I want to start by clarifying that I am a doctor from the city of Tampico. I completed my degree at the Universidad Autónoma de Nuevo León and had the fortune to work in the private sector until the plague of 2020 disrupted my life in more than one way. I don't wish to share anything about that stage of my existence, except for the fact that being a food delivery driver and Uber driver was my salvation for several months. Fortune smiled upon me again when a very special job offer crossed my path, thanks to which I continue to practice my profession today. However, it has also drawn me closer to the story I am about to share with you.

Do you believe in witchcraft? My professional training and objective education prevented me from thinking beyond what could be perceived with our senses or proven in laboratories. My skepticism survived until after my graduation from college but began to crumble as my proximity to the marginalized villages where I practiced medicine allowed me to fir sthand experience the superstitions of the people.

I am part of a mobile clinic. My job involves traveling throughout the country offering medical services to the most underserved communities. It is an initiative of the government with private sector funding. I know there are 12 other mobile clinics and at least 30 doctors like me traveling across Mexico. My clinic is the smallest and is reserved for visiting the most remote places in the country. It consists of three adapted caravans—one as a dormitory, another serving as a clinic, and the last one for physical examinations that require more privacy—two drivers, a nurse, and another doctor who accompanies me. Communities in Chiapas, Guerrero, and Oaxaca frequently appear on our itinerary, but none have been as mysterious as Cerro Alto, Veracruz. It does not appear on any map, and only a few men outside that town know how to get there. We learned of its existence in late 2021 thanks to a request from a member of its community, as a strange epidemic was affecting the children. The first time we traveled to Cerro Alto, we met a couple on the outskirts of Llano Medio, Veracruz, where there is a community hospital that we already knew. From there, we followed their van on the national highway until we turned off somewhere beyond Colotlán, entering rocky terrain more akin to a plain than a road.

I cannot provide more directions, nor would I even if I could. Not even Google maps mark such a place as the community it is, and only satellite images can offer us a very ambiguous glimpse of what Cerro Alto is, if you know where to look.

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The road to that place was already quite fantastical. As we advanced, the vegetation took on a brighter green than I thought possible, the sky cleared, and the trees seemed to thicken to unusual sizes. It was like entering a Mexico before the era of conquest, a place that man could not completely dominate and that remained almost untouched since before the Spaniards set foot on the continent. I had the feeling that if I were to explore the surroundings, I would encounter new species of plants, but I refrained from doing so for fear that new creatures might also be lurking.

The nature offered a very attractive spectacle wherever you looked, but nothing caught our attention as much as a distant scar on the mountain ranges that formed the Sierra Madre Oriental. That mark grew larger, deeper, and darker as we approached. It was a cavern as grand as palace doors, located at a great height and adorned with a rocky relief merging with its interior. We all agreed that it embellished the mountain range, but somehow, we felt intimidated by its presence, as the darkness from its depths sent shivers down our spines, and its size was such that we could see it from any place for many kilometers around. We didn't speak much of it that day, although I never stopped looking in its direction.

All communities we visited for the first time tend to be quite suspicious of our intentions, so we were already accustomed to dealing with that. However, the inhabitants of Cerro Alto barely made an effort to hide the repulsion they felt at having us on their land, something I could see in their faces and the uncomfortable silences that occurred while we tried to connect with them. We felt displaced from the first moment, as upon our arrival, they performed a 'cleansing' on us. We had experienced similar situations in other places. Herbs on your body, smoke on your face, and some shaman's pressure-spit were the usual procedures, but what they did in Cerro Alto seemed more like a ritual from pre-Hispanic times. A brew with a taste I cannot describe, aromas I cannot relate to any other scent, and strange herbs with leaves like starfish and rough stems, sliding over our joints as if they were going to tie us with them, were the most striking elements of that afternoon. Later, they blindfolded us and burned something that emitted an oily aroma reminding me of both fish and coal. Then they made us press the resulting ashes with the palm of our right hand. The pain from the burn made me open my fist, but the woman who performed the ritual squeezed my hand to prevent me from letting go. They didn't want to talk much about what we had just done and simply claimed it was protection against what dwelled in their lands. The inhabitants of Cerro Alto seemed more at ease after they saw us with that first-degree burn on the palms of our hands, but they maintained their reserved attitude when interacting directly with us. This continued even when we started investigating the disease affecting the children in their community, and their treatment did not improve until the children positively responded to our treatments.

It was a strong infection affecting the children from early in the year. Some had already died, but most of the sick could be controlled with a tea whose main ingredient they never clarified. Observing the severity of the infections surprised me that not all had died, and I wondered how effective their home remedy had been. This epidemic constitutes a very interesting clinical case for any doctor, but it is not what inspired me to share this story; it is what happened later.