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Spoonful of Sugar
This Chapter, Dear Reader, broaches the subject of Ingestibles of the Continent. Unlike my previous message, sent only to a highly-select few of you, entitled What I Am Eating, here will be found details regarding a sub-species of ingestibles, specifically, Medicine.
When we last left our heroines, they had been tossed from the back of a manure cart in the nether regions of Harare to meet a local witch doctor who claims to cure HIV. We walked toward a cluster of houses. Victor, our waiter-cum-guide, despite his Christian armour, told us he was too scared to enter one of the huts in the company of the witch doctor. He agreed, however, to be our translator and intoducer in the light of day. As we passed the first of several round, thatched-roof structures, a man appeared in a flapping black trench coat. His bare feet supported baggy trousers, multiple shirts (the winter sun warmed us only to a cool 80F), a cardigan, and the drapery of the coat. This man's face had the beautifully wide-set eyes of many Zimbabweans; his left eye might have been called "lazy" in the Western, but such a description would be far from the mark. He seemed able to focus on two things at once -- his right watched Victor translate his words and his left watched my face for signs of understanding. This man is the witch doctor.
He tells us that we are at the border; we may cross and talk with him, but we must remove our shoes. He leads us to a small two-roomed house in the familiar square design of the West. We sit on a baking concrete porch, Marta and I longing for shade, but he does not ask for our preference. The witch doctor seats himself on a low stool just inside the doorway to one room. The door itself is only partly open. I am closest to the door, "taking his voice" with my recorder: I can see water stains running down the walls, tracing right through some kind of framed diploma. Two other diplomas rest on the floor. At his feet, tin containers of various sorts keep powders. With a plastic spoon, he sifts some our for us to see: reddish-brown, yellow, tan, pink... he tells us the names and explains proportions. This is for Pain. This is for Bad Spirits. This is for High Blood Pressure. For the cure to HIV, you must have the African Potato. He produces a small, black, shrivelled root, holds it while Marta takes his photo.
We leave this house at his suggestion. The witch doctor indicates the route that we may take the to the hut where he summons the spirits to speak through him. He takes a different route, because we are not the same people. Inside the circular room, the air is wonderfully cool, the concrete floor swept clean and woven grass mats cover some area. Drums wait at the walls. The only light comes from the open door and speckles from the roof. Although it is not allowed officially, he dons the robes he wears when he mediates the voices from the past: stars and crosses and moons of white are sewn on a blue robe. A cap and long lengths of blue, green, and yellow beads hang on his neck. He holds a thick stick, rough but clearly designed. The spirits come only on Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday; only early in the morning and from 4 until 10 at night. We will not be there then, and Victor clearly wants to leave. We do.
 Earlier, we had watched the work of a research doctor in another rural area where the HIV prevalence is 30%. The Danish doctor there called the place the End of the World. By others, it is called Mupfure. There, little white pills are given to kill the parasites breeding in livers and urinary tracts, parasites which bring the disease called Bilharzia. By killing these parasites, perhaps HIV will not develop into orphan-producing poverty.
In Harare, Marta and I go to Hbare, the marketplace of hundreds of stalls. We are looking for traditional healers. The taxi driver walks us to the cluster of stalls selling unlabeled powders; he asks if we are safe, before returning to guard his car and wait for our return. We talk with many vendors. --thi s carved horn with stopper? inhale powder through it into your nostrils --(demonstrating) -- what powder? this, this powder -- (pulling a rag out of a hole in a hollowed gourd) -- oh, snuff. this? this is for stomach pains, mix a little in warm water and drink it in the morning.-- in this jar there is oil and fire. Fire? -- it's made from fire (patiently) smoke comes out of it, that's because it's made from fire. Can you show me? (prying open the vial, rubbing a pale salve on the inside of my forearm) --see the smoke rising? that is the bad spirits escaping. I don't see any smoke. you are not sick, you use then when you are sick to release the bad spirits. But what is in it? oils, oils, oils and fire, that is why there is smoke!
Marta is having a generalized good luck charm made for her. Dr Spencer kindly mixes another for me. This is for generalized good luck, he tells us, and it can help us meet Mr. Nice. It works for four years. A bargain for $450. -- that is a vulture head. the head part, vulture. Oh, OK. Why? it's for ceremony. this is the foot of a bird. this is the shell of a tortoise. What is the purple shiny grains? inside of a rock, ground. back pain? (swiftly spooning three powders onto a newspaper, stirring, wrapping the package) add half a teaspoon to this much warm water and drink twice a day, or put in porridge, it doesn't matter. for five days, no more back pain. neck? your neck hurts? why? you need this root. (cutting two inches) peel off the black crusty outside, dip the yellow flesh in warm water, rub on your neck. Wash our hands with soap afterwards!
- Nicole
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