The Book List

Reading and research is fundamental to learning. It can be very hard to find books on African and Indigenous concepts. I have collected some of my favorite books and books that have been recommended by others along their journey. All of these books are available on Amazon.


In the realm of African spiritual pathways, no tradition is so widely embraced and practiced as the West African religion Orisa. Awakened by her own spiritual journey, Tobe Melora Correal, an initiated priestess in the Yoruba-Lukumi branch of Orisa, guides us along this blessed road. FINDING THE SOUL ON THE PATH OF ORISA provides a fresh look at these ancient teachings and emphasizes introspection and inner work over the outward manifestations of Orisa’s practices. Correal debunks misconceptions surrounding the tradition, drawing us into a lushly textured, Earth-centered spiritual system—a compassionate and useful roadmap for revering God.


In The Handbook of Yoruba Religious Concepts, Baba Ifa Karade provides an overview of the Yoruba tradition and its influence in the West. He describes the sixteen Orisha, or spirit gods, and shows us how to work with divination, use the energy centers of the body to internalize the teachings of Yoruba, and create a sacred place of worship. The book also includes prayers, dances, songs, offerings, and sacrifices to honor the Orisha.

I Hear Olofi s Songs: Prayers for Egun and Orisa, is a collection of prayers primarily dedicated to the practitioners of the Yoruba Tradition which is a religion which originated in the Southwestern part of Nigeria, and brought to the Americas in slavery via Cuba. Though a monotheistic (belief in one God) religion, the Yoruba have a pantheon of deities called Orisa, which is closely associated with Saints in western belief. Each deity is dominion of certain earth forces and emotions: ie. Oshun is the deity of love and female sexuality, Obatala is the deity of peace and leadership, Ogun is the deity of war and work. In addition, the Yoruba also pay homage to their ancestors, Egun; believing that respect has to be paid not only to the living elders who are still with us here on earth, but those whose have already passed, but have paved our way. Ayoka Wiles Quinones is an African-American who has practiced Yoruba all her life, and is a priestess of Obatala. Known since childhood for her devotion to Orisa and Egun, she has written this set of prayers which is certain to become a standard for those wanting to communicate with Egun and Orisa.

Diloggun Tales of the Natural World presents more than 40 patakís that shed light upon the worldview of Santería. Each story in this collection, reassembled from the oral tradition of the African diaspora, is centered on a spiritual principle in nature: the waxing and waning of the moon, solar and lunar eclipses, the phenomenon of shooting stars, the separation of sky and earth, and the origins of the animals and birds who play key roles in Santería symbology. Revealing the metaphysics, theology, and philosophy of the Yoruba people, this volume shows these stories to be as powerful and relevant today as they were to the ancient Yoruba who once safeguarded them.

Jambalaya: The Natural Woman's Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Growing Up Tipsy

Somehow I knew that there was much more going on than was apparent on the surface. My existence and that of the things going on around me caused me to question everything, always looking for the deeper meanings.

I was born in the city of the Voudoun--New Orleans, Louisiana. My paternal grandmother's shotgun house stands at 1018 St. Ann Street. The Maison Blanche, the former home of Mam'-zelle Marie La Veau, the voudou priestess for three generations, is recorded as being 1022 St. Ann Street. To this day my grandmother's house carries a sign that reads, "The Marie La Veau Apartments."

New Orleans-like the San Francisco Bay Area, where I now live-is a psychic seaport. The psychic energies of many people living and dead hovers over the city of New Orleans, possibly because of the water. Visitors to the city become "tipsy" after being there only a short time. "Tipsy" is the name given to that state of mind that precedes possession. (It is also used to mean slightly drunk.) I grew up tipsy.

I spent many days and nights in the dark, mysterious house of my grandmother, Maw-Maw Catherine Mason Allen, while my mother and father were at work.

Due to the limited perceptions of a child and the nature of memory, I can only describe it vaguely. I remember a big, toosoft, and bulky double bed in the middle room. This is the place where my cousin Frank Jr., took refuge from the whippings he seems always to have earned. He used to hide under this bed to smoke cigarettes; but for me smoke and Frank were not the only things hiding under that bed.

Perhaps I had eaten too many pickles that night and overindulged in the delicious teacakes and sweet potato turnovers my Maw-Maw used to bake in the woodstove. Whatever the external cause, when I laid my head on the duck-down pillow covered with an immaculate muslin pillowcase, I just couldn't sleep. Everything was so still and quiet that I could not tell whether the numerous and barely distinguishable adult relatives of mine were asleep in the front room or out for a night of church. I could have been there alone without concern because everybody on the block was somehow kin to me and would have come running at the slightest disturbance.

But tonight as Wind slipped slowly through the cracks in the wooden fence that enclosed the backyard, no one seemed to be afoot. At least, no one human. I could hear only the wind and the irregular tapping of Maw-Maw's white dog, who was born with only three legs. I was always afraid of that dog and kept a safe distance between us, not because he was in any ways vicious but because his eyes were always red and I had been told that he knew when somebody was going to die.

I lay there listening to his tapdance against the wind and stared at the ceiling thoughtlessly. After a period of time that I cannot judge, a feeling of apprehension began to creep over me. Somebody or something was moving snakelike and slowly under the bed.

Was it Frank? Had he crawled under it to avoid a whipping and fallen asleep? Had Maw-Maw's creepy dog gotten under the house and situated himself directly beneath the bed? When I asked myself these questions, Wind told me, "No, Cher." As my fear mounted, I became aware of a sensation of lifting subtly. My back seemed not to touch the buttons of the mattress. I kept rising and rising until I seemed to be five feet above the bed. I remember thinking that if I kept rising like this I was going to bump into the ceiling and smash my already flat nose. "I wanna go down," I said nervously inside my head, and at that moment my face seemed to sink through the back of my head so that my chest and feet were still facing the ceiling but my face was looking down at the bed. And what a sight it saw!

There under the bed was an undulating, sinewy, mass of matter as brown as the waters of the muddy Mississippi River. It was squeezing out from under the bed on all sides like a toothpaste tube with pin holes in it. The brown was taking forms, humanoid but undistinguishable by gender. They were getting higher, showing heads with eyes, bellies, legs, outstretched arms, and I was getting closer to the bed. My face, now only a few inches from the sheet returned to the other side of my head, and as my body descended I looked at these brown humanoids towering over me. I seemed to shake uncontrollably, my muscles moved about as if I had no bones. I opened my mouth, screamed but the sound was made only inside my head. The brown-folk seemed to take a deep breath as my body settled on the mattress. They touched me and their matter slipped into my muscles and ran through my veins. The floodgates opened and as a warm astringent liquid sank into the mattress, I sank into sleep.

I remember telling my mother about this dream. She laughed, stroked my head and asked me if I recognized any of the people who had come from under the bed. I told her, "No, Ma'am," and the matter was forgotten.

This happened when I was about five years old. Twenty-three years later I got a piece of an explanation of its meaning. A Puerto Rican woman water-gazed for me, and-without knowing my story--told me to make two dolls for my unknown ancestors and keep them under my bed.

Across the street from Maw-Maw's house was a classic French Quarter home complete with veranda and cast-iron lattice work. I used to sit on the steps of my grandmother's house and stare at the balcony. There was a little girl, brown-skinned . . .


--This text refers to the paperback edition.