The Common Denominator: Hatred
“I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth… The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.” Psalms 121:1-2, 7
This past year and a half has been a non-stop circus for our family—especially for my husband, whose social calendar now consists almost entirely of doctor appointments and specialist follow-ups. In our Hispanic culture, we have a saying: “No sale de una para entrar en otra”—which basically means, “as soon as you escape one disaster, the next one is waiting just around the corner.”
It’s gotten so ridiculous that after his latest mishap, our friends and family started jokingly offering a different kind of prescription: “Oye, take him to get un despojo!”
For those unfamiliar with Cuban culture, a despojo is a spiritual bath or cleansing using herbs, fragrant waters, or smoke to purge a person of negative energy, evil eyes, or cosmic bad luck.
Now, everyone in our circle knows we are practicing Catholics who place our trust in God—not in burning sage or splashing scented water to fix our problems. But as funny as the joke was, it left me thinking: why do so many people still turn to these remedies when life gets tough?
My first real-life encounter with Santería happened back in my teenage years when I was recommended to a lady who did nail and waxing treatments out of her home. The moment I walked in, I knew this wasn't your typical day spa. In the corner sat a full-blown altar piled high with candles and fresh fruit. Next to it sat a prominent black male doll perched in a chair, holding a cigar in one hand, a cup of coffee, and a dollar bill in the other. To top it all off, when I lay down on the treatment table and looked up at the ceiling, there was a literal boat hanging directly above my head. Talk about a captivating ambiance!
Despite the somewhat spooky decor, she was wonderfully sweet and did fantastic work, so I kept going back for years. Fast forward a while, and I brought my youngest son along when he was about two years old. While I was getting my nails done, he spent the entire appointment completely mesmerized by the doll. Before we left, the lady kindly asked my son if he was holding something in his hand. Sure enough, he unclenched his tiny fist to reveal the dollar bill he had casually pocketed straight from the doll’s hand.
Mortified, I asked her, “Did he take it last time, too?!” She chuckled and said, “Yes, I noticed it was missing after you guys left!” I was so embarrassed I wanted the floor to swallow me whole—and I honestly don't know how I ever showed my face there again. But a lesson in commandment number seven (1) was in order! On our very next visit, I marched my little thief back inside, made him return the dollar bill, and forced a sincere apology to both the lady and the doll.
As my Catholic faith grew, I became curious about what all those symbols in her house meant. To understand these traditions, it helps to know where they actually come from. Santería (literally meaning "the way of the saints") is an Afro-Cuban syncretic religion that developed in Cuba during the 19th century. When enslaved Africans were brought to the island, they were forced to adopt Roman Catholicism. To preserve their ancestral faith under strict colonial rule, they disguised their traditional spirits and deities, known as orishas, behind the veneration of Catholic saints who shared similar traits or symbols (2). For instance, the orisha Ochún (associated with rivers and beauty) was synced with Our Lady of Charity (La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre), and Changó (god of thunder) with Saint Barbara.
Over time, this evolved into a distinct parallel practice where Catholic imagery, sacramentals, and terminology were woven together with African divination, herbal cleansings (despojos), and ritual offerings. While practitioners often view their rituals as complementary to Catholic devotion, from a Catholic perspective, Santería substitutes faith in God's providence with superstitious attempts to manipulate spiritual energies and outcomes—no matter how many holy water bottles or saint statues are involved.
In Santería, dolls hold deep spiritual meaning. They are not toys or passive decorations; rather, they serve as vessels or home altars for specific spiritual entities. A black male doll is used as a physical anchor so the practitioner can leave offerings (like rum, cigars, coffee, or candles) and ask for guidance, protection, and strength. Through prayers, cleansings, and ritual offerings, a benevolent spirit is invited to inhabit or anchor itself to the doll. In return, the spirit guards the home, absorbs negative energy before it can affect the household, and brings good fortune. (3)
A boat hanging in a home serves as a symbol of protection, wealth, and smooth passage across life's "troubled waters". Hanging the boat elevated off the floor signifies elevation—asking the spirits to keep the household "afloat," protected from drowning in emotional or financial hardship, and moving forward. (4)
Fresh fruit represents the earth's sweetness, vitality, and harvest. Because fruit is perishable, offering it shows that you are giving something alive and valuable. It is a symbol of nourishment, asking for prosperity, health, and a fruitful life. Offering it to deities provides them spiritual nourishment and expresses gratitude for their protection. (5)
Candles represent the element of fire—the bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds. The light guides ancestral spirits (Eggun) to the altar, clears negative energy, and carries the practitioner’s prayers upward. (6)
The more I learned, the less I believed in these things. Another major tradition in my culture is to place an azabache — a protective charm typically made of jet (a dense, black fossilized wood) on a baby. At its core, it is a ritual of protection against "El Mal de Ojo" (The Evil Eye). Infants and young children are believed to be uniquely vulnerable to the Evil Eye. The belief holds that even an admiring glance, excessive praise, or intense affectionate attention from someone—especially a stranger—can accidentally pass negative energy to a helpless baby, causing unexplained crying, fever, sleeplessness, or colic. The azabache acts as an energy shield. It attracts and absorbs the envious or overly intense gaze first, deflecting harm away from the child. (7)
I was offered many azabaches for my children by kind family members with good intentions, but I did not believe in this practice. Instead of placing an azabache on their clothing, I ordered a gold pin with their names and a Guardian Angel medal hanging from it. To me, it made much more sense to ask their guardian angels to protect them rather than rely on a black stone.
Today, people resort to all kinds of superstitious remedies for protection—crystals, minerals, red string bracelets, black salt, herbal pouches, dreamcatchers, and wind chimes, to name a few. In the end, the only One who can truly protect us is God. We can try all kinds of rituals, but none of them hold real power. There are seasons in our lives when we will experience suffering and hardships. There are other times when everything seems to be working out in our favor, but this has nothing to do with placing candles or fresh fruit around our house. On the contrary, we might just start a fire or attract bugs! If we call ourselves Catholics, we must rise above these magical practices that go completely against the teachings of our faith:
"All practices of magic or sorcery, by which one attempts to tame occult powers, so as to place them at one's service and have a supernatural power over others—even if this were for the sake of restoring their health—are gravely contrary to the virtue of religion…Wearing charms is also reprehensible. Spiritism often implies divination or magical practices; the Church for her part warns the faithful against it. Recourse to so-called traditional cures does not justify either the invocation of evil powers or the exploitation of another's credulity." (8)
My family will just need to tame this circus through prayer and with the steady knowledge that “this too shall pass.” In the meantime, we are offering up all our daily struggles for the many others who are facing even heavier crosses.
Copyright © 2026 Christy Romero. All rights reserved. If you thought of someone while reading this, bless them by sharing it with them.