Aworan: Representing the self and its Metaphysical other in Yoruba Art

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Aworan: Representing the self and its Metaphysical other in Yoruba Art
Art Bulletin, The, Sept, 2001 by Babatunde Lawal

Among the Yoruba of Nigeria and the Republic of Benin, the word aworan commonly refers to any two- or three-dimensional representation, ranging from the naturalistic to the stylized (Figs. 1, 2). A contraction of (that which), wo (to look at), and ranti (to recall, that is, the subject), aworan is mnemonic in nature, identifying a work of art as a construct specially crafted to appeal to the eyes, relate a representation to its subject, and, at the same time, convey messages that may have aesthetic, social, political, or spiritual import. (1) It should be emphasized, however, that Yoruba is a tonal language, so that the same word may have different meanings depending on how it is pronounced. (2) For example, because of a change in the vowel tones, the word aworan refers not to a representation--which is aworan--but to its beholder, being a contraction of a (the one), wo (looking at), and tran (spectacle) . (3) The meaning of the root verb wo (to look) remains intact in the two words, linking the beholder to t he beheld.
Aroya: Imaging the Metaphysical Self

Whereas in ayajora (the naturalistic portrait), a Yoruba artist endeavors to summarize the iwa, the fact of being and the observable and recognizable features of the physical self, in aroya (the conceptual portrait), he is more concerned with the essence of the subject or the metaphysical self. This is particularly the case with memorials used in communicating with a dematerialized soul in Ehin-iwa, the Afterlife (Figs. 18, 20). As it is invisible to the naked eye, this Other self--the soul--can only be imagined. For this reason, most altar memorials are stylized to signify the return of a dematerialized soul from telluric existence to "prenatal" spirituality, as well as its ability to be omnipresent and to intercede with the orisa (deities) on behalf of the living. Accordingly, an artist need not know the dead to create an appropriate memorial--though he would be briefed about gender identity or any special mark worn on the face or body to identify the deceased with a family or lineage. However, after leavin g the artist's workshop, the image usually undergoes etutu, a personalization or naming ceremony aimed at establishing a spiritual kinship between object and subject. The ceremony varies from place to place. In some cases, it involves the dipping of a memorial into the water (omi iweku) used in washing the corpse of the deceased and preserved for this purpose. In other cases, the image may be rubbed with the soil (ilepa) collected from the grave of the deceased. Thereafter, a given image may be placed in a shrine, becoming the focus of prayers, oriki (eulogies), and libations intended to influence the deceased.

The shrine figure performs three major functions in Yoruba religion. First, it is an ami (a signifier), objectifying the human essence of the signified, making visible the invisible, and providing a locus of veneration and devotion. Second, since art (ona) commands admiration--as indicated by the popular Yoruba name Onaneye (literally, Art is honorable)--a memorial sculpture is ohun eye (a dignifier), reflecting the high esteem in which the deceased is held. Third, it is aroko (a visual metaphor), embodying a message; for example, the motif of a mother and child reminds a female ancestor of her maternal duties as a provider and nurturer, while a lance-holding male figure implores an ancestor so depicted to play the role of a protector. (98) These functions would seem to account for the frequent use of the equestrian warrior motif (jagunjagun) to memorialize male ancestors, in an attempt to secure their benevolence and divine protection. A nineteenth-century example is said to commemorate Alaafin (king) Ofinra n (Fig. 18), a grandson of Oduduwa and one of the earliest kings of Old Oyo, whose reign is often dated somewhere in the fourteenth or fifteenth century. (99) Yoruba oral traditions identify Alaafin Ofinran, popularly called Sango, as a great magician and warrior who led the Old Oyo cavalry to many spectacular victories, reportedly using his magical powers to attract the thunderstorm to overwhelm his enemies in the battlefield. On his death, he was deified and identified with thunder power. Alleged to have been salvaged from the principal Sango shrine at Old Oyo before its destruction by the Fulani about 1835, this equestrian statue conflates the historical and the mythological aspects of Sango--the warrior king and deified ancestor who now hurls down the thunderbolt from the sky. A similar imagery reverberates in his oriki (eulogy), often chanted in front of shrine images dedicated to him:le world. Iwa denotes not only the fact of being but also the distinctive quality or character of a person. (14)

The Yoruba identify a work of art as ona, that is, an embodiment of creative skills, implicating the archetypal action of Obatala the creativity deity and patron of the Yoruba artist. The process of creating a work of art is called onayiya (literally, ona, art, and yiya, creation or making), a term implicated in the aforementioned prayer for an expectant mother. Yiya derives from the root verb ya, meaning to create, fashion, or make. The fact that the female body mediates Obatala's creation (15) has led some to translate iya, the Yoruba word for a mother, as "someone from whom another life is fashioned" or the body "from which we are created." (16) The term jora denotes a striking resemblance between a child and any of its parents or among members of the same family. Thus, a naturalistic representation is called ayajora, a contraction of a (act of), ya (to create), jo (to resemble), and ara (physical body of the subject). That is to say, the artist's main goal is to capture individual likeness, as in a portr ait of one of the ancient kings (ooni) of Ife (Fig. 1). The reason for the prominence of the head in Yoruba art will be discussed shortly. A conceptual representation, on the other hand, is called aroya (a contraction of a, act of, ro, to think or imagine, and ya, to create) because it is done from memory. (17) For example, the seated female of Figure 2 is far from being a portrait of a known person. Rather, the image is a construct--a figure for an altar signifying the Earth Goddess (Ile) in her symbolic role as the "Mother and Caretaker of the World" (Iya Aye), hence, her appellation Onile (Owner of the House). The two small figures in her hands represent the male and female aspects of nature, whose interaction ensures the perpetuation of life on earth. (18) The emphasis here is not so much on empirical observation as on the use of the mind's eye to visualize and give material form to an idea. The literary equivalent of aroya (conceptual imagery) is arofo (oral poetry)--a shortened form of a (act of), ro (t o think or imagine), and fo (to chant or utter).

Although it has individual and regional variations (just as the Yoruba language has subdialects), the Yoruba sculptural style (evident especially in wood but also in stone and ivory sculpture) is distinguished by stylized figures--standing, kneeling, or riding on horseback--with large heads, elaborate hairdos, and protruding facial features (Figs. 4, 18, 20). (19) Through the apprenticeship system, young artists are trained to create images in the substyle characteristic of a particular region as well as to master and interpret the iconographic conventions (asa) handed down from the past. (20) The fact that much of Yoruba art functions in a religious context has stabilized these conventions, imposing some limitation on the extent of change within the canon, while, at the same time, allowing creativity, innovation, and the incorporation of new elements in time and place. An apprentice graduates after demonstrating enough imo (mastery of time-honored conventions), imoose (technical proficiency), and oju ona (li terally, artistic eye) to practice as a professional. Oju ona can be defined as "design consciousness," (21) or the visual cognition that enables an artist to select and process images from daily experience into schemata or templates (determined by the Yoruba style), which are then stored in pictorial memory, to be retrieved and modified when needed to express an idea. As a result, a well-trained artist does not need a life model or a preparatory sketch to represent a particular subject. A carver, for example, begins by staring intently at the wood while conjuring up the relevant schema from his pictorial memory. Thus, the term aworan signifies much more than an image that recalls the subject. It also alludes to the creative process, especially an artist's preliminary contemplation (a-wo) of the raw material and the pictorial memory (iranti) necessary for visualizing and objectifying the subject. Thereafter, the carver projects the schema onto the wood, reaches for his tools, and follows an established proced ure: (a) sisa (blocking out), using a big adze to reveal mass and volume and to outline the image(s), emphasizing the head(s); (b) onalile (tracking forms), using a smaller adze to clarify the image(s); (c) aletunle (consolidation), using chisels and knives to further define the component parts; (d) didan (smoothening), using knives and abrasive leaves to remove tool marks and rough edges; and (e) finfin (incising), using a knife to accentuate facial features and body parts, cut patterns, and create surface designs. (22) Modeling in clay

(later cast into brass or bronze) follows a similar procedure, though differences in material, tools, and technique invariably produce different results. Carvings tend to look more linear and angular, due to the subtractive technique, while modeled forms have a smoother finish because of the additive technique. According to the artists interviewed in different parts of Yorubaland, the creative process involves three deities, Obatala Ogun, and Esu. Obatala (creativity deity) p rovides the imaginative component, Ogun (iron deity), the tools for transforming the material, and Esu (divine messenger), the vision and ase (enabling power) that facilitate execution. (23)

