Faith and suffering on the shores of the lake of sorcerers - Part 1
Where we can't see, faith steps in — that things are happening as they should, that one day everything will be fine. And where conventional solutions fail, magic takes over — fulfilling our wishes.
Part 1 — FAITH
Would you believe you could conjure up wealth? Bewitch love? Extend your life when you only have a few days left? Even at the cost of... a pact with the Devil? There's a bet on it around Lake Catemaco in the state of Veracruz, Mexico. They believe this place is the “cradle of witchcraft.” And they also believe that these sorcerers can work wonders (with you).
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We came out of the jungle and, in the middle of nowhere, I saw a group of people standing under a lamp. They stood there in the dark of night, all dressed in black, holding hands and forming a pentagram.
“There’s more,” the taxi driver boomed, pointing his head in their direction.
“And you believe in this?” I asked.
"Me? No," he said, and I was relieved. Not that I wanted to deny him his right to any of the bizarre beliefs that thrive so much in Mexico and Latin America — but simply for the sake of feeling a little safer amid all the madness of Catemaco.
Immediately afterward, the driver stroked the mannequin swinging under his rear-view mirror. “I believe in Jesus.”
So we were back where we started.
"He appeared to me when I was dying. I was in a car accident. It was very bad. And just when I thought I wasn't gonna make it, suddenly he was there. Huge, on a white horse, in the middle of the glow. He spoke to me. And now I'm here. I believe in him."
"I see."
This place is full of freaks, I thought.
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In that March madrugada — that’s what Mexicans like to call the time between midnight and dawn — I had met the Olmec heads, attended a satanic mass, been detained by the Mexican army, and finally gotten this taxi ride, which I hadn't even hoped for anymore.
“There’s a lot of stuff going on here,” the taxi driver continued. "Some people are seeing a woman in a white dress by the lake. Even here in La Victoria, there have been people who signed a pact with the Devil."
After all, it's a well-known local legend that the Virgin of Carmen, who became the patron saint of Catemaco, appeared to a fisherman on the lake. The place on the shore where she supposedly appeared has been turned into a shrine, and people go there to pray.
This whole region is closely tied to mysticism. Its origins go back to the area's original inhabitants — the Olmecs. They were later replaced by the Mexicas, better known as the Aztecs, who brought deep knowledge of medicinal plants and healing practices. And into the mix came the Spaniards with Afro-Cuban and Afro-Haitian slaves, who added Catholicism and Afro-Cuban Santería. It’s no surprise that today you’ll find a colorful melting pot of religions and cults here.
People also believe in a number of supernatural beings — like the Nahuales. They’re humans who can take on animal forms, and in those forms, they wreak havoc. That night at the satanic mass, I spoke with a girl who said she knew one. "He lived on our street and turned into a vulture. We knew it was him. He moved around the neighborhood and caused all sorts of trouble. Then one day, the neighbors got together and killed him."
As you’ll see in the following paragraphs, such stories are common around Catemaco. Nothing surprises anyone here — whereas a European mind would just freeze.
Finally, the taxi driver dropped me off in La Victoria at my lakeside hostel. The water surface looked so dark in the early morning that, after everything, I preferred not to look at it. Thank God I’m back, I told myself. Actually... I didn’t even know whom to thank anymore. With all the gods and deities and spirits swirling around, it was too much for one night.
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Catemaco. Is a lake near the Gulf of Mexico — and also a town of the same name on its shore. It’s believed that for every street in this settlement of 50,000, there is at least one shaman, sorcerer, healer, or magician — if you like. They’re not the kind who pull scarves out of sleeves or perform card tricks. These are the Wise Men (or women) who act as surgeons, psychotherapists, and priests. They are called to deathbeds and broken hearts. They can heal, cleanse — but also summon curses or even kill.
