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What most people don’t know about African spirituality


As far back as I can remember I’ve had an interest in the spiritual, mystical and philosophical realm of life. In some ways, I had no choice. My life contains a number of experiences that led me toward this path, from near death experiences such as being kidnapped and almost sacrificed to (alleged) gods as a child, to accidentally consuming life-threatening, psychedelic herbs as a toddler (and perhaps less accidentally as a teenager, 😉). Anyway, the defining moment in my spiritual journey happened circa twenty years ago, when an automatic writing experience set me off on a path of exploring the unknown.

However, it was always clear to me that my journey of exploration would be epistemological as much as it would be spiritual. Later, I have come to believe that the two are not separate. Spiritual enlightenment and wisdom are the same thing. Or, put it this way, true spirituality is “merely” an expression of profound wisdom in practice.

Not only is there a dimension of wisdom to spirituality, there is a political dimension too. Which is perhaps why it became urgent for me to study African spirituality, and particularly the pantheon and practices of Yoruba cosmology since as a Yoruba these are most easily available to me. But although the seven points listed below are largely informed by Yoruba spiritual thought, I have included inspiration from around the continent. Moreover, African spiritual systems – Vodun, Dogon, Kemetism, – share so much in common that one may to some extent generalise.

So what are some of the key things that most people don’t know about African spirituality?

  1. That it is feminist. In almost all African creation myths, the female and male elements are equal. There is no overarching Supreme Male God. In fact, if anything, there are traces of history that suggest that all Africans once worshipped a mother-goddess. In the Yoruba spiritual system the creator of all, Olodumare, is sometimes said to be male, sometimes female. Furthermore, Olodumare is not almightily worshipped. Instead, Olodumare is said to have created deities whom people can worship and interact with. These deities are called Orishas and they too can be female and male. Which is not to say that there is always gender harmony among the pantheon of Yoruba deities. Hardly! Yoruba spirituality is a reflection of reality and the Orisha, like the humans over whom they govern, get into all number of kerfuffles concerning gender. But the mythology surrounding them is feminist because it unfailingly portends a crisis if harmony is not sought. Although there is a tendency nowadays for women to associate with female Orisha such as Oshun and Yemoja while men associate with the male Orisha like Shango and Ogun, this is a western-influenced binary gendering of the spiritual system, and in my view a great loss. Women can especially find value from the energy of the male Orisha and men can benefit greatly from associations with the female Orisha.
  2. That it is nature- and species egalitarian. The Orisha, like many of their counterparts in other African spiritual systems (the earth goddess Asase Yaa in Ghana, Dzivaguru in Zimbabwe, Mamlambo in South Africa), are anthropomorphistical of nature elements. To give some examples, Yemoja is the spirit of the ocean personified, Oya is the energy of the winds personified and Shango, the force of thunder. Once a person is inculcated in the system of Orisha veneration, they would therefore treat nature with compassion. Similarly, animals are not viewed as inferior to humans because we all depend on nature in equal manner. By contrast, animals are often seen as companions who in African myths even can occasionally marry humans and produce children who are both human and animal. Animals are also seen as teachers, who each have a specific lesson to teach. The tortoise, for example, teaches how to watch out for sly and mischievous behaviour by itself being guilty of that. Anansi the Spider in the Ghanaian tale, similarly teaches about mischief if more positively.
  3. That it encourages happiness. Unlike organised religion, which dogmatically reinforces ideas of sinfulness and shame, African spirituality is not dogmatic, it does not have one single messiah who dictates exactly how spirituality must be expressed. Instead rituals and customs can be practiced in correspondence with all the characteristics of human behaviour. Therefore rather than punish practitioners for destructive emotions, it warns them against the impediments to joy that are caused by things such as dishonesty and greed. Nor is the body and the physical sensations it produces seen as shameful. This is also why it encourages happiness. Because the key message is to act with higher consciousness from a place of self knowledge, which you could argue is the source of happiness.
  4. That it does not have heaven or hell. In a similar vein, African spiritual philosophies have no heaven or hell. This is in large part to do with the fact that African spiritualies do not believe that there is such a thing as death. Nor are the souls of the departed punished for their sins in hell by a Manichean devil. Rather, the dead are believed to live among us either in transmigrated form or on non-physical planes of the cosmos. According to the Yoruba, the human spirit is triple layered – force/breath, shadow and spirit (emi, ojiji and ori). The Zulu have a similar triad – idlozi (guardian spirit), umoya (breath) and isithunzi (shadow). While these elements are in constant flux between different realms, all realms exist on earth. There are celestial concepts such as Orun Rere and Orun Buburu (Yoruba) that have been translated to mean heaven and hell but from what I’ve studied, they are actually both part of the same divine space.
  5. That it supports arts and creative expression. Those who seek to destroy progress – fundamentalists, imperialists, sexists, corrupt governments, white supremacists, militarists, greedy corporations – have always discouraged arts and creative expression because tyrants always knew that the more robotic people are, the more easily manipulated they are. This is why the missionaries demolished indigenous art, it is why patriarchal and organised religions destroyed evidence of goddess-belief, it is why the Taliban blew up the ancient art of Afghanistan. These violent forces know that the more you prevent creative expression, the more you prevent people from resisting. By contrast, African spirituality encourages creative expression (art, dance, ritual, sculpture, etc.) because of the next point:
  6. That it is about resistance. The spiritual practices of Africa have developed in line with the continent’s history. From the earliest civilisation of the world, Kemet, foreign invasion has always been a factor of African life. Therefore, African spiritual systems always served as much as a means of resistance as of a means of religious elevation. For example, the Shilluk (Sudan) creation myth says that God (Juok) created people from the earth using white clay for white people, brown earth for Arabs, and the best fertile black soil of the Nile for Africans. Well, Juok sounds like a Black Consciousness God to me! In the diaspora too, African spiritual spaces (Candomblé, Santeria, Oyotunji Village) developed into a means of strategically resisting persecution and abuse as much as a means to sacred belonging (which are not mutually exclusive, because as I argued earlier, spirituality and wisdom are near synonymous).
  7. That it is the definitive compendium of African history. African spirituality is the greatest resource of knowledge about African history. After all, African history before the tragedy of colonialism is largely oral, and the existing repository of oral history is on the other hand largely spiritual. Ritual is therefore a mimetic reading of not only spirituality but also of history. Deities are not simply divine energies but they are also representations of philosophy. Each deity is a literation of a concept. For example, Shango, the spiritual embodiment of thunder, is also a historic reading of an African philosophy of social justice. Oya, of tornadoes and protector of women, provides a reading of how feminism was viewed in ancient Africa. And if you want to know about self-love practices in historical Africa, read Oshun (which by the way is why Oshun in particular has been so popular of late, as the concept of self-love has been trending – for better or worse, I might add).