Oriki: Glorifying the Head in Word and Image

Literally meaning "head praise," the term oriki refers to a eulogy or poem (arofo) glorifying the worthiness of an individual. It is chanted at critical moments to goad the head to action and thereby spur a person to greater achievement. (24) For the head (ori) is perceived as the seat of the ase (enabling power) that determines one's identity and existence, influencing behavior and personal destiny:

If I have money

It is my Ori [head] I will praise

My Ori, it is you

If I have children on earth

It is my Ori to whom I will give praise

My Ori it is you

All the good things I have on earth

It is Ori I will praise

My Ori, It is you. (25)

In effect, the head (ori) is the lord of the body and therefore must be acknowledged and given pride of place. A similar message is apparent in the emphasis on the head in Yoruba art. It is almost always the biggest and the most elaborately finished part of a typical figure sculpture, often adorned with a crownlike coiffure or headgear (Figs. 1, 2, 4, 18, 20). (26) With this complementarity of word and image in mind, the Yoruba linguistic scholar Olabiyi Yai has suggested, "When approaching Yoruba art, an intellectual orientation that would be consonant with Yoruba traditions of scholarship would be to consider each individual Yoruba art work and the entire corpus as oriki." (27) This is because while most oriki (eulogies) undergo changes and embellishment in the course of their oral transmission from one generation to another, they often retain a core of historical or iconographic elements that defines the essence and character of the subject. Moreover, Yoruba artists in the past were expected, as part of th eir training, to familiarize themselves with the oriki of important personalities and the major orisa (deities) in their community and with indigenous theology, which they took into consideration when creating shrines and related images. Thus, apart from their aesthetic qualities, shrine images speak volumes about Yoruba society, its social practices and worldview.

One of the fundamentals of this worldview is that the visible head (ori ode) is no more than an enclosure for the inner, spiritual head, called ori inu, which localizes the ase that empowers the physical self. (28) Although the ase emanates from the Supreme Being, it is mediated by Esu (pronounced Eshu), the divine messenger and principle of dynamism in the Yoruba cosmos. (29) One myth claims that before an individual is born into the physical world, its soul must select an inner head (ori inu) from a collection of ready-made clay heads molded by Ajala, the heavenly potter. Because of their association with personal destiny, these clay heads are abstracted and made to look similar, though each is intrinsically different. The one selected by an individual becomes an integral part of the metaphysical self, constituting the inner core of the physical head and determining a person's lot on earth. (30) In the distant past, most adult Yoruba dedicated an altar called ibori to the inner head in the form of a cone-sh aped object covered with leather and adorned with cowrie shells (Fig. 3). Once used as currency, these shells allude to the wealth that a "good head" can bring to a person. Apart from concealing that person's fate (ipin), the ibori links the self with Esu, who originates the motions, emotions, and actions associated with iwa, earthly existence. As the divine messenger and the omnipresent agency of the Supreme Being in all living things, Esu is asoju (the observer), (31) and thus the catalyst for sight. (32) Esu's connection with the head, especially the face (oju), is illustrated by the popular notion that by blinking his eyes, he can make a person look beautiful or ugly. (33) Even fellow orisa in the Yoruba pantheon depend on Esu for their vision; according to a myth, he once confused Oduduwa's sight, with the result that the latter mistook the divination deity (Ifa) for a leopard and ran away in fright. (34) In other words, Esu activates the face, the site of perception and communication, reflecting the fee lings of pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, hope and despair, and other passions associated with temporal existence and behavior. The Yoruba word for a facade is oju-ile (literally, the face of the house) because the facade is to a house what the face is to the body, an index of identity. The doors of a house open and close just like the eyes. That is why Esu images or staffs are often placed, for security purposes, near the doorway, at the crossroads, and at the town gates. Some have two faces looking in opposite directions (Figs. 4, 5), as though monitoring developments from within and without, from left and right, from above and below, and from nearby and the great beyond. (35) The cowrie shells on this staff denote the blessings that Esu may bestow on those he favors, despite his prankishness. The flute or whistle motif identifies him both as the herald, who coordinates the activities of all the deities, and as a gatekeeper, guide, and detective. He thus exemplifies the principle of intelligence, vigilanc e, and surveillance, among others, in Yoruba culture. No wonder that the Esu image illustrated in Figure 6, one of three once installed in a public square in the middle of the village of Igbajo (about thirty-five miles from Ife) was reportedly vandalized by Ijesa warriors during their invasion of Igbajo in the 1880s; (36) note the damage to the left arm. Incidentally, Esu is anthropomorphized here, combining the look of a child with that of an adult in allusion to the paradoxical, betwixt-and-between nature of the deity and his association with the threshold--a recurring theme in much of his oriki (eulogies):

The short and tall one

Whose head is barely visible when he walks through a peanut farm

Thanks to the fact that he is very tall

But Esu must climb the hearthstone in order to put salt in the soup pot ...

Labolarinde, (37) if you reach the frontier and do not encounter him at the citygate working in the field

You will find him in the vicinity and he is always accessible to everyone, including the infirm. (38)

Ayajora: Portraying the Physical Self

The emphasis on ara (physical body) in the word ayajora reveals the objective of the Yoruba artist in a naturalistic portrait (Figs. 7-15): to capture a recognizable likeness of the subject with an emphasis on oju amuwaye (literally, earthly face), the face one is born with and which identifies one's iwa (telluric existence). This face is time-bound, changing with mood and age. (39) However, the artist frequently ignores the transitory emotional aspects, idealizing only those features that facilitate identity, the emphasis being on jijora, or what Robert Farris Thompson calls a "midpoint mimesis" between absolute abstraction and absolute likeness. (40) In the past, many Yoruba treated the naturalistic representation of a living person with ambivalence for two main reasons. One stems from a popular notion that every living person has a spirit partner ( a "look-alike") in heaven called enikeji (heavenly double) who offers spiritual protection to its earthly counterpart. (41) The creation of a lifelikeness in ar t (a human-made "look-alike") is perceived as a distraction that may jeopardize this relationship, causing the heavenly double to withdraw its spiritual protection. The second reason has to do with the belief that through sympathetic magic, a naturalistic portrait could be transformed into a surrogate for the human body and then manipulated for positive or negative ends. For instance, in preventive medicine called idira or isora (fortifying the body), a portrait, infused with charms, is kept in a secure place or a shrine to immunize the referent from witchcraft and infectious diseases. (42) In sorcery called asasi (evil spell) or edi (tethering), an image may be gagged or strangled or have sharp objects driven into the eyes, ears, or throat to disable, maim, or kill the person it represents. In another type of sorcery called apeje (instruct and obey), the subject is hypnotized, via a sculpted portrait, to act or behave irrationally, such as dancing without music or laughing at random for no justifiable reason . In some cases, a physical likeness is not necessary; giving the image the subject's name or attaching an article from his or her body (such as clothing, a lock of hair, or a nail paring) will suffice. (43)

Yoruba diviners trace most acts of sorcery to awon aye, the evil-minded ones, such as witches, sadists, rivals, jealous neighbors, enemies, or close relations who either have a few old scores to settle or simply envy the success of another individual. Of major concern is Esu, the unpredictable trickster, divine messenger, and controller of fate who could be benevolent at one moment and malevolent the next, capriciously turning joy into sorrow, and vice versa. He is the agent provocateur who plays a lot of pranks with a view to reforming humanity. Like the trickster motif in other cultures, Esu embodies what Lewis Hyde calls the "paradoxical category of sacred amorality" by which societies articulate and regulate their social life and behavior. (44) That is why the Yoruba code of ethics enjoins everyone to be courteous, sociable, respectful, humble, diplomatic, and to "bear both wealth and poverty (45) Also, one must exercise self-control in the face of provocation or temptation; one must learn a lesson from t he Olofefunra myth. According to the myth, Olofefunra, a deity in ancient Ife, had a peculiar way of welcoming visitors to its grove by laughing loudly and making humorous remarks as though he was reuniting with old and long-missed friends. But should any visitor reciprocate, his or her facial features "would remain permanently fixed in the contortion of mirthless laughter!" (46) By the same token, it would be risky to allow oneself to be portrayed in a naturalistic and overtly expressive manner; there is the fear that enemies might read arrogance into an innocent smile, steal the portrait, and instigate a sorcerer to harm the subject through it. (47) This explains why naturalistic portraits are few and far between in Yoruba art and there is little interest in physiognomy, that is, the use of the face to reveal the "soul" or character of the subject. (48)

