A rising storm brews at the intersection of spirituality, culture, commerce, and immigration law as Brazil’s Federal Police, through its Customs and Immigration Division, intensifies the seizure of Yorùbá religious items—ranging from consecrated charms to animal parts used in Ifá and Òrìṣà rituals at airports across the country. Targeting mostly passengers from Nigeria, the crackdown has ignited a firestorm of protests and deep concern among practitioners of Afro-Brazilian spirituality, who now accuse the government of institutional abuse and the denial of ancestral heritage
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In recent weeks, several high-profile cases have emerged where travelers from Nigeria had their luggage searched and spiritual materials—including ẹku (rat), ẹja (fish), orógbó (bitter kola), àfoṣẹ (powders used in spiritual invocations), olúgbòhùn (voice-calling charms), and even òbí (kola nut)—confiscated at Brazilian airports.
“Customs officials now treat spiritual items as contraband or undeclared merchandise,” says Bàbáláwo Antônio Akinlabi, a respected Ifá priest in Bahia. “They claim it’s illegal to import ancestral items without licenses. But for decades, these objects have entered Brazil as part of spiritual and cultural exchanges.”
According to Brazilian Customs, the enforcement is legal and part of an effort to regulate what they define as “untaxed commercial activity.” Officials argue that the unchecked influx of these items has surged, particularly from Nigeria, as transnational Òrìṣà-related businesses expand. “Brazil makes money from Òrìṣà tourism,” one customs officer stated anonymously. “If you claim this is your religion, fine. But if it’s your business, pay tax. We now seize eku, ẹja, olúgbòhùn, àfoṣẹ, etc. The law must be applied.”
In reality, the Òrìṣà items trade has grown into a multi-billion-dollar market spanning continents. What was once the domain of a few spiritual intermediaries has now evolved into a booming economy. Brazilians—many of them devoted practitioners—now travel frequently to Nigeria to purchase these items in bulk, supplying temples, religious houses, and commercial shops throughout Brazil.
“This is no longer just a Nigerian trade,” explains Fátima de Oxum, a Candomblé priestess and importer in Salvador. “Brazilians are key players, and they depend on this commerce for both spiritual and economic livelihood.” According to most Nigerian traders involved in this industry, the Nigerian government could play a pivotal role by officially recognizing the trade of traditional spiritual items in diplomatic talks with Brazil. “If the Nigerian government steps in and helps formalize this sector, it will allow us to pay fair taxes and avoid persecution,” says Babaláwo Tunde Alara, a Lagos-based exporter. “We want regulation, not criminalization.”
Practitioners and scholars argue the seizures are discriminatory and reflect a deeper issue: the racialized policing of African heritage and the misunderstanding of Yorùbá cosmology. This is not merely a question of taxes,” says Dr. Maria dos Santos, an anthropologist at the Federal University of Bahia. “These actions criminalize a living African tradition practiced by millions in Brazil. The state is not just seizing objects—it is seizing sacred links to ancestry.”
Indeed, many in the Afro-Brazilian religious communities—Candomblé, Umbanda, and the growing Ifá/Òrìṣà movements—view the practice as sacred, not as commerce. Items like òbí and orógbó are essential in rituals to consult deities and ancestors. “Would the government seize holy water from a Christian pilgrim?” asks Ìyálòrìṣà Regina Ogunbíyì of Rio de Janeiro. “What they’re doing to Ifá and Òrìṣà followers is spiritual discrimination.”
The backlash is mounting. A coalition of Ifá/Òrìṣà practitioners, cultural activists, and Afro-Brazilian religious leaders have scheduled a national meeting in Salvador next month to discuss a formal legal response to the government’s actions. Petitions are circulating demanding policy reform, and there are calls for a protest march in Brasília to denounce what many are calling “ancestral denial and cultural apartheid.”
“The government of Brazil must stop treating the Yorùbá religion as exotic baggage,” says Chief Babatunde Adeyemi, a Nigerian Ifá priest who runs a spiritual center in São Paulo. “Our shrines are not businesses. Our charms are not souvenirs. This is our legacy.” At the core of the issue is a growing tension between spiritual authenticity and bureaucratic regulation. While the government insists that any animal-based or herbal product entering the country must be declared and licensed, many traditional practitioners argue that spiritual materials cannot be commercialized in the same way as industrial goods.
Moreover, Brazil’s move to impose taxes on excess quantities of items like òbí and orógbó—staples in Òrìṣà rites—has further inflamed tensions. Until recently, these items passed through customs unimpeded, often carried in small personal quantities by devotees. Now, with a surge in cross-continental religious commerce, the state appears determined to standardize their entry—much to the dismay of the religious community.
As Brazil grapples with its multi-ethnic, multi-faith identity, the question remains: can a post-colonial nation built on African ancestry reconcile its laws with the living practices of its African-descended citizens? “This is about cultural sovereignty,” says Dr. Adélia Ogunlano, a Yoruba-Brazilian rights advocate. “If Brazil claims to honor African heritage, then its institutions must respect the ancestral traditions of its people—unconditionally.”
For now, tensions remain high, and Ifá/Òrìṣà leaders warn that continued seizures may escalate into a broader political and spiritual movement. “If you touch our charms, you touch our gods,” warns Bàbáláwo Akinlabi. “And the ancestors are watching.”
