The Witch Doctor

I suppose it is inevitable when one lives in the backwaters of a third world country sooner or later one will end up driving down a long, rutted, dirt road to visit the shack of a witch doctor. 

My trip to the witch doctor started with a massage in the comfort of my own home. Two ladies come to the house at intervals offering massages. One lady has massaged my legs too many times to count but they still cramp. Late at night I will wake in pain as my calf locks up. Nothing she has done has abated that situation. Today the second lady came by. She is a very stout woman with thick hands and she presses very hard. She practically gave my legs a thrashing kneading them with her stubby fingers and when she was done and I sat up they both promptly locked themselves in a cramp.

She called someone, a friend, and told me that this person would be able to fix me once and for all.  He would be able to look at me and instantly tell what was wrong. The place was far away and I didn't really want to go but we all went anyway. I didn't really have much of a choice.

I thought we would be going to an office or a neighbourhood but as we kept driving past the city and way into the country I realised this was not to be the case. Finally we turned onto a dirt road with many shanties and children running around and older folks sitting down staring at our vehicle as we crept on past. We kept going. We passed them all. The road became narrower and the sugarcane became taller. Above the sky was getting darker and darker as the rain clouds moved in. I imagine when the road is wet it is nearly impassible. Thankfully the rain stayed away during our visit.

As we kept creeping down the road I said, "Where are we going? Are we going to visit a witch doctor?" Everybody laughed. Inside I started to get the creeps. Just where the heck were we going and who were we going to see?

Finally we turned the last bend and pulled up to a group of shanties with chickens and dogs mulling about and more children playing and adults sitting and staring. We got out of the car and walked over to the man's "office" to wait for him.

After about 10 minutes the door opened and a pregnant lady walked out. It was my turn. What a sight this man was in his wife beater and with his thick finger nails like claws painted red. The thumbs were even pointed and sharp.

That is a close up of his hands.

He sat me down on a stool and placed his his thumbs on my wrists and listened. He said I have cramps. I said of course he knows that because the lady told him. She denied telling him. He asked if I take a bath at night. I said I take one in the morning and at night.

He then had me lay face down on a large bed. He said it would hurt so I grabbed onto the frame as tight as I could but whatever he did there was no pain. He fiddled with a nerve but that was not painful just a little tingly. His technique was not much different from the masseuses who have worked on me. A little bit of ointment, some pinching and rubbing, and a little bit of spanking. 

If you haven't guessed by now this guy is not a witch doctor. He is a reflexologist. There was even a foot and spine chart on the wall showing which nerves do what. After all that slapping he felt my wrist again. Then he rubbed me some more. Then he felt my wrist again. He repeated this process until he was satisfied and he said he was done. My pulse is back to normal he said. Upon inquiry of what just happened I was told that by showering at night I had trapped cold air in my veins thus causing a vein cramp and that he had sorted everything out by touching and pulling in the right places.

He asked how I felt. I didn't feel much different than I had before I came in the door. My muscles don't cramp all the time. But now they won't cramp any more. So I'm told. He also said I would be farting a lot. That would be the cold air trapped in my veins making its escape.

Here is in all his glory.

On the way out I recorded the drive. In my video editor I reversed the footage so it appears like we are driving to the witch doctor's shanty rather than away from it. It would have worked better had I been filming through the rear window but it did not occur to me to do so. The voices and the nosies of the car are also reversed which adds an element of occult creepiness.