PREPARATIONS FOR EQUATORIAL AFRICA

Search for the Ageless Vol. 1, p.93 t/m. 97:

It was at the beginning of one of my summer vacations from my studies at the University of Paris, when it came to my attention that our colonial office had decided to send a small medical expedition to French Equatorial Africa to try and find a workable treatment for an epidemic fever which was baffling our tropical specialists. I decided to volunteer and offered my services to the medical department of the colonial office. They accepted, as it was the custom to allow medical students in their senior year to undertake projects of this kind as useful experience, and I was glad because it would be counted as study credit when I returned to the university in the fall.

But from my very first meeting with the three physicians and their assistants who would make up the expedition, I felt that things would not go well. The general lack of organization was only one factor, another being the attitude of the three physicians. When I explained to them that my main purpose for going was to try out certain methods of healing practiced by an ancient Essene group of healers at Lake Mareotis and the Dead Sea, and when they understood that my very unorthodox points of departure would come from Plinius, the Roman natural scientist; from Josephus, the Roman historian; and from Philo, the Alexandrian philosopher, in addition to an obscure and as yet unknown manuscript I had discovered in the Archives of the Vatican, they began to look at me with suspicion, to put it mildly. With barely civil courtesy they made it clear that I would not be able to count on their cooperation, but that since I had already been chosen I could have my freedom to do independently whatever I wished, once we reached our destination. This was not exactly the kind of fraternal atmosphere necessary to the launching of such an expedition, but I suppose I couldn't blame them, considering their dogmatic education and one-sided training.

It took about ten days for everyone to prepare their equipment, and we then proceeded to equatorial Africa, having an uneventful journey. My provisions were so light that everyone thought I had left my baggage at home. In addition to my few personal things, I carried only a container of almonds, a lot of different seeds for germinating purposes, a small bag of dried garlic, and a very small apparatus to distill water. In contrast, my illustrious colleagues had trunk after trunk loaded on board ship, a huge supply of canned foods, cartons and cartons of bottled drinks, and an entire portable laboratory well-stocked with drugs and medicines of all kinds. They looked rather contemptuously at my meager baggage, but I just shrugged and lent a helping hand to get all their provisions on board.

MY ADAPTATIONS OF THE ANCIENT ESSENE METHODS OF HEALING

We arrived to equatorial Africa and set up our headquarters in a small village where the mysterious fever had already claimed a great number of victims. We settled in and independently organized our respective activities. The three physicians and their assistants set up their portable laboratory and began all kinds of medical tests, trying out different drugs in varying doses with groups of natives, and performing autopsies on some of the numerous corpses as yet unburied. For my part, I was not interested in the dead, nor was I particularly concerned with discovering the exact microbe which had caused the disease; rather, I was anxious to empirically cure the ill, and as quickly as possible.

After some initial difficulties, I was successful in securing the cooperation of a small group of natives, all with very high fevers, whose families were willing to let me try my methods of healing on them. First, I distilled water and let them drink small amounts at frequent intervals. Then I submerged my patients several times a day in cold water for the purpose of deconducting heat from the body. I forbade them to eat anything, only to drink the water which I had distilled myself. This was the most difficult rule to enforce, particularly when their families began to worry they would starve to death before the fever claimed them. These well-meaning relatives were also surprised when I threw all the windows open in their little huts to have the maximum of fresh air, and they were most uneasy when they saw their sick loved-ones being submerged in cold water when they were burning with fever. However, they seemed to have a faint suspicion that I might know what I was doing, and thought that probably I had not come from so far away if I did not have something useful to offer in the way of a cure. So at least they did not interfere with my treatments, and little by little the results started to show. After five or six days their fevers went down gradually and then I let my patients take in very small amounts of fresh fruits frequently through the day. But I took utmost care in selecting those fruits myself and used only those whose skins were intact and not split at any point. (Needless to say, regarding my own health, I ate only from those foods I had brought with me, being careful to distill all the water I drank and take the same care in selecting local fruits.) After a few days of this fruit diet, my patients were getting a good night's sleep, and in a few more days they were able to leave their beds, starting with frequent small walks. And in two weeks they were perfectly cured and able to return to their work. I felt a tremendous satisfaction that the ancient Essene methods of treatment worked as well in the twentieth century as they had two thousand years before, and my opinion of Plinius, the Roman natural scientist who described these treatments in the manuscripts I found at the monastery at Monte Cassino, became even more respectful when I actually saw these cures taking place.

THE SAD FATE OF MY COLLEAGUES

I had become so involved with curing my patients that I had almost forgotten about my three colleagues, and now I decided to see how they were doing before continuing with my work. They were not doing very well. Apparently, the drugs they used were only temporarily effective and their patients usually died. Autopsies had not uncovered any answers, and worst of all, two of the physicians contracted the disease themselves and within a few days they were dead. The third physician began to show beginning symptoms and fever, and the two assistants were getting badly demoralized. Very worried and helpless m the face of these calamities, they asked if I would talk to the natives and ask them to bury the dead physicians. I did, and became a kind of liaison officer between themselves and the village people, an easy task in view of the popularity I had achieved by curing those families I had attended. I wanted also to help the third physician, but he refused my help utterly and continued to give instructions to the two assistants about different drugs and medications. For my part, I felt fine, doing very well by eating my almonds, drinking my distilled water and carefully selecting those local fruits which had no opening in the skin. Even the hot, humid climate and inevitable tropical hardships did not affect me too much.