Witchcraft in Catemaco became widely known in the 1970s when Gonzalo Aguirre, also known as the Brujo Mayor (Major Sorcerer), appeared on television. A boom followed, turning Catemaco into a sought-after destination, profiting — to some extent — from its reputation as the cradle of witchcraft. People flock from all over Mexico seeking help with their problems: health, love, money — even revenge. Witchcraft offers an alternative to those who find no answers in traditional medicine or religion. They ask Santa Muerte or Satan for what they cannot ask of God.
Does that sound pathetic to you now? I understand. But living in Mexico changes you. You arrive and laugh at the Indian rituals around pyramids and shake your head at the bizarre stories. But after a few years, you accept it as part of life — and sometimes you even find yourself living a little more spiritually, rejecting Western idols like careers and possessions and turning toward spirituality.
"What’s so weird about that? It’s natural to be spiritual," one girl told me last year, when I confided that I had recently become somewhat spiritual myself. It's not that I started invoking supernatural beings, but I began believing more in the power of human consciousness and the subconscious. In the power of nature — and that things don’t happen by chance.
In Europe and in the so-called developed countries, we’ve become used to approaching everything rationally and pragmatically — explaining and measuring everything by economic output. As if only what we can touch, what has value, makes sense. Spirituality faded away and was replaced by the pursuit of the physical, of material goods. We believe more in the power of the bank account than in inner wealth. Yet humanity has always been spiritual. If you take that part out of a person, all you have left is a shell chasing after superficial tinsel.
But Catemaco — Catemaco was a lot even for me, as open as I was to all sorts of mystical things. People dressing up as wizards. People sending curses. People sacrificing animals and invoking Satan. I don’t know.
Even one of the famous local sorcerers, Félix Oseguera, criticized, long ago, that some of his colleagues had started taking advantage of the troubles of people who came to them — just to make money. He said they had turned witchcraft "from a spiritual good into a commercial good" and complained that today anyone could pretend to be a sorcerer.
I set out to see for myself what was true, what it all looked like — and what to believe. I chose the most important day in this community: the first Friday in March. In Catemaco, it’s believed that on this day magical portals open and the local mystics go to recharge their energy for another year of “work.” That's why, every year, all the healers, shamans, and sorcerers from across Mexico gather there.
Join me to meet them.
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The ride from the village of La Victoria to the town of Catemaco took about 20 minutes in the back of a pickup truck, which operates as a mass transportation service in the area. I headed there on the first morning after arriving at the lagoon.
The town didn't strike me as very welcoming or interesting. It lacked the rural character of the remote and isolated village of La Victoria, yet at first glance it offered nothing of interest — just a network of similar-looking streets.
It was only in the centre, around the main market, that I discovered a few esoteric shops from which statues of Santa Muerte and Lucifer in many colours and sizes looked down at me. This was nothing new to me from the rest of Mexico — I've been documenting Santa Muerte devotees in Mexico City regularly for several years now:
As I was taking pictures of the local occult display, a dishevelled dude with rotten teeth and a Versace shirt came up to me. “I believe in the Devil,” he announced without me asking him, before explaining that he was also the owner of the shop.
“Oh, that's fine,” I replied. “And what does that get you, anyway?”
“Everything: money, women,” he chuckled, his face twitching.
“And how does that kind of faith work?”
“You ask for what you want, and you bring sacrifices.”
“Like what?”
“A dead animal, gold,...”
"What about some rituals? I hear there will be clandestine masses somewhere tomorrow night," I pressed him.
“I'm holding one,” boasted the man, who reminded me more and more of a B-class dealer.
"Oh. And could I come and check it out? I'm a journalist and I'd like to document it."
"Well... That's not possible. I've already got people lined up to film it."
“Then I can go too, can't I?”
“You can't,” he twitched, “you know, they'll stream it to the platforms and all.”
"Oh, so they have exclusive rights and then you'll scrape up the money from the broadcast? Do I understand that right?"
“Hehe,” he bared his rotten teeth at me and winked mischievously.
That's how it works around here, I reflected.
I continued to walk the streets, hoping I might stumble upon the house of an actual mage, where I could ask more about all the superstitions and stories and how things worked around here in general.
