PAWÒL APRANTI-SAJ

E-mail exchange, December 2004.

Friend:

…  “I have asked something of god, of the lwa and now I am being asked, pulled to do something.  I want to understand it better – or at all!  I am not a person of rituals, or even of discipline, really, and go on intuition always.  Yesterday, when the spirit/lwa was pulling me and I felt compelled to meditate, I made physical gestures my intuition gave to me, which seemed the right things to do.  Is there something else I should be doing?  Some specific ways or words to pray?

…

I would wish to talk with you about what I should do as far as honoring the lwa in a more regular? way.  You are a person for more formal ritual and I am somewhat the opposite, so I would appreciate some guidance.  If it feels like the right path, then I will continue.”…

…  “You should not worry too much about what ritual you should do.  Just embrace the idea that ritual is a space where we meet our Higher Selves and other Spirits and where the language spoken is understood by both “us” and “them”.  Honor Her-Him in your heart, your mind and your body as often as possible, ideally permanently, but with no formality.  Formulate your intentions clearly and firmly.  Live according to your own moral principles and allow space to make amends and to forgive yourself when you drift.  Learn, grow and get purer and purer.  Also honor your Lower Self (Subconscious, Spiritual Child, Tibonnanj, the inner voice of your intuition and your instincts, your main intermediate towards your Higher Self).  For my part, I literally view myself as a Trinity (my Higher Self or Superconscious, my Middle Self or Conscious and my Lower Self or Subconscious).  We all have our own names, traits, functions and responsibilities.  One of my main purposes in life is to get my ordinary consciousness to be fully aware of and harmoniously connected with the two other aspects of myself.  So let your Superconscious and your Subconscious guide you.  You will be led to perform your own proper rituals which no religion, no pastor, no priest, no oungan, no shaman, no guru, no therapist, no counselor, or myself will ever be able to teach you.

 

Blessings.  Respect.

Ayibobo!

 

~Djalòki~“

The original version of this article was published on Medium Magazine (http://mediummagazine.com/articleHaiti.asp).  Orenda Fink, from the musical band Azure Ray, and her boyfriend Todd Baechle, from the musical band The Faint, visited Ayiti to learn more on Vodou.  Among other places, they went to the annual revival ceremony in Lakou Soukri, near Gonayiv.

…  “When we returned, it was dusk, and another ceremony had begun. All the initiates had changed their clothes and now wore red. I confessed to Todd that I was beginning to feel scared and anxious, like the energy of the place was turning dark and aggressive. As I was explaining this, the generator went out. We were in complete darkness save a distant fire and the occasional lit cigarette. Todd attempted to calm me down, although I knew he was scared too, as we walked back to our camp. Djaloki was there, and I was relieved to see him. I told him of my fears. He listened and thought for a moment. Then he said, “The first thing that I am going to tell you is you are safe here.”

He then congratulated me. He told me that it was very rare that a foreigner felt and understood the power of Vodou the way I did, and that I was handling it extremely well.
“Yes, but I’m scared,” I said to him. “The energy seemed dark and aggressive. It feels evil.”
Dja then explained that Vodouists don’t see spirits as “evil and good” or “dark and light” but rather, as “hot and cold.” Vodou is understanding and mastering the balance of hot and cold energy. For instance, the sun represents hot energy. We need the sun to live, but if you get too close to the sun, you die. Water represents cold energy. It is also essential to life, but if you have too much, you drown. He said that Soukri was a festival celebrating the Congo spirits, which are hot spirits, but that I shouldn’t be afraid as they are not to be confused with evil. Talking to Djaloki really did make me feel safer. This whole concept was mind-blowing to me, opening up a whole new realm of theo-philosophical thought that I had never even imagined.

After some time of lighter conversation, I wanted to revisit the ceremony with this new mindset. Dja, Todd, and I walked back to the ceremony, and I wasn’t scared anymore. We didn’t stay long, but long enough for me to know how much fear stems from a simple lack of understanding-for I slept peacefully that night with the Congo spirits, in the open air, under the mango tree.”…

Azure Ray’s Orenda Fink &
The Faint’s Todd Baechle travel to Haiti to discover the truth about the mysterious and beautiful island.

