Tampa, Florida boasts a considerable Hispanic population, many of whom are of Cuban or Afro-Cuban descent.  In fact, Raul Canizares recounts that "Mercedes, an African American woman in her forties, has ... great-grandparents who moved from Cuba to Ybor City in 1876 were santeros" (1993:122).  While practitioners of Santería still maintain a rather unobtrusive presence in the community, one need only know where to look to find signs of their existence.  You might notice a local botánica or a iyabó (a recently initiated member of the religion) wearing white or the beaded necklaces called collares.

As a student of anthropology, I have found myself possessed with an interest in non-Western religions.  Perhaps it is the result of my being a product of a parochial education that has made me curious about the things I was not taught.  For more than half my life, I was exposed almost only to Catholicism.  The fact that Santería has incorporated the images of the Catholic saints into the religion only further incensed by curiosity.

For nearly six years now, I have had the unique pleasure of working with a santera (a high-level initiate or priestess in the religion) whom I shall call Eshubí, the name she was given upon making santo,  in an effort to her privacy.  My relationship with Eshubí has given me the opportunity to learn more about Santería than would be possible through texts alone.  As I've previously mentioned, practitioners of Santería tend to be protective of their knowledge.  Perhaps this is a result the need for their predecessors to hide their faith, but it is still a regular occurrence today.  This country may have been founded with aspirations of religious freedom, but intolerance lingers still.  One simply could not walk into a ceremony as one would a church.

Public establishments for the practice of  Santería are not the norm.  Worship is usually confined to the home.  In Eshubí's case, an entire room inside her house is devoted to the orishas.  Her husband and her son are also santeros.  Pictures of the Catholic saints are interspersed with the symbols and implements of the orishas.  An altar, called a boveda, is also setup in the room.  It is comprised of a small table covered with a white cloth upon which seven glasses are set.  It is common for a practiioner to place candles and other offerings on the boveda, the purpose of which is to venerate the egún, ancestors.

Botánicas are places where one can frequently find practitioners of Santería, and Tampa is home to several of them.  Among the items sold there are candles, collares, and different herbs used in various rituals.  In her article "One-Stop Remedy Shops," Chloe Cabrera explains, "the rituals of botanicas stem from folk practices derived from curanderismo, a mix of folk healing, white magic and folk Catholicism" (2005).  This is another carry over from the days in Cuba when slaves were forced to rely on their own cures and remedies.

In the time that I have known Eshubí I have attended a number of misas (spiritual masses) and participated in several different ceremonies.  I have consulted Eshubí for advice through the reading of cards, and in some cases, the reading of caricoles (cowry shells that are considered the mouths of the orisha).  In the majority of these instances, my inquiries have been regarding my health.  Shortly after I was diagnosed with a large mass in my chest, she had done a reading for me with the ekuele. One of the results of the readings indicated that I should do a cleansing for Obbatalá. I was cleaned with eight white eggs which were then placed at the base of a large, old tree. Eight is Obbatalá’s number, and white is the color associated with this orisha, hence the eggs. He is also one of the first orishas, considered to be wise and the ruler of heads. The aged tree is also associated with Obbatalá, so it is there that the eggs are placed for him.

Prior to my entering the hospital for surgery, Eshubí recommended another ebbó. Hospitals are associated with the dead; muertos. Concerned that I might “pick up” something of a malevolent nature during my stay, I was told to clean myself with a piece of red meat which I was then to place in a brown paper bag with seven pennies. I then disposed of the bag in a trash can outside the hospital doors. The meat was the offering in this instance. It was the sacrifice which was then given to Elegguá with a derecho of seven pennies. It is said that there is an aspect of Elegguá that lives in the trash can, so to place it in the receptacle was to give it to the orisha. It is also common to pay a derecho to the orisha: in this case seven pennies as seven is one of Elegguá’s numbers and also is associated with the taking of things “away.” 