Ako and Ipade: Naturalistic Second-Burial Effigies for the Dead

However, during second-burial ceremonies for the dead, naturalistic portraits appear with some frequency (Figs. 7-12). (49) This can be attributed to two major factors. The first derives from the belief that the soul of a deceased person now operates at a superhuman plane of existence and so is immune to sorcery. (50) The second is that the mnemonic power of a life-size naturalistic effigy (ako) vivifies the presence of the dead during the second-burial ceremony, enabling mourners to treat the image as if it were alive. The costly ceremony usually takes place some days or weeks after the burial of the corpse and is normally performed only for the rich and famous as well as for those who had lived to a ripe old age and were survived by children. (51) One of the reasons for the ceremony is that it would enable the deceased to carry over to Ehin-Iwa (the Afterlife) the high status achieved on earth. Not until the performance of this ceremony will the soul of the deceased leave the community. Failure of the child ren to do so in time or after a reasonable period may cause the soul to haunt them in the form of a ghost. In addition, as an artist must have been aquainted with the deceased to produce his or her visual likeness, the longer the interval between the first burial (of the real corpse) and the second (of the effigy) the weaker the artist's pictorial memory of the deceased. To circumvent this problem, an artist is allowed to use as a reference point the face of a child who closely resembles the deceased. (52) This partly explains why some second-burial effigies look much younger than the deceased at the time of death. Thanks to modern photography, many families now keep photo albums from which a good picture of the deceased (usually in his or her middle age) may be selected and given to an artist to translate into a second-burial effigy. Since the image is usually costumed, the carver pays most attention to the head, forearms, and legs, leaving the other parts of the body relatively unfinished (Fig. 7). During a typical ako ceremony, the effigy, dressed in the best clothes of the deceased (Fig. 8), would be displayed in his or her residence for a few days to allow friends, relations, and well-wishers to pay their last respects. Specially designated family members chant the oriki (eulogy) of the deceased at regular intervals. For example:

Oronaye (O!)

May you be fortunate

May your fortune last

You, who have the great sword....

The sharp sword that draws blood

The one of great fame

My father is the great one being celebrated

A popular man of Owo

Great men of Owo, my father is the great one being celebrated. (53)

After the indoor ceremonies, the image would be carried in a public procession around the town accompanied by survivors, all singing and wishing the deceased a happy retirement in Ehin-Iwa, the Afterlife:

Do not eat millipedes

Do not eat earthworms

It's what they eat in the Afterlife

That you should eat

May you fare well

Until we cross paths

Until you appear in our dreams

Shall we meet again. (54)

Through the effigy, messages are sent to long-dead ancestors. At the same time, the newly dead is beseeched not to forget the living and to use his or her spiritual powers to protect them. (55) After the public procession, the effigy is buried, destroyed, or abandoned in the forest. (56)

Figure 9 is a portrait of the late Queen Ameri Olasubude of Owo, carved by Lamuren for Olasubude's second-burial ceremony in 1944. The portrait, however, was rejected by the family of the deceased on the grounds that the artist did not achieve enough idealization. For instance, the toes and fingers of the figure are touching one another (Fig. 10) instead of being carved separate, as required by tradition. (57)

Unlike the ako, which is almost always a full figure that can be displayed in a seated position by virtue of its articulated body and limbs, the ipade (a hunter's second-burial memorial) is usually unarticulated. Only the head is finished, with the rest of the body given a rudimentary treatment, as in the portrait of Chief Aniwe, one of the most powerful hunters in Ife before his death in 1962 (Fig. 11). It was carved by Taye Adegun. A short stick nailed to the chest of the figure serves as the shoulders for fitting one of the garments of the deceased (Fig. 12). (58) In some cases, two sticks shaped like a cross and draped with a hat and garment of the deceased may serve as a substitute for a naturalistic effigy. (59) A portrait statue carved by Taiwo Fadipe of the late Chief Akinyemi Osogun of Ife, a high-ranking priest of Ogun (iron and war deity) who died in 1964, was later acquired by the Ife Museum of Antiquities. In 1976, I took a print of the statue to the compound of the deceased, where I compared it with a photograph of him. The statue bore only a faint resemblance to the deceased, but the three marks (abaja) on the cheeks are exactly the same as those on the photograph, conceivably creating enough likeness for those who knew Chief Akinyemi Osogun when he was alive. (60)

That the memorial function of the "lifelike" image has a long history in Yoruba culture seems to be attested by the discovery at Ife of several naturalistic, life-size brass heads dated between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries C.E. (Figs. 13, 14). (61) Some of them wear crowns, while others have holes around the hairline, apparently for securing real headgears or crowns. Amost all the heads have holes at the neck (Fig. 13), indicating that they might have been nailed to wooden torsos and attired in the same manner as the ako. Consequently, Justine Cordwell and Frank Willett have suggested that most of the heads were probably used in funeral or second-burial ceremonies for kings and other distinguished persons. (62) This speculation has been questioned on the grounds that the creation of a funeral effigy for a king (oba) is incompatible with the public perception of him as a divine being who does not die but simply disappears "into the earth." (63) In view of a ceremony in present-day Okuku during which the king of the town makes sacrificial offerings to his "inner head" (ori inu) in a special room inside the palace where many beaded crowns are displayed, though not on portrait heads, Henry Drewal is of the opinion that the life-size Ife brass heads might have been "created to display actual regalia in a shrine context," perhaps during an annual rite of purification and renewal for the king and his people. (64) While the possibility cannot be ruled out altogether, it does not necessarily follow that all the heads performed only this function in the past. Neither does the public perception of the king as divine automatically preclude him from being honored with a second-burial ceremony. Despite the king's liminal status and the secrecy surrounding his death and burial, it is public knowledge that he is a flesh-and-blood human being who reigns and then passes away. The popular saying "Oba mewa; igba mewa" (Ten kings; ten epochs) makes it clear that the notion that the king does not die is only a metaphor for the antiquity and continuity of divine kingship among the Yoruba. As to be expected, a good king would be fondly remembered; a bad one could be impeached by a council of elders (called Ogboni in some areas) and if found guilty of a serious offence, forced to commit suicide or executed. In fact, some unpopular Ife kings of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries met with violent deaths at the hands of their subjects. (65) Moreover, a king's mortality is explicit in the word abobaku, referring to "those who die with the king" in order to serve him in the Afterlife. (66) The question then arises: If chiefs and other important persons could be honored with a befitting farewell or second-burial ceremony--to enable them to carry over to the Afterlife the high status achieved on earth--why not the king himself, the most distinguished individual in a given community? That the ceremony was performed for kings in ancient Ife may be inferred from a legend that palace officials once colluded with court artists to delay the a ppointment of a new king. Instead of disclosing the death of the incumbent king to the relevant authorities, these officials installed his effigy in a dark corner of the state room and continued to conduct business as usual, issuing orders on behalf of the dead king. The senior chiefs and members of the public unsuspectingly paid homage to the effigy until the deception was uncovered. (67) This legend has two implications. First, it suggests that the plotters had misappropriated an effigy that could have been used eventually for the second-burial ceremony of the same king and which, predictably, would have received a similar homage and befitting farewell messages. Second, it corroborates the thesis that the holes around the hairline of the life-size Ife heads (Fig. 13) might have been used for securing a beaded crown with veil (some still have bead fragments) that would have covered the face--as they normally do when worn by the king (Fig. 22). (68) The holes around the mouth probably sported a combination of beard and mustache that would have further obscured the face, thus enabling the alleged conspiracy to succeed for a while.

Finally, that second-burial ceremonies for kings were common in the past is evident in the Adamuorisa (Eyo) obsequy of the Awori Yoruba of Lagos. (69) Until recently, a new king would not be allowed to perform certain rites until he had "completed the final funeral ceremonies of his predecessor...which included the staging of the Adamuorisa..." (70) Two of the most memorable Adamuorisa were performed for Oba (king) Akitoye on February 20, 1854, and for Oba Dosumu on April 30, l885. (71) However, unlike the ako figure, which may be carried in a public procession, the Adamuorisa (Eyo) second-burial effigy for a deceased king is displayed inside the palace only. The effigy is usually a banana tree trunk dressed up in expensive clothes and made to look like a real human figure wearing a hat or crown, though the face is covered with cloth. The display is accompanied by drumming and eulogizing, as is done for an ako figure. On the last day of the ceremony, hundreds of Eyo masquerades in white robes participate in a public parade to bid the deceased the last farewell. (72) Since a king's corpse is sometimes dismembered for ritual purposes, a second-burial effigy is, as it were, a "re-membering" of that body, providing a unique opportunity for a farewell ceremony that would enable the deceased to carry over to the Afterlife the high status achieved on earth.