Story - Orenda Fink
Photos - Orenda Fink and
Todd Baechle

In the Port-au-Prince airport, there is a sign that reads: “We are sorry to welcome you in such uncomfortable circumstances, but we are working hard to improve this.” It seemed a sad admission, and I got the feeling that the sign was a permanent fixture, as it looked quite old and was bolted to the wall.

It was 2 p.m., my boyfriend Todd and I had just stepped off our plane and into the Port-au-Prince airport. I was nervous and excited about what lay before us in this mysterious country, but on the flight to Haiti there was an unexpected air of peacefulness among the passengers, who all seemed to be either Haitian diaspora or Christian missionaries.

Just a few days before, I had e-mailed our contact in Haiti, Djaloki, who was to be our guide during our stay. I was worried that perhaps he had been caught up in the politically-fueled violence that I read about that week. He assured me that he was fine and that “the feeling of violence and insecurity the news usually conveys [about Haiti] is a pure construct.” Even so, images of the recent attacks and assassinations had not left my mind.

I was under the impression that Haiti had changed since the time of Graham Greene’s novel, The Comedians, but upon closer scrutiny I was afraid this might not have been the case. So, yes, herein lies the question, the one that many of my friends, family, and even I asked myself on occasion: “Why go?” I think Robert Pelton, author of The World’s Most Dangerous Places, answered this best: “The answer is simple. You have to go.”

I understood the imperative nature of his answer and was fueled by an unexplained drive to understand Haiti-the history, the culture, the magic. My imagination had been captivated for some time by the national religion, Vodou, which seemed to be the most complex, intensely spiritual and magical religion I had ever known. The more I read about it, the more I realized that the words on the pages were not mere fiction-this world of spirits, zombies, and dark underlords could possibly exist somewhere other than in a story. Casting fear and doubt aside, I knew I would not be able to rest until I discovered the truth for myself. Two round-trip tickets to Port-au-Prince, much reading, and an extremely understanding boyfriend later, Todd and I found ourselves collecting our bags and making our way outside of the PAP airport.

We were greeted by Djaloki, who was accompanied by an American woman, Carla, who had lived in Haiti for the last 18 years, and Ari, another native Haitian. The three of them were to be our guides. Ari picked us up in a pick-up truck with benches installed in the back-a popular form of Haitian transport called a “tap tap.” We drove through Port-au-Prince to visit the city’s main outdoor market. We purchased a glass globe for the kerosene lamp that would light our guestroom and then took a short trip to Gwo Jan, a mountain community where Carla and Ari live with their respective families. Todd and I were shown our guestroom and we met several people in Gwo Jan. We ate dinner-”diri”-a Haitian dish consisting of beans and rice and mushroom juice. The food was amazing, as was the fresh-squeezed passion fruit juice that followed.

After dinner and a short rest, we were called to a meeting by Djaloki, Carla and Ari. Since we were attending a Vodou ceremony in the morning in Djaloki’s home village near Leogane, he wanted us to have a meeting about Vodou-the spirits, the people, what to expect. The talks were very emotional as Djaloki, Ari, and Carla each discussed the past, present, and future of Haiti-a land they spoke of as a beloved mother. I was moved to tears several times, and as I laid in bed that night, I could feel the spiritual power and energy of the land surging through me-the pain, the confusion, and the longing for peace of heart and mind.

We arose the next morning and prepared for our journey to Leogane. The ride was exhausting-four hours in the back of a truck in full sun, two of those hours through the dusty, polluted Port-au-Prince, but it was a great way to see the country. Most of the roads in Haiti were unpaved and hard to travel. In many places, the dirt on the ground was a thin, white dust which shrouded the entire country in a dream-like haze. We arrived in a remote village where the ceremony had already begun. We were asked to wait outside while the houngan, or Vodou priest, renegotiated the energy of the ceremony in order to receive us. After a few moments, we were invited into the peristyle, an outdoor area covered by a tarp, decorated with shreds of old black and orange plastic trash bags streaming from the low ceiling. There were about 40 villagers packed into this very small area. In the front row four old men played Haitian drums, and they started a special song to welcome us. We were seated and the ceremony resumed.

