Preserving Curanderismo in the Borderland

So much about reading this book stuck with me over the years (as is evident in this blog fifteen years after the fact), but one thing that struck me the most was how the term “border” was so fluid. I later realized the herida abierta Anzaldúa referred to is a term that echoes Freud’s figure of trauma as a wound. The open wound that refuses healing in a literal sense, (separation of families, us versus them mentality, the building of walls, anti-immigrant rhetoric), but one that figuratively is also restorative. The open wound or re-opening of a wound invites healing.

Recently, I re-read Coatlicue Girl by Gris Muñoz and Inventos Míos by Rubi Orozco Santos, two beautiful fronteriza voices. As I re-read these collections, I was brought back to that feeling I got fifteen years ago reading Anzaldúa. I knew I wanted them to be a part of my project with The Humanities Collaborative at EPCC-UTEP because their voices are so unique yet somehow expected of our border narrative, as they encompass the past, present and future in their writing. In revisiting these collections, I also realized they seemed to be speaking to each other. The voices of our ancestors, our land, our memories echoed in each piece, and I knew that if I wrote about one, I needed to include the other. I thought about all of the people who speak El Paso, Texas, and Juárez, México, in this way, those who have survived the border and those who claim it.

In Coatlicue Girl, Gris Muñoz also writes about heridas in her poem “Scars.” In it she says we sometimes need to reopen the wound so that it may heal over time. She speaks of wounds that have grown within us, some even before the womb (Muñoz 69). These hauntingly beautiful words are there to remind us that wounds will always be present, but that time will cure them. “Mejor abrir la cortada otra vez y limpiarla bien, darle poquito aire para que esta vez sí se cierre y se sane” (69) she writes. Among some of the themes in her collection of short stories and poetry, Muñoz also discusses the healing powers of the ancestors and their teachings. Muñoz, like many of us who grew up along the border, are accustomed to what Anzaldúa meant in regards to this herida abierta. Growing up in Mexican or Mexican-American households brought about different types of healing and medicinal practices, passed on by generations of healers. Living on the border afforded us a way to reopen and heal our wounds even through (or possibly because of) its collective trauma.


Coatlicue Girl by Gris Muñoz. Cover art by Los Dos

Similarly, in Inventos Míos, Rubi Orozco Santos writes about the power of food and learning about the cycle of growth in that sustenance, starting from the root through to our consumption. Her poetry beautifully captures the process that begins with seeing all plants as sacred, offering to the spirit of the plant. Healers also make this offering because they believe that there is always an exchange of energy between plants and the people who use them. These teachings are passed down from our ancestors, too. Doña Vicenta Villalba, third generation herbalist from Amatlán de Quetzalcoatl said “el nuestro es conocimiento empírico” (Santos 27). What is meant by this is the knowledge gained by experience, but more importantly, by observation. This again refers to the collective voices of family (blood and other) and ancestral knowledge and rituals passed on “for generations” (27). Though Orozco Santos speaks more about rituals tied to food, the connection can still be made to the importance of passing on tradition and learning from our precious elders and lineage, conserving the sacred bond. Like Muñoz and Anzaldúa, these women are looking to preserve and restore ancient healing/growth whether through medicine, harvesting, or healing.


Inventos Míos by Rubi Orozco Santos. Cover Art by Los Dos

I admit that I wanted to write about curanderismo—or traditional healing—in some form because I selfishly wanted an excuse to learn more about it, and I knew that I wouldn’t look into it otherwise. Truth be told, I have always been drawn to this practice and others like it, and I wasn’t quite sure why until recently, but I learned at a very young age (or was taught at least) that these practices were antiquated. Only people without economic means to see a “real” doctor would resort to local healers. Worse, these practices/rituals, were reduced in some cases to folklore or based in myth, but didn’t actually work. In the United States, if we got sick and had the means, we would see a doctor in a hospital. However, growing up in a Mexican-American household allowed my family a little bit of both. I am one of six children, so when we got sick or worse, all got sick at once (as had happened with the chicken pox, for example) there is no way my father could afford taking us to the doctor as it was a one-income household.

Growing up in a poor or rural setting made it difficult or sometimes impossible to get the healthcare needed. It wasn’t rare to see small children or babies die due to lack of care, not necessarily because their sickness was incurable. So, many mothers turned to using medicinal plants, remedies, and rituals passed on by their mothers and the mothers before them for generations to heal their own. My mother, for example, grew up in a poor and rural setting, which meant they needed to learn to survive by any means necessary. Luckily, she had many teachers to guide her.

