| Two weeks. His hand was glued to his ear and he winced
a lot and moaned in his sleep. Three weeks and it was time
for the big guns. I went underground and found out the name
of a Zulu sangoma, or healer, in the KwaZulu-Natal region.
Then I hired a translator and schlepped Paul there.
We entered the sangoma's hut, and told her Paul needed help.
She peppered the inside of a gourd with herbs, and the mixture
began to foam. With a gulp, she drank it and her voice became
deep and resonant. Her assistants were drumming behind her.
"You think what's wrong with you is your ear,"
she said to Paul, "but what's ailing you is that you
don't know how to invite your ancestors into your life!"
During a two-hour ceremony, she instructed Paul to make a
party, call in his ancestors -- even if he didn't know them
by name -- and ask for their assistance. Then she wrapped
Paul's torso in a strand of red yarn.
Surprisingly, Paul, who is not a woo-woo kind of guy and
had tried everything else, agreed to the prescription. He
wore the yarn, bought candles and food, and followed the sangoma's
instructions.
A few days later, his ear pain vanished and we boarded a
plane.
South Africa had worked its magic.
|
