Life Eena Belize

Sketch of Belize's Past and Present

2006-10-11T17:51:00.000-07:00

At 11:45 PM on September 20, 2006, the Prime Minister, Leader of the Opposition, the Mayor of Belize City, and ambassadors from nearly two dozen countries gathered in Memorial Park in front of a large crowd to raise the flag marking Belize’s 25th year an independent nation. Exactly twenty five years previously the Union Jack was lowered for its final time and was replaced by a red and blue striped cloth enframing a white and a black woodcutter, the forefathers of the country. Whether intentional or not, interestingly, the flag reflects that this new nation, despite becoming independent, will be the product of its colonial past. Colonialism, however unjust, was the still the basis on which the Creole ethnic group and culture originated. It had its virtues and vices, both of which, the country will inherit.

From what I’ve heard and read the country has changed a lot within the past twenty-five years not just in its political structure but in demographics, economic productivity, general attitudes and values, and foreign influences due to the absence of the British who controlled most areas. Yet its natonal pride and cultural identity are all linked to the past. Contemporary Belize, its struggles and virtues, are the product of its unique history and cultural makeup both of which were and continue to be extremely sensitive to outside forces.

I thought some people would like