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“Bismillah,” Zaidah whispered as she lifted the heavy blanket draped over the cot.

I leaned over—and froze. There lay her baby, sleeping peacefully, wrapped snugly like a cocoon. But thick black lines ringed his eyes, and beside his tiny face lay a sharp knife.

Regaining composure, I said: “Congratulations. May God bless him, and may God’s peace rest on your family.”

Zaidah saw my shock. “Knives frighten the jinn (evil spirits) away, and black eyeliner makes him less attractive, less open to envy, and helps divert the evil eye.” She looked at my pregnant belly and added: “Demons like babies a lot—especially here.”

I understood her warning: I too feared bringing a newborn into this area of eastern Baluchistan with its rampant infant mortality. The harsh climate combined with poverty, ignorance, and poor hygiene claimed many lives. In addition, fear of evil spirits and sorcery, was woven deeply into everyday life. But our modern approach focused more on germs and presenting the gospel. That was the reason we had come to this region with the Vardys, another Australian family. That meant living with the people and exposing our families to danger.

Luke was born shortly after Zaidah’s baby. My instinct was to keep him at home and not expose him to the diseases rife in the community: tuberculosis, amoebiasis, giardia, typhoid, dysentery, hepatitis and malaria. But we felt God didn’t give him to us to take us out of ministry. We decided to take sensible precautions and trust the Lord.

One afternoon, Miriam Vardy and I went visiting as usual, taking five-month-old Luke with us. As we walked the dirt path between compounds surrounded by high mud walls, a woman standing at her gate invited us into a new home. She led us into the dirt courtyard to one of the small dwellings. It didn’t take long for five women and numerous children to gather around to meet the foreigners. We tried to communicate in Urdu, but they could only speak their tribal Sindhi. With characteristic hospitality, they seated us on charpais (string beds) and gave us milky chai and biscuits. Miriam and I tried to communicate using gestures, objects, and smiles, but Luke was the star attraction. As I let some of the kids hold him I noticed their multiple taavizes (magic charms with Quranic verses to ward off sickness and black magic) strung around their necks. How I yearned to convey that Jesus gives the safety they longed for.

Luke grew fidgety, so I used a common remedy: made a hammock for him by tying my chaddar (shawl) to the side of the bed. As soon as I placed him in it, an elderly woman started shouting. Her face turned red, and she flung her arms around, pointing to Luke. I couldn’t understand her rage and didn’t know what to do.

One of the children translated. “Feet—Mecca.”

I finally understood: Luke’s feet should not point towards Mecca. The woman kept ranting as I shifted the charpai another direction. Did she think I was deliberately offending her? The others looked scared and angry. Confused, I picked up Luke, as a little girl said: “Big sin.”

You could cut the atmosphere, and we knew we needed to leave. As we headed out, my eyes fell on the framed Arabic calligraphy on the wall: the last surahs (chapters) of the Quran, reminding them to recite these words to ward off evil. But it reminded me of their origin 1400 years earlier: when Muhammad was troubled by demons, he cried out for help to Allah, who revealed those chapters for him to recite. The Quran ends with the prophet’s cry for help that could have been fixed had he come to Jesus in prayer.

How good to arrive home, where peace reigned. That night, several hours after Luke had gone to sleep, loud screams jolted us awake. Ian ran to his cot, where he was flailing his arms and rocking his legs up and down. These were not “I want milk” or “I’m bored, pick me up” cries, but terrified screams. Ian held him close, patted his back and paced the room, assuring him all was okay. Luke’s screams continued unabated. Ian brought him into our bed. I tried to settle and feed him, but he kept screaming, beads of sweat on his face as he pumped his legs up and down.

With his paediatric training, Ian examined Luke.

“I can’t find anything medically wrong,” he said quietly. “Let’s pray.”

Believing we were facing a spiritual attack, Ian placed his hands on the flailing mass. In prayer he reaffirmed our trust in Jesus’ work on the cross where He paid the price for our sin and rose again, defeating the Evil One. With the authority of Jesus, he rebuked any evil spirit that might be afflicting Luke.

Instantly Luke went limp.

The screaming stopped.

He looked ashen grey as a quietness settled over him. I nursed him, and he quickly succumbed to a deep sleep. He slept through most of the next day, retaining that ashen look. I feared the next night and didn’t want to sleep. But after some 24 hours, Luke’s colour returned to normal, and he again flashed a beautiful smile.

Over the next days Ian mentioned the incident to friends in the clinic. Rather than brush it off as superstition, several described similar situations attributing them to the evil eye: a child would begin to scream uncontrollably, as if in severe pain. Doctors could find no cause to treat. Families often sought help from someone with spiritual powers—but the child usually died.

We were so relieved that Luke was okay. Zaidah (and many others) hoped a knife beside a baby’s head, or other magical methods would give them protection, but we were glad to cling to Jesus Christ, who stated that he has all authority in heaven and on earth.

The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run to it and are safe. (Proverbs 18:10)

– Dorcas Denness