The Story of Toto

Sepriano is my counterpart's son.  He's a fourteen-year-old muchacho otherwise known as Toto.  He's a good kid, still respectful, innocent, that kind of thing.  About two weeks ago there was a commotion at Felipe's house. Half the community was gathering at my counterpart's place, spilling out into the front yard.  I went over to see what was up to find Toto laying on his back having trouble breathing.

I guess he'd been like that for awhile, that is, having what seemed like an asthma attack.  He also complained of stomach pains and was writhing in pain.  His writhing was borderline convulsing.  Men in the community were bracing each appendage to keep Toto from hurting himself of others.

In situations like this there is an inexplicable hesitation for action on the community's part.  For me, the gut reaction was to get him to the hospital.  When in doubt, hospital.  But for a Ngabe that sees the cost of the trip, the potential treatment of the Latino doctor, Western medicine in general, replace the knee jerk reaction with a tendency to wait this out to see what happens.

Luckily, my sense of urgency was shared by the teachers, latinos (outsiders) in the community.  After fifteen minutes of convincing, we made a campo stretcher from a tree branch and hammock and starting hiking Toto down to Kwite for a special boat ride to the hospital.  Now special boat rides leave a sour taste in my mouth (see Snakebites for a refresher), but I also didn't have any money in site to help pay for the ride anyway.  I don't know how it was all figured out in the chaotic Ngabere being thrown around that evening, but Toto was loaded on a boat with his mother and rushed to the hospital.

The next evening Toto came home on the regular boat back into Kwite.  Needless to say, I was a little shocked that he was back so soon.  It seemed like to run tests and draw a connection between stomach pains and the onset of an asthma attack, more than a few hours were needed.  It was easy to see what had probably played out. Ngabe teen and mother enter hospital.  Mother speaks little Spanish. Boy in too much pain to communicate as well.  After the Latino doctor scratches his/her head for a few minutes, doctor sends the boy on his way with a few pain medications and says it's a brujo.  That's right, the doctor told Toto and his mother that the cause of his sickness was a witch or demon.  So yeah, I was a little upset to find out how it had all played out.  The good news was that Toto was better.

Fast forward two days.  I'm taking pictures for the Calante soccer team near Felipe's house.  Suddenly, the family calls out.  Toto is sick again.  I come over to find Toto having convulsions again.  When the teachers saw that he was still not well, they called for a special helicopter to pick Toto up in Calante.

I never thought the closest I would be to a moving helicopter would be in the rainforests of Panama.  It was a crazy site having it land right in the middle of the soccer field.  This time one of the teachers went with Toto, ensuring that someone could rip the doctor a new one if needbe.  In a matter of minutes, Toto was rushed away for the second time.

Fast forward two days.  Toto comes back to Calante healthy as if nothing had happened.  He even helped carry the government-issued food for the school children (read: 50 lbs of food on his back) the hour hike from Kwite to Calante.  To recap, leaves in helicopter, comes hiking up the trail fully loaded two days later.

I asked for an update.  The doctors ran tests, blood, urine, etc.  Nothing.  Furthermore, the whole time he was in the hospital, he was fine.  No pains.  No trouble breathing.  No convulsions.  Nothing.  Naturally, the doctor told the teacher and Toto that it was "un brujo del monte" and everyone smiled and acknowledged the diagnosis knowingly.  

Hold the phone.  Am I in a Twilight Zone episode?  Why am I the only one thinking this is craziness?

Fast forward two days.  You guessed it.  Convulsions.  Pain.  It's all back.  Toto has now been bound to the floorboards in lieu of four men holding him down.  And at this point after a special boat ride and a helicopter ride the community laughs when I ask if they are considering going back to the hospital.  After all, the doctor only confirmed the villagers own notions that it was the work of a brujo.

So Toto spent another few days in pain and discomfort.  He would eat occasionally and his only points of lucidness were when he asked for something to drink.  Otherwise, he wouldn't respond to calling his name and seemed to be somewhere else entirely.  Not that I have any reference points other than Hollywood, but he did seem to be possessed.  I wanted to believe that he was faking it, some weird subconscious adolescent hormonal neurological.  Yeah, I got nothing.  I was as stumped as they were sure that he had a demon visitor.  

After a few days, they brought in the big guns (read: witchdoctor).  A woman showed up from the mountains burning tree bark and throwing sage water.  She rubbed ointments and the bark on his forehead and chest.  She threw water around the house to cast off the evil spirits.  And I'll be damned (no pun intended) if after a day and a half, he wasn't better.

Toto's been fine for over a week now.  Your guess is as good as mine.