodline during times of drought or war.
Some
people practice both Islam and Christianity. One taxi driver in
Freetown, Sierra Leone, tells of traveling with his first wife to mosque
on Friday and his second wife to church on Sunday. In Nigeria, shrines
with old icons abound, with members of many ethnic groups praying to
their old gods.
The
first visitors who brought Christianity, largely by boat to the coasts,
and Islam — to inland areas by camel over the Sahara Desert, tried to
end local practices. Their spiritual descendants, now often Africans
themselves, are still trying. "Generally Christianity tries to preach
against what's considered idolatry, or idol worship. There may be
aspects of local culture that the church allows, but as long as it tries
to wipe out the worship of God, we're against it," said Rev. Akintunde
Popoola, spokesman for the Anglican communion in nigeria.
"As a
Christian, I sincerely believe, the Bible says there's one God and it
makes me believe all other attempts to worship are futile. My Bible
tells me accept one God, not two Gods. Christians, particularly
evangelicals, have told some followers to smash the idols near their
homes. In Nigeria's Muslim north, some imams tried to end the tribal
dances and mask displays.
But
the prayers to multiple gods, or treating animals as deities, continues
even among self-avowed Christians and Muslims. Nigerians joke that their
notoriously corrupt politicians enter office swearing on the Bible or
Quran to uphold the laws of the land, but if they were forced to promise
fealty to the law before their local god of thunder, the thievery would
end immediately.
Still, Christian and Muslim leaders are powerful in Nigeria.
The
top traditional leader in the predominantly Muslim north a young
reformer called the Sultan of Sokoto who emphasizes female education and
literacy has about 70 million subjects. Baptist preachers draw crowds of
hundreds of thousands, and the leader of the Anglican Communion is at
the center of an international row over the ordination of a gay bishop
in America, which threatens to cause a schism.
Back
at home, the persistence of local beliefs seems to have led to a general
tolerance.
While
the Yoruba are evenly divided between Muslims and Christians, religious
disputes are rare among them, and Islamic extremism virtually unknown.
The sheer volume of belief systems forces Nigerians to accept others'
practices, lest their own be rejected. Across Nigeria, members of the
two faiths live in close quarters, and when fighting has occurred,
ethnic or other considerations have also been a major factor. Usually,
uneducated and impoverished young men are cajoled into conflict by
cynical leaders.
"Where there's understanding, it helps that we have more than one
religion" in Nigeria, says Popoola, the Anglican spokesman. "We must
understand each other while holding onto our beliefs. The problems arise
when there's not enough understanding, and one religion tries to lord it
over another." While many of the old practices go on in secret, others
don't. Each year, upwards of 100,000 Yoruba people like Osunleti and
Olasunkani travel to a forest in the middle of the southern city of
Oshogbo to pray to Osun.
Osun,
the fable holds, rose from the river to help lead the Yoruba people to
the area, and each year hordes of Yoruba people of all ages cram into
the riverside glen that has been named a UNESCO world heritage site. On
a recent Friday, throngs of people made their way down into the forest
to partake in the festivities, where they give thanks and praises.
The festival is so popular that it's broadcast live on national
television, sponsored by Nigerian telecommunications and alcohol
companies. Liquor company employees hand out sachets of schnapps to the
crowds a libation to be poured on the ground as an offering to Osun,
although much of the tongue-scorching liquid never makes it into the
earth. "Original #1 Prayer Drink" reads one huge advertising banner
strung between trees.
Beneath the stone idol of Osun, about five yards (meters) high with arms
flung straight out like the bars of a cross, worshippers cast money into
the river and toss in doves, their wings broken so they can't
immediately fly away. As cash and birds swirl in the eddies of the muddy
river, droves of Nigerians fill jerrycans from the river, carting home
the sacred water. Later, a virgin is presented to the water goddess amid
nearly hysterical drumming and dancing. Worshippers touch the stone Osun
statue.
"Some
people may say we're worshipping idols. But no, this is our heritage and
we can't forget it," says Oladunjoye Wasiu, a 25-year-old student
standing by the river. "Allah sent the water in the days of our
forefathers, so there's a rapport," he says. "We Yoruba people, we have
many small deities, but they are all servants of God," says Osunleti,
the artist. "All these idols are servants of God: I'm a Christian, I'm a
Muslim, I'm an idol worshipper, I'm an artist, I believe in everything,"
he says.
"I
just believe in God. We're all servants of God, and we can pray through
anything."
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