A Journey with the Kogi’s

When I travelled to South America I had a distinct intention to avoid Colombia above all the other countries due to it's reputation for danger and violence. However, in my travels I took with me, a desire to find a deeper understanding of healing. This quest led to a turning point in my life as I defied rational logic and entered the intense reality of Colombia. My story begins at the foot of those beautiful and captivating mountains, home of the Kogi Indians. It is called ‘The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta’; the Kogis know it as ‘The heart of the world’.

I was ready to start the trek up the mountain when my unofficial ‘guide took the opportunity to steal all of my food and trading goods, I was to take up the mountain. Considering he was an ex-guerrilla, he was on friendly terms with the para-military, and the previous night he had slaughtered a cow with my machete, I decided it was best not to argue with him.

After I watched the tail end of my guide’s mule fade away into the winding paths and trees, I sat down near the fire at the official house of the Indians and pondered my situation. I was deciding whether the tears welling in my eyes were from the smoke or from being robbed. Then Mama Santos came and spoke to me – He was a priest and a leader of the Kogi people high in the mountain.
I felt honoured then, as Mama accepted me as his daughter and promised to look after me as a father would. Then I embarked on what would be my two-month journey with the Indians of the Sierra Nevada.

I had reminded myself of how privileged I was as I tripped over another rock whilst being blinded by the streams of sweat dripping into my eyes.

The mountain was not an easy place for humans. In fact, it was downright harsh. I suspected her beauty was a facade to hide her dangers.

I remember one occasion in particular – where I was forced to dive off the path, down a steep hill to avoid being collected by three black, horned bulls. They had come thundering through from around a blind corner, all fighting for the lead on this single file path. It was my first, though certainly not my last lesson on fast reflexes during my little adventure.

Among some of the other less endearing aspects of the mountain, she was home to large black scorpions, fanged,hairy wolf spiders, poisonous snakes, man-eating tigers, and the fly larvae with a taste for human flesh. A wild mountain with grace to match its fierceness. I could see why it was known as the ‘Tiger Mountain.’

After two days walk, we arrived in the village two hours into the night. It was the last part of the path and was known to be the most difficult. It was more like rock-climbing or ice-skating than walking. I was amazed by the mule, who had led us to the village in the dark. The only light we had was from my single candle, at this point we were too far into the jungle for moonlight or starlight to reach us.

The moon had risen over the other side of the valley as we approached the village. The light shone through the sturdy fronds of the sugar cane that over-hung the pathway. It shone and glowed on the waxy leaves. I walked past a little pig who was grunting softly as we approached the still and quiet village of the huts, peaceful in the moonlight. I was directed to one of the nearer huts and went inside to collapse. I set up my hammock and fell into dreams of exhaustion and wonder. The next morning I awoke to the sunrise and a mist slowly lifting from this beautiful village in the valley.

As I am trained as a Natural Therapist, I had brought some of my medical supplies up with me. I was equipped with books, a first-aid kit and a traveller’s homeopathic kit. It was not too long before I found myself treating the people of the tribe – men, women and children with the homeopathics. We were all very excited to see results which were becoming common.

I was deeply touched when a Mama (priest/leader/ medicine man) from a nearby village came to inform me of his son’s rapid recovery from chronic diarrhoea. He said to me, ‘Please speak more, we want to hear what you have to say.’

I also had some very sad moments. Most nights I went to sleep listening to the dry, hacking cough of a little boy in the next hut. He was slowly dying of TB. I had paid a visit to him and his family in their hut to see if there was anything I could do. It was then that I realised the entire family had the disease if only in different stages. They were all dying.

And they were helpless and so was I.

Mama Santos had been working on establishing an indigenous hospital in the mountains using their traditional medicine. They appreciated the help that orthodox medicine had offered them, however, they found it was incompatible with their bodies, their beliefs and their location. Their aim is to become independent of civilisation and provide accessible natural medical care for the people in the mountain.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I returned from the mountain – my body battered, my emotions drained. But my spirit was strong – I could feel that it carried something new. It carried the inspiration of purpose and the gravity of responsibility, a love for the Indians and a deeper understanding of human beings – humility and yet strength, and a passion with a tranquillity – which I didn’t think was possible.

The kogi people have a powerful message to share with our world. It is about grace. It is about being thankful for all our Mother Earth has provided for us and ending the abuse of her giving nature. For soon there will be nothing left to give.

And they have asked for our help.