In the Spring of 2005 I had the opportunity to attend a different type of reading, done by the high priests of Santería, called babalaos.  This reading involves divination through the orisha Orunmila and is referred to as Ifa Divination.  The purpose of my having this particular reading, called a plante, was to find to find out what orisha ruled my head.  In the event that I were to be initiated into the religion, this is the orisha that I would be crowned with.  In my case, the orisha would be Shangó.  The reading also told me things that I should be cautious of so as to avoid causing myself trouble in life.  In a way, it is a sort of divine advice that the orishas provide in order to help you through life.  I find this to be comforting in that the orishas are not so distant that they cannot help those of us here on earth.

More recently I have talked to Eshubí about the differences between the way the religion was and is practiced in Africa versus the way that it is practiced in Cuba and in the United States.  She indicated that Santería became more male dominated in Cuba; women being allowed to be priests but not high priests.  She feels that this practice is related more towards the Western idea that women are somehow inferior to men and, as such, may not perform certain functions within the religion. (Personal communication, October 7, 2005)

Another interesting point is that, in Africa, individuals of a family generally were crowned by the same orisha.  Here in the United States and in Cuba, there is a tendency for more variation.  For example, Eshubí is a daughter of Elegguá.  In Africa, she would be initiating me under that same orisha; however, in this country she can initiate me under the orisha that rules my head.  Another difference in the initiation process is that it lasts considerably longer in Cuba and in the United States.  While the actual initiation itself lasts seven days in all cases, initiates in Cuba and in the United States spend an entire year as a iyabó.  This is a considerable sacrifice because it can cost an initiate upwards of $5,000 for the kariocha, the process by which one "makes santo," thus becoming a santero or santera. As in Africa, the ceremony requires many individuals to participate, offering their time and services for such an extended period.  There are also a great deal of materials required, as well as animals for the orishas to "eat."  Still, the family unit, albeit an extended one, plays an important role in the religion.  An initiate always has a madrina and padrino (godmother and godfather) that guides them through their learning and represents them to the community. 

Eshubí also indicated to me the religion, more so than she believes is the case in Africa, is more male dominated.  For example, during the period of initiation, a female iyabó is required to wear a skirt.  She may not wear pants.  She must also carry a shawl to cover herself.  Additionally, women are not allowed to be initiated as babalaos.  Eshubí related to me that, in her experiences, there is a degree of sexism in the practice of the religion that she does not believe is present in Africa.  I, too, have witnessed santeros and babalaos alike having a less than equal perception of women and find such to be a rather antiquated perspective. (Personal communication, October 7, 2005)

While Santería had loose connections to Catholicism in its past, it seems that, at least in Tampa Bay, those ties are uneasy ones, at least on the part of the Catholics.  Many santeros still attend church.  It would seem, though, that the practice Santería and Catholicism together are not accepted by the Catholic Church.  In an article originally published in the St. Petersburg Times earlier this year, Wavenly Ann Moore reports on a santero, Eliseo Garcia, in St. Petersburg who also attends mass regularly:

Priests at Most Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church in Gulfport, where Garcia is a parishioner, said they were surprised to learn of his Santeria connections. The Rev. William J. Swengros, pastor of Most Holy Name and canon lawyer for the Diocese of St. Petersburg, sees grave problems with someone practicing both Catholicism and Santeria.  "Santeria is a separate religion. From a Catholic perspective, it's fundamentally incompatible. You can't be a good and faithful Catholic and be a practitioner of Santeria. Not because they are not good people, but because the theology is so fundamentally different. And for that reason, somebody who practices Santeria should not receive communion. You can't be Catholic and believe in more than one God. That's the bottom line. It can't be," Swengros said. (2005)

It seems as if acceptance is still a long way in coming for practitioners of Santería.  Catholicism was forced on the slaves in Cuba.  They were forced to integrate elements of Catholicism into their lives to preserve their faith.  Now, modern practitioners are seemingly ostracized for the elements that are present today.