There is ample evidence that the Ife heads might also have functioned in interregnum, succession, and/or coronation ceremonies, among others. According to a Benin oral tradition, before the fourteenth century, the head of a deceased Benin king (oba) was taken to Ife for burial and, in return, a brass head would be sent to Benin along with other royal emblems to confirm the successor on the throne. This is because Oranmiyan, one of Oduduwa's youngest sons, founded the Eweka ruling dynasty in Benin between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and ruled there for a while before returning to Ife, where he eventually died. (73) The Benin practice may very well be a variation on an ancient Yoruba ritual of removing the head of a deceased king and using it for the transfer of royal power to his successor. (74) The latter then kept the head "among his principal objects of worship." (75) Could the need to preserve the heads and memories of famous kings for a longer period have led to the creation of their likeness in brass? If so, could this phenomenon be responsible for the scarcity of the life-size royal heads? As yet, only about sixteen or so have been recovered out of almost fifty rulers on the Ife king list. (76) Even then, only a handful of the heads can now be positively identified with particular individuals. The mask in Figure 14, for instance, is said to represent Ooni (king) Obalufon, the son of Osangangan Obamakin, an Ife indigene who succeeded Oduduwa probably because he sided with the latter in his quest for political supremacy. (77) Obalufon (also known as Alayemoore) ascended the throne after his father's death but reigned for only a short period before being deposed by Oranmiyan, who had earlier left Ife to found ruling dynasties in Benin and Old Oyo. Obalufon was recalled from exile to reoccupy the Ife throne after the death of Oranmiyan. The exact time of his reign is unknown, though some historians are inclined to put it at the beginning of the second millennium C.E. He is said to have changed the t itle of the Ife king from olofin (owner of the palace)--introduced by Oduduwa--to ooni (owner of the land) to indicate the return of the Ife indigenes (that is, the pre-Oduduwa people) to power. (78) Before Obalufon ascended the throne, Ife had been constantly raided by the Igbo, a pro-Obatala group in exile that refused to acknowledge Oduduwa's sovereignty. This group was defeated, pacified, and reintegrated into Ife society during Obalufon's reign, when the city witnessed an unprecedented era of peace, cultural development, and economic prosperity. (79) Obalufon is remembered today as a great patron of the arts and as the one who introduced brass casting to the Yoruba. Thus, it may very well be that the tradition of making life-size brass heads at Ife began during his reign. The stylistic similarity of this mask to the other life-size heads, dated between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries, suggests that it was probably made within the same period. (80) Despite the popular legend that Oduduwa originated the bead-embroidered crown (which he then gave to his sons, who subsequently left Ife to become kings in other parts of Yorubaland), Obalufon is regarded as the epitome of that crown, apparently because of his long, peaceful reign and his exemplary leadership. This may explain why at the coronation of a new king in Ife, the crown would first be placed on Obalufon's "head"--a stone image--before being put on a new king's head. (81) The openings below the eyes of the Obalufon mask suggest that it was worn on the face. It is therefore not impossible, as Suzanne Blier has proposed, that the mask might be integrally linked to this ceremony and "the related rites of rulership transition" in the past, reflecting Obalufon's legendary contributions to the early formation of the Ife state and his posthumous deification and association with prosperity and good government. (82)

A terra-cotta portrait head assigned to the same period as the Obalufon mask (Fig. 15) is said to commemorate the usurper Lajuwa, the chamberlain who temporarily seized the throne after the death of Ooni Aworokolokin, Obalufon's successor. There is an allegation that Aworokolokin did not belong to the Oduduwa faction and that he "probably died by some foul means at the hands of his courtiers, after his wife had been abducted." (83) Lajuwa reportedly hid his corpse, wore the royal regalia, and started impersonating the king. The disguise succeeded for some time apparently because, as mentioned earlier, the fringe of the beaded crown normally obscures the face of the person wearing it (Fig. 22). But the trick was soon uncovered and Lajuwa was executed along with accomplices, although his name continues to appear in some Ife king lists. (84) Lajuwa's long, wavy hairstyle might lend some credence to this story in that it seems to betray his mixed ancestry, recalling the legend that Oduduwa and his group came to I fe from the northeast, which some scholars have identified with the Nile valley or the Arabian Peninsula. (85)

Be that as it may, the palace conspiracy cited earlier is so similar to Lajuwa's that one is tempted to take the two as different versions of the same event. Yet they could very well refer to separate events. The chances are that Lajuwa had exploited an established tradition of using an effigy or a human surrogate to represent or impersonate the king when he could not be physically present in court or at a public ceremony. The cover provided by the beaded crown with fringe might have encouraged this tradition, apart from the fact that, in the past, the king frequently used an interpreter who already knew what to say. Even today, some kings are barely audible, leaving the interpreter to speak on their behalf--which conceivably might have made it easier in the past for an impersonator to pass for the king. For example, at Old Oyo, whose ruling dynasty was founded by Oranmiyan (who later returned to Ife to depose Obalufon during his first term in office), a court official called Osiefa specialized in impersonati ng the king legitimately wearing his crown and receiving the same honors due the king when the latter could not be physically present at a particular ceremony. (86) While there is no evidence as yet that a similar official impersonated the king in ancient Ife, it is significant that one of the early Ife kings, Ooni Giesi, often asked his daughter (Debooye) to represent him at certain ceremonies because he was too old to attend. (87) The question then arises: Could some of the Ife life-size heads have been made at the beginning of a new king's reign with surrogate, ritual, memorial, and other functions in mind? (88) The answer to this question must await further investigation. Nonetheless, the prominence given to royal regalia and bearing in many of the underlife-size portraits in the Ife corpus (Fig. 1) hints at a court art patently concerned as much with the personal appearance of the living as with the collective memory of the dead.

After studying them for more than four decades, Frank Willett, along with other scholars, has observed that many of the Ife life-size heads share certain "family resemblances" both in form and style. However, it is not clear at the moment whether all of them were made by only one artist, artists from the same workshop, or artists from different workshops, removed in time and space. (89) The similarities of the faces could be due to the fact that the artists probably did not work directly from life models, and therefore had to depend partly on memory and partly on time-honored formulas for representing the human face. Note that a good majority of the heads have a dignified look, with relaxed facial muscles; there is little or no attempt to express emotion. This idealization recalls the premium placed by the Yoruba on composure, suggesting, at the same time, that the artists might have been working within a stylistic idiom presumably aimed at relating all the individuals portrayed as Omo Oduduwa, or members of the same "extended" family. (90) Jean Borgatti has observed a similar tendency in other parts of Africa, namely, the downplaying of "individual" in favor of "social" identity, when an artist simplifies the face to conform to archetypes handed down from the past, though there is enough room for artistic inventions within a given stylistic convention. (91)

Not all the naturalistic figures from Ife and Owo had functioned in second-burial contexts. This is confirmed by the fact that some are not life-size, while others have their mouths gagged, recalling the custom of muzzling the victims of human sacrifice to prevent them from cursing the headsman. (92) We are also reminded of edi, the sorcery (mentioned above) for rendering a person tongue-tied. One striking terra-cotta figure excavated from Obalara's land (Ife), dated between the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (Fig. 16), wears a skull pendant around the neck; the face is contorted, with the mouth wide open, revealing the tongue. Other figures from the site have swollen faces. (93) The finding of such representations amid ritual vessels and several human skulls and bones has led to the hypothesis that the site "must have some direct relevance to human death" and that "the terra-cottas also may have played some part in post-mortem ritual." (94) It is significant that the site belongs to the Obalara family. The head of the family is a priest of Owinni, a deified ancestor whose shrine once served as a sanctuary for smallpox sufferers. This fact, as Peter Garlake points out, could very well link the terra-cottas to rites aimed at preventing the recurrence of infectious diseases in the community. (95) Equally intriguing is a fifteenth-century terra-cotta representation from Owo (about eighty miles southeast of Ife) of a basket filled with severed heads slashed on the face (Fig. 17). According to Chief Obadio, the high priest of Oduduwa in Ife, human sacrifice was offered to the deity in the past and that "terracotta human heads adorn the ritual spots." (96) In that case, can we regard this basket of heads from Owo as a variation of the practice at Ife? (97) Or are the heads substitutes for real ones in between major sacrifices? Insufficient archaeological evidence makes it impossible at the moment to answer any of these questions with confidence. What seems to be fairly certain is that in the past, naturalistic por traits had precise, limited, and specialized functions in ritual and ceremonial contexts in which recognizability of a living or deceased person was very important.

