Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

magical glimpse of Mother Nature in her bedchamber, and sighed.
Red, biting ants crawled up my leg and rudely jolted me out of my
dreamy state. I reached up inside my pant leg and brushed them off, then
forged deeper into the jungle.
Early rays of sunlight streaked through the thick forest canopy, creating
a shimmering jade glow. I startled a flock of rainbow-beaked toucans,
which skittered away, reluctantly fleeing the tree where they were feeding
on Ramon nuts. My eyes kept taking in new sights, although if I looked
away from the path too long, needlelike thorns tore away at my flesh.
I followed the trail for nearly a mile, wandering through a wild
profusion of waving palms, red shaggy-barked trees, aromatic vines, and
swarms of iridescent insects and butterflies. Then a broad shaft of light
ahead signaled the end of the cool, shady forest. Soon I stepped out onto the
road and was quickly washed in white heat.
The road veered off in two directions from where I stood, and I
nervously studied the tattered map. The Cayo District in which we lived
was the westernmost part of the country and shared a long border with
Guatemala. Belmopan, the capital of Belize, was in the eastern part of the
district, while the town of San Ignacio was in the west. Scattered
throughout were tiny villages like San Antonio, accessible only by rough
roads and rivers. Our farm was six miles south—by river—from San
Ignacio. San Antonio was five miles east of our farm, in the foothills of the
Maya Mountains.
That sounded simple, but the roads were confusing. I started walking
toward the right, wondering if I was lost. As far as I could see, I had five
miles more of dusty road to go. And after a few minutes, sweat began
running into my eyes, despite my straw hat, with its brim curled down to
cut the penetrating glare. After two hours of hiking, I saw a whimsical,
hand-painted wooden sign: “Welcome to San Antonio. Population 860.” I
walked up a steep, grassy knoll and saw the village unfold before me, with
its red rooftops and rainbow-colored houses. They looked like a handful of
hard candies spilled onto a lush, green carpet. Between the wooden and
cement houses were carefully tended gardens with rows of sprouting
vegetables. Brilliant bougainvillea in deep purple and warm yellow
alamandas cascaded over wooden fences.
Maya people had lived in this valley surrounded by mountains for over
a thousand years. Recently, archaeologists had excavated a field behind one