Generosity

One of the most beautiful things about the people in Belize is their openness and generosity. I have been showered with gifts left and right from my students, from earrings and jewelry to drawings, letters, and snacks and candy. It also turns out that the culture behind this generosity is one to get used to and learn from.

In Belize, if someone offers you something, whether it be a snack, a piece a gum, or a glass of water, it is generally the polite thing to do to accept that generosity, whether you are trying to just be polite or are really are not interested in what they have to offer at all. This is a tough thing for me to accept. I like to graciously decline offers of food or candy or whatever, especially if someone spent their money on it and there’s not much to go around. But this hesitation recently got me in trouble.

The final bell of the day had just sounded minutes before. I was all packed up and heading off the campus when I was accosted by some of our male students who had just stopped at a street snack shop.

“Miss, it’s hot today, no true?”

I responded that it was indeed a hot day. And it was, with a heat index of over 100 degrees. The dry season in Belize had officially reared its ugly head. (There was one Belizean who told me that it was going to get so hot that all I would be able to think was “God, what did I do wrong that you would send me to Hell early?”) We walked together a little further, when one of the students offered me the popsicle he had just bought minutes before at the snack stand. Popsicles are heavenly, but I felt bad because I had just seen him buy the thing for his self just minutes before.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t need it, and you just bought it…” was my confused and trying-to-be-really-polite-but-failing-reply

“I want you to have it.”

“Thanks, but I really can’t, you just bought it, are you sure?”

And with a smug little grin on his face the student responded: “I want you to have it, so take it and stop complaining about it!”

I was silenced at that moment and slightly embarrassed. But I quickly recovered and, thanking the student and saying my good-byes, I quickly walked away from them and their continued snickering in the direction of home, while eating that delicious green popsicle.

It was in those moments walking home that I realized that in my own life, even when I don’t have a lot to give, I like to give what I have to those around me. It’s a blessing to be able to have anything to give. And for that student, it must have been the same way. And my refusal, though polite, was an insult to that blessing.

It just still goes to show that, even after 8 months of living in this community and as a part of this culture, I still have a lot to learn.

La Ruta Maya

“One minute ‘til go!”

The only noise you could hear was the roar of oars being tapped against canoes. The sound reflected the excited fluttering of the hearts of those both in the river and on land. 81 boats were being bracing themselves for the final buzzer to start their journey of 4 days and 170 miles across the country of Belize.

The bull horn sounds and in a flash the clash of canoes and the cheers of the crowds erupt in sync. It’s a mad rush to the next bridge, and after that a steady pace downstream to the next stop.

The Ruta Maya is not just a race, but a commemoration of what was once the only means of travel from the Western Border of Belize to the sea long before the highways were built. A tradition that reaches back in history to the Mayans, and shapes the formation of the country much like the river itself shapes the diverse landscape it runs through. This river is as much a part of Belize as its people, and for one weekend a year, it becomes its focal point. People come from all over the world to conquer it and uncover the beautiful country it centers. It has become a test of physical and emotional endurance that has been elevated to mythical proportions. To be a part of it in any way is quite the adventure.

Since the first time I had heard about this race I had wanted to be a part of it and some way, and I was given the opportunity to join the experience by way of support team for the canoe team of ‘Wen Green go Down D Riva.’ I knew being on the support team would be a lot of work, in addition to four days of sleeping in tents without the comforts of home in the middle of Belize. But in the end it was the travelling across Belize following the river’s path with a different campsite each night, a different location to explore, and the opportunity to see the real Belize. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and one I was so glad to get no matter how much work was involved.

The first day began with an early morning of double checking bags, oars, lifejackets, and supplies and then heading to Cayo to start the race. Just as the sun was beginning to peak over the first bridge, our canoe and the canoes of 80 other teams were lined up impatiently under the bridge bracing themselves for the beginning of this grueling marathon ahead of them. The support team, including myself, Nick the candidate, and Pio, the Bristolian Benquenian with years of support team experience were readying ourselves for our long weekend ahead while we perched ourselves above the river to watch the first takeoff. The announcer counts down. 5 minutes; 1 minute; standby. By this point our hearts are pounding along with the racers in the boats and the hundreds watching along the river. Finally the bullhorn sounds and before you know it the canoes are out of sight. It was time to pile into the old pickup truck and move to the first check-point.

