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.