The Evil Eye

I was just five years old when I first experienced the mal de ojo… “the Evil Eye”. I had always been a healthy child, so when I suddenly started feeling weak and feverish, my parents became worried. They took me to see a doctor, but no matter what they tried, I just seemed to get worse. That’s when my grandma stepped in.

My grandma was a no-nonsense kind of woman, and she wasn’t about to let some silly ailment get the best of me. She arrived at our house with a small bag filled with herbs and other mysterious ingredients, and she set to work immediately.

First, she lit a small fire in a brazier and placed a pot of water over it. As the water began to boil, she added the herbs and began to recite a prayer in a language I didn’t understand. The room was filled with the pungent smell of the herbs, and I watched in fascination as my grandma worked.

After a few minutes, she brought the pot to a boil and then removed it from the fire. She took a small bowl and placed it under the spout of the pot, letting the water drip into it. As the bowl filled up, she added a few drops of a clear liquid that smelled strongly of alcohol.

When the bowl was about half full, my grandma took a small piece of cloth and dipped it into the liquid. She wrung out the excess and then placed the cloth on my forehead. The coolness of the cloth was a welcome relief against my feverish skin, and I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of contentment.

As my grandma continued to recite her prayers, I felt a strange sensation wash over me. It was as if a weight was being lifted from my body, and I began to feel better almost immediately. When she was finished, my grandma wrapped me in a warm blanket and told me to rest.

And rest I did. I slept soundly that night, and when I woke up the next morning, I felt like a new person. My fever was gone, and I had my energy back. My grandma had done it again — she had healed me with her ancient knowledge and her faith.

I never forgot that experience, and as I grew older, I began to appreciate just how special my grandma was. She was a woman who had dedicated her life to helping others, and I was lucky to have her in mine. I may have fallen sick with the mal de ojo again over the years, but with my grandma by my side, I knew I would always be okay.

Until I wasn’t.

Many years passed, I wasn’t a little girl anymore, 14 or 15 years old probably, trough all those years I had always relied on my grandma to heal me whenever I came down with the mal de ojo. She had always been successful in the past, but this time was different. No matter what she did, I just couldn’t shake the illness. My fever soared, and I was writhing in pain. My parents were beside themselves with worry, and even my grandma looked shaken.

That’s when she made the decision to call in backup. She reached out to a young shaman woman from the same town in Chiapas as my grandmother, a woman who was said to have powers beyond anything anyone had ever seen, Josefina. My grandma had met Josefina once before and had been impressed by her abilities, so she figured it was worth a shot.

Josefina arrived at our house late that night, and as soon as she stepped through the door, I could sense that she was different from anyone I had ever met. She was short but slender, with long black hair that flowed down her back like a river. She was wearing traditional clothing and beaded jewelry, earrings and a necklace. Her eyes were piercing, and they seemed to see right through me.

Without saying a word, Josefina approached my bed and knelt down beside me. She reached out and placed her hand on my forehead, and I felt a jolt of energy pass through my body. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

The shaman began to chant in a language I didn’t understand, and as she did, I felt a strange sensation wash over me. It was as if I was being lifted out of my body, and I could see myself lying there on the bed, looking pale and sickly.

I don’t know how long the shaman worked on me, but when she was finished, I felt better than I had in days. My fever was gone, and my pain had subsided. I was still weak, but I was on the road to recovery.

The shaman packed up her things and prepared to leave, but before she did, she turned to me and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “You have been blessed,” she said. “But be careful. The mal de ojo is a powerful force, and it can strike again at any time. You must stay strong and keep your faith.”

And with that, she was gone. I never saw her again, but I never forgot her words. I knew that I had been lucky to survive the mal de ojo, and I made a vow to always remember the power of faith and the importance of staying strong.