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HEALING IN MEXICO'S HIGH SIERRA |
| MEXICO By Alice Hutchinson |
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Lying stark naked in a hot dark hole at an altitude of 3,000m felt rather more 'life threatening' than 'life giving'.
But, I was assured that undergoing a traditional Temazcal, with the village's last indigenous curandera (healer) would be an unmissable 'cleansing' experience. "I had a Temazcal when I was young, but mostly it is only for the women, to help their wounds heal after childbirth," explained my guide, Joel. The Aztec word Temazcal derives from nahuatl and means 'vapour house', which is exactly what it is. Legend has it that Aztec priests underwent a steaming Temazcal, prior to reading the stars as it aided their vision.
Prior to my evening Temazcal appointment with curandera, Senora Manuela and I spent the day in the high Oaxacan Sierra of Southern Mexico being mesmerized by Joel's immense knowledge of the regions medicinal plant life. "Squeeze this Siempreviva leaf and the drops cure sore eyes," he began. "This plant is what aspirin is made from and the pine resin is what we use to glue casts for broken arms", was how the conversation continued during our 12-kilometre hike.
Zapotecs, the largest group of indigenous people who inhabit the state of Oaxaca have, for thousands of years, made use of their plant wealth, practicing what many call witchcraft but what they prefer to call curandismo or healing. Women (it is a strictly female affair in Oaxaca) with a special gift carry out the duty, which involves curing physical and mental ailments with a variety of techniques. 'Bad Air', or shock, which is thought to generally be the cause of other illnesses, is treated by drinking chicken and pigeon blood and a cocktail of herbs, or by burying lots of your favourite things and setting them on fire. For flu, a more direct approach is taken. A bath of heule de noche (smell of the night), a plant which brings you out in a sweat, is followed by a night spent wrapped from head-to-toe in sheets and earth. Whatever your opinion on traditional medicine, it is clear the Sierra's natural wealth offers vast potential for this kind of healing. So much so that biotechnology companies are increasingly battling with indigenous groups over rights to their local resources.
"The fire has not heated the Temazcal enough yet, come and drink some chocolate," suggested Joel when we reached the village. It seemed an apt moment to initiate a conversation on Naguals, animal spirits which according to pre-hispanic belief, control many of our actions. Ever since the now discredited academic Carlos Castenada came to Mexico and taught the world of the teachings of Don Juan, an elderly curandero he met, indigenous peoples' energies and spirits have fascinated many and had far-reaching effects. Villagers themselves are less easily convinced. "Some people think they become birds or wolves from time to time, but it's usually an excuse to explain why they have been unfaithful to their wife," explained Joel. Preferring not to reveal anymore, as is the way of many indigenous communities who have for so long suffered at the hands of inquisitive intruders, he left the subject.
By midnight, Senora Manuela and her gnarled husband Melquiades, local hairdresser and keen insect skeleton collector, had sufficiently heated the fire of the Temazcal. They had also gathered enough water to add to the hot rocks inside the dark little hole to fill it with steam. Niceties over, my glowing guerra (white skinned) body was followed inside the hole by Senora Manuela and her weapons. After a matter of seconds, I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. Then the beatings began and Senora Manuela lashed my body with palm mats and branches of huele de noche while heat from the stones reached unbearable levels. The curandera may also sing to ease out bad spirits. In my case she belched a lot, chanted hot, hot, hot in Zapotec and ignored my cries for air.
After a paltry 10 minutes, I escaped, shimmering in sweat and caked in mud from the somewhat 'uncleansed' earthen floor. I wrapped myself in the white sheet that lay in front of the entrance and lay down, proceeding to fall into a deep sleep. After what could have been two minutes or 10 years, Senora Manuela clambered onto the palm mat and gave me a bone-crunching massage. She then encouraged me to enter the Temazcal again. I declined politely, preferring to lie, entranced with the heavenly half dead that hung in the air. I didn't want to leave this state of relaxation in a hurry, so I listened to Senora Manuela sip her Sprite, burp some more and offer advice to a visitor, on curing his son with a little crude milk.
Alice Hutchinson visited Oaxaca in May 2001
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