Aroya: Imaging the Metaphysical Self

Whereas in ayajora (the naturalistic portrait), a Yoruba artist endeavors to summarize the iwa, the fact of being and the observable and recognizable features of the physical self, in aroya (the conceptual portrait), he is more concerned with the essence of the subject or the metaphysical self. This is particularly the case with memorials used in communicating with a dematerialized soul in Ehin-iwa, the Afterlife (Figs. 18, 20). As it is invisible to the naked eye, this Other self--the soul--can only be imagined. For this reason, most altar memorials are stylized to signify the return of a dematerialized soul from telluric existence to "prenatal" spirituality, as well as its ability to be omnipresent and to intercede with the orisa (deities) on behalf of the living. Accordingly, an artist need not know the dead to create an appropriate memorial--though he would be briefed about gender identity or any special mark worn on the face or body to identify the deceased with a family or lineage. However, after leavin g the artist's workshop, the image usually undergoes etutu, a personalization or naming ceremony aimed at establishing a spiritual kinship between object and subject. The ceremony varies from place to place. In some cases, it involves the dipping of a memorial into the water (omi iweku) used in washing the corpse of the deceased and preserved for this purpose. In other cases, the image may be rubbed with the soil (ilepa) collected from the grave of the deceased. Thereafter, a given image may be placed in a shrine, becoming the focus of prayers, oriki (eulogies), and libations intended to influence the deceased.

The shrine figure performs three major functions in Yoruba religion. First, it is an ami (a signifier), objectifying the human essence of the signified, making visible the invisible, and providing a locus of veneration and devotion. Second, since art (ona) commands admiration--as indicated by the popular Yoruba name Onaneye (literally, Art is honorable)--a memorial sculpture is ohun eye (a dignifier), reflecting the high esteem in which the deceased is held. Third, it is aroko (a visual metaphor), embodying a message; for example, the motif of a mother and child reminds a female ancestor of her maternal duties as a provider and nurturer, while a lance-holding male figure implores an ancestor so depicted to play the role of a protector. (98) These functions would seem to account for the frequent use of the equestrian warrior motif (jagunjagun) to memorialize male ancestors, in an attempt to secure their benevolence and divine protection. A nineteenth-century example is said to commemorate Alaafin (king) Ofinra n (Fig. 18), a grandson of Oduduwa and one of the earliest kings of Old Oyo, whose reign is often dated somewhere in the fourteenth or fifteenth century. (99) Yoruba oral traditions identify Alaafin Ofinran, popularly called Sango, as a great magician and warrior who led the Old Oyo cavalry to many spectacular victories, reportedly using his magical powers to attract the thunderstorm to overwhelm his enemies in the battlefield. On his death, he was deified and identified with thunder power. Alleged to have been salvaged from the principal Sango shrine at Old Oyo before its destruction by the Fulani about 1835, this equestrian statue conflates the historical and the mythological aspects of Sango--the warrior king and deified ancestor who now hurls down the thunderbolt from the sky. A similar imagery reverberates in his oriki (eulogy), often chanted in front of shrine images dedicated to him:

Your eyes are white like bitter kola nut

Your cheeks are round like red kola nut

Fire-spitting masquerader, you frighten the big cat....

Fire in the eye, fire in the mouth, fire on the roof

You ride fire like a horse! (100)

Accordingly, this statue of Sango has a "sight-and-sound" dimension that further deepens the metaphoric meanings of aworan. It may be classified under what W.J.T. Mitchell calls the "imagetext"--an inextricable weaving together of representation and discourse," so that the visible becomes readable, (101) and audible. Contrary to expectations, Sango looks quiet and serene in the statue; the horse is motionless. This manner of representation is part of a complex aesthetic strategy aimed at dissuading Sango from violent eruptions; it is an exercise in "latent ambiguity," underscoring the fact that an artistic representation can hardly do justice to the kinetics of the thunderstorm: the latter is better experienced than represented. The image falls into the category of what Philip Wheelwright calls the "intensive symbol," which conceals and reveals at the same time. (102)

One other important Yoruba tradition of memorial figure is the ere ibeji, a statuette dedicated to a dead twin (Fig. 19). Underlying the practice is the notion that while twins are physically double, they are spiritually one, and thus inseparable. If one of them should die, a statuette is made to localize the soul of the deceased. It is usually kept in a safe place in the house and sometimes given to the surviving twin to play with as if it were a doll, the main objective being to use the statuette to maintain the spiritual bond between the living and the dead. The statuette, made to reflect the gender of the deceased child, is normally commissioned from a carver on the recommendation of a diviner. When completed, the statuette is washed in herbal preparations before being handed over to the diviner, who then invokes the soul of the deceased twin into it. Thereafter, the statuette is treated like a living child, being fed symbolically at the same time as the surviving twin is having its food. If a new dress i s bought for the surviving child, a miniature is acquired for the statuette. The one held by this woman represents her deceased twin brother, who reportedly died about 1895, after which the memorial was carved. (103) The picture was taken in the early 1960s. The smallness of the statue--and twin memorials in general--is both symbolic and functional: on the one hand, it reflects the fact that, in the past, a good majority of the twins died in infancy; on the other, the small size facilitates portability, especially when the statuette is given to the surviving twin to play with or when the mother dances with it in honor of the deceased twin. If both twins should die, another statuette is commissioned, and the two are treated like living children in the hope that they will be born again to the same mother (Fig. 20). (104) Tradition requires the carver to give both statuettes the same facial features to emphasize the oneness in their twoness, even if the deceased twins were not identical. The statuettes are usual ly placed in a shrine (Fig. 23) for contacting the souls of the departed twins in the Afterlife. The belief that they are capable of attracting good fortune to their parents is reflected in the following oriki (eulogy) of twins:

...The intimate two, the royal egrets, the natives of Isokun (105)

Offspring of the colobus monkey of the tree tops.... (106)

The intimate two by-passed the house [womb] of the wealthy

By-passed the house [womb] of the rich and famous....

But entered the house [womb] of the poor

Transforming the poor into a rich person.... (107)

Apepa [sorcery] cannot affect the natives of Isokun....

Both wizards and witches pay homage to the intimate two.... (108)

Ojo a ku la a d'ere: Portraiture, Posthumous Beauty, and Social Identity

The tradition of dedicating shrine figures to the dead is said to date back to an "Edenic" period in Yoruba history called igba iwase (literally, beginnings of existence), when human beings reportedly did not die as they do today. Whenever the physical body became too old or weak to sustain the soul within it, all an individual needed to do was to enter a cave that led to heaven, where the soul would reincarnate in a new body and then come back to resume earthly life. (109) Whoever was tired of living on earth returned to heaven through the cave. Newly embodied souls entered the earth through the same cave. Some powerful figures did not depart the normal way; they simply turned into stone figures. (110) This is called didi ota (the art of becoming stones). According to J. A. Ademakinwa, an indigene of Ife, where many ancient stone figures abound, such a person, prior to death, would commission a portrait that would be hidden in a place known only to a few close friends. It was these friends who secretly burie d the deceased and later announced to the general public that a well-known personality had turned into stone, disclosing where the effigy had been hidden, which would then be set up as a shrine to perpetuate the memory of the deceased. (111) One such stone dated to the early part of the second millennium C.E. (Fig. 21) is said to commemorate Idena, a famous hunter and one of the bodyguards of Oreluere, the custodian of indigenous traditions and domestic morality in ancient Ife, who reportedly teamed up with Obatala to challenge Oduduwa after the latter had usurped the throne. (112) Before being transferred to the Nigerian National Museum in Lagos, the statue stood at the entrance of the Oreluere shrine at Ife, the spot where Idena allegedly turned into stone.