At this point the houngan was possessed by Baron Samedi, the spirit of life, death and sex. Four initiates, or hounsis, entered in immaculate white dresses and white silk head wraps. They danced and sang along with the houngan. The houngan began to sprinkle a clear, sweet-smelling liquid onto everyone watching. As he was doing this, one of the hounsis screamed in agony, her face twisted in pain. She fell to the ground, rolling through the dirt, screaming and flailing, her white dress becoming brown with dirt and ash. Our guide told us that she had been possessed by Damballah, the serpent spirit. An older woman in the crowd was also taken by Damballah and collapsed to the ground, twisting and writhing. The two women met up with each other and embraced in the earth, their bodies pulsating, their faces in the dirt. The drums stopped and the women laid motionless. People walked over and helped them up.

The drums started again, and the hounsis danced and sang with the houngan as he drew symbols on the ground with flour-one for north, south, east, and west. Once the intricate symbols were drawn, the initiates danced over them in bare feet, blending them back into the earth. Soon, our visiting group was led into the concrete dwelling. It was hot, crowded, and dark inside. One candle lit the room, and a goat lay on the floor, sleeping, along with the hounsis, who had collapsed in a heap in the corner. An unidentifiable dried animal carcass hung from the ceiling above them and menacing symbols were drawn on the walls in white chalk. We were served dinner inside-diri and vegetables and meat. Night fell as we were eating, and when we returned to the ceremony the hounsis were dressed in black bras and black skirts. They were rubbing leaves and herbs for potions in a large wooden pot. They sang and pounded and sweated, smoking cigarettes and drinking rum like it was water. One girl drank rum and sprayed it into peoples’ faces. Meanwhile, an old woman balanced one of her bare feet over the fire for ten minutes. Amazingly, she walked away-no pain, no burns. There were about ten of us still watching the ceremony, and the possessed initiates came to each one of us and gave us a special handshake that ended with our hands in the air up over our heads as if letting something free. While I had watched them doing the handshakes with the villagers first, I didn’t think they would also do it with the “blancs.” But they did, staring into our eyes fiercely, with no discrimination. The eyes were not human. I was convinced at that moment that they truly were spirits.

The final part of the ceremony was the “bathing of the initiates.” This took place inside. A pan of water was placed in the middle of the room. The initiates came out to drums with large bunches of green leaves held over their faces and hands. They danced around the water while the houngan feverishly struck the walls with a machete. Sparks flew in the dark as the big knife made contact inches from our heads. This went on for awhile, and then the initiates settled around the pan of water. They sat for a long time and prayed and sang. Todd and I couldn’t sit up any longer, so we left before the ceremony was completed. One peasant girl offered us her bedroom. We went by flashlight and collapsed into her bed completely exhausted.

Over the course of the next week, we visited different areas of Haiti and got some much needed rest and relaxation. We went to museums, beaches, and nightclubs. We had a great time, but I was anticipating our next experience with Vodou. The ceremony in Leogane was visually arresting, but I felt as if the real essence of Vodou had not yet reached me. So, we decided to take a six-hour bus ride to Gonaive on some of the worst roads in the country to get to Soukri, a marathon ceremony that happens once a year in northern Haiti.
Once we arrived, we made our way to the place we were going to stay (with Djaloki’s cousin, an important houngan at Soukri.) Our room was a small mud and stick structure with a dirt floor, but we had straw mats and plenty of room outside-and there was a huge mango tree to sleep under. Before we slept that night, we went to meet Adelle, a high Vodou priestess and friend of Dja and Carla. She was absolutely gorgeous-long dreaded hair and dressed like a modern-day African queen. She was playful, charming, and full of energy. She welcomed white people to Soukri. She said, “White is the moon, black is the earth. There is nothing more than that.”

The next morning, the first ceremony began inside a concrete building with houngans, mambos, and about 50 hounsis donned in white dress. The room was thick with sweat-an explosion of chaotic energy as people were possessed amidst the singing and dancing and hypnotic rhythm of the drums. Three hounsis made their way in with live goats draped around the backs of their necks, wearing them like big mink stoles. They danced a circle around the room with the goats, and I lost sight of them through the crowd. When I saw them again, they were still wearing the goats, but the animals’ throats had been cut. Then, in a frenzy, all the hounsis started passing the goats around, bathing in their blood. Some were rubbing their faces and heads in the incisions. Todd turned to me and said, “I just saw Adelle. She just stuck her hand down one of the goat’s slit throats and then licked the blood off her fingers.” Then I saw her, thrashing wildly in the bloodbath, possessed with the wild, ancient spirits of the Congo. She was dancing along with the others who once wore white but now wore red.

