Iroso Tura

Orunmila lived near Ogún. Every time Ogún passed, he saw him clean and well dressed, sitting on his porch, and thought: “What does Orunmila work at, that I never see him dirty?” One day, worn out from the labors of the countryside, Ogún went in to consult with Orunmila. In the consultation an Ifá came out that warned him: “You are doing something you were not born for.” Ogún answered that he worked in the countryside. Orunmila reminded him that he was a blacksmith and asked whether he did not work at the forge. Ogún confessed: “What I want is to do Ifá.” Orunmila replied that there would be an occasion for that.

Time passed and Orunmila consecrated Ogún in Ifá without consulting Obatalá. As a good blacksmith, Ogún made himself an ókpele and a board, both of iron and very large. When the ceremony ended he thought that with Ifá he would always live clean, and he began to throw the ókpele onto the board with an excessive din. Obatalá, who lived nearby, could not bear that noise and wondered what it was. At last he went out to find out and, as he crossed by Ogún's house, saw that he was consulting and asked what he was doing. Ogún explained that he was already a babalawo, since Orunmila had given him Ifá.

Obatalá visited Orunmila, received his moforibale and rebuked him: “Why did you not take me into account to make Ifá for Ogún? Now nobody will make weapons for war, and with Ogún not working there will be no progress. Solve this.” And he left.

The next day, Orunmila asked Ogún to come back with his Ifá, because he had to do something to it. Ogún obeyed, because Orunmila was his Oluwo. Orunmila took the main hand out of the tray and left him as an awofakan.

Back at home, Ogún saw that his Ifá was missing the main hand and went to complain to his godfather. Orunmila explained that Obatalá had arranged it, because, according to him, Ogún had not been born to be an awó. Hearing this, Ogún took his machete and headed to Obatalá's house, mowing down heads along the way.

Obatalá, who had consulted beforehand, had hung a white flag at the entrance and set out a gourd bowl of fresh water. Ogún arrived soaked in blood, machete in hand, and demanded to know why he had said that to Orunmila. Obatalá, calm, knew that a bad answer would cost him his head. He replied: “Ogún, very well, but you know that when you enter my house you must greet me.” Ogún threw himself on the ground, the white flag fell over him and left him without strength. Obatalá gave him water and spoke to him: “Son, I will give you whatever you ask for, but your place is at the forge making weapons, not in the consultation. That is why I spoke that way.” Ogún agreed. Obatalá handed him the ókpele again. In the leg that speaks he had put a power, a work of Osain, and he also put him through a bath of ashibatá and oyú oro. From then on Ogún kept making weapons, without practicing as an awó.

In Iyekú, an ancient land, there lived an enormous river of clear water, vain and arrogant. He was Odo, the obá, that is, the king of that region. He boasted that no river matched his depth or his volume. He told how untouched plants grew on his banks, how the finest fish lived in his waters, how his bed was of delicate sand and how the sea welcomed him gladly, because he softened its saltiness. He also told how the sun, the moon and the stars gazed at their reflection on his shining surface.

When the kingdom was assigned to him, the wise men read in the sand of his channel the sign Iroso Timbelera and warned him that ingratitude is born of pride.

With spring came Oguero, and suddenly Odo’s water began to move. Frightened, he asked himself who had the nerve to stir his water and the mud of his bed, and who was making him grow until he left his channel. He was so haughty that he forgot the counsel of the elders, given when the sign Iroso Tunialara was seen for him. Instead of consulting Orunmila, he went to look for the one responsible. He found a stream swollen by the rains, which joined him at a junction and brought yellowish, muddy water, dragging leaves and branches. Odo confronted it: neither the stream nor its family could bring him dirty waters; they only came to bother him and take away his happiness, so they should go far away, toward the marshes and the swamps.

The streams, children of Oshún Iyumu, were offended by this blind arrogance and took their complaint to their mother. Oshún was deeply hurt by what Iroso Tunialara had done, which was the name Obá Odo had in that land, and she ordered her children the streams to feed in other places. The springs, who were brothers of the streams, were also offended by Obá Odo and left together with them. Obá Odo was left without sustenance, grew poorer and ended up as a miserable thread of water.

In his dry bed, scattered pools remained where leaves and fish rotted in heaps. The trees of the bank dried up little by little and the birds that lived in them left. The sun, the moon and Iroko never again were reflected in the dry bed of what had been Obá Odo, left by the streams and the springs.

Olokun wondered what had become of Obá Odo, who before used to bring him sweet, clean waters. He went to the house of Orunmila and there came upon Oshún Iyumu, who explained to him: “Olokun, pride and ingratitude ruined Obá Odo, who forgot that at birth he was Iroso Tunialara.”

For his rest and his joy, Olofin created a tree: Ope, the royal palm. When she was small, Ope received Olofin's blessing and paid him her moforibale. Olofin took pleasure in her: she was healthy, grew straight and slender, and wore a green and leafy crown.

Ogún felt jealous and wished for himself the ashé that Ope had. He could not destroy her, so, to put her in a bad light with Olofin, he began to circle around her and flatter her: “What a beautiful crown and what a slender body. You have all the virtues and all the intelligence in the world, and so you will surpass Olofin.”

Little by little Ope became vain and arrogant. One day, seeing herself tall, she declared to Olofin that she would no longer pay him moforibale, because she would be greater than he and would leave him behind; that from then on he would be the one to come and greet her, since no one in the world would be above her. Olofin, hearing such arrogance, began to weep. Ope, more and more aggressive, did not see her mistake: all of Ogún's flattery was poison.

One day Shangó found Olofin weeping at the door of his house and asked him the cause. Olofin explained what Ope was doing. Shangó reminded him that, when he gave her the crown, Orunmila had said that she was Iroso Tunialara, and that Orunmila had also given advice to Ope. He asked him to stop weeping, because he would settle the matter. However, when he saw her he understood that it could no longer be remedied, and Ope confronted him too. Then a blazing bolt of lightning struck her: in an instant her fronds lost their strength and hung limp around the trunk, and with that the crown they form when they stand straight and shining disappeared.

That is why the palm, however much it grows, will never reach the sky.