Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

That particular dry season, in 1989, was a low point in rainforest
destruction in Belize. Never before had we seen such extensive burning of
both small fields and large tracts for agriculture and community
development. That year, too many farmers defied the rule to always cut a
firebreak, and escaping milpa fires raged in every district, jumping over
roads and fences. A black haze filled the air daily, and ashes fell
everywhere.
When the rainy season came, this large-scale wrenching of trees from
their deeply rooted beds caused the rivers to rise as never before. One large,
mature tree alone can hold thousands of gallons of water in its trunk, leaves,
and roots. But thousands of trees had been killed. Without trees, nature had
no way to contain the mammoth amounts of rainwater that came pouring
down the hillsides. Along with the water went the thin topsoil, turning the
engorged rivers into churning mud that carried riverine plant and animal
life.
The next year, several hundred acres of forest were cleared just miles
upriver from our farm for development of a citrus plantation. One day over
a period of five hours, the Macal River rose a record sixty feet, nearly
arriving at our doorstep.
The destruction of the rainforest and its pharmacy seemed to drain away
Don Elijio’s spirit and stamina. He had been deeply shocked by that fiery
day in the village fields. He spoke of it for a very long time, lamenting that
he had outlived his plants and his friends, therefore his usefulness.
It wasn’t long after that Don Elijio stopped going alone into the forest in
search of his healing partners. By this time, the rainforest had receded even
further—it was over an hour and a half walk from his door—and his
eyesight had deteriorated to the point where he couldn’t discern stumps and
vines from creeks and rocks.
It became part of my service to him to be sure he was well supplied with
his primary medicines of vines, roots, and barks as well as the Xiv (leaves)
used for bathing and wound powders.
Since he required hundreds of pounds of dried medicines each week this
was a formidable task. I had no idea where I was going to get enough plants
to be able to supply both of us. Don Elijio knew the rainforest like no one
else. He had roamed daily through fifty acres of high mountain
government-owned forests above San Antonio, into places I was doubtful I
could ever find alone. Some plants he purchased from old friends like Don