Oshun - Yoruba

My voice is the gentle murmur of the river, my laughter the sparkle of sunlight on water. I am Oshun, and from my home in the flowing currents, I watch the world of humans and gods. But there was a time, long ago, when the world was new and almost fell silent forever because the other Orishas, my powerful brothers, believed they could build it without me. They hammered the mountains into shape and carved the valleys with thunderous force, but their world was hard, dry, and utterly without joy. This is the story of how I, with the flutter of a peacock's wings and the power of sweet water, reminded them that no world can truly live without love, beauty, and balance. This is the myth of how sweetness returned to the Earth.

The other Orishas, full of their own formidable strength, held a council to finish creating the world, but they did not invite me. Shango, with his thunder, and Ogun, with his iron will, saw my domains—love, art, diplomacy, and the life-giving rivers—as soft and unnecessary for the grand task of creation. “What need have we of honey and copper fans when we are forging the very bones of the Earth?” they scoffed. So, I retreated into the depths of my river, my golden bracelets silent, and I waited. Without my presence, the world began to wither. The rains, which are born from the gentle meeting of earth and sky, ceased. The rivers I command shrank to muddy trickles, and the vibrant green crops turned to brittle, brown dust in the fields. The people grew hungry and desperate, their songs of praise turning to desolate cries of sorrow that echoed across the barren plains. The Orishas tried everything their power could muster. Shango struck the clouds with colossal bolts of lightning to force the rain to fall, but the sky remained stubbornly clear. Ogun tried to forge new tools to dig for water, but the ground was as hard as his iron. Their magnificent creation was failing, cracking like a clay pot left too long in the sun. Finally, their pride broken, they came to my riverbank and begged for my help. But I knew their apology was not enough; the great creator, Olodumare, who lives in the highest heavens, needed to understand what they had done. I transformed myself into a magnificent peacock, the most beautiful of birds, to carry my message. The journey was more perilous than any battle they had ever fought. I flew towards the sun, whose intense, unforgiving heat scorched my beautiful, iridescent feathers, turning them from shimmering jewels to shades of dull brown and black. I grew weak and my wings ached, but I did not falter, for the fate of the world depended on my mission.

When I finally reached Olodumare’s celestial home, I was exhausted and my beauty was marred by the punishing journey, but my spirit was as strong as the deepest current. I bowed low and explained how the other Orishas had disrespected the feminine power, the essential energy of creation, and how the world was dying as a result of their arrogance. “They believe strength is only found in thunder and iron,” I explained, my voice steady, “but they have forgotten that it is the gentle stream that shapes the stone and the sweet nectar that gives life.” Olodumare listened with great wisdom and saw the profound truth in my words. He was angered by the arrogance of the male Orishas and decreed that from that day forward, nothing on Earth could be accomplished without my essential energy, without the power of ‘ase’ that I carry. With a gentle touch, he healed my scorched feathers, making them more beautiful than before, and sent me back to Earth with his blessing. The moment my feet touched the ground, life surged back into the world like a forgotten song. The springs bubbled forth with cool, clear water. The rivers swelled and ran sweet once more, and a gentle rain began to fall, nourishing the parched land. The other Orishas bowed their heads in profound respect, finally understanding that true power lies not in force, but in balance. They honored me, and the world was whole once more.

My story is more than just a myth; it is a timeless lesson about respect, balance, and the vital importance of every voice, no matter how quiet it may seem. It teaches that without the ‘sweetness’ I represent—love, compassion, art, and nature’s beauty—life becomes barren and meaningless. For centuries, my story has been shared by the Yoruba people of West Africa and has traveled across the oceans to places like Brazil and Cuba, carried in the hearts of those who remember me. People honor me in songs that flow like rivers and in dances that shimmer like my golden bracelets. The Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove in Nigeria, a beautiful, protected forest by my river, is a testament to this enduring connection, a place where the human and spirit worlds can meet. This myth continues to inspire artists, poets, and anyone who believes in the power of diplomacy over conflict. It reminds us all to look for the beauty around us, to listen to one another, and to remember that even the gentlest stream can carve a path through the hardest stone.