After thirteen years of living on Calle Mariposa, you’d think the neighbors would realize by now that I’m really a good neighbor. It could be so much worse, but instead, they have me. I don’t make noise. I don’t have parties, play loud music, or get drunk on weekends. I don’t make problems. I keep to myself. If a neighbor needs help, they can count on me. When two houses burned down in the neighborhood, I raided my kitchen and closets for things I could give them. When one of the boys wanted to train for professional soccer tryouts, I gave him all the tires from my garden so he could use them. When the dog got sick, I treated it with my own supply of veterinary meds. When my trees have an abundance of fruit, more than I could possibly eat, I share it around all the houses in the street.
Even after all that, and all these years, the neighbors still believe it’s okay to cause me harm. This isn’t the first time. Each time they’ve done something completely awful, I’ve not retaliated or responded, and just moved on peacefully without holding any grudges. Now, they’ve thrown poison on my front garden and laughed in my face when I asked them to stop killing my plants. They enjoyed it so much, they did it a second time after the plants grew back. I feel at this point there must be some consequences to their actions. Attacking “the gringa” every time they have an issue with my mere existence isn’t acceptable. It’s never been acceptable. In the past, I’d have let it go, but I’m so done with this endless high-school bully type of nonsense. Culturally, because I usually don’t react, they see me as a weak helpless woman. Little do they know…
I’m not a vengeful person. It’s not in my heart to seek revenge or hurt people. I grew up surrounded by angry grudge-holding relatives who could carry life-long petty resentments all the way to their graves. In that respect, I’ve never wanted to be like any of them. Honestly, I just want to live in peace and be left alone. But… if someone is poking the bear so to speak, at some point there must be consequences. The bear will eventually wake up. Unfortunately, I have now found myself in a position where I feel it has become necessary to protect myself. There is no intention to harm anyone. I would never do that. Besides, karma is always watching who puts out the good and bad energies in the world and it does eventually come around but those wheels can turn too slowly sometimes. Unfortunately, karma is taking a little too long to present herself to my vicious neighbors. It’s time to take matters into my own hands and make an impactful statement.
Most of the women in the village already believe I’m a witch. It’s time to cash in on that concept and take full advantage of the wildly inaccurate and often bizarre cultural beliefs of the nasty neighbors. You see, it doesn’t matter what I believe. If they believe it, it must be so. It’s weaponized reverse psychology. It’s been a while since my furious “I come from an island of devils” speech so maybe it’s time to remind these bullies that I’m not the walkover they think I am. In the photo above, you can see the voodoo doll I’m building from clay and cement. Just like the last voodoo doll I made from fabric a decade ago for another neighbor who was causing me harm, this one will also be filled with love, light, and positive energy. In my defense, it’s not my fault the local people automatically believe all voodoo dolls are scary and evil…
The plan is to finish the structure of the doll, after I fill that orange rubber ball with cement, and then write lovely words all over her body. Peace. Harmony. Love. Friendship. Forgiveness. Joy. Kindness. Happiness. Sharing. Light. Positive Energy. And, etc. I will then paint her and add some mirrors to her shirt, mold some long twisted horns for her head, and paint a scary monster face with big pointy teeth. She will hang on the front of my house, just under the eaves. Each afternoon, between 4:00-5:00 pm, the bright sunlight will catch in the mirrors and reflect the light onto their house, beaming the doll’s powerful voodoo magic straight through their front door.
Mysteriously [insert evil “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!” here], a rumor has already begun to spread around the village that I’m brewing up a powerful spell. Soon, it will be revealed that the spell is captured in all the mirrors on the voodoo doll and will be projected outwards. Then, the neighbors will somehow come to learn what the “Mirror Spell” means; what happens to me, happens to you. It’s basically Karma 101 but it will likely scare the crap out of them and they might think twice the next time they’re thinking of pulling some evil stunt against “the helpless gringa” who lives across the street. This way, I can protect myself without hurting anyone. No harm, no foul.
There is another idea that pops up every so often but I’ve never actually executed it before. The inauguration of the voodoo doll on a dark moonless night could be appropriately accompanied by the bone-chilling sounds of Tasmanian devils’ screeching played at midnight through a Bluetooth speaker with the volume ramped up to ten. I’d turn off all the lights here and lie on the floor with a pillow to laugh into and the glow from the phone hidden from view. It could be perfect timing. I imagine the people who named those creatures thought a thousand devils were rampaging through the night to come and eat their souls. I wonder what a few simple village women startled awake by that ghoulish sound would think was happening to them in that moment? [Insert twiddly thumbs and impish grin here.] Should we find out?