“Father, where is Mother?”

“Your mother went away for a while. She needs time alone to reflect and decide how she wants to live her life.”

“Did you send her away?”

“Yes. Violence is not allowed on sacred ground, Maria. And I don’t accept it outside sacred ground either.”

“I understand, Father.”

I was five years old. Mother was gone. A few days later, I finally built Zita’s altar in my room.

Father had never had a problem with her. Zita wasn’t part of Candomblé or Umbanda. She was a witch, and Father respected the witch who walked beside his daughter. For the first time, I could give her a place of her own.

The years passed peacefully. When I turned six, I was initiated into Candomblé, the same age Father had been when he went through his feitura (initiation). All my brothers had already been initiated.

I became an iaô (new initiate). My orixá was Iansã, lady of the winds, storms and lightning.

That explained a few things.
Especially the weather.

Two years later, Father was preparing to turn forty-one, but his birthday wasn’t what had everyone running around the terreiro (Candomblé temple grounds) for three months. Thirty-five years had passed since his feitura.

His obrigação de trinta e cinco anos (thirty-five-year obligation) was approaching. The sacred grounds would be filled for an entire week with family, filhos de santo (initiated members of the religious house), visitors from other terreiros, food, music, prayers and preparations. Father would spend seven days recolhido (in ritual seclusion).

His ialorixá (Candomblé priestess) came to stay with us for the entire obligation. She was the woman who had initiated him thirty-five years earlier, when he was six years old.

I had heard about her my entire life. Everybody called him Pai Carlos. I called him Father. She was the woman who had known him before he was either.

Then the obligation began.

The day Father entered the roncó (sacred seclusion room), I could barely contain myself. It was the first time I had ever seen him following instructions instead of giving them.

Seven days later, he would come out with Ogun and the great celebration would begin. I had seen Father with Ogun many times, but this was going to be different. Something enormous.

The sacred grounds were already packed. I had never seen so many people there at once. Everywhere I looked, people stood in circles singing together. There was food, colour, music and a sea of filhos de santo dressed in white.

I could feel the sacred everywhere. Sometimes I could see the orixás too.

Zita stood beside me.

“Your life will change today, Maria. You have to let it happen.”

“What do you mean, Zita?”

“A new chapter begins today. It will hurt. You will suffer. But you have to accept the sacrifice if you want to become the woman I need you to become.”

“I’m a child, Zita.”

“Today you will need the control of a woman. Bad things happen, Maria. Sometimes destiny needs them to happen so it can follow its course.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I’m preparing you. Keep your head high. Walk straight. Control your voice and your face. You can be scared. Just don’t let fear control you.”

“I’m not a woman yet.”

“No. But tonight you need the spirit of one.”

She moved closer to me.

“I’m with you. I’m allowing this to happen because your destiny begins today.”

“Is it going to happen soon?”

“When the sun goes down.”

And Zita was right.

By nightfall, the sacred grounds had become a sea of white. People were everywhere.

Then I felt a hand close around my arm.

Mother.

She was dressed in white like everybody else. In the middle of that crowd, for a second, she looked like she belonged there.

“Maria, you must come with me. I came to take you away.”

“Go with her, Maria,” Zita said.

I looked at her.

“Go.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Come quickly. Everybody is waiting for your father to come out with his devil. We have to leave now.”

I followed her. Her hand held mine so tightly that it hurt.

One scream would have been enough.

The sacred grounds were packed with people. The filhos de santo were everywhere. Someone would have heard me. Someone would have come.

My eyes burned and my chest hurt. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream until Father heard me from inside the roncó.

But Zita had told me to go.

So I raised my head and walked.

I had never left the sacred grounds. This was my home. My brothers, my people, my orixás, my father. Everything I knew was there.

We passed Exu’s house.

“Go, Maria.”

I heard him. I saw him.

“I’ll be with you. I’ll protect you. Accept what is happening.”

Why?

Why did I have to leave? I screamed the question inside my head.

My soul was trying to leave my body and run back up the hill, but my body kept walking, holding the cold hand of a mother who hated everything I loved.

I kept my head high.

I didn’t cry.

When we reached the bottom of the hill, a car was waiting.

“Get in, Maria. Quickly.”

I stared at it. It was the first car I had ever seen.

I got inside. A man was sitting behind the wheel. Mother climbed in beside me.

He drove away.