Just went to the witch doctor to get this stupid ankle checked out. He probably has a real name but that’d be no fun at all if I knew it. And maybe he was completely normal and not a witch doctor, but that'd be no fun at all if you knew it.
It started just as a straight oil massage while he talked with Juan, my babysitter, about planting coffee. I was starting to regret my decision when he eventually went to work rotating my foot around really roughly which HURT. During this time I made dramatic facial expressions that his young son personally enjoyed, and I enjoyed having somebody witness them. But it wasn’t so bad, and Witch Doctor then pulled on my toes one by one until they cracked. Sometimes he gripped them a little awkwardly and it would feel like he was just pinching my toes really angrily. That almost made me laugh.
What I got away from the technical speak was I tore some muscle 2 weeks ago when I was an idiot and fell on the street for no reason. He said it hurts when you tear muscles in your ankle, which is the one thing I already knew. And he called me brave and tough which is even better, albeit untrue. Then he told me to buy an ankle brace, which I will finally relent to doing 16 days after I sprained this godforsaken ankle. Flor will be picking me up one tomorrow. AND he didn’t charge me anything because he was very nice.
I’ve been referring to him as witch doctor in my head for the past week because I doubted his existence, a result of hearing about him as “some man in Palmital that knows about that kind of stuff.” When I referred to him as witch doctor out loud, Juan enjoyed that very much so that is what the house will refer to him from this point on.
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