Page 268 - The Secret Museum

fork. The second is in the highlight of the museum, a wood-panelled room filled with

intricate wood carvings of each of the 27 Bahian orixás. Some are inlaid with shells,
another with turquoise, others with mirrors and metals. Ossaniyu, the medicine man
orixá, who uses leaves to heal, is carved out of wood like the others, and represented
as a tree. So what is this particular Exu, the third the museum owns, doing nestled in
a sliding drawer inside a secure cabinet in the storeroom?

I asked Graça, one of the museum’s lovely curators, why it was in storage. She
screamed, ‘He is too scary! The children will be scared!’ She thinks that if this
horned creature with his vivid red, sticking-out tongue were on show she might have

crying children on her hands (and she doesn’t want that).

The other reason for hiding the statue away is that Exu is misrepresented as a
devilish creature. He looks menacing, has horns, hooves and a curly tail. Christian
religious figures have often confused Exu with the devil, because he’s tricky, sensual
and provoking and, as I mentioned, usually depicted with his penis sticking out,
holding a fork. But this isn’t what Exu is about at all.

Exu might look intimidating to prudish Christian eyes but really he’s irreverent
and playful and, like all the orixás, he has good and bad sides, just like a human. Exu
and all the orixás are there to help each person to fulfil his or her destiny to the

fullest, regardless of what that is; they don’t judge things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’. This
statue of Exu might give people who didn’t know anything about Candomblé the
wrong impression, so – as much as the curators love him – they have chosen not to
put him on display to the public.

It was interesting to see the zany little wooden Exu, having seen the elaborate
religious object, the precious gem-studded cross in storage in the Museu de Arte
Sacra on the other side of the city. Both Catholicism and Candomblé were imported
into Brazil and evolved in Bahia, and both thrive there and across Brazil still.

Once I had seen the statue of Exu, I looked deeper into the archive, uncovering
clothes worn for Candomblé, including an intricate lace dress too delicate to display,

and a symbolically powerful wooden rattle used in its ceremonies. Graça also
showed me a beautiful silver crown, which would be a security risk if it were on
show; it isn’t valuable in monetary terms, but it is culturally. Graça thinks someone
might try to steal it. She says the museum has opponents; some people think there
shouldn’t be a museum devoted to Afro-Brazilian culture and that they might try to
cause trouble. The rest of the archive was filled with drums, ceramics and other

African and Brazilian creations donated by African countries, international
institutions and local Brazilian people.

Afterwards, I was sitting in the curators’ office chatting. A lovely smiling lady
named Gilcelia Oliveira Pinto (or Gil) came in. I told her I was going to write about
the statue of Exu in the archive, and she invited me to her home. She makes clothes
worn for Candomblé ceremonies and wanted me to see her work.