Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

the soil was impoverished, hardpan clay. It would take at least three years of
hard work to build up its fertility with organic methods.
Greg and I reminded ourselves why we had come to Belize. We had
known the going would be tough. We wouldn’t have things like reading
lights, hot showers, washing machines, or many of the other luxuries to
which we were accustomed. Problems like the oppressive heat and rainy
season would be endemic, just as city life had its crime and pollution. It was
a matter of priorities, we concluded. And stamina.
“Ah, what the hell, we’ve been down before. We’ll bounce back,” said
Greg, rubbing my shoulders affectionately.
“I’d like to go see Don Elijio, see what he’s all about,” I said, hoping
Greg would share my dream about learning with the old bush doctor. “I’d
like to ask him to teach me about the medicinal plants here. Maybe if we
learned more about them, we wouldn’t have to worry about the herbs from
home going bad. I think we just have to keep on trying, love.”
Greg nodded as he sat back on one of the portable massage tables we
were using for beds. “Maybe Panti could give us a few pointers on this
jungle living, eh?”
I chose not to pay much attention to Greg’s comment. I was too busy
thinking. “If he did agree to teach me, do you think we could afford it?” I
thought out loud.
“That’s going to be tough to do right now, Rose. I’ve got seven dollars
in my pocket,” Greg chuckled, as he pulled out the linings of his pockets to
show off a few crumpled bills and a couple of stray nails.
We started laughing and called ourselves crazy people as we huddled by
the open window and watched a silvery moon rise, sipping on Lemon Grass
tea. The jungle, so black it was almost invisible, seemed like our friend
again. As we listened to the chorus of river frogs and crickets, rising and
falling in the night, we convinced ourselves that what we had dreamed was
still possible.
We decided I would go to visit Don Elijio the following week.