Todd and I left the ceremony at this point to get some air and to collect ourselves. We talked to each other about what we had seen and felt and agreed that things seemed to be taking a dark turn. Still, the last sacrifice was to be made. A large crowd had already gathered under a tree. A huge black bull was tied to a tree by its horns, and four hounsis were holding its tail out to keep it steady. Amidst the frenetic crowd, I saw a girl running around blindly, screaming with her eyes rolled all the way back into her head. The whites of her eyes were a startling contrast to her dark skin. There was a young woman in the tree above us covered in mud and laying helpless on a branch, screaming and crying pitifully. Carla said she was being punished by the spirits for something she had done. After a number of prayers, three houngans mounted the cow and it was sacrificed.

After this last sacrifice, it was time for the initiates to bathe. Everyone walked down to the river, and after more prayers, jumped in, splashing and flailing about wildly.

When we returned, it was dusk, and another ceremony had begun. All the initiates had changed their clothes and now wore red. I confessed to Todd that I was beginning to feel scared and anxious, like the energy of the place was turning dark and aggressive. As I was explaining this, the generator went out. We were in complete darkness save a distant fire and the occasional lit cigarette. Todd attempted to calm me down, although I knew he was scared too, as we walked back to our camp. Djaloki was there, and I was relieved to see him. I told him of my fears. He listened and thought for a moment. Then he said, “The first thing that I am going to tell you is you are safe here.”

He then congratulated me. He told me that it was very rare that a foreigner felt and understood the power of Vodou the way I did, and that I was handling it extremely well.
“Yes, but I’m scared,” I said to him. “The energy seemed dark and aggressive. It feels evil.”
Dja then explained that Vodouists don’t see spirits as “evil and good” or “dark and light” but rather, as “hot and cold.” Vodou is understanding and mastering the balance of hot and cold energy. For instance, the sun represents hot energy. We need the sun to live, but if you get too close to the sun, you die. Water represents cold energy. It is also essential to life, but if you have too much, you drown. He said that Soukri was a festival celebrating the Congo spirits, which are hot spirits, but that I shouldn’t be afraid as they are not to be confused with evil. Talking to Djaloki really did make me feel safer. This whole concept was mind-blowing to me, opening up a whole new realm of theo-philosophical thought that I had never even imagined.

After some time of lighter conversation, I wanted to revisit the ceremony with this new mindset. Dja, Todd, and I walked back to the ceremony, and I wasn’t scared anymore. We didn’t stay long, but long enough for me to know how much fear stems from a simple lack of understanding-for I slept peacefully that night with the Congo spirits, in the open air, under the mango tree.

With Friends Like the U.S.,
Who Needs Enemies?
Sadly, Haiti is a shining example of how U.S. foreign policy actually effects developing countries. Rather than providing tools for developing countries to solve their own problems, U.S. “aid” is given largely in the form of subsidized imports. In Haiti, the result of this surge of cheap or free U.S. imports is that food grown in Haiti and products made in Haiti become more expensive and therefore in less demand than the U.S. imports. “In country after country, in such labour-intensive and job-creating areas as textiles, footwear and agriculture, the dumping of American products, often at a price lower than the cost of production, has shattered the livelihood of vulnerable populations and reduced them to abject poverty.”1 This economic and cultural degradation is, coincidentally, profitable to the U.S.!

The Role of Vodou in Haitian Society
Over the course of our stay, our guide group, DOABN-(www.haititravels.org), discussed the importance of Vodou in Haiti many times. They explained that Vodou acts not only as a religion, but as a form of government and law in the villages; therefore, it is vital to the existence of Haitian communities. Western theology maintains that one pays for one’s sins in the afterlife, while in Vodou, one is punished by the spirits on earth, in this life. The punishments dealt by the spirits can be severe, perhaps resulting in death. This prevents people in the villages from hurting the community and eliminates the concept of serial criminals. When Western missionaries try to convert Vodouists to Christianity, they do not realize that they are dissolving not only a religion, but a justice system. This ultimately leads to more crime and chaos in Haitian society.

Orenda Fink is-among other things-one half of the band Azure Ray, whose new album,
Hold On Love, has just been released on Saddle Creek Records.

