My trip to the tambalan

Despite the anti-allergy pills and the anti-swelling capsule I took, the swelling in my head persisted. The ones in the forehead - those shiny little mounds that gave me a boxer's look - were like trophies from a sparring with Pacquiao. So there was no other choice but the traditional faith healer, the village tambalan who seem to pop out of every part of rural Philippines, practicing their craft like it was a precious gift from divine sources, healing the sick with astonishing consistency, without fail.

Junie works as a capataz in the ranch of one family who owns the pastohan of cows and horses in the heart of Tongonan, yes, our geothermal source. The man's reputation had long exceded his own geographical boundaries, going as far as the mountain villages south of his village, for he had been the healer of many a sick men, women and children.

For vaginal yeast infection

From where I came, at least four others had visited him and were healed. One was our farm hand, a young man of about 19 years, who visited him twice for two complaints. First, his face was swollen and his lips grew three times their normal size, almost like ripened tomatoes. He got it after singing out loud inside the bathroom of our first farm house. Junie warned him not to go back to the place but the unbelieving guy went back and contracted another ailment. This time, his testicles were swollen and his penis grew to the size of a fully grown eggplant. After that, he never visited the house again even if his family lived just a few meters away down the hill.

A few months later, it was his cousin's turn. They were working on the second house when suddenly he felt like being kicked in the butt. The next day, he could barely walk, much less work. It took him a week before he finally decided to visit Junie. He, too, was told that he must have done something to offend the spirit dwellers of the place. He was able to work again two days after his visit.

I have long reconciled myself to the idea that we, humans, are not the only dwellers of this earth. Not all of us have this gift of seeing or sensing these spirit dwellers, but they are there, watching us, living their own lives in their own separate world, with mysterious powers over us. They know us, we don't know them. In places where they are seen or felt, we can only try to be as likable or less destructive. There are stories of people who tried to defy them or defile their suspected living places - with tragic results.

So that Friday morning, I came to Junie's house in Tongonan armed with this belief and the mysterious powers of tambalans who had, for ages, driven away sicknesses and plagues with their prayers and incantations. In our history, they were our babaylans, priestesses who brewed roots and herbs into potent medicines in combination with prayers and incantations.

Junie has a small altar with the icon of the Sacred Heart and a single lighted candle in one dark corner of the living room. He bid me to sit down in front of the image as he started to pray, making the sign of th cross and saying the Our Father. The other prayers I couldn't make out because he was saying them in whispers. Then he blew softly against the various parts of my head that were swwelling, from the top of my head to my neck and forehead, continuing his prayers while so doing.

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Finally, he filled an empty litro of Coke with water which he prayed over and offered before the icon of the Sacred Heart, putting inside a torn piece of an old prayer book which was eventually dissolved in the water. I say dissolved becuase I saw no traces of it inside. I was supposed to drink this, wipe my swollen part with a tissue or cloth dipped in that water and leave it open in our own altar back home. This I did for two two days until the swelling had subsided and my face was back to its normal creases.

Thank God, the swelling mysteriously disappeared as it had mysteriously wrecked havoc on my head a week ago.