My abuelos had already bought the coffin they expected to bury her in
The coffin part of that sentence is true but it wasn’t fever that nearly killed my mom—it was getting herself lost in up in the highlands of Ázua for a couple of days, until all hope was lost. She was only 5 or 6 at the time and the way my mother tells it just when she was nearly dead from hunger and thirst she came upon a talking mongoose in the brush that led her back to civilization and that’s the only reason she lived long enough to have us, her children. Because of some talking mongoose. I like to think the mongoose was a visitor from another planet. I’m way more SF than magical realista.
(the coffins below are Brazilian but I figure since we’re all in coloniality’s grip …taken by Nancy Scheper-Hughes.)
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