That’s it. Of course a lot more can be said about African spirituality. I have written about witchcraftYoruba spirituality in the US, Orishas, my religious roots and needless to say there are a great deal of on- and offline resources. Let me also add that there are similarities between African spirituality and other religions, for example, in how taboos are prominent. Furthermore, as someone who always chooses a scientific approach where one is available, I also take a critical outlook on elements of African spiritual life as I do of all other forms of religion. The spiritual world is, however, not a world to be read altogether scientifically, that precisely is its beauty, although the forgoing of a scientific approach should be a conscious choice to revel in myth and soul. Last but not least, because of the orality of its history, there is a malleability to African mythology. So the above is my interpretation from a combination of readings and may not be identical to another person’s rendition. Please let me know if there is something I haven’t covered that you would like my take on.

 Image is by the incredible Abayomi Barber

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‘The Crown’ Season 2 Review: Despite Focusing on Relationships, Netflix’s Drama Turns Too Dreary and Cold


There are far worse ways to study history than watching “The Crown” — high school history class comes to mind, especially at schools with misplaced teachers like Mr. Kraz. But there are better ways, as well, even in television’s incomplete, sensationalized fashion. Pertinent period details frame series like “The Americans” and “Mad Men,” or there are meaningful tales told of specific historical figures like “John Adams,” the “Band of Brothers,” and “The Young Pope.” (Hey, the future will one day be historical, too, and Lenny will be pope.)

What separates these programs from Netflix’s new crown jewel is an opinion; a stance, one way or another, on what all this means; a personality of its own making rather than a suffocating allegiance to facts. And in a darker second season about the most personal problems of Queen Elizabeth’s life, this voiceless neutrality breeds an even colder, more distant, and altogether less engaging set of historical accounts.

Those who enjoyed Season 1 won’t likely be overly upset, as these shifts are subtle and easily overshadowed by an onslaught of prestige. Scripts are well-crafted. Images are opulent in texture and scenery. Acting remains a top attribute, especially Matt Smith and Claire Foy who are even more front-and-center this year than last. Favorite figures like Jared Harris and John Lithgow are missed, as are their heartfelt characters (Harris’ kingly father figure) and episodes (most notably, “Assassins”), and Peter Morgan’s second season fittingly opens on a bleak, rainy day in February, 1957.