The sun was making its way to its apex when we were making our way to the Spanish-Lookout ferry. As we walked to the shore-line, the mist was still rising off the green waters while birds and iguanas perched high above in the trees. Only 10 miles down the river, it was only a quarter of the day’s distance, but a good place to drop food and supplies for your team. Many of the more dedicated support crews would jump in the water and swim out to the canoes as they passed to ensure that the supplies would make it in safely. I was not that dedicated, and chose other ways to make sure my team got food.

The next stop was a bridge, upon which you could watch the teams, but also where you could get food and water to the teams by simply dropping it into their canoes as they passed underneath. I supplied my team with peanut-butter sandwiches, Snicker bars, and bags of water in much the same way. By this checkpoint half of the day’s distance had passed, and each team looked quite relieved to be receiving any sort of nourishment.

Finally it was time to make our way to the first camp site in Banana Bank to set up. By the time we had arrived, there were already tens of campsites to where it looked like a miniature tent city. We pitched our tents, started our fire, and waited anxiously for the first team to arrive. Exhausted and hungry they came to the end of the first day of 46 miles. After getting more supplies for day two, it was an early night; off to bed before 8:30, for I had a lot to do for the next day.

By 3:30 in the morning I had given up trying to sleep amongst the sounds of dogs and howler monkeys. By the light of the fire, I made sandwiches for my team and prepared to cook breakfast by campfire. Before the sun had even finished rising, we had sent off our team to make their way down 60 miles of Belizean river. Then it was time for up to break camp and prepare for the following day’s work.

The next stop was in the heart of the Creole community in a little town of Double Cabbage Head. The closer we got to Belize City, the more excited the crowds became for the arrival of the first boats. It was not just the other support teams we had to compete with for space, but the hundreds of people who had come to join in the fun. But we were able to find a spot behind some old house, and though the ground was hard as rock, it was close to the river, far from a bulk of the noise, and a nice cozy place to cook food and wait for our team. It was 3:27 exactly when our boat came around the bend (I only remember because Nick and I had made bets for when our team would come in, and he was right to the minute. He won a coke) and our weary but triumphant team had conquered the first day after a few mishaps of tipping the canoe. To reward them for their longest day, we prepared a meal of steak and potatoes. Fighting the darkness and the bugs we were able to cook a delicious meal, one my mother would be proud of, for it was my first meal cooked since in Belize. And yet again it was off to bed, this time being lulled to sleep with the sounds of music playing and partiers continuing the revelries.

The third day began in a much more leisurely way, since the time to start was 8:30. Our team set out, determined to ‘go hard’ and make improvements on their time and position (the goal the following days had been merely to ‘survive’) and I was given time to clean up a little, for two days in the dirt and sun using port-o-potties does little for the feeling of cleanliness. It was off to the river for me, to bathe in solitude with only the sunshine, the minnows, and little wading birds to keep me company. We then packed up the truck to make our way to the final campsite. While waiting for my companions to finish their own bathing, I was accosted by a group of Creole kids wanting some sweets. Though I had no ‘sweets’ I was able to offer some chips, and there was sat eating chips and talking to each other about canoes, the river, and just life. Though Creole is not a language I will ever master, we were able talk to each other in our own languages. It was then I realized the fullness of my experience here in Belize.

It has come to the point where I don’t even notice how different of a culture this world is compared to my own. I hear the sounds of Spanish and Creole being spoken and see the tiny shanties that people exist in, and don’t even feel out of my element. Sometimes I need to be jolted back into the fact that I am a visitor, and observer and that this is not how I’ve ever been used to living. Talking to those kids helped me to remember that I was so different, but the whole reason I had come to Belize was to learn, observe, and love—and through that make the world that much smaller. It was a big moment for me, and I’m incredibly grateful that I got to have that reminder of my purpose here.

It was then off to the third and final campsite in Burrel Boom. The crowds had infiltrated and what had only two nights before been a relatively chill camping experience became a noisy and crowded city of tents, trucks, and trash. Though the sign “No Litta Di Riva” was hung over looking the river to serve as a reminder to the people about preserving the pristine beauty of their natural scenery, it did very little to keep the trash from being scattered over acres of riverfront. Our team arrived, and had had a very successful day for they had passed 24 boats and improved their rankings by 11 from the first day. But this was the hardest day for them, and it was all they could do to keep themselves awake and cognizant for the rest of the afternoon. The next day was the last day and being only 4 hours, my team was determined to give everything they had to finish strong.