In good humour, I struck up a conversation with one of the tour vendors on the lakeside promenade. He offered me a boat ride to the place where the Virgin Mary appeared to a fisherman, then into the jungle to the Olmec heads, and then even further into the jungle where shamans perform ritual cleansings in a temazcal for tourists.
It all sounded tempting, but I didn't need that right now. Until the vendor hit the nail on the head: “I can also introduce you to the Brujo Mayor.”
Bingo! Brujo Mayor. Those were the words that worked on me. “What's his name?” I quizzed him. He said a name I didn't know: Hijo de Nahual, Son of Nahual.
"Oh. And is he the chief sorcerer?"
“Of course.”
I was beginning to understand that chief sorcerer was not a position held by some head of the local occultists, but rather a title that more people here prided themselves on. Because even in my investigations, every once in a while some other person with the title of Brujo Mayor would pop up.
“He lives a few blocks away, I can take you there right now,” the man suggested. I agreed to be guided to him.
On the way, he told me that he himself would go to him from time to time for ritual cleansing.
“What does that give you?” I asked.
"It washes away negative influences from you. What others who envy you send down on you," he replied.
I remembered sitting with a friend in the café garden in Ciudad de México in January, when a gypsy woman came up to us and wanted to read our palms. We refused. She nodded, but on the way out she looked me in the eye and said, "People envy you a lot. That's why you can never be happy." At the time, those words resonated with me.
I had heard about envy again the previous evening when an old taxi driver picked me up at the bus station. He warned me to beware of charlatans, "They use magic to do evil things. Sometimes they send envy down on you," he said.
“Envy is something you deal with a lot around here, isn't it?” I asked the guide.
"Sure. Envy is bad. Someone who envies you doesn't wish you well. It can bring bad things down on you. And then you don't do well."
We arrived at a modest house with a creaky vintage porch. As if he had been waiting for us, a young man with a boyish twenty-year-old face stepped outside. He immediately introduced himself: Hijo de Nahual. I barely noticed that my guide had, in the meantime, vanished without a trace.
"Come in," the sorcerer beckoned, leading me into a small living room just beyond the front door. From the first step, a strange heaviness settled over me. Stuffed dwarf beasts bared their teeth at the newcomers from the walls, staring like something straight out of a horror movie. Deeper in the room, amulets and religious artifacts of every kind cluttered the shelves. Yet otherwise, the house could have been anyone’s home: a little girl was watching cartoons on TV, an old woman keeping an eye on her — and throwing suspicious glances at me.
Nahual motioned for me to follow him through a door leading off the living room. Darkness awaited behind it. Without a word, the young man circled around me, shut the door, and lit a candle he held in his hand. The flame revealed blood-red walls, casting a fiery glow across the room. He placed the candle in a corner where I could now make out an entire altar — dozens of figures of Santa Muerte, Lucifer, demons. Scattered across the room were countless human and animal skulls, taxidermy creatures, pentagrams, talismans, and photographs of people.
In the corner stood a solid wooden table. Hijo de Nahual sat behind it and gestured for me to sit across from him.
My stomach twisted slightly under the gaze of all those underworld figures. The atmosphere pressed down on me, but this time I forced myself to hold onto as much of my European rationality as I could. I wasn’t going to give in to fear.
"Do you believe in any of these figures?" he asked, his voice calm.
"Believe?" I hesitated, trying not to sound rude. "I know about them, yes, but I wouldn’t say I believe."
“That’s alright,” he nodded. “So, what problem brings you here?”
It dawned on me then — I hadn’t even explained that I wasn’t here for his services. I scrambled to correct myself. “Actually... I’m a journalist. I came mostly out of curiosity.”
"I see," he said, encouraging me to go on.
I thought for a moment. What could I say? Sure, I had my fair share of problems — time, love, work — the usual. But nothing worth shortcutting through magic. Life’s challenges are there for a reason. Skipping them feels like cheating: you might escape them for a moment, but the reckoning always finds another door.
