The Casket

When I last saw Nickoli with this look on his face he was carrying his 3 year old daughter to me. Juana, his wife, was smashing corn for tortillas and their little girl had got her finger terrible smashed during the process. The tip of her finger lay split in two and flat and bloody. Now something was terribly wrong with Juana. He described her symptoms of fever and cramps. She had not eating for the last 8 days. She was too sick to be brought to the clinic. I was preparing a bag of medicines to bring to her while Nathan was getting soup. Word came that she was deteriorating fast. We dropped everything to follow Nickoli. As we entered the dark smoke filled hut we stepped over a smoldering log left by her cot. There Juana lay wrapped in a blanket groaning but not able to communicate. There was some sort of leaves that were stuffed in her ears, up her nose and sprinkled on her body and bed. Was this witchcraft? She had no fever in fact her body was on the cool side. Her eyes didn’t respond to the flashlight. She stared blankly through dilated pupils. As I glanced around the hut Nickoli and their 4 children were crying. The oldest girl, no older than 9, is holding a newborn baby. A quick thought of dejavu. I was in this same situation with three young children only 6 years earlier but this time I was the Nikoli watching as my wife, the mother to my kids died in front of us. I fought back tears as I questioned weather this newborn was Juana’s. It was. The baby was only a day old. Now the symptoms were making sense but it was too late. The placenta probably didn’t fully discharge but there was no blood to be found anywhere. The hospital and prayer were our only alternatives. As Nathan was preparing to carry her to my truck, Juana frothed from her mouth as she took her last breath. Quickly one of the villagers took some sort of liquid to sprinkle on her face. They started blowing in her face. A dark black liquid streamed from her nose and mouth. As I started chest compressions again I was reminded of my attempt to save my wife with CPR. With each compression black fluid poured from the mouth and nose of Juana. Her eyes were like when I first arrived------a blank stare. It had been less than 20 minutes since we arrived in this hut. The tempo of the wailing increased as everyone realized it was over. Nathan and I spent the next hour holding and crying with the kids. The oldest daughter brought the baby to me concerned how she would feed him. I assured her of milk. Cassidy and I emptied our cupboard and returned with all of our rice, beans, and infant milk for the family. The feeling of too little-----too late swept over us, but what could have been done? Somberly we walked back to the mission to start the process of building a casket. When returning with the casket Nikoli asked if we could provide him with a chicken. His father and Grandfather had been witchdoctors. I’m not sure of Nikoli’s intentions but being uncomfortable with the request we refused. It is a shame. I would have had no problem buying a family a bucket of chicken in the states. That same luxury does not exist in the mountains of Guatemala. The intention of a chicken in this area of the world can be for a totally different purpose than filling hungry bellies. The loyalties sway from the old familiar ways of witchcraft to the newly introduced Christianity. They struggle to hold on to both religions not sure who has the greater power-------the Prince of Darkness or the Prince of Light