My mother Reynalda, who learned from her mother Cesaria and her grandmother Juana (and passed on even before that) about traditional remedies, used what she knew to help heal us of the chicken pox debacle and anything else that came up. I always knew my mother was a kind of Rolodex with a collection of useful information on recipes, remedies, and rituals. To be honest, there were a lot of questionable, superstitious things, too, but we never felt they were odd or questioned them because that’s just how it was. When we would ask her where she learned all of these things she would always say from her mother, my grandmother Cesaria, or alla en el rancho se usaba mucho eso (over on the ranch it was used/practiced often). She always said this almost in a dismissive way, perhaps so we would stop asking. After a while, we did and just accepted it for what it was.

Even more interesting was my mother’s “dark past” as she refers to it, which we had heard about maybe only a handful of times growing up. Past stories we would only hear about from my aunts in Juárez. They along with my mother and my grandmother practiced limpias or spiritual cleansings, love spells for ex-boyfriends, and even dabbled with the occasional Ouija board. They had a baúl or chest that contained all of the items used for such limpias or barridas. My mother, who has since then left this behind for her faith, is somewhat ashamed to speak of this past version of herself. When I asked what happened to all of those things in the baúl, she simply said se quedo todo en el rancho. Again, the rancho, this physical space we only knew in stories. I was beginning to suspect the rancho held onto much more than these relics.

We quickly realized we weren’t going to get much out of our mother any time we asked her about this past she was so ashamed to speak of now, and after a while, we just forgot about it. It wasn’t until I read Rudolfo Anaya’s famed novel Bless Me, Ultima that my curiosity was reignited. In the character of Ultima, who was seen as both a healer and a witch by the people of the town (depending who you asked), I recognized many of the rituals she practiced from the stories were rituals my mother had talked about or performed on us, too. But, could my mother have also been a curandera? I needed to dig deeper.


“Curandero” by Mario Gonzalez Chavajay

Curanderismo is a holistic and spiritual approach to wellness and medicine that has been around for hundreds of years. Roots can be traced as far back as the 1400s to the Aztecs, who sought remedies in what is now central Mexico. In Mexico, the practice is also known as Mexican Traditional Medicine, "medicina del campo," and traditional folk medicine. Curanderismo survived colonization, but as a result, is a blend of Mexican indigenous culture and beliefs, and depending on the healer’s religious, cultural, and/or tribal background (if any), it may also have Catholic, African, or other influences. For this reason, many consider it a blending of traditions (Sesma curanderismo.org).

The term curandera (Spanish for "female healer") incorporates the qualities and attributes of the spiritual counseling aspect of the practice, as having the confidentiality one expects of a cura, a priest or minister, as well as including its other definition, which is that of healer. The term stems from the Spanish word for "to heal", curar. Curanderas often use healthy and appropriate humor during sessions along with prayer, spiritual cleansings, and healing ceremonies to restore balance and harmony to the body, mind, emotions, and spirit. In some instances, curanderas may be referred to as mujer de conocimiento or woman of knowledge. In others, if she is Indigenous and trained in Native ways and serving her traditional community, she may be called a mujer de medicina or medicine woman. The same applies to male practitioners or curanderos. Each curandera has a distinctive practice that is most often learned within the context of her family, community, or tribal nation. A curandera is usually an older woman who has knowledge of herbs and cultural remedies, and who may also have other gifts and abilities such as clairvoyance which form part of their practice. Curanderas never advertise, and they don’t refer to themselves by this title; it is usually given to them by the people out of respect. Many also don’t ask for payment but do accept donations.

At one point, the word was a semblance of Náhuatl, the spoken language of the Aztecs, who are responsible for words like cacao, chile, tequila, aguacate and peyote. But it would soon change with the Spanish conquest of 1521. The term curanderos can be traced back to the Spanish colonization of Latin America. Curanderos in this part of the world are the result of the mixture of traditional Indigenous medicinal practices and Catholic rituals. There was also an influence from African rituals brought to Latin America by slaves. Curanderas go beyond Western medicine, linking illness with evil spirits. They believe that God or a Creator gives them difficult and painful experiences so that they are better able to assist their patients. In Colonial Latin America, curanderas were often conflated with brujas, or witches, which refers to those who cast spells; although curanderas were persecuted during such times, it is likely because they were females in positions of authority, not because of their healing methods. However, as Muñoz says “all the world’s magic and miracles live halfway in the spirit world” and I couldn’t agree more (65). It was charming to find that those who sought help from a curandera were known as “believers” as if the curanderas were saints (or ghosts) and did not exist in the real world; their “powers” seen as supernatural or otherworldly.

