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- Samantha Jo
- Dec 27, 2024
- 3 min read
Yes, I Practice ATR: My Journey to Confidence and Clarity
When I first started saying out loud, “I practice Lucumí,” it felt like I was stepping onto a stage with a spotlight I wasn’t ready for. The practice, the path—it was mine, but the world wasn’t always kind to people like me. Especially in Chicago, where spirituality outside the mainstream often feels like an unspoken taboo.
Growing up in a family where spirituality was diverse and personal, you’d think I’d be comfortable with my path. On my mother’s side, Hoodoo was woven into our history—quietly practiced and deeply respected. On my father’s side, ATRs like Ifá had their place, but even there, everyone’s journey was uniquely theirs. No one path was considered “the way,” and we didn’t openly discuss our spiritual practices beyond the immediate family or the clients some of them had. It was a IYKYK kind of thing in community.
This individuality was empowering but also isolating. I didn’t know how to articulate my truth or where my path fit into the larger narrative of my family’s practices. It wasn’t shame exactly—it was more of a hesitation to put words to something so sacred, especially when I wasn’t sure if others would understand or respect it. But Brazil changed everything.
Why Brazil? Why Now?
When the opportunity to join Beaucoup Book Club’s anniversary trip to Brazil came up, something in me said, “Yes.” Maybe it was Elegua whispering at the crossroads, or maybe it was my spirit saying it was time to confront my doubts. Either way, I knew I needed to see how African Traditional Religions (ATRs) were practiced beyond the walls of my spiritual house. I wanted to learn—not just about Candomblé or Lucumí but about myself. Was I in the right space? Was this practice truly mine, or was I just going through the motions because it was familiar?
Lessons from Brazil
Being in Bahia felt like unlocking a new dimension of understanding. Every terriero, ile, and house we visited exuded a sense of community I hadn’t experienced back home. The rituals were raw, vibrant, and unapologetically African. Seeing Candomblé practitioners worship, witnessing my first Bembé—it felt like a homecoming for my soul.
And the familiars! Cats, turtles, and other animals casually moving through sacred spaces as if they too were part of the family. It made me wonder: how do these practitioners navigate earthly issues without letting them taint the sacredness of their community? The Sisters of the Good Death stood out most. Their blend of African and Catholic traditions, their pride in their practices, their ability to hold space for spirituality and liberation—it was everything.
Reconnecting with My Spiritual Lineage
This trip made me reflect on how I found my spiritual house. It’s funny now, but at the time, I had no idea what I was walking into. Seven years ago, I passed by a little green building in the Chicago Logan Square neighborhood daily, feeling drawn to it. A reading from Baba Victor turned out to be the starting point of this journey.
What stood out about Baba Victor was how he encouraged me to take my time. There was no pressure to rush back, no ultimatum about my spiritual path. That patience allowed me to live, learn, and eventually return to this practice on my terms.
Brazil gave me the confidence to say, “Yes, I practice ATR.” Seeing how ingrained ATRs are in Brazilian culture—even blending into churches—affirmed that my spirituality wasn’t “weird” or “other.” It was ancestral. It was powerful. It was mine.
My dreams haven’t been the same since I returned. They’re vivid, prophetic, and undeniably connected to my Orisha. It’s as if my spirit lineage is saying, “You’re on the right track. Keep going.”
Moving Forward
As I close out 2024, I’m leaving behind the doubts and insecurities that held me back. 2025 is about staying in my bag—deepening my practice, honoring my lineage, and building the kind of community I saw in Brazil.
Yes, ATRs are everywhere. But they’re also within me, guiding me, challenging me, and helping me grow.
To my fellow seekers: don’t be afraid to question, to explore, and to find what’s right for you. And if you’re ever at the crossroads, just remember—Elegua’s got you.
