It’s a typical rural day i
n a shanty-looking favela on the South American continent – Brazil. Today, the clouds have that silver lining while the blinding sun struggles, but periodically shows off its talents in warming the earth. On a sloping hill, or mountain, sit these architectural feats of personal design – under impoverished conditions. Prone to land slides of course.
The village sprawls with life. I walk down the snaking alleyways. It’s a maze-like labyrinth to me. I can turn here, here and here. Oh, and here – through to the rainforest which licks the edges of the opposite village which feeds off its resources.
“Abu! This way!” shouted Idi, in an excited tone of voice. “There isn’t all the time in the world you know. We must move… and now, before dark.”
Idi is a local here. She is what drives this small, depending community. At twenty-seven years old, she was born in 1982. She is married, established, and wise. She has that animated look on her face, and is a Portuguese Brazilian native. Her skin is soft, her body young and proportional. She is wearing a shabby floral dress, faded – the hem linings out of place. She is bare-footed, and her feet look sore. But she doesn’t care. I wouldn’t. If I lived outside a normal means of living, I would become accustomed to it. That is what she does. And well.
Down the local market, word has reached Idi of an attraction that has garnered the attention of masses of village-dwellers, not only from her village, but from neighbouring villages too.
Every Saturday, the market is a hub of activity. The sound and life of it is driven by the North-West wind which swoops down the alleyway front door of their house. Down this narrow maze, the wind howls and whistles. It’s like it makes a shrewd attempt at communicating with the people. Up above, makeshift washing lines hover with the swirls of wind that go through them. The clothing upon the line reminds me of hardship, and of a government that ignores its own peoples pleading for assistance.
“There is an unfamiliar person downtown. I think he is from the other America. If we hurry, we can see who he is and what he is here for,” Idi exclaims, panting for breath after fussing around for a disposable camera which is lost in her small and messy one-roomed shack.
Accompanying Idi is Abu, her trustworthy friend. They have known each other for a long time, and met while they used to play catch in the muddy side streets adjacent to the favela. Abu is pigmy-sized, and is a native of the forest, part of the Eukaphus tribe which lies deep up the mountain in the very heart of the jungle. She is nineteen years of age, and Idi taught her to speak English. She has a perfect set of the whitest teeth, and her smile is infectious. Her body is adorned with black and white shades of paint and jewellery, and she has a steadfast composure while her eloquent brown hair snakes down all the way to her faultless waistline.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, and just be patient! I’m sure it’s a visitor and not a person just passing through,” she has a slight amount of irritation in her voice because Idi is rushing her. She has been fussing to find the appropriate dress code. “Ah, this will work!” She digs about for a red sarong, and finally her hands, which seem to have some possessive syndrome, recover it. It’s splattered with dry spots of a black-brown mud, unwashed. She throws it over her body.
They rushed out the door. It’s a ten minute walk or a five minute run. They chose the latter.
“Follow me,” Idi shouted, on top of all the buzzing of the people who were also shouting, but not like this. “I want to be in front, in front, in front of all the others! If we can run, it’ll only take a few minutes, that’s all. Keep close behind me and we’ll be the other attraction. Don’t create too much suspicion!”
I’m the “main attraction” here. I am a white North American. My name is Doctor John Worthy. They’re not unfamiliar with people like me – an outsider, alien, intruder, other being – whatever you want to call it. My wounding accent intrigues them, even my white skin. My entrance is neutral. They receive me in a neutral way – neither welcoming nor inhospitable.
At last Idi and Abu slow their paces down to a respectable level.
“Idi, who is he?” I think I may have seen his face before,” she stops to think, “Wasn’t he here with a bunch of other whites who were helping to fix some of the sick people last summer?”
“I think you may be right. He was helping the people who were sick and vulnerable. Good man. I hope he is here for the same reason this time. What do you think Abu?” Idi doesn’t make eye contact; she is staring into the immediate distance. He is without a doubt gathering the attention of the people who notice him. “I should show him my forest remedy. I was once told that the other Americans use medicine made outside of the forest. They don’t believe my methods, because I think they’re just scared and will lose money.” Idi paused for a moment, on the outskirts of the new buzz.
Forest remedies were Idi’s fascination and profession. She never gets sick. And nor do the people who are closest to her and around her. Little people know of her skill in natural medicine… or her potential. Her ways are low-key but super effective methods of curing the sick, for literally any disease.
They approached the man. “Hello,” in a very shy tone, proclaimed Idi.
“And you are?”
“Idi, sir… Idi is my name. You’re a doctor? I’m here not to beg for your aid, but to show you something which might hold your interest.”
I was taken by surprise… I regret my arrogance and disgusting attitude as well. “Why would I, a qualified doctor from America, be interested in a snotty, unqualified woman’s non-medical mumbo-jumbo? I call the shots, I administer the shots and I will fire the shots too, if anyone steps out of line.”
This is not me, but I’m one of those stereotypical doctor success stories out of the largest and darkest lecture rooms of Harvard University. Money is unfortunately on my agenda most days I spend on the job. I regret saying such nasty words to some of the most innocent, harmless and vulnerable people there are on earth.
“I make medicine – special medicine. I’m skilled in the making of medicine.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I get it. You’re trying to convince me to switch my mode of profession, aren’t you? I know what I’m doing lady. There are sick people that need real care and attention. Excuse me.” I proceeded to worm my way through the onlookers, all with confused, expressionless looks on their faces. The local clinic was across the other quieter end of the now worried atmosphere in the market.
“Hey! I can show you my methods of curing peo-“… she was interrupted before she could complete the sentence. “I… please…. please sir. I CAN. I invented an all-purpose antidote for universal illness. Trust me; many outsiders have walked through here with illnesses they caught in the forest. I made them better! Please don’t doubt me.”
“I see this too often. I really do.” …I walked away.
Abu was awestruck, standing there, mouth wide open in shock while Idi lead her back to the shack, disappointed, shoulders down. She devised a plan over scraps of lunch.
“He needs to be taught a lesson Abu. He’ll be back.”
“What lesson?”
“Death and Life – I have a secret treatment. It was accidental.”
“I’m confused.”
“It kills people for a few hours and they wake up in the knowledge that they’ve seen death in the eye. It scares them to never return.”
Idi brewed up a mean concoction. It was odourless and deep black in colour. The next day she and Abu sneaked up behind the clinic. There I was, helping patients, my bedside manner edgy and torn.
She snuck some of the now powder into his glass of water. The powder, now colourless, in a few seconds dissolved into it.
“Run Abu! Run!” They ran for their dear lives, behaving like conniving criminals in the middle of a bust. They were professional runners too, knowing all the short cuts of the village. “Into this alley, quick, we can make it if we hurry!” She did it with flawless precision.
Quickly Idi, don’t stop running, follow me into the forest! I have a hideout that only I know about.” They stayed there for the night while Idi knew of the revenge she’d got on me.
—————-
It was to be a horrifying experience. It would only hit me hours later in my bungalow, a fifteen minute drive outside of here. Hallucinations and death plagued me for what seemed like days. I woke up in a cold sweat, like pearly beads across my forehead. I was out of there, on a plane… gone.
My time in Brazil ended quicker than it began, and I blame my ugly behaviour for the taboo treatment I received in return for the words I so vividly recall in my mind. Back to that America…
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