In the final days of Marleny Mesa’s pregnancy, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. She could barely breathe, for one thing. For another, her anxiety and physical discomfort were approaching what felt like an unbearable peak. A week or so later, she delivered a tiny, squirming boy with jet black hair and soft, curious eyes. She and her husband, Andrés Noscue, named him Eliad. Marleny thought he was perfect, but her mother, a retired midwife, insisted that the placenta contained a hint of trouble. It was far too big, she said, and Eliad was too small, probably because he did not have enough room in her womb to grow. His grandmother thought he might need an incubator. Marleny thought he was fine, but when the baby was a few days old, she and Andrés traveled from the Jerusalén-San Luis Alto Picudito Indigenous reservation in Putumayo, Colombia, to take him to Villagarzón for a checkup, just to be safe. This proved harder than they expected. The baby could not be ...