Gathering material for a website they’re creating, researchers find inspiration in a healer’s garden.
by Alaí Reyes-Santos, Associate Professor, Department of Indigenous, Race, and Ethnic Studies, and Ana-Maurine Lara, Assistant Professor, Department of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies
The article was published in the Center for the Study of Women in Society Annual Review.
We write from the Dominican Republic, where we are completing the content for the website that will include interviews with Caribbean women healers in the islands and the diaspora, an ethnobotanical survey of their gardens, and a syllabus and annotated bibliography for those interested in learning more, pursuing more research, or creating a course based on the site.
Last year, in 2018, as we were preparing for fieldwork in the Dominican Republic, we found information online about a sanctuary—El Santuario a Nuestra Señora de las Aguas—in Boyá, Dominican Republic. The sanctuary dates back to 1540, a time when the Spanish were at war with Arawak, Lucayo, Ciguayo, Ciboney, Taino, and other First Nations on the island. According to oral traditions shared with us during our time in Boyá, the town was the first Native reservation in the Americas—the first place where native peoples were corralled into a government designated area. In the midst of a peace treaty between the Spanish and local tribal authorities, various indigenous communities from across the island were relocated there. It is said that the bones of the cacique Enriquillo—who led multiple insurrections against the Spanish in the 1500s—are found in the catacombs of the sanctuary. There we also saw tombs of Mayan women married to Spaniards. As several people shared with us, Mayan peoples were relocated by Spanish colonists to the Dominican Republic in the eighteenth century to both curb their rebellions on the mainland and to direct their encomendado labor into the project of hatos (cattle ranches). The sanctuary is in the former site of a Taino batey—a sacred ceremonial space. At one end of the batey there is a well; the sanctuary is built right next to the well. Today one can get water from underground sources through a pipe right behind the sanctuary, outside of its recently constructed gate. We wondered if the sanctuary was established there as a way to syncretize indigenous ceremonial practices and Catholicism. We do know that Nuestra Señora de las Aguas, a virgin only found here, continues to be the patron saint of the town.
We visited Boyá just as the fiestas patronales (feast days) were about to start. Music stages were set up. Special flower arrangements were created specifically for the festivities and they were processed through the town. People awaited rain. They said that it is common to have rain as the flowers are gathered for the celebration. The bueyes—herds of cattle that community members have herded for generations—were expected to arrive the next day in the hundreds. They would be coming from nearby towns as a thank you for the blessings of cattle to the region. It was such a fortuitous time to be there.
When we arrived, we stopped at a small colmado (grocery store) in the center of town, across from the batey. In the colmado we asked about the sanctuary. We were sent to a local missionary school where the keeper of the key works. She gave us a warm welcome, opening the door to the sanctuary and telling us about its statues and history. She was so proud of the sanctuary, and of her work in maintaining the space. When we told her that we were interviewing women healers and religious leaders, she immediately invited us for a walk through town. We walked with her through small streets whose designs have been laid out since the beginnings of the Spanish colonial period. We passed by rows of small homes built in the wake of economic restructuring in the 1980s. She introduced us to the coordinator of church activities. Then alongside another neighbor they shared local church and spiritual songs with us and talked about the challenge of maintaining the sanctuary open without resources, without an assigned priest, and considering that many young people were leaving town looking for better economic opportunities.
They invited us to the Eucharist celebration that evening; the opening ceremony for the fiestas patronales. And we saw what they meant. There were around twenty people in the sanctuary; most of them elderly, but all very enthusiastic. At the end of mass—led by the visiting priest—a palo group played their drums and danced at the entrance of the church as they have done for centuries. As explained to us by our hostess, this practice speaks to longstanding treaties among Congo and Fon Afro-descendant communities on the island and Church authorities. They could play at the door to the sanctuary, but they could not enter. We danced a bit at the rhythm of the palos along with our hostesses. They expressed their sense of joy at receiving us, and openly recognized us during mass, offering us juice at the end as a form of thank you.
Elena Perez, one of the women leaders of the Cacao Cooperative in the community.
During that afternoon we had walked the town again with a young man who heard of our interest and likes to serve as an informal regional historic tour guide. He introduced us to a woman who leads a local cacao cooperative developed to financially empower women in the community. He also introduced us to an elder who shared with us how her family traces back their heritage to indigenous communities that settled there in the 1500s; and how they kept that secret even from her for a long time. We ran into a Dominican anthropologist on the street who shared with us the story of the Maya relocations and the names of the families that trace back their heritage to First Nations families and, in other cases, Fon families. Finally, as we were saying goodbye to the anthropologist, our guide shared with us that his aunt was a healer that cured others with herbs. He explained to us that this was a secret, because if the priest found out, he would deny her communion at Church. He offered to take us to visit with her. We found a place to stay the night and returned the next morning for an interview.
That morning we felt so grateful. She was amazing. Over the course of three hours, she shared with us around ten different plants that she combines in botellas (bottles of herbs prepared with prayers) to cure syphilis, infertility, pneumonia, chronic pain, fever, and azucar (diabetes) among other ailments. After we were done she also walked us to her garden in the back of her house. And there she showed us how she grows her healing and edible plants. We left with bunches of leaves and roots in our hands.
A plant known as “camaron,” which the healer is sharing with the authors.
As fieldwork goes, we could not have found a richer site. And it was all possible because we followed our research intuition, a hunch, an intangible guide toward deeper knowledge.
This visit transformed our project and inspired us to include each healer’s garden as much as possible. Their gardens are an expression of how Caribbean women carve space for medicine—whether in urban areas, backyards, or forests to connect with natural resources in ways that suit their traditional ecological knowledge. We can’t wait to share these with you.