Consultation with a Traditional Marabout in Sine Saloum

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Photo 1:  while this image was taken from the internet, it does reflect the feeling being in the village yesterday, with straw roof, bundled at the top, above cement block of mudbrick walls;  photo 2:  the bundle of medicine prescribed by the marabout;  photo 3:  plant materials to be soaked in water and sipped over three days;  two bundles of plants to be steeped in water and drunk as tea, once a day for two days;  the tea and leaves after steeping.

I accompanied A. to visit his traditional marabout in Sine Saloum yesterday.  As previously mentioned, A. has a very serious degenerative muscle condition.  The musculature of his extremities has atrophied significantly, and he's having troubling walking and using his hands and arms.  A. has sought treatment from both modern Western medicine here in Dakar, and traditional West African medicine, without relief.  In the winter of 2005, A. met Yoro Diallo, an 84 year old traditional marabout, living with his extended family in a village west of Kaolack.   A. has been working with Yollo -- whom he refers to as Pappa --regularly over the past four years.  Initially A. spent longer periods with Yoro, in the order of weeks;  now he visits monthly for check-ups and renewal of prescription.  I tagged along for one of his monthly visits.

One of the most often used means of public transportation between cities in Senegal is the bush taxi, or sept place, referring to the seven seats that are typically available to passengers.  One buys a seat, with the price varying slightly depending upon the seat you select.

As our city taxi pulled into the area where the bush taxi's congregate, we were immediately met with brokers wanting to know our destination so they could place us in a vehicle.  The bush taxi's wait to fill with passengers before departing.  A. arranged middle seats for us, at a cost of about 3000 CFAs (6 USD) for the four hour trip to Kaolack.   It wasn't long before we were on our way.

In Kaolack, we transfered to a regional bus, then waited an hour for the bus to fill, during which time a steady stream of vendors wandered through the bus selling everything from underwear, toys, fruit, water, and even juju items.  Like the departure point for the bush taxis in Dakar, the Kaolack bus station was congested and bustling with activity.  I felt as though I were living the pages of a National Geographic article on West Africa.

The road west out of Kaolack is a dusty dirt road, passing village after village, with their familiar straw roofed structures, often grouped in little clusters, enclosed by straw barriers (as opposed to white picket fences). 

Yoro and his extended family live in a little village about an hour west of Kaolack.  Upon arrival, A. exchanged greetings with a number of friends and members of Yoro's family before we met the man himself.  We found him lying in bed, head propped up by an arm, in a structure that seemed standard-size for the villages we passed, large enough to accommodate a double bed, a dresser, a couch and chairs.  

I had previously agreed with A. that I would be accompanying him as a patient as well as an interested observer.  When A. introduced me, Yoro sat up, took my right hand, held it for a moment, pressed the fingertips of his hand into my solar plexus, paused, then moved his extended fingers up to the small of my throat, again pausing.  Without hesitation,  Yoro explained that my problem was centered about my solar plexus, extending up to the small of my throat, and down to my navel.  He asked about symptoms:  Had I had problems sleeping;  had I been having headaches;  was there anything unusual about the color of my pee?  Well, no, not really.  He was not hitting the mark.  Nevertheless, my problem was centered in the area of the solar plexus.  

Yoro prescribed two medicines, one a bundle of leaves, to be steeped as a tea and drank once a day for two days;  the second, the same bundle combined with bits of tree bark, to be soaked in water, the liquid drank periodically for three days.  A. later explained that I was to steep the bundles with five tea-glass-size cups of water.  Adding sugar was permitted.  The leaves were to be buried after the teas were prepared.  Yoro also asked that I return to see him in a week, so that he could verify firsthand the effectiveness of the treatment. 

An additional detail is key:  Each patient receives the same medicines.  Two baskets in his room were filled with the identical bundles and bark mixtures that I'd received.  So what's up?  Are we being duped?  The difference is this:  Yoro whispers a prayer, a verse from the Koran, into the medicine bundles, specific to the presenting illness, thus energizing them.  So they are not all the same. The power is in the prayer.

Yoro has a large clientele, large enough that he's had to begin handing out numbered tiles to determine the order in which patients are to be seen.   As A. explained, Yoro follows three pieces of advise given to him by his father:  Never travel to see a patient, they must come to him;  do not see patients on Friday;  and do not overcharge for services.

The cost of our combined visit:  2500 CFA, or about 5 USD, and the price of my second visit would be free. 

The family offered us lunch, rice and fish, served in a traditional communal bowl, and afterward A. and I chatted at length with Yoro.  Both his father and grandfather were traditional doctors, and he knew at the age of twelve that he had inherited the requisite gifts.  The practice traditionally falls to the oldest son.  Yoro confirmed that he's able to discern the health of the individuals in his presence, but it is through touch, even an incidental handshake, that he determines the nature of the illness.  I asked if there is any risk of illness being transmitted energetically to him from a patient, as I have heard can take place in medical qigong, and for which the practitioner prepared him/herself.  Yoro explained that there was no risk, particularly given that he practices his own medicine.

I was struck by how genuinely happy he and his family seemed, an impression I also had while visiting central Mexico a few years ago, as if they are unencumbered by material wealth, and avarice.

At the time of this writing, I've completed my three days of therapy.  Am I healthy?  I hesitate to respond, knowing the power of suggestibility, and appreciating that what Yoro is able to sense may be something I am unable to sense in myself.  Am remain open-minded, but critical.  We'll return this weekend for a prognosis.