And then we arrived at Mang Abe's humble abode where his make shift chapel sat quietly under coconut trees. No signages marked the roads that led to the miraculous healing center. We knew we were there because, against the typical rural poor landscape with chickens here and pigs there, thatched roofs here and manual water pumps there, vehicles started to line up. As early as 8am, we were the no. 5 van who fell in line, diligently. There were no tickets. Drivers were not given numbers. The atmosphere remained a simple "trip to the farm".
As we alighted from our van, I started to see the waiting patients, their illness painted on their faces. Others were lying on folding beds, walking with the help of canes and being led by their relatives. A lady was paralyzed. An old man was scheduled for a heart bypass. A youngster had the shivers. A big guy had his skin covered with scabs, and a lady with high blood pressure was holding on to her aching tooth that dentists wouldn't extract. They all waited in line.
When the treatments started by 9am, I saw how people sat on the chair opposite Mang Abe, was treated for a minute under excruciating pain and how instant relief was found in each of the patient's face. It was amazing how much pain can be painted on their faces when Mang Abe only had to touch them with one finger, like dabbing his finger on his patient. The others were kidding that anyone who felt his dabbing finger would confess to everyone's sins.
And the line slowly moved. Until I found myself next in line.
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