Queen Elizabeth (Foy) and the newly crowned Prince Philip (Smith) are at a crossroads. Sitting in the shadows, reluctant to face each other, the married couple’s allegiance to one another is being questioned in the public, and the two must decide how to move forward. Before an answer is given, the series shifts back in time five months to examine how the royal pair ended up in such a state.

The Crown Season 2 Episode 2 Matt Smith Netflix

Mercifully, this isn’t a framing device for the entire season — Morgan catches up to this scene in the third episode — but it does draw attention to the predominant themes of marriage, equality, and progress. Episodes focus on Philip’s frustrations with his position, his tragic childhood, and his perceived dalliances with women other than Elizabeth. The series doesn’t go so far as to show Philip with another woman, but it strongly implies casual couplings during his time away from the city and depicts a budding vanity that often distracts from his duties.

Smith builds a character who’s easy to dislike without being totally alien: It’s both a challenging and enviable development to take on, and Smith progresses Philip quite well. The kind of presumptive sexism displayed will make him an even more hated figure given current cultural context, but he’s not a monster or a predator; he’s merely a powerful man doing what powerful men did at the time.

The latter point is more of the show’s stance than an absolute interpretation. Morgan makes some bold choices in what he’s willing to include, but bold choices do not equate to bold positions. “The Crown” only goes so far, after all, even with its principal subject. Though Elizabeth is often made into a pitiable object, she’s more reactive than declarative in Season 2.

The Crown Season 2 Claire Foy Matt Smith Netflix

Characters often bring up the queen’s obligation to the crown, and they almost always frame her allegiance to tradition in contrast to personal desires. Last season saw Elizabeth deny her sister the love of her life because their marriage would embarrass the family. Margaret (Vanessa Kirby) is still smarting from that decision — she’s quite the drunkard in Season 2 — but Elizabeth has moved on; she’s accepted her duty and is entirely possessed by it.

The show seems to have followed suit, and the fifth episode illustrates the underlying problem of hiding behind history. Based around Lord Altrincham, an unknown newspaperman and failed politician, “Marionettes” focuses on how the writer’s scathing opinion of a speech made by the queen gains traction. At first, her advisers tell Elizabeth not to worry about it. They think it will be dismissed outright because of the subjects’ undying loyalty to her office.

But when Altrincham appears on television to defend his articles, the tide turns. He’s not a crackpot or an attention-seeker. He genuinely loves the monarchy and wants to help it transition into the 20th century. He’s speaking for the people, and the people are behind him. The episode ends with a footnote, saying the royal family eventually adopts every one of Altrincham’s suggestions, and this final word successfully shifts the episode from its original position — the condemnation of a crackpot vs. the queen — to its ultimate message: that one man speaking truth to power can sway the course of history.

The Crown Season 2 Dogs, corgis, running Netflix

It’s a strong episode on its own, but “The Crown” lacks the same courage overall. Morgan’s drama only feels comfortable taking a stance when its got historical precedent behind it: The condemnation of the royal family’s stuffy policies is included because someone actually condemned it and they listened, whereas when the family’s outdated and inhumane beliefs are brought up — like their disgusted intolerance of homosexuality — “The Crown” seems to shrug and say, “Well, that’s how it was back then.”

Whereas “Mad Men” and “The Americans” provide context to indicate how the audience should react (think about the opposing marketing firm throwing piss balloons on black protesters, or Philip’s struggle to follow through on certain missions), “The Crown” is content to just depict what happened. When the queen is forced to think about homosexuality, she collapses and her hand is shown grasping the window, like Kate’s in “Titanic” — except Elizabeth isn’t in the midst of passionate backseat sex, she’s just passionately unhinged at the idea of a man kissing another man. Such a simple point could’ve been made without the grandiose bombasticity that lends the series a coldness that’s hard to come back from.

It doesn’t condemn these ideas just as it doesn’t condemn Philip’s actions. Of course, it doesn’t support them either. While very good at instructing the audience how Philip and Elizabeth are feeling, rarely does it evoke the same level of feeling from viewers. The series is so diligent to the history books — “There was a meeting and, as best we can tell, this was discussed, so they probably reacted like this…” — there are more frustrations than surprises and more acceptance than understanding.

Some viewers may look for exactly this in their television: a beautiful recreation of historical events, connected by safe assumptions about the people who lived through them. But television is capable of so much more, and whether you like “The Crown” or not, its medium evokes stronger, richer feelings elsewhere.

Grade: B-

“The Crown” Season 2 premieres December 8 exclusively on Netflix.

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