Hey, it’s Sunday and I’m guest-blogging over at mister anchovy’s place. All about wine.
But before you go racing over there, here is something to think on.
My deep and meaningful thought for the week.
Deep in the Amazonian jungle, there is a primitive Indian tribe, the Dioreah, which existed in peaceful coexistance with all its neighbours. This is an unusual way of life in these regions where poisoned arrows are a natural part of existence.
Yet while all the surrounding tribes welcomed the arrival of medical missionaries during the 20th century, the Dioreah were quite homicidal towards doctors.
Eventually several anthropologists were dispatched in an attempt to discover the reasons for this abberant behaviour. Most of the group were massacred out of hand but the last remaining anthropologist was able to convince them that he was not a doctor.
He spent almost a year with them and eventually found the reason for their strange habit of killing the doctors and nurses who visited them.
Their diet was mostly protein, with very little roughage so, like all the tribes around them, they suffered from perpetual constipation. The doctors would instruct the nurses to cure this problem in the standard, undignified, Western way. Most of the tribes were accepting but the Dioreah hated the Western remedy with a deep and bitter hatred.
What hadn’t been noticed by the self-righteous medicos was that the people of this tribe had a folk remedy and used the leaves of a particular fern as a natural cure for the constipation.
And, with fronds like these, who needs enemas?