Pouring of Libations

One man sits alone. Many come from far around to the meeting place, waiting for the gathering to begin. As members of the community pour in two or three at a time, they find a seat somewhere around the circle. The sun is setting, and there hasn’t been rain in many months. Crops are dying, people are dying, and the scorched earth is cracked and broken with dehydration.

The elder who had previously sat alone watching his people arrive now stood. The sun had set completely, alleviating some of the treacherous heat, and the entire community breathed a sigh of relief, and welcomed the end of the day. Now it was time for the elder to invite the ancestors into this world, and to ask for their wisdom. He carefully took a jar of water from his robes and poured a little onto the ground, where it was eagerly lapped up by the scorched earth. The pouring of libations is a time-honored tradition dating back to the very earliest days of Afrika, and the elder and the people knew that honoring the ancestors was a way to get results. The elder lifted his eyes to the black sky, and spoke:

“Awaken, ancestors. Speak with us, and live alongside and through us. We are here seeking your wisdom, and we need you to come and be by our sides. Give us the wisdom to see through these hard times, and to entice the rain. Grace us with the wisdom of the past and teach us your ancient ways so that we may inform our future.”

The walls of the blue room upstairs on Brackenridge Street shiver with winter morning cold, but as the students gather around a circle, they cover themselves in homemade blankets while they wait for Ketu, the elder, to begin. In the center of the circle a small plant sits in a clay pot, unassuming and plain. But it holds a link to the past, and to a story that began half a world away.

“After the community members invoked the spirits of their ancestors to be with them in their time of need, rain poured from the sky feeding the crops, and helping to make the people well and healthy again. We always invoke the ancestors’ help by pouring libations in their honor. When we pour libations, we are in effect asking the ancestors to join us in our time, and in our place to teach us. We don’t know everything, so we need the help of those who came before us.”

The students nod in understanding, and from somewhere around the circle, I hear a few tiny but strong voices murmur “Amen.”