Still, the young sorcerer's sharp but patient gaze cornered me. What if he can see inside my head? I wondered. What if he really can curse me?
Nervous, I blurted out the only thing that was truly weighing on me: I was returning to the Czech Republic after years abroad, and maybe for good. Maybe, just maybe, a little blessing wouldn’t hurt.
He nodded gravely. "You want happiness and success in your country? We can make that happen," he said. “We can do anything here. Cure diseases. Summon the love of your dreams. Make your enemies disappear. You’ll never see them again. Do you want that?"
I was taken aback. "Uh... I don’t think that’s necessary. Thank you, but I came here more to ask questions."
"I can summon money for you," Hijo insisted. "Say the word, we’ll make a pact with Lucifer, and by tomorrow, you’ll be rich."
My curiosity got the better of me. "And what does Lucifer want in return?"
"The Devil likes many things," he said, pointing to a stuffed jackal glaring down from a shelf. "He likes gold. Talismans. Jackal teeth!" He spilled a handful of silver-decorated jackal teeth onto the table.
"Thank you, but really, I don’t need any of that," I said quickly. Hearing about pacts with the Devil made me want to run. The oppressive feeling was back, and growing. I needed to leave — now.
"I really just came to ask about traditions," I tried again.
"I can give you a custom cleansing," he pressed on. "To help you prosper back home. Protection from envy, bad energies — a powerful cleansing."
"How much would that cost?" I asked warily.
"Two thousand pesos for you. But it will be a great cleansing."
"I don't have that much on me," I said truthfully. "I'll think about it and maybe come back later."
"Then one thousand. Just for you."
"I’d rather not," I replied, feeling increasingly uneasy.
I hesitated. Should I go along just for the sake of the story? But a little voice in my head screamed: Don't mess with this stuff!
"And what kind of magic is that anyway? Black magic?" I asked.
Now I had him cornered. “Well... more like red magic,” he admitted.
“Oh, no thanks," I said with relief.
"But we have white magic too," he said eagerly, jumping up and leading me outside again — but only to the room next door.
This one was bathed in light. White walls, white candles, angels, saints on horseback. "This is where we perform white magic. I can do a white cleansing for you," Hijo offered.
By now, my head was spinning. I didn't want to make any decisions in this state. “Thanks, but I’ll think about it and maybe come back later.”
We left the bright room. I intended to head straight out the door — but he led me back into the red room with the demons and voodoo dolls, shutting the door behind us.
The heavy atmosphere settled back over me like a thick blanket.
"Well, 700 pesos then," he said.
I clenched my jaw. I hate being pressured like this. "No, thanks. I'm not interested."
"Then at least 500 for the consultation," he shrugged his shoulders. "As a sacrifice to the Devil."
"Fine," I said, pulling out my wallet and handing him the money. "For the Devil."
He finally let me go — but not before giving me his number, in case I changed my mind.
I thanked him and left, walking away fast, grateful to feel the outside air again.
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All the cheerful mood of the morning was gone. I was struggling with the regrets of letting myself get upset and run away, with the worry of whether I had messed with the higher powers, or even just the street authorities here in Catemaco. After all, I'm probably the most exotic visitor around here at the moment, and a fist in the eye. Anything can happen here.
I'm on my way back to town somewhere. I didn't even notice that the trip vendor who had led me to the wizard had reappeared beside me. “How was it?” he wondered.
“Fine,” I replied.
It wasn't fine at all. I just didn't want to talk about it. Especially not with him.
Maybe I should have done the cleansing, my mind raced. But he can't force me to do it like this! You don't do that with things like that. But maybe I should have gone through with it, just for the sake of the story, and I wouldn't have gotten hurt. But what if I had? What if it's all true? What am I going to write about now? No, I did the right thing. He must have been after my money, not my welfare. But what if? What if something happens to me now? That's bullshit.
I decided that I'd best go back to La Victoria and let my mind settle.
