Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

ailing women came from all over Central America to seek out his help and
advice.
“Yes, mamasita, I know what you need,” said Don Elijio. “It’s the Ki
Bix or Cow’s Hoof Vine.” He turned to me and said, “This plant will be
very important for you to learn, Rosita. I use it for birth control and
dysentery. It’s safe and sure.” I had long wondered what plants Don Elijio
used for birth control. The birth control pill developed in the 1950s had
been a gift of the Mexican Nahuatl women, who had long used the young
Wild Yam root as an effective birth control agent. They had shared their
knowledge with biochemist Russell Marker, who eventually brought it to
the attention of research scientists. The Wild Yam root contains diosgenin, a
steroid that mimics pregnancy hormones, tricking the body into believing
it’s already pregnant. Wild Yam grew abundantly on Ix Chel Farm.
I was anxious to see the Ki Bix. In order to work it had to be freshly
harvested, said Don Elijio. But since it was already late afternoon—too late
to walk to our rainforest farmacia—Don Elijio told Berta she’d have to
spend the night. He was obviously pleased at the prospect of enjoying her
delightful company for the rest of the day. He showed her the bed that was
really a wooden door and gave her a lantern he had made himself—a glass
jar filled with kerosene and a little strip of rag.
The silver mists still hung over the village when Don Elijio and I left for
the high forest at dawn. Ki Bix, or Cow’s Hoof, was on the top of our list for
plants to collect as we climbed upward toward the Mountain Pine Ridge.
Empty sacks, picks, and shovels in our hands, machetes in their leather
scabbards hanging at our sides, we followed a new path toward the crest of
a hill where he had last seen the woody vine.
It turned out to be more than a ninety-minute walk to that hill. Usually
we skirted around the foothills of the Maya Mountain range and the
Mountain Pine Ridge. Today we headed straight up, with the razorback hills
below us.
As we climbed, the forest changed from graceful palms to stately pines.
Alone in the quiet coolness, we didn’t talk so as not to disturb his silent
search. He murmured a prayer. The only words I recognized were Ix Chel
and the Mayan word for woman, Colay.
“Ahh, here you are,” sang out Don Elijio, as if greeting an old friend. I
was impressed as always by the old man’s memory. His mind was a map of