Curanderismo is often viewed as supernatural in part because it encompasses more than just the body. It indicates  that the body, mind, and spirit are inseparable. Thus, curanderas seek to provide treatment or interventions that include the whole person since oftentimes the illness may not just be in the physical sense. They are sought to heal any physical ailments, but many also seek help for mental, emotional, or spiritual healing. Some illnesses were believed to be caused by lost malicious spirits, a lesson from God, or a curse, the latter of which often linked curanderismo to witchcraft. Today, other regular or “classic” illnesses could be cured by a curandera either alone or jointly with conventional medical interventions (Sesma curanderismo.org). To that end, the healer will employ the use of symbols, objects, rituals, and herbs. By mixing these components, they invoke internal processes of the person that support the overall goal of healing.

Historically, in the United States, curanderas were only found in concentrated Amerindian populations. It was largely thought that they mainly practiced along the US/Mexico border. Recent historical research shows however that the practice was not reserved for the American Southwest. In the mid- to late 1970s the rise in ethnic minority and immigrant populations grew with the public presence of curanderas in areas outside of the historical geographic regions which had large Indigenous populations in the U.S. Since the 1990s, it has become more commonplace to see curanderas in northern-tier cities in the United States. However, even with the expansion of curanderas throughout the United States, the practice still seems to be disappearing as modern medicine becomes more and more available.

To understand the methods of curanderas, we must look at the many different types who each have their specialty (although some have multiple specialties). Yerberos or hierberos are primarily herbalists. Hueseros are bone and muscle therapists who emphasize physical ailments. Parteras are midwives. Oracionistas work primarily through the power of prayer. Other types include sobadores, who are masseurs, and espiritualistas or mediums. My mother comes from a line of healers. My grandfather Eulalio was a sobador, while my grandmother Cesarea, her mother Juana, and her mother Estéfana were primarily yerberas, knowledgeable in what herb to use for any ailment. This matriarch (and probably many women before them) continued to pass on these beliefs and traditions to their daughters and so on. It is unclear how far back it reaches, but it seemed to have stopped with my mothers’ generation since they are the generation who immigrated to the United States.


“Curandero de hueso” artist unknown

As mentioned, many curanderas had their specialty and would only help with what they knew. However, there were many healers who had extensive knowledge for all kinds of ailments (physical, spiritual, or mental). There are many “classic” illnesses that curanderas were specifically sought out for. Below is a list of some of the more common illnesses:

• mal de ojo (evil eye or envy)
• susto (fright),
• mal aire (bad air)
• mal puesto (hex or curse)
• caída demollera (fallen fontanelle),
• limpias (spiritual cleansings)
• bilis (rage)
• empacho (blockage)

No matter what specialty these curanderas had, all of them had some knowledge on herbs and medicinal plants. Some of the most common medicinal plants that were used then and are still used today are romero (rosemary), albahaca (basil), sábila (aloe vera), pirul (pepper tree), and yerbabuena (mint). Ruda (rue or Ave-grace) and hierba de la cruz (herb of the cross) are lesser known but also used for limpias.

Many curanderas also add Catholic objects and practices such as holy water and praying to or invoking saints to their remedies. The use of Roman Catholic prayers and other borrowing is often found alongside native religious elements. Many curanderas emphasize their native spirituality in healing while also practicing Catholicism. For years, I grew up thinking the two could not be mutually exclusive or that they were contradicting practices. But it is apparent now that curanderismo, which also involves concoctions, prayers and lighting candles, closely aligns with church practices for spiritual healing.

Rue (ruda) used for limpias and barridas


Hierba de la cruz used for limpias and barridas

Furthermore, the use of symbolism or symbolic gestures and symbolic objects is also used by curanderas. A barrida, for example, consists of having a person lay down or stand up as the curandera prays over the individual. While conducting prayers, the curandera begins to sweep the top of a person using a broom-like object made of different types of herbs or materials. An herb broom traditionally consists of herbs containing purposed properties of cleansing or protecting. The sweeping motion usually starts from the top of the head and moves its way down to the person’s feet. The physical act of sweeping symbolizes removing the unwanted. Limpias are usually conducted to remove any sort of bad energy or luck from an individual, but there are many other practices done for specific illnesses.

Mal ojo (often called evil eye) or more accurately, illness caused by staring, is one of the most misunderstood illnesses in curanderismo but also one of the most known across cultures around the world. The myth that there is something supernatural or bad connected to mal ojo makes many people uncomfortable. Awareness of it is expressed in the use of different charms or amulets that are used symbolically to protect themselves and their young children from unwanted energies. In Latino cultures, charms called ojo de venado (deer’s eye) are popular. In Italy, parents place a small talisman, a figa, around the neck of infants to protect them from unwanted protection, and Jewish children and adults wear hamesh, a charm that resembles the five fingers of a hand. Women in India draw black lines around their eyes to protect themselves and others from energy that does not belong to them (Avila & Parker 59).

In Latino cultures, mal ojo is a name for the illness that results when too much attention Is paid to a very young child or baby. If the baby is fussed over by strangers, the baby will be cranky, have trouble sleeping, and may even have fever or vomiting. The mal ojo is symbolic of the eye that is staring at the baby (not necessarily in a malicious way), but could also literally be meant for the baby as it might also develop a swollen eyelid. This problem is not necessarily cultural but universal. Many who are aware of this will lightly touch the baby if they want to fuss over it, which they believe helps to break the intrusive bond. If a baby was fussed over in front of the mother, she would ask the person to make the sign of a cross on the child’s forehead with saliva and place a red string over it. While this could be seen as more superstitious, it was believed to prevent the mal ojo in the moment. If the child develops mal ojo after the fact, that is when a curandera is brought in to perform a ritual that involves an egg, a white rock (piedra lumbre), and holy water. Typically, the ritual is performed for three days, and it is believed that the child would then be relieved of his illness.

It is fascinating how many simple rituals and practices there are that have stood the test of time for generations, passed on by word of mouth from one mother to her daughter and then the cycle repeats. Today, curanderas are still raised or taught this way, but more than ever (perhaps because generational teaching is dying out), they could also become apprentices and learn the ways if they are not born with the gift of healing. In my research, it was enlightening to read about so many of these practices that I already knew, but perhaps by another name. Practices that once again became familiar to me because of my mother. I only just found out a few days ago that she (like Ultima in Anaya’s novel) buried each one of our umbilical cords in Los Angeles, California, where we were born. This practice was done to symbolize the child’s link to the earth, establishing a lifelong connection between the baby and the place, although she said she also did it so that we would not go “astray” and instead remain grounded.

But even with all I learned about my mother’s past and how much I realized she still held onto decades later, she believed she could not be a true believer and a healer, so instead chose the path of faith, which ended up working out for her. So, after all is said and done, I do believe my mother was a healer with a gift of curanderismo, even if she does not claim it herself. However, if not for this project, I don’t know that I would have ever dared to unearth the past kept alive through the matriarchy in our family. I know now that so many have allowed the “dying out” of these traditions probably because it was easier that way. Harder still, I also know that it will take a lot for me and others of my generation to preserve these traditional practices that are part of our culture and way of life, rather than erasing or dismantling it.

When I first thought about what I wanted this project to be, I had so many ideas and what I thought was a clear vision. Of course, the pandemic ensued, and a lot of what we had collectively envisioned ended up changing. But at its core, the purpose of this project remains the same and that is to showcase the many border narratives that surround us here in our frontera. Border narratives by way of spoken word, testimonios from locals, murals found across both cities that show our trials and triumphs, to protests and acts of resistance, recipes and rituals. I knew I wanted to showcase the frontera in all of its beauty while not shying away from what also makes it an open wound. I knew that that would happen by placing the spotlight on its people and having them at the forefront to share these narratives.

The preservation of these traditions and culture as we live/exist on this border means to survive the border, as Anzaldúa states. I wanted this project and others like it to lift up the border so that it no longer was seen as a division or barrier but instead the bridge that connects and holds cultures and generations together. But how will we keep curanderismo alive in the borderlands? How can we preserve what is sacred while shutting down stereotypes or taboos associated with it? Hearing my mother talk about her mother and grandmother, reading books like those by Gris and Rubi have shed light on the reality that these traditions still exist and can persist if we want them to. The memories are there and we have to preserve them, keeping our tradition and sacred practices alive. This is part of our border narrative. Now more than ever, our border needs a bit of magic and healing.

Written by Reyna Muñoz, Faculty Fellow
El Paso Community College, The Humanities Collaborative at EPCC-UTEP

Works Cited
--Anaya, Rudolfo. Bless Me Ultima. Quinto Sol, 1972. Print.
--Anzaldúa, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Aunt Lute Books, 1987. Print.
--Avila, Elena, and Parker, Joy. Woman Who Glows in the Dark: A Curandera Reveals Traditional Aztec Secrets of Physical and Spiritual Health. TarcherPerigree, 1999. Print.
--Muñoz, Gris. Coatlicue Girl. FlowerSong Books, 2019. Print.
--Orozco Santos, Rubi. Inventos Míos. Rubi Orozco, 2018. Print.

--Sesma, Grace Alvarez. “Curanderismo, the Healing Art of Mexico.” https://www.curanderismo.org/curanderismo-healing
--Torres, Nigel and Janet Froeschle Hicks. “Cultural Awareness: Understanding Curanderismo.” American Counseling Association Knowledge Center. Vistas Online, 2016. https://www.counseling.org/docs/default-source/vistas/article_396cfd25f16116603abcacff0000bee5e7.pdf?sfvrsn=f2eb452c_4