In the Primordial vision, events that deeply affect a whole Nation should be interpreted through spiritual glasses.  Such glasses suggested here are given by the Ifá Tradition, rooted in West Africa and present throughout the African Diaspora in the Americas, usually as part of the Yoruba culture.  In Ayiti, Yoruba is known as Nago.  The Spirit known as Esu (normally spelled with a cedilla under the “s” and pronounced close to Eh-shoe) in the Ifá Tradition is known as Legba in the Nago rite.  In the folktale below, although Esu interacts with Humans directly from within a body of his own, the Tradition suggests that in our reality, a Spirit (Natural or Spiritual law) will often “ride” a living Being, Human or other, to manifest itself on the material plane.

Before we go further, it should be stressed that in the Primordial Tradition, common Nature Spirits are neither good nor evil in essence.  They are basically embodiments and enforcers of spiritual laws.  The harmony or chaos apparently generated by their interventions are mainly caused by the intentions, interests and relative wisdom or folly of Human Beings, who are the main operators on the material plane.

The following excerpts, including the folktale, are taken in extenso from the booklet “Esu - Elegba.  Ifá and the Divine Messenger”, by Awo Fá’lokun Fatunmbi, on Original Publications (Bronx, New York), 1992.  The only editing has been the omission of the Yoruba terms, when the English translation is provided by the original text.  These excerpts are offered to you as tools for an alternative interpretation and perspective on the recent political events in Ayiti (February 2004), not as a definite answer to all the questions those events raised.  Attention and care should be given to every sentence and word, with the recent political events in mind, as well as this present essay.

Esu-Elegba. Ifá and the Divine Messenger

“… Esu is referred to as the Divine Messenger because of the key function of Esu in Ifá ritual.  Some Yoruba-English dictionaries and some anthropological manuscripts translate Esu to mean “Devil”.  This translation is not consistent with the description of Esu in Ifá scripture.  Esu can take the role of a trickster, but this role has the function of transforming deceptive and limited visions of self and world.  It is the role of the trickster in all earth-centered religions to shake loose the limited perceptions that cause stagnation rather than growth.  Only those who believe that they are in possession of the “Absolute Truth” view the trickster as a “demonic spirit”.

The Divine Messenger is generally known in the Yoruba culture by the name of Esu.  Among those who practice Yoruba religion in the west, the Divine Messenger is commonly known by the name of Elegba.  It is difficult to establish for certain how and why this shift in names occured.  However, it is known that in Ifá religion as it is practiced in Africa, Elegba is considered a warrior aspect of Esu.  Elegba is a derivation of the term “Ele Agbara”, which translates idiomatically to mean “The Power of Strength”.  As an aspect of Esu, Elegba is the ability to communicate with Spirit in the face of overwhelming obstacles and oppression.  Given the conditions that existed during slavery, it is not difficult to imagine why Elegba would become the primary focus of interaction between human consciousness and Spirit within Ifá worship as it exists in the west.

… The unique function of Esu within the realm of the Mysteries of Nature is to translate the language of humans into the language of Nature and to translate the language of Nature into the language of humans. …

FOLKTALES OF THE DIVINE MESSENGER.

A.- The Two faces of the Divine Messenger.

In the olden days there were two farmers who grew up together in a village located near the forest.  As children they lived in the same compound sharing meals, playing games and learning the wisdom of their elders.  They called each other “Arákunrin” which means “brother”.

When the two young men reached the age of puberty, they were taken to Ifá for divination.  On that day they were told that they would live their entire lives on adjacent farms.  Because they were so close, their abundance depended on mutual cooperation.  The diviner told them that it was Esu who would teach them the mystery of cooperation, the mystery of the forest, the mystery of farming, and the mystery of invocation.

The diviner said that if they did not make regular offerings to Esu, the day would come when Esu would pull them apart.  If that day came, they would live their lives as enemies and suffer old age in poverty.

The two young men could not imagine being separated, they could not imagine being enemies and they could not imagine living their old age in poverty.  Both of them thought that the diviner had been mistaken about their destiny.  They saw no reason to make offerings to Esu.  They neglected the shrine which stood at the entrance to their village.  They assumed that their life of happiness would never change.

Some years later the two men married and started to raise families.  Together they had gone out into the forest and cleared a plot of land for a farm.  Both farms were the same size, both farms grew the same crops and both men continued their friendship as they worked together tending the soil.  One of the young men had learned from his father the techniques for pulling weeds and clearing brush.  The other young man had learned from his father the techniques for drying seeds and watering the furrows.  They depended on one another to insure that each year crop would provide enough food to feed their families with enough left over for trade at the market.