The legend that the ancient ones did not die but turned into stones resonates in the popular Yoruba saying "Ojo a ku la a d'ere, eniyan ko sunwon laaye" (It is death that turns an individual into a beautiful sculpture; a living person has blemishes). (113) In other words, a person's earthly existence begins as a piece of sculpture molded by Obatala and ends with the separation of the empirical self from its meta-empirical Other; the human body becomes a corpse, reverting, as it were, to what it was originally--an ere (sculpture). The phrase "a living person has blemishes" bespeaks the Yoruba tendency to canonize the dead. Their code of ethics demands that a loss of life be mourned, regardless of an individual's foibles before death; even former critics, enemies, and detractors are expected to pay the proverbial last respects to the deceased. Similarly, an artist is obliged to honor the dead with a well carved memorial, and he frequently makes the subject look younger. As Mosudi Olatunji, the famous Imeko carv er, told Robert Farris Thompson in the early 1960s:

If I am carving the face of a senior devotee I must carve him at the time he was in his prime. Why? If I make the image resemble an old man the people will not like it. I will not be able to sell the image. One carves as if they were young men or women to attract people. (114)

So it is that twin memorials (ere ibeji) are often carved to recall people in their prime (Figs. 19, 20), notwithstanding the fact that a good majority of twins died in infancy. (115) If naturalism (ayajora) is required, as in the life-size brass heads from Ife (Figs. 13, 14) or in second-burial ako effigies (Figs. 7-10), the artist idealizes the portrait, transforming it into an ere (sculpture) and emphasizing composure while ignoring accidental facial features such as scars and deformities associated with iwa physical existence. As Rowland Abiodun points out, "The deceased person may have lost an eye, ear or even a few fingers during his life, but the [ako] effigy allows for a reconstruction of these parts." (116) Thus, death transforms the ugly into the beautiful; "a living person has blemishes." A memorial destined for the altar may be criticized while in the workshop of the carver, but once consecrated and placed on an altar, it is no longer criticized because it partakes of the sacredness and spiritual beauty associated with the dead. (117) Thereafter, the focus is on its ritual rather than formal values.

In the past, many Yoruba wore permanent face marks that identified them with particular families, lineages, or subethnic groups. (118) The same marks adorn the faces of secondburial statues, altar memorials, and ancestral masks, thus relating the living to the dead and the human to the divine. (119) As Frank Willett aptly observes, "It is indeed one of the surprises of living in Yorubaland that one does frequently see people whose features remind one very forcibly of a particular sculptural style, yet the sculptures are not portraits of individuals, but they are supposed to look as if they might be." (120) In short, the Yoruba style, particularly in woodcarving, combines the generic with the specific, relating the individual to the collective, stressing "social identity" and thereby epitomizing the quest for unity underlying the Omo oduduwa concept. This quest finds its most popular political expression in the image of the oba (king), the temporal and spiritual head of a given community and a personification of its corporate existence. In the past, the king seldom left his palace except on special occasions, and when he did, he usually wore a beaded crown with veil that partly concealed his face (Fig. 22). However, this tradition has since been modified, so that the king appears more frequently in public today without donning the crown, doing so only on certain ceremonial occasions. Most crowns have a stylized face in the front that serves as the king's official face. The same face (or a similar face--should a new king decide to replace an old crown) identified his predecessors in public and will do the same for his successors. This face, commonly identified with Oduduwa, transforms the king into a masked figure--an icon conjuring up the image of the mythical progenitor, functioning as a paradigm of the oneness of the king and his subjects, on the one hand, and of the reigning king and the royal dead, on the other. (121)

Itunra'nite: Is Obatala a Self-Reflection of the Yoruba Artist?

According to Yoruba cosmology, the decision of Olodumare (Supreme Being) to create humans was prompted by a desire to transform the primeval wilderness below the sky into an orderly estate. Human beings are called eniyan (the specially selected) because, as a divination verse puts it, they are the ones ordained "to convey goodness" to the wilderness below the sky. (122) In other words, divinity abides in humanity, and vice versa. It is therefore not surprising that some of the orisa (deities) allegedly assumed human forms in order to accompany the first humans to the earth--which easily accounts for their personification in shrine sculptures and spirit medium-ship. Ogun, the iron deity, led the way, using his machete to cut a path through the primeval jungle, laying the foundation for Yoruba civilization. (123) The popular name Ogunlana (Ogun paves the way) commemorates this archetypal event, emphasizing the importance (first) of stone and (later) of iron tools in agriculture, urban planning, lumbering, archi tecture, warfare, and art. (124) We are also reminded of Ogun's vital contributions to the human image molded by Obatala, detailing the face and "cutting open" the eyes later activated by Esu. The resultant image--a "masterpiece"--embodies a special ase (transformatory power), inspiring and sustaining the creativity manifested in the visual and performing arts and enabling the Yoruba collective to continually redesign its environment as well as to re-present itself through body adornments and idealized or conventionalized portraiture. As one divination verse remarks:

If I am created, I will re-create myself

I will observe all the taboos

Having been created, I shall now re-create myself. (125)

Three major questions remain, however. Since the creativity deity Obatala also assumed an anthropomorphic form in order to accompany the first humans to the earth, was the archetypal human image a self-portrait? Or was Obatala originally a mortal who once lived in ancient Ife and was deified as an orisa for his phenomenal creative endowment? Or was he a figment of the imagination and a self-reflection of the Yoruba artist? That Obatala was a deified culture hero, if not a self-reflection of the Yoruba artist, is evident in the popular Yoruba saying "Bi eniyan ko si, orisa ko si" (No humanity, no deity). (126) In other words, the worshiped depends on the worshiper for its existence; divinities are human constructs. (127) Put differently, it is eniyan (humanity) that visualized and anthropomorphized the orisa (divinity), Simultaneously inverting the process to rationalize its own creation. This act of self-reflection and self-re-creation (itunra'nite) constitutes the divinities (orisa) into a sort of superhuman Other--an extension of the metaphysical self--providing a basis for involving them in the ethics, aesthetics, poetics, and politics of human existence. It has resulted in a conventionalized form of portraiture that easily relates the self to the body politic, called Omo Oduduwa, (128) on the one hand, and to the superhuman Other, venerated as Olodumare, the orisa (divinities), and deified ancestors, on the other. Whether Oduduwa (the Yoruba mythical ancestor) is an earth goddess or a historical male figure is not an issue here. Much more important is how the concept of a common ancestor (alajobi) has been used to create a sociopolitical framework and a mode of portraiture in which myth and reality, word and image, the human and divine are intricately joined to forge a Yoruba identity out of previously diverse, even if related, groups.

Iworan: Portraiture, Spectacle, and the Dialectics of Looking

Since the face is the seat of the eyes (oju), no discussion of aworan (representation), especially portraiture, would be complete without relating it to iworan, the act of looking and being looked at, otherwise known as the gaze. To begin with, the Yoruba call the eyeball eyin oju, a refractive "egg" empowered by ase (mediated by Esu), enabling an individual to see (riran). As with other aspects of Yoruba culture, the eyeball is thought to have two aspects, an outer layer called oju ode (literally, external eye) or oju lasan (literally, naked eye), which has to do with normal, quotidian vision, and an inner one called oju inu (literally, internal eye) or oju okan (literally, mind's eye). The latter is associated with memory, intention, intuition, insight, thinking, imagination, critical analysis, visual cognition, dreams, trances, prophecy, hypnotism, empathy, telepathy, divination, healing, benevolence, malevolence, extrasensory perception, and witchcraft, among others. For the Yoruba, these two layers of th e eye combine to determine iworan, the specular gaze of an individual. The stress on the root verb, wo (to look at), clearly shows that aworan (portrait or picture) is a "lure" for the gaze--to borrow Jacques Lacan's term. (129) As noted earlier, the term aworan is a contraction of a (that which), wo (to look at), and ranti (to recall [the subject]), alluding both to the capacity of a representation to recall its referent and to an artist's preliminary contemplation (a-wo) of the raw material and the pictorial memory (iranti) involved in visualizing and objectifying the form. As Lacan has pointed out, the act of looking is influenced by a host of factors, such as desire, mood, knowledge, cultural milieu, and individual whims and caprices, and it is a reciprocal process as well. What we see (animate or inanimate) also "sees" us and has a particular way of relating to our eyes. (130) This illusion is most striking in aworan (especially a portrait), which stares back at the aworan (spectator), turning him or her into an iran (spectacle), if not another picture (aworan), (131) The fear that a viewer may subjectively read into a portrait's gaze what was not intended by the artist or the subject may very well be one of the reasons why many Yoruba in the past (especially the rich and privileged) refrained from having themselves portrayed naturalistically or in a manner that may trigger jealousy in the have-nots and awon aye (the evil-minded ones). A divination verse sums up the mutual suspicion associated with the gaze in the following manner:

You are looking at me; I am looking at you.

