With reluctant steps I plod after the Señora. We enter the house. The floor is made from split palm, the walls, bamboo. High overhead, palm fronds climb the rafters making the roof. She places a stool in a corner and indicates for me to sit. Grabbing my shirt by the collar, she peels it down over my shoulders like she would a banana, then pours a glass of alcohol over my head. It runs down my neck and back. It drips off my nose.