Both farms were separated by a narrow path that ran from the river to the village.  The path was seldom used because there were no other fields in the area.  Often the two men would work for weeks and even months without seeing anyone journey along the road that divided their land.

On the day that Esu decided to travel down the path that ran between the two farms, Esu remembered the words of the diviner.  Esu recognized the two farmers as the men who always passed his shrine at the entrance to the village without making an offering.  Both young men continued to believe that they were skilled in the mystery of farming.  Between them they thought that they had all the good fortune they needed to create a good life.  Life for each of them felt complete.

Esu hid among the trees and watched the two men at work.  As they bent over the earth, Esu removed efun and irosun from his pouch.  He took a large leaf and mixed the efun with cool water, making white paint.  He took another large leaf and mixed the irosun with cool water, making red paint.  Using his fingers, Esu painted the right side of his face red and the left side of his face white.

After placing the remaining paint back in his bag, Esu walked down the path singing: “The word of the Divine Messenger is always true”.

As Esu approached the two men who were working on their farm, they both looked up to see who was singing.  Esu was directly between them when they raised their heads.  Using the index finger on each hand, Esu drew their attention back to soil.

After Esu disappeared from sight, Arákunrin on the right side of the road said: “Who was that strange man with the white face?”

Arákunrin on the left side of the road answered: “Don’t you mean the strange man with the red face?”

Each question was asked in innocence, but the discussion soon led to disagreement, the disagreement led to an argument and the argument led to a fight.  Before the issue could be settled, both men were rolling on the ground tearing up their crops and destroying the ripe yams.

The damage to the farm caused a shortage of food, there were not enough yam left to feed their families and there were no surplus to take to the market.  Each of the young men became so angered by what happened that they never spoke to each other again.

From that day on, those who praise Esu always say: “Divine Messenger do not confuse me”.

Commentary:

… The advice from Ifá to the two friends was to maintain a respectful relationship with Esu so that they could enhance their ability to communicate with those elemental spirits who would have a direct impact on the productivity of their farms.

In addition to the advice from the diviner, there is a warning.  The two friends were told that if they do not make regular offering to Esu, the day will come when Esu will pull them apart.  This is a common warning in many of the folktales associated with Esu.  Frequently this is misinterpreted as an indication that Esu is mean spirited or vicious.  It would be more accurate to say that Esu is functioning in his role of Divine Enforcer.  Those who ignore issues of spiritual growth eventually suffer the consequences of their neglect.

… When Esu is carrying a warning from Spirit, Esu assumes the role of Trickster.  There is nothing demonic or sinister about the Spiritual role of Trickster in any Earth-centered religion.  The function of the Tricksters is always to force human consciousness into a deeper understanding of self and world.

In this instance, Esu paints one side of his face white and the other side of his face red.  The argument between the two former friends is rooted in the truth of their own limited perspective.  Each of the men considers himself to be right and the other to be wrong.  At the heart of their dispute is the inability to consider the possibility that they both might be right.  The world described in Ifá myth is seldom a world of either/or.  In most instances it is a world of both/and.  What this means is that consciousness is a constantly shifting reality.  Information which may be true for one person on a given day may have no value for someone else in a different circumstance. The shifting value of objective information can only be evaluated from a broad perspective and it is Esu who plays a key role in providing that perspective.

When humans become too set in their ways, too rigid in their thinking and too dogmatic in their response to other points of view, it is Esu who stirs up the mix and forces the kind of re-evaluation that can lead to enlightenment.

In this story the disruption caused by Esu does not lead to enlightenment.  Instead it leads to an argument, loss of friendship and poverty.  The point here is that Nature will always respond to those who are in need of spiritual transformation, but not everyone who is blessed with instruction from Esu will grasp the meaning of the lesson that is to be learned.  Within the context of Ifá, every disruption is considered an opportunity for learning and growth.

Spiritual transformation always contains an element of choice, an element of freewill and an element of responsibility.  Those who are unwilling to embrace these qualities project their weakness onto the world and claim that Esu is a demon.  Ifá scripture is very clear that demons are not Spiritual Forces generated by Creation.  Demons are human inventions created and invoked by those who resist living in harmony with Nature.”