Because of the proximity to Belize City, we had many opportunities to follow our team as they made their way to the finish line. At the first observation point, as we were anxiously awaiting our team’s appearance, we were graced by sightings of the beautiful Belizean wildlife. As one canoe passed through, a dolphin jumped 8 feet out of the water, almost over their canoe. Before we were able to get over the shock and awe of what we were observing, the dolphin came up for a second jump. It looked as if it had been planned as a side attraction. It was an incredible sight, and let us know just how close we were to the ocean itself and how far we had come from Benque.

It was before we knew it we were on the final bridge in Belize City, waiting for our team to cross the finish line. After 29 hours of canoeing, 4 days of camping, and a whole country travelled through, our team made it to the end triumphant and full of stories. Just hours later, we were back in Benque, and looking out at the river and its beginning. Who knew that what was such a source of life for this society could be the source of an incredible, crazy, exhausting adventure?

Lorenzo

One of the greatest differences in living in Belize and living in the States is the obvious different in treatment from the surrounding people. In America, especially for a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl, it’s very easy to blend in to the crowds. And for any person, very little attention would be placed on your presence. In Belize, the complete opposite is true. My fair skin and light eyes have become quite the attraction with the neighbors, and they are not afraid to show it. Whistles, cat calls, honks, and other various greetings have become standard at any part of the day or any place in Belize. Initially you believe that this sudden attention has to do with your newness. Even in rural America if someone of a complete opposite race came in and moved next door, you would probably be intrigued. But it’s been seven months now, and I have yet to make a public appearance with out at least one comment from the Benqueneans, or Succotz people, or any Belizean that passes my way. Honks from truckers, kissy noises from passer-bys, and ‘hey baby’s’ from the random male have become as commonplace as the sound of dogs and roosters. I’m afraid my ego will deflate enormously from the lack of attention and ‘special-ness’ that my return to the States will bring.

There have been some specific episodes that have commented on this one major cultural difference. The men here are so forward. The things that have been said to me here may be thought in the States, but no one would ever dare to affront you about them. And this openness has been the cause of both humor and concern. To share an example of each….

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon and I had high hopes of getting some of my Christmas shopping completed before I made my way home for the holidays. All the other volunteers were busy with their various affairs, and I planned on making the mile trek to Succotz Village to shop at the stands by myself. Though not suggested to make any treks alone, I felt that the sunshine, the highly populated roads leading to Succotz, and my own bull-headed self confidence and independent nature led me to take on the journey on my own. So I headed out of the house, and made my way to the Western Highway. No sooner had I left my house than I was called.

“Miss! Miss!”

I continue to walk, turning only slightly to make sure I wasn’t ignoring a student.

“Please, miss, I want to tell you something!”

I walk faster, and as he follows close behind, consider turning back. However, I recognized this character as a person who lived just across the street. He knows where I live. There was no escape. So, sensing that he had no harmful intentions, I continued to walk towards Succotz, hoping my naturally fast pace and determination would deter his efforts. But he persisted in relaying his message.

“Miss, I want to tell you that I love you, and I want to tell you that I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

I’m unaccustomed to such open flattery, but I had to keep a cool head.

“But you don’t even know me. How can you know that you love me?”

“I just do. I love you and I don’t care what you say.”

There was no arguing with the kid. And he was just a kid. I asked questions to try to get some information about my ‘suitor.’ His name he was Lorenzo, and he had once been a student at Mount Carmel, before he was expelled. And boy was he persistent. He stayed with me for at least a half a mile, spewing love-nothings in English and Spanish, talking about his Corazon and my beauty and all sorts of things. Suddenly he stopped, the sun and the heat finally hitting him, and claimed that if I didn’t stop he would just turn back. I took this opportunity to continue walking, and his figure slowly faded in the distance. At this point I thought I was scot-free and so I decided to continue my trek, laughing to myself about silly Belizeans and their ideas.

Minutes later I heard his voice calling behind me. A tap on the shoulder later he was with me again and insisting that I let him take a picture of me with his phone. This was the final straw. I had to get stern with this kid. So I turned my teacher voice on and told him to be gone before I found someone who could make him. I must be really convincing, or butch, or both, for he quickly moved away. And so I continued my day.

