There is no Dudu Aje, there is only racism.
The Aje wants goodness for all, she is the protector of civilization, and as such, the true Aje does not discriminate. But cultural practices have warped that intent and overlaid ideas of supremacy that are rooted in skin color where darker shades are considered inferior to lighter ones.
The three women emerging at the delapted cabin where Isabel has been hold up for some time now, are three iterations of the same spirit, the darkest being the woman herself. She carries the ritual fan of Oshun that is made of copper and pressed with patterns, and she seems to lead the other two through the leaves and branches. She stands in the clearing before the cabin and the two shades of herself stand just behind her; the fairest seems to shimmer and flash like her being is struggling to inhabit this plane of existence.
The woman holds out a necklace of beads that almost look like pearls. They appear to be smooth but close examination would reveal that they have a rough surface all around that betrays them as hand made.
Isabel stumbles onto the front porch of the cabin that is elevated and has a roof, and she stands at the top of the three stairs that lead to the ground. Her face is a wreck and her hair is chaos.
“Mi nina es no morena, she is not like me,” Isabel screams desperately. “And she is not here. Just me. Take me.”
It is a kind of relief to finally give up. She had worked hard as a single mother since she moved to the mountains, away from the family of Maria’s father who blamed Isabel for his death because she was definitely a witch even if she couldn’t control it. The man had died under mysterious circumstances in Cuba, he had fallen to his death and when he body was found, it was surrounded by crows. Witnesses say Isabel was there before she turned into the crows, even though she found out about the man’s death later when a mob showed up at her home demanding that she be punished. Isabel was pregnant with Maria at the time and she lived with an aunt. Her mother had disowned her when she got pregnant before marriage, And her aunt was also believed to be a witch. She sent Isabel to the US to avoid the persecution of the angry locals, and Isabel cried the entire trip. It was a difficult journey, but everyone was nice because of her pregnancy. Maria was born in the US, and Isabel worked hard to shield her from the harsh realities that she had fled when she fled Cuba.
Isabel found work assisting a college professor who translated obscure texts from Central and South America into English. She originally started as a Spanish Translator and she was particularly helpful because of her Cuban heritage in translating the works of a Cuban writer, but she was studious and enjoyed her work with the professor and she learned many other languages to make herself irreplaceable. Things were good for Isabel and her daughter, until Maria started talking about alien visitors. Then it was like all the horrible memories were returning, like something was threatening her daughter just as she had been.
Isabel gave Maria up with the hopes that the girl could get the help she seemed to need. But Isabel lost her grip on reality after Maria was gone and she lived alone in her home. About four months ago, she walked away from her home and went into the woods, and until right now, she has been completely lost within her own fears.
Until the dark skinned woman in her billowing white robe and hood shakes the copper fan in her hand. The two shades behind her seem to disappear, and then two giant doves fly from their spots and land on the roof of the cabin.
“Care for them better than you did your daughter, and I will return to help you,” the dark woman says from under her hood. “Neglect them, and you will find the horror that you were afraid was looking for you.”
Isabel’s mind seemed to clear when she watched the woman shake her fan, and the fear that caused real weight in her chest was lifted as the birds flitted above her.
“Who are you?” Isabel asks.
“You know me,” the hooded woman says. “You ran from me, you ran from your heritage. But the aje cannot be denied. Protect los guerreros,” she points at the birds, “and always hold onto the elekes.” When she says this, the necklace of white stones floats through the air and Isabel watches it with wonder as it settles over her neck.
When she looks up, the dark skinned woman is gone, and Isabel stares at the two birds that look like doves, but about the size of her forearm. They settle on the banister around the porch.
“Did I fail my daughter?” she asks. They do not answer.
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