Who has something up his/her sleeves between the two of us? (132)

Some may resent how a portrait seems to snub them; others may be frustrated by something they see about themselves in that portrait--something they subconsciously want to be but, somehow, cannot be. It is as though the achievements of one person have hindered the progress of another.

It should be pointed out, however, that naturalistic effigies of the dead are not treated with the same suspicion, being primarily intended to mark their last physical, even if symbolic, appearance among the living. The popular saying "Oku olomo ki i sun gbagbe" (Those survived by children do not sleep forgetfully) (133) explains why most second-burial portraits have their eyes wide open (Figs. 7-12). It is an appeal to the departed to remain vigilant in the Afterlife, protecting the interests of their living relations and interceding with the deities on their behalf. (134) When installed indoors, seated on a stool, a second-burial effigy receives many salutations, becoming apewo (a focus of the gaze) and recalling the phrase "It is death that turns an individual into a beautiful sculpture; a living person has blemishes." (135) Some relations would look at the effigy straight in the eyes while chanting the oriki (eulogy) of the deceased, imploring its soul not to stay too long in the Afterlife before reincarn ating as a newborn baby. Former peers may talk to the image, calling the deceased by name and pledging to assist in completing any unfinished project or in ensuring that the toddlers left behind do not suffer. In 1967, at the second-burial ceremony (ipade) of a hunter at Ifo, near Abeokuta, I witnessed what the Yoruba would call awosunkun, that is, "look and cry." The effigy had just been delivered to the family by the carver and was taken to the backyard of the house for a dress rehearsal before the real ceremony began in the evening. It was rendered in the same style as that of Chief Aniwe (Figs. 11, 12), except that it had three vertical marks (pele) on the cheeks. Placed against the wall, the effigy was fitted with a cotton smock (dansiki) and a pouchlike hunter's cap (adiro). Then, some people knelt down and prayed in front of it. But the children of the deceased just stared speechlessly at the effigy, unable to control the tears welling up in their eyes and running down their cheeks. For them, it was a sad reminder of a physical self--once full of life, energy, and enthusiasm--now gone irretrievably with the past, to be encountered in an immaterial form only in dreams, visions, and flashes of memory, according to the dirge cited earlier. (136)

Whereas most second-burial figures are life-size and intended for public and open-air display, a good majority of the altar figures are smaller in scale, being designed to fit into private, prosceniumlike indoor spaces or small rooms serving as sites for offering periodic prayers and sacrifices to the deities or ancestral dead. Here the view of the figures is restricted to a handful of people such as the priest in charge or the owner of a given altar and those seeking spiritual assistance. Nonetheless, the diminutive and schematized forms of most altar figures, barely visible in the dimness of an indoor shrine, tend to place the figures at a considerable remove from the worldly, creating an illusion of an otherworldly space into which a beholder gazes in awe of the sublime (Fig. 23.) (137) With protruding eyes and looking like extraterrestrial beings, the figures (especially those with well-defined pupils) return the viewer's gaze so fixedly as if seeing beyond the visible or reading the viewer's mind. In the scopic encounter (and from the author's personal experience) one soon begins to identify with, or see oneself in the figures--not necessarily in the Lacanian sense of a mirror image in which the self is alienated (138) but, rather, in a futuristic sense (as the figures are not mimetic) of what this mortal self shall eventually and inevitably become: an ere (sculpture). This calls to mind, once again, that popular saying "It is death that turns an individual into a beautiful sculpture...." Some altar figures (especially those without clearly defined eyes) seem to look inward, as if in a reverie, or as if meditating on the fate of humanity. (139)

The Yoruba ambivalence toward the gaze is summed up in the popular phrase "Ejeji la a wo eniyan; bi o ba se yinyin, a se eebu" (We look at a person in one of two ways: either to commend or to condemn). (140) The positive aspect, which elicits commendation (iyin), has to do with the adun (pleasures or benefits) derived from looking or being admired. What attracts and nourishes the eyes (oju) is the ewa (beauty), isona (creativity), or ara (tour de force) manifested in a given spectacle, portrait, or a work of art in general. Any striking evidence of the beautiful or the virtuosic is said to fa oju mora (magnetize the eyes), ba oju mu (fit the eyes), becoming awowo-tun-wo (that which compels repeated gaze) or awoma-leelo (that which moors the gaze. (141) The genuine or a precious object is called ojulowo (literally, the eyes have money), implying that the object is so unique that "the eyes can spend any amount to look at it." An image is designated awoyanu (literally, that which causes the viewer to gape) if it manifests such an incredibly high artistic skill as to suggest the use of occult powers. Consequently, the Yoruba use the same term, dun (delicious), for a palatable meal and a memorable spectacle, both arousing a desire for more. In the words of a Yoruba poet:

What do we call food for the eyes?

What pleases the eyes as prepared yam flour satisfies the stomach?

The eyes have no food other than a spectacle....

Never will the eyes fail to greet the beautiful one;

Never will the eyes fail to look upon one-as-elegant-as-a-kob-antelope.

"Egungun masks are performing in the market; let us go and watch them."

It is because we want to feed the eyes." (142)

Thus, for the Yoruba, a verbal description, however vivid, can never match a direct observation. This is illustrated by the popular saying "Irohin ko to afojuba" (Listening to a report is not the same thing as being an eyewitness). The term aworeriin (look and laugh) often refers to a funny-looking image or a satirical performance, although it may also be applied to a poorly executed portrait that exposes the subject to public derision. Any image or spectacle (such as a performance by Gelede masks) that entertains and educates at the same time is called awokogbon (look and learn). The term awodunnu (look and feel the sweetness in the stomach), on the other hand, refers to a spectacle or image that fills one with joy. Yemoja, a fertility goddess and the source of all waters, is often called Awoyo (literally, the sight that fills the stomach) because of the popular belief that looking at her altar figure or into a pot of sacred water with pebbles from the Ogun River (which is sacred to her) fills her devotees' wombs with children. (143)

So far, we have dealt with the benefits of looking. What are the positive sides of being looked at, directly, or indirectly through one's portrait? Compliments (iyin) from admirers about one's physical endowment, character, taste, dress, or achievements boost one's ego and confidence and may also facilitate social mobility within one's community. One becomes a gbajumo, the Yoruba term for a celebrity, which literally means "someone known to two hundred [many] faces." (144) Since only a few achieve such a status, most people find solace in the possibility of obtaining the spiritual benefits of the gaze from Olodumare (Supreme Being) and the orisa (deities). As a matter of fact, the root verb wo (to gaze or look at) also means to nurture, to look after, or to cure, (145) as evident in the prayer for a newborn child, "Olodumare a woo" (May the Supreme Being look at or after it). In this context, wo (look at or after) is synonymous with toju (literally, bring up under the eyes), meaning to take care of. A medical facility is lle itoju (literally, a house for health care). A successful treatment is iwosan, a contraction of i (act of), wo (being gazed at), and san (be cured), or iwoye, that is, i (act of), wo (being gazed at), and ye (be saved). In preventive medicine, as mentioned earlier, the portrait of an individual may be kept in a shrine to immunize the subject from infectious diseases or sorcery. Now and then, a woman who conceived and had a child after offering sacrifices to an ancestor or a particular deity may return to its shrine to deposit a votive mother and child figure portraying herself and the child. (146) That such portraits are under the protective gaze of the ancestors or orisa is obvious in popular Yoruba names like Ogunwoo (Iron deity, look after this [child]) and Sangobamiwoo (Thunder deity, help me to look after this [child]). The following invocation to Ifa (the divination deity) sheds more light on this phenomenon:

Ifa, fix your eyes upon me and look at me well

It is when you fix your eyes upon one that he is rich;

It is when you fix your eyes upon one that he prospers. (147)

This type of gaze is called oju rere (the benevolent eye) or oju aanu (the merciful eye). (148) It follows, therefore, that the Yoruba altar, called ojubo (literally, face of the worshiped), functions as a kind of mask that facilitates ifojukoju, namely, "a face-to-face communion" between the worshiper and the worshiped, enabling the latter to appreciate the oriki (eulogy) rendered in its honor. (149) It is worth noting that the most sacred symbol of a deity--an organic substance or a collection of charms--is usually concealed inside a wooden bowl with a face carved on it to provide an ocular outlet for its content (Fig. 24). Such a face also implicates Esu the agent of sight and receiver and courier of all the sacrifices offered to a deity. (150)