I needed a good meal and a beer somewhere to lift my spirits. I decided not to get off in La Victoria, but to drive to the end of the line of pickup trucks, where a restaurant caught my eye on the map. It was located – like most of the interesting things here – on the shore of a lake, and it looked like it not only had great food, but it looked good too.
But the wait for a ride was unreasonably long. Several of us were already standing on the corner in front of the shop when the (un)regular pickup finally arrived. I got in along with a few villagers.
As we pulled away, I pitched to our group to see if anyone knew the restaurant and if it would still be open. The middle-aged man sitting across from me assured me that they definitely did.
“And can I find it easily?”
“She'll give you a hint,” he pointed with his chin at the schoolgirl bouncing on the bench next to me, “she lives right next door.” The girl nodded.
In the setting sun we passed La Victoria and continued along a dusty dirt road through the trees.
Soon it was just the two of us in the pickup, me and Alison, as the girl introduced herself to me. When we finally dismounted, she offered to show me the way.
“What do you think about all this witchcraft stuff around here?” I asked her. She seemed so innocent, a girl from the jungle, not yet influenced by the world out there, sure to answer me without ballast. Even though she's still a kid, she could have been thirteen.
"I think it's great for the people who believe all this. It can help them. And if someone doesn't believe it, it won't help them. But they should respect other people's beliefs," she told me.
“And you believe it?”
"I don't. But if someone believes it, I respect it."
We came to a place where there was a kind of forest on the shore of a lake. The restaurant was spread out all over the place. It consisted of a main building on artificial stilts and then shacks scattered variously around the grove. A truly hipster concept, one would think. Unfortunately, it was closed.
Alison checked with the landlady. She pounded on the door of the main lodge until the owner of the restaurant opened to apologize that it was already closed, and promised to host us the next day.
The people around here, unless the Catemaco charlatans, are extremely friendly and helpful. So when I started to figure out how I was going to get back to Victoria this late, she led me to her family in their modest home, and there several uncles and aunts called their taxi connections to get me a ride. Luckily I caught up with the last pickup of the day. I said goodbye, hopped in the back of the truck and took the dirt road back to my village.
On the way, I thought about what the girl had said to me. After all, she wasn't the only one; another taxi driver and several natives I spoke to had similar messages for me: they didn't believe in it themselves, but they accepted how important local rituals and superstitions can be to those who do.
I guess that's my conclusion: if someone believes in it, such cleansing or magic can help them. Even if they pay a fortune for it. Even if it's just the invention of a charlatan. And if someone doesn't believe in it, no matter what the ritual is, it won't help them.
After all, that's how every religion works, isn't it? Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Satanism – it's all about believing in something that cannot be rationally proven. One relies on that belief when he or she is sick. They believe that there is someone or something up there (or down there) that will help them out of a jam in times of trouble. Just like it is here. Without faith, there would be no hope. Without hope, there would be no meaning in life.
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I stumbled back to my village in the dark. Instead of eating dinner at an exotic restaurant, I had no choice but to go to a shop for a six-pack of beer. I sat down on the balcony overlooking the silent lake. The lake where miracles happen.
I wondered what trouble I'd have to have in my life to put it in the hands of occultists. It certainly wouldn't be money. Or love. Or my dreams.
But maybe something after all: health. A man can have everything, but he has nothing if he has no health. And it's also something we can't always save. Although I recognize that health is also a reflection of something and a consequence of something, and we shouldn't try to circumvent nature. But if there was no hope left and a loved one was dying next to me, or myself, I would probably go to little Nahual to buy jackal fangs from him to make a pact with the Devil. Whether I believed him or not. I'd just trust that I did my best. Except for the fact that I've gone completely insane.
End of Part One
This article is available to all readers in honor of Walpurgis Night.
But if you enjoyed it, you can support my work by buying me a beer via this QR code (or through the Buy Me a Coffee):
In the second part, you’ll find out:
– what I saw and experienced at a satanic mass by the lake,
– how and why I was detained by the military at night,
– what a satanic amulet looks like and why mine no longer works,
– what else can and can’t be believed.
And here’s a little teaser: