The current global spread of orisa religion, why practitioner numbers are unreliable, what the World Orisa Congress did and did not achieve, the authority disputes between Nigerian, Cuban and American practitioners, and the commercialization and online-initiation problem.
Òrìṣà devotion is now practised on every inhabited continent, by people of every ancestry, in at least a dozen languages, and it has no central authority, no agreed canon, no shared standard of valid initiation and no reliable count of its adherents. Whether this constitutes a world religion depends on what the phrase is doing. Olupona and Rey's collection uses it to make a substantive claim: that òrìṣà devotion belongs in the category alongside Buddhism, Christianity and Islam, and that its exclusion has been a function of who does the classifying . Their editorial position notes that tens of millions of people participate in devotions to the òrìṣà, with traditions found in Africa, the Americas, Asia, Europe and Australia .
This file describes that global condition and the disputes inside it, without adjudicating them.
Africa. Nigeria and Benin remain the demographic and authoritative centre, with practice concentrated in the southwest of Nigeria and southern Benin, alongside and often within Christian and Muslim identification. Togo and Ghana have related practice. In Nigeria traditional religion is a minority identification in census terms and a much wider practice in fact, since consulting a babaláwo does not require leaving a church.
The Americas. Cuba and Brazil hold the largest institutional communities. The United States, Puerto Rico, Venezuela, Mexico, Colombia, Panama, the Dominican Republic, Trinidad, Argentina and Uruguay all have established communities. Mexican and Venezuelan Santería are substantial and largely Cuban-derived. Argentine and Uruguayan practice is largely Brazilian-derived through Batuque and Umbanda.
Europe. Spain has the largest European community, chiefly Cuban-derived through Cuban and Venezuelan migration, concentrated in Madrid and Barcelona. Portugal, Italy, France, Germany, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom have communities, and Nigerian and Brazilian diasporas add to them.
Elsewhere. Japan has a small documented Candomblé and Santería presence, largely through the Japanese-Brazilian return migration. Practice exists in Australia, Canada and increasingly in Asia through the internet.
Two general observations. First, the growth over the past forty years has been mainly among people with no ancestral connection at all, which is what happens to any religion that becomes portable. Second, the internet has changed the character of the field more than any development since the Mariel boatlift, by making instruction, ritual material, divination and even claimed initiation available at distance.
Every figure you will see for òrìṣà practitioners worldwide, from one million to a hundred million, is unreliable, and the reasons are structural rather than a matter of better research being needed.
Dual and multiple religious identification. Most practitioners in Cuba, Brazil and Nigeria also identify as Catholic, Protestant or Muslim, and census instruments force a single answer. Brazilian census figures for Candomblé and Umbanda are a small fraction of participation, which is why an Umbanda following once put at ten to twenty million shows as hundreds of thousands in formal identification .
No membership register. There is no roll. Initiation is a private transaction between an initiate and a house, and lineage records are held by houses that do not report to anyone.
The initiate-versus-participant boundary. A full initiate, a person who has received elekes or the Warriors, a person who consults a diviner annually, and a person who attends a drumming are four different things, and published figures rarely say which they count.
Stigma in both directions. In Brazil and Nigeria practitioners under-report because of evangelical and Islamic pressure. In diaspora communities where the religion carries prestige, over-reporting occurs.
Interested parties. State tourism bodies, religious organisations seeking recognition, and journalists all have reasons to prefer large numbers. Opponents have reasons to prefer small ones.
The defensible statements are limited. Cuban initiates are in the high hundreds of thousands with a much larger participating population . Brazil has tens of thousands of terreiros with participation in the millions and census identification far lower . Nigeria's practising population is large and unmeasurable. Global totals in the tens of millions, as Olupona and Rey give, are a reasonable order of magnitude for participation broadly defined, and any figure quoted to more precision than that has no method behind it .
The International Congress of Orisa Tradition and Culture, also called COMTOC or the World Orisa Congress, was founded in 1981 at Ilé-Ifẹ̀, with Wándé Abímbọ́lá as its president from the outset . It has met in Nigeria (1981, 1986), Brazil (1983, 1989), the United States (New York 1986, San Francisco 1997) and Trinidad (Port of Spain, 15 to 22 August 1999), among other venues, with themes addressing survival, family and community .
What it achieved is real and modest. It built a network across traditions that had developed largely without contact, connecting Brazilian Candomblé, Cuban Regla de Ocha, Haitian Vodou, North American òrìṣà practice and Nigerian traditional religion . It gave Nigerian authority a forum and a face abroad. It made the traditions visible to each other as branches of something, which had not previously been obvious to their practitioners.
What it did not achieve is standardisation. Attempts since the early 1980s to standardise Afro-American religious practice across the continent have not produced an agreed standard . The Congress has no enforcement mechanism, no membership requirement and no authority to invalidate anyone's initiation. It is a meeting, not a magisterium, and it should not be described as governing anything.
The Congress is also one arena in which the re-Africanization movement has been argued. Re-Africanization is the twentieth and twenty-first century project, active in Brazil, Cuba and the United States, of stripping Catholic and Spiritist elements and aligning practice with contemporary Nigerian forms . Its proponents present it as recovery. Its critics, including many Cuban and Bahian practitioners, present it as the imposition of a foreign standard on lineages that are two centuries old and internally complete, and as taking a Nigerian practice that is itself a historical product and treating it as the unchanged original. Mãe Stella de Oxóssi's 1983 declaration against syncretism was an early Bahian move in this direction; Cuban Yorubization is the Cuban version.
The disputes are structural. They arise because four bodies of practice with separate lineages met each other, each holding valid credentials that the others do not recognise.
Nigeria against Cuba. Nigerian babaláwo tend to hold that Cuban Ifá is an incomplete transmission: its corpus is smaller, its Odu names and verses have drifted, and its practitioners generally cannot work in Yoruba. Cuban babalawos hold that their lineage is direct, documented, unbroken from named nineteenth-century African-born babalawos, and that Nigerian practice has been eroded by Christian and Muslim influence and by the collapse of traditional patronage. Both are describing real conditions.
Women in Ifá. The sharpest single dispute. Cuban Ifá excludes women from Ifá initiation absolutely. Some Nigerian lineages initiate women as ìyánífá, and Wande Abimbola has been publicly associated with supporting this. Nigerian babaláwo have initiated American, European and Latin American women; Cuban and Cuban-American babalawos widely hold those initiations invalid and will not work with those initiated in them. Nigerian practice is not itself uniform on the question. This is not resolvable by appeal to a text.
Cuba against the United States. Cuban-lineage priests have contested the validity of Oyotunji-derived and directly Nigerian-derived initiations performed in the United States, on the grounds of missing elements, unqualified officiants and abbreviated ceremony. African American practitioners have contested Cuban authority on the grounds that the Catholic layer is a slaveholding inheritance and that Cuban lineages have their own gaps. The racial dimension is real: African American practitioners have described being treated as clients rather than as colleagues by Cuban-American priests.
Brazil against everyone, and within itself. Bahian houses assert seniority through the Casa Branca descent. Jeje and Angola houses contest the Ketu hierarchy. Re-Africanizing houses contest the syncretising ones. Umbanda and Candomblé contest each other's characterisation.
Nigeria's own internal disputes. Ifẹ̀ and Ọ̀yọ́ authority, competing babaláwo associations, the relationship between traditional titles and academic credentials, and the standing of foreign-conferred honours in Nigeria are all argued at home.
The useful analytic point, made independently by Brown and by Matory, is that this is not a diaspora pathology. Competition between houses and towns over ritual correctness and precedence is how Yoruba religious authority has always operated, including among rival Yoruba kingdoms in Nigeria . The transnational field simply raised the number of parties and the stakes.
Money has entered the field at a scale that changes it, and the effects are specific.
Initiation as a purchase. Full initiation has always cost money in every tradition, because it consumes animals, cloth, materials, food, and the labour of many people over many days, and the cost is a real constraint rather than a fee. In Cuba the cost is commonly put at around a year's wages . What has changed is the emergence of a market in which price is set by what a foreign client will pay, in which brokers with no lineage standing arrange ceremonies, and in which the ceremony is compressed to fit a two-week visit. This is documented in Nigeria, and it also occurs in Cuba and Brazil.
Online initiation. The clearest fault line. Initiation in every branch of the tradition requires physical presence: the head is shaved and prepared, substances are applied, animals are offered, the initiate is secluded for days, and the community is present. There is no branch of the tradition in which this can be done at a distance, and there is broad agreement on that across the Nigerian, Cuban, Brazilian and American priesthoods, who agree on almost nothing else.
What is nonetheless sold online includes initiations conducted by video, initiations performed by proxy on the client's behalf in Nigeria or Cuba, elekes and Warriors sent by post, and consecrated objects sold to people with no relationship to any house. Divination for payment by video call is a separate and less contested matter, since divination has never required physical presence in the same way and remote consultation is now widespread and largely accepted.
Related problems: the sale of ritual knowledge that houses hold as restricted; the publication of initiation-held material; the sale of consecrated objects, particularly to collectors; and the appearance of self-titled priests with fabricated lineages, which the absence of any central register makes impossible to check.
Heritage tourism. The Ọ̀ṣun-Òṣogbo festival, the Ouidah Vodún festival, Bahia's Candomblé tourism and Cuba's state promotion of Afro-Cuban religion as a cultural asset all place religious practice inside a tourist economy. The consequences are not uniformly bad. Tourist income has sustained lineages and raised the domestic status of practices that Christianity and Islam had made shameful. But the same income shapes what is performed, for whom, and at what length.
The honest statement is that òrìṣà religion has become global without developing the institutions that global religions use to manage disagreement, and there is no sign that it will. There is no council with jurisdiction, no ordination register, no agreed canon and no mechanism for excluding anyone. The tradition's own structure, autonomous houses with lineage authority vested in the head of each, does not scale to a transnational field, and every attempt to build something above it has been a network rather than an authority.
Whether that is a weakness or the tradition's actual character is itself argued. The house-based structure survived the Middle Passage, colonial prohibition, revolutionary atheism and evangelical violence, and it did so precisely because it had no centre to destroy. A reader who wants the disputes settled is asking for something the tradition has never had.
Early Yorùbá religious life was organised around town-level polities, localized lineages, and territorial deities rooted in specific landscapes . With the rise of the Ọ̀yọ́ Empire from the late sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries, royal cults expanded across tributary areas, centralising the worship of Ṣàngó and creating imperial networks of ritual precedence .
The collapse of Ọ̀yọ́ and the nineteenth-century Yoruba civil wars uprooted millions of people, fracturing localized shrines while accelerating the transatlantic slave trade . Enslaved practitioners carried òrìṣà lineages into the Americas, establishing enduring cabildos and terreiros in Cuba, Brazil, and Trinidad [S1, S8]. Within Yorubaland during the mid-nineteenth century, returning liberated captives and Christian missionary contact introduced European-style literacy, mission schools, and rival theological categories that reframed indigenous worship .
British colonial rule, formalized in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, imposed indirect rule and codified customary laws, which frequently subordinated indigenous priesthoods to Christian and Muslim municipal elites . Despite this pressure, traditional lineages maintained initiation networks within lineage compounds .
Following Nigerian independence in 1960, postcolonial urbanization, state cultural policies, and the growth of Christian revivalist movements transformed traditional practice . Educated elites and traditional leaders began organizing international gatherings to assert the global standing of òrìṣà devotion [S1, S8]. Today, the practice exists as a decentralized, transnational religion spanning West Africa, Latin America, North America, and Europe, combining local lineage devotions with international networks, academic symposia, and digital circulation [S1, S8].
Note on confidence: marked contested. The spread, the congress history and the structural reasons the numbers fail are well supported. The section on authority disputes describes positions widely and consistently reported by practitioners and ethnographers, and is written from that reporting rather than from a single study surveying the disputes, because no adequate survey exists. The section on commercialization and online initiation describes a pattern attested in journalism, practitioner discourse and ethnography including Clarke's Mapping Yorùbá Networks, and is not supported here by quantitative measurement.
Why the Yoruba Atlantic was a circulation rather than a one-way survival, how the Herskovits and Frazier debate was superseded, and how diaspora practitioners helped decide what counts as authentic in Nigeria itself.
The Brazilian and Cuban returnees to Lagos and Porto-Novo, the Afro-Brazilian architecture they built, the twentieth-century traffic in training and pilgrimage running both ways, and how diaspora demand now shapes Nigerian practice and its economics.
A side-by-side reference of orisa names, attributes and saint correspondences across four traditions, with a sustained warning that these are not clean equivalences and a commentary on exactly where the mapping breaks.
Why Yoruba religion is so visible in the Americas, why the answer is timing rather than numbers, and how a late arrival into two late-abolishing societies produced unusually intact institutional transmission.
The history and structure of Yoruba-derived religion in Cuba, from the cabildos de nación to the modern casa-templo, including initiation, Ifá, diloggún, the saint correspondences and the traditions it is wrongly conflated with.
The history and structure of Candomblé in Brazil, why the nations matter, the great Bahian terreiros and the women who led them, the regional variants, Umbanda as a distinct formation, and the current situation under evangelical pressure.