This brings us to the consequences of being looked at in a negative manner. To begin with, any transgression of the social, moral, or dress codes often attracts frowns (ibojuje), uncomplimentary remarks (eebu), and such actions as may affect one's reputation or career. However, the gaze most feared by the Yoruba is that of an aje (a woman with mystical powers) or an oso (her male counterpart), whose oju okan (mind's eye) is deemed to have both beneficent and maleficent aspects. Its maleficent aspect, called oju oro (poisonous eye) or oju buruku (evil eye) generates--according to popular belief--enigmatic rays that penetrate the victim's body, either directly or through a portrait, causing high blood pressure, mental derangement, malignant sores and tumors, paralysis of the limbs, infertility in men and women, epileptic seizures, and debilitating diseases, among other effects. Anyone who dies suddenly after complaining of seeing strange faces in dreams is suspected of being a victim of awopa (literally, killer gaze). This term is also used sarcastically for an incompetent doctor (known for wrong diagnoses) and whose patients are more likely to die than survive their illnesses. (151)

Aiwoo!: The Politics of Image Concealment

The emphasis on observable representations in the current discourse of the gaze tends to ignore a practice common in sub-Saharan Africa whereby images are deliberately concealed to stress their ontological significance or "affecting presence." (152) For instance, among the Baule of Cote d'lvoire, as Susan Vogel has observed, "the act of looking at a work of art, or at spiritually significant objects, is for the most part privileged and potentially dangerous. ... The power and danger of looking lie in a belief that objects are potent, capable of polluting those who see them." (153) The Yoruba have a similar concept, as expressed in the popular admonition "Eni to ba wo iwokuwo, yo ri irikuri" (Whoever looks at the forbidden will see the fearful). In other words, delightful as looking may be on certain occasions, it could be fraught with danger at times. This is because eyin oju, the refractive "egg" called the eyeball, could weaken or be extinguished like a lamp if exposed to the sight of the "forbidden," which , in Yoruba thought, may range from ghosts to potent charms and images. Such phenomena are called awofoju (literally, look and be blinded) or awoku (literally, look and die), depending on the mystical powers attributed to them. (154) Only initiates or those whose eyes are ritually protected may safely look. The images in this category derive their mystique partly from folklore and partly from the fact that they are frequently covered up when displayed in broad daylight. For example, before being taken out of the shrine for a special ceremony in the forest, the stone images of the creativity deity Obatala (right) and his consort Yemoo (left) are wrapped in white cloth (Fig. 25). Tradition requires that the bearers of the images chant a special incantation, which, as Phillips Stevens puts it, "will cause the images to become lighter and their bearers more comfortable. If the incantation is not sung with a will, or if it is neglected entirely, the bearer of the images will tire and become weak." (155) Conscious of the onlookers, who keep a safe distance, the bearers often turn the occasion into a performance, using cadence and body language to dramatize the sacredness and heaviness of the wrapped images.

Whenever an exceptionally potent image is to be exposed in a public ritual that takes place mostly at night, a curfew is usually in force. During the event a voice warns intermittently, "Don't look at it! [Aiwoo!] ]"; 'You see it, you die! [Wori, Woku!]"; "Don't look at it! [Aiwoo!]." This is particularly the case with the Agan, a mythological being that comes out on the eve of the annual festival of masks (Odun Egungun) honoring the "Living Dead." The Agan image (sometimes represented by a bundle of charms, a carving, a masked figure, or spirit medium) is enveloped in darkness and closely guarded by attendants holding whips. As the procession approaches an area, the residents are cautioned to put out all the lights within and outside their houses to ensure total darkness. Now and then, an eerie voice cuts through the night, followed by a chorus proclaiming the Agan's supernatural power. For example:

Agan's arms are smaller than the sand fly's

Its tail is not as big as the ant's

Yet 1,460 men lifted Agan

And could not lift it to knee level. (156)

One divination verse hints at the dire consequences of spying on the Agan:

Do not set your eyes on me

No one looks at the Orombo (157)

If the Agan comes Out in daytime

Trees will fall upon trees; palms will fall upon one another

Forests will be razed to the ground

The savannah will burn out completely

This is what the Ifa oracle predicted for Mafojukanmi [Do-Not-Set-Your-Eyes-on-Me]

Popularly called Agan. (158)

According to Peter Morton-Williams, a British anthropologist who did fieldwork in Yorubaland in the 1950s, the Agan was accompanied by other "unlookable" beings during the Egungun festival at Ota:

It is important here to draw attention to the calculated use of sound effects and picturesque language against the darkness of the night, to project a surreal vision of the unseeable while, at the same time, denying the people confined indoors access to its material representation. (160) The ultimate aim is to control visual behavior and instill a reverential fear of the sacred so complex that the mere realization that one has seen the forbidden may precipitate the psychosomatic complications popularly associated with awofoju (look and be blinded) or awoku (look and die).

My escort to Ota had spent the night with his kinsmen, shut in another house, and he told me the next day that they had all been very much afraid, for they believed that Agan and Mariwo had magic which enable [d] them to "see" and attack anyone they wanted, wherever he was hidden in a house. On the last night of the festival, there is again a terrifying incursion, under the same conditions, with people locked in their houses with lights extinguished. This visitation is of Aranta. The Aranta is said to be accompanied by the voice of many animals and birds, and the sound of "witchcraft," made with a variety of voice-disguisers. (159)

New Forms, Old Values: Contemporary Developments

Since the turn of the twentieth century, Yorubaland, like other parts of Africa, has been witnessing unprecedented cultural, political, and economic transformations due to the impact of Western education, modern technology, and increasing urbanization. Yet many Yoruba have not totally abandoned their ancient customs. Mass conversion to Islam and Christianity, both of which associate traditional sculpture with paganism, has led some Yoruba to adopt new forms as camouflage in order to continue with those indigenous values to which they are still emotionally attached. While modern photography has encouraged a good majority to record important events in their lives through individual and family portraits, the fear lingers that a printed image is susceptible to sympathetic magic. Hence, individuals keep their photograph albums in a secure place to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. Some Yoruba herbalists advise that one should hold one's breath while posing for a photograph to immunize the image again st sorcery. Photographs now play major roles in a number of public and private ceremonies, either alone or in conjunction with sculptures carved in the traditional style.

The image on the lap of the seated woman in Figure 26 (carved by Ajayi Ibuke in 1970) represents the current king of Oy6, Alaafin Oba Lamidi Adeyemi II, who is required to be present, in spirit but not in person, at certain public ceremonies intended to promote the social and spiritual well-being of his subjects. I took this picture in Oyo in 1972 at the grand finale of the annual festival in honor of Sango, one of the ancient kings of Old Oyo who was deified and is now associated with thunder power (Fig. 18). The carved image has a photograph of Oba Adeyemi attached to stress his liminal role as a living representative of Sango on earth. (161) All the important guests arriving at the venue bowed before the "photo-sculptural" image of Oba Adeyemi, and during the ceremony it was the focus of attention. The drummers, dancers, and Sango-possession priests performed before it most of the time. During the intervals, praise singers entered the performance arena, moving back and forth in front of the image and chant ing the king's oriki (eulogy). The audience responded intermittently with "Ka-bi-ye-si!" (Long live the king!). At the end of the ceremony, the chief possession priest faced the image, as if it were the king himself, and wished him good health, long life, and the continued blessing of Sango. In fact, when not in use, this carved portrait is usually kept inside the Sango temple in the Koso area of town, an act that metaphorically places the king (Oba Adeyemi) under the divine and protective gaze of Sango.

Enlarged photographs are now a popular substitute for carved effigies in second-burial ceremonies, being buried in the same manner as the effigies. (162) In some cases, a second-burial memorial for a hunter (ipade) may be no more than an assemblage of flintlocks, hunting dress, hat, and charms, in front of which is displayed a photograph of the deceased. Those who can afford the expenses now commission naturalistic, Western-type memorials in cement, stone, or marble in honor of deceased parents. (163) Yet, in times of crisis, these memorials often double as shrines for clandestine rituals enlisting the spiritual aid of the dead.


There is a peculiar use of photography in twin rituals that denies the specificity of its naturalism in order to emphasize the oneness in the twoness of twins. For instance, if one of the pair should die without leaving behind a photographic image, the surviv