Curse of the Mexican, uhh, curse lady…

Curandera.

Is apparently the correct spelling of the word I am looking for. Basically, a female voodoo priestess. Those of you who know me, can very easily see that I do NOT AT ALL appear in an way shape or form…Hispanic. So what do I know about folk healing?

I am very caucasian looking.

Given that my wife actually has claimed that I fooled her with my whitey-ways, I tend to think that I blend in VERY well. I am from deeeeeeep South Texas (here) and having grown up in a heavily Hispanic area with Spanish-speaking relatives, it’s very easy to pick up on all sorts of lovely aspects of the culture, but not have it completely define who I am or what people think of me. In English, I get to observe and make fun of my own heritage, without feeling bad about it, all the while letting it only slightly influence who I am in the long run.

For example, the curandera. Mexico’s scaled down version of the voodoo doctor/priestess. They do all the same things, but being from Mexico, we do it for half the price, with undocumented labor, and half the supplies really necessary. Don’t have a whole chicken? No problem, we can make do with a wing and a thigh (we know the breasts are for dinner). Still can’t afford those parts? No sweat bring a raw egg. It becomes a chicken eventually.

Think I’m kidding about the raw egg? Prepare to have your mind blown.

When my sister was an infant, she became ill. As a matter of course, my parents tried all the usual gringo approved things, medicine, despite the fact that we are not really gringos. But since we couldn’t really do anything RATIONAL like visit a doctor, my grandmother (my mom’s mom) deduced that it was a result of mal ojo, that’s right the Evil Eye.

Good God man! How do we cure a supernaturally-induced sickness! House MD can’t help us here! Not to worry, not only can my abuela diagnose mal ojo, she knows how to CURE that shit puto! Bring it on!

First, grab that raw egg you carefully brought with you and start rubbing it…all over your sick child. Mom (that’s what we called our grandma, don’t ask) is all over the rest of this crazytrain. She does the praying, you do the rubbing. You see, Mom’s got the gift. She is a curandera, well, she could’ve been one. She had the gift, but decided to not study up on that shit. You know what else? That shit skips generations, on the females of the family. Her grandmother was one, my mom was not, which means my sister (that’s right the ojo victim) could be one. Here’s where the story gets weird…er.

When my mom had my sister, apparently she took her to see some relative or friend of the family to visit. In any case, this friend was apparently sensitive to those kinds of things, think of her as Mexican Yoda.

Strong curandera will she be.

When my mom brought my sister in, it apparently took this lady’s breath away, as in ‘what the fuck just walked into my house,’ not, ‘holy shit, change that kids diaper.’ This woman thought, ok FELT…that my sister was (or could be) extraordinarily powerful in the ways of the Force, I mean the curandera arts. My grandma put 2 and 2 together and got 5, apparently someone saw this power in my sister and was trying to take her out as an infant. That’s right folks, someone was trying to go Skynet on my sister’s infant ass.

At least that’s version of the story I like to tell. Normally, a child (at least in my culture, ya ya I know) gets sick from mal ojo because someone is basically coveting the child. They like/love the child so much, that their thoughts make the kiddo sick, so its more of an accidental hex than anything else. But given what I know about my sister, and the other snippets of the story I have gathered over the years, I have come to the inescapable conclusion that my sister is a witch. My brother and I had plenty of other evidence to back this all up (ie, our childhoods with her), but then she had to go and convert to Judaism, so there goes THAT theory. The whole curandera thing apparently goes hand in hand with Catholicism and/or santaria, so I guess that shit’s out the window now. Trying to make it work while being a Jew is like putting diesel in a gasoline engine, they’re both fuel, just the wrong kind.

When it’s all said and done, I make out like a bandit. I get to tell people this cool, creepy sounding story about my family, and when I hear some kid is sick and no one knows why, get to butt in and say, “Sounds like Ojo, my abuela knows how to cure that shit puto.”