I’m writing this for humorous purposes, and not to bring attention to the fact that I shouldn’t be walking alone from village to village. So, family, and other concerned readers, don’t fret. I only walk with others since this instance—at least for any considerable distance. I feel safe in Benque. The creeps are creeps, but they’re familiar creeps. And Lorenzo still loves me, or at least claims to, but proclaims this from the safety of his front porch, which I pass at least 3 times a day.

The openness of the Belizeans’ infatuation with me has not always been a source of humor or just blatant frustration. And that was showcased in recent weeks at the school. High school, home of the Belizean adolescent; where hormones run high and the blond-hair, blue-eyed teacher just feeds into the fantasy.

I was fortunate enough to not be assigned any boy’s classes, and this became so apparent the other day. It was 7^th period, and I had been assigned a substitution for a first-form boys’ class. I was doomed from the start. Limited work, last period, appearing like a 15-year-old girl—the cards were stacked against me.

I make my way into the classroom, and try to settle the boys long enough to give them the assignment of math problems. But sugar from lunch, 7 hours sitting in the cramped wooden chairs, and the proximity to the end of the day made their level of hyper-ness through the roof. Sheep-herder, lion tamer; babysitter. In that moment I became everything but a teacher. Papers were being tossed about, students were talking, and a few gems were actually working on their homework and begging to be let outside to work where the noise was much less. As I walked around, I was summoned by a few of the boys from the back of the class.

“Miss, how old are you?”

“Take your best guess”

The chaos continues, and I yell, but my voice is stifled by the chatter. I lay desperate plans of punishment, but in the end, all I can do is sit and wait to be saved by the final bell.

And then there was one persistent boy. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but quickly learned. He had once told me about his desire to have ‘blue-eyed’ children before, and decided to make his intentions known again.

“Miss, would you wait for me to turn 18?”

I can keep my cool for these types of comments, and usually am able to ward off such inquiries with the response about being too short or too young. But he was persistent. It got to the point to where he was getting down on his knees and begging for my hand in marriage and claiming that “I will wait for you forever!”

This is not the situation you want to find yourself in the midst of trying to control a whole classroom of boys, mostly because they are just waiting for your reaction to exaggerate it to incredible proportions. There are three possible ways to deal with this.

1) You can laugh. This is a terribly dumb but instinctual reaction to such ridiculousness as a desperate proposal. The boys go with your reaction and amplify it with shrieks of their own prepubescent laughter. This reaction also symbolizes your acquiescence to the request. Not the message you want to send.

2) Telling the kid he’s lame. This sounds like the obvious choice. Embarrass the kid and put him in his place. Not so, in Belize. This is not the right way to go in a class of boys. Tell the kid he’s a loser and the other kids start shouting at the kid of his loser-ness. The class erupted in shouts and guffaws, so much so that teachers from other classrooms visited to make sure all was in order.

3) The correct response. Ignoring the comment and moving on. This is the best situation, but in a substitution when there is nothing to move on to, it is very difficult to move on to, well, anything. All I could do was the first two of these responses. And I utilized them both, to the worst of results. Shouting, laughter, chaos, and finally, me standing in the midst of it scarlet red and embarrassed. I had lost control.

What occurred after was a standoff between me and the class of 1H. The bell sounded for the end of day, but there we sat. I wanted 5 minutes of quiet and I wasn’t going to budge before I got it. The room was hot and sticky with hormones and stubborn wills, that finally ended with an intervention with the principal. Voices were raised, threats were made, and my humiliation was complete. Perhaps teaching adolescent males should be crossed off the list of possible vocations.

After my story of the multiple marriage proposals was shared with the administration, the one persistent student was given the final demerit necessary for his expulsion from the school. I begged for his sake, and refused to give the demerit myself, for I know the limits that come from lack of schooling both here and everywhere. But my forgiveness was not enough, and in the end he was asked to leave the school, with only my guilt to keep his memory at Mount Carmel.

Belize is a beautiful country, and part of its beauty is the openness of its people. If they have a thought, they share it. If they have an opinion, no matter how crass, they give it. I’ve never before thought of how wonderful it could be to blend in, and be completely ignored. I’ve never appreciated gentlemen so much, or my freedom of being able to be a young lady and not feel like a spectacle. But I suppose that’s part of the fun of my current adventure.