THE UNCOMFORTABLE SIGHT OF MY OWN GRAVE

My third surviving colleague, in spite of his own efforts, became more and more delirious and finally he died also. That was the final straw for the assistants, and in near panic they took the next little boat which appeared on the river and departed for France, convinced they would die too if they stayed one more day. I have to confess I was also rather disoriented by these events, suddenly being left alone with all the medical equipment and all three colleagues dead, one of them unburied. So the first thing I did was to ask my native friends to dig another grave, thinking meanwhile what course of action I would take. When they called me to inspect their work, I found to my great surprise they had dug two graves instead of one! I asked them why they had made two graves? One of the natives looked at me and said, with angelic innocence, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Well, the second one is for you! Since all of you will die here, we thought it was best to make your grave at the same time so we would not have to work twice!" Now those were not exactly comforting words, and in spite of my apparent well-being and satisfactory almond diet, I felt a certain amount of insecurity, especially as I officiated at the interment of my third colleague, standing at the brink of a fourth open grave. It was definitely not a tempting prospect to be buried in equatorial Africa! So I went to sleep that night thinking that in the morning I would concentrate and take the right decision.

THE APOCALYPSE: FIERY HOLOCAUST AND A SEA OF KILLER ANTS

I never had the chance, because just before dawn the right decision was taken for me. I was roughly shaken awake in the half-darkness by my native friends who were gesticulating and shouting in their broken French that I must leave everything and run with them immediately. I looked out of my tent and saw that everyone was indeed running in one direction from the village. Not only people, but all kinds of wild creatures were running with them, and I saw what looked like a forest fire in the distance and smelled the acrid smoke which added to the apocalyptic early morning vision. Thinking that they probably all knew what they were doing, I paused only long enough to grab my sturdy boots and ran out with them, wearing only my nightgown and a hat. While we were running, one of my friends suddenly grabbed my arm and told me to look back. I did, and saw with horror what it was that the natives were really running away from. The forest fire was only a small danger in comparison with a gigantic ocean of vicious red ants which were advancing with incredible speed, one on top of the other to form a moving wall of killer insects, devouring and destroying everything in their path. I realized then that we were running for our very lives and I doubled my efforts. It would have been fatal to slow down, as the distance between us and the ants stayed about the same. I don't know what would have happened if we had not finally reached the river which suddenly appeared, flowing before us like a magic carpet to the promised land. We threw ourselves into the water, swam to the other side and practically collapsed from fatigue. From the exhausted relief on the faces of my friends, I understood that we were now safe from both the forest fire and the ants. And I was very relieved to see that the women and children had been evacuated first and were already safe there on the bank. Apparently, this hideous combination of forest fire and ant invasion was not infrequent in that part of the world, and I wondered at the courage it must have taken just to survive there, year in and year out. I still think of it sometimes when a young, idealistic future homesteader comes to tell me of his dream of escaping one day to live happily ever after in a tropical "paradise."

I lost count of the hours, but it seemed an endless time that we were immobilized on that side of the river, watching the fiery holocaust consume the village in the distance. Finally, my friends told me it would be safe to return and we did, finding a very sad spectacle. Everything which had not been burned to a crisp had been destroyed by the ants. All the sophisticated medical supplies, which had proved so tragically useless to my colleagues, were now just shreds of metal and glass. Every rubber part was gone, eaten by the ants. I was very lucky just to be able to fashion a somewhat normal4ooking traveling outfit, and I left as soon as possible, saying a grateful farewell to those who had saved my life. They replied that since I had saved some of their own people, it was the least they could do.

SORROWFUL RETURN TO PARIS

When I arrived back to France, I wrote a brief report of everything that had happened and took it to the medical department of our colonial office in Paris. They were very unhappy about the sad end of our mission and understandably had little enthusiasm for my report, the success of my efforts being overshadowed by the death of three of their best men. The expedition received very little publicity, in fact, it was purposely hushed up and forgotten. However, I did receive a nice little letter after about ten days from the colonial office, thanking me for my efforts and services, saying they realized there was nothing further I could have done against such overwhelming odds.

At the time, it seemed simply the end of a wasted vacation which almost ended with my becoming a meal for giant red ants. However, thinking back on it, I see now another valuable proof of the validity of the Essene teachings, and the fact that through these simple and natural healing methods, there are still some natives in that little village in what was French Equatorial Africa, who are the descendants of victims of a supposedly incurable epidemic tropical fever, but who survived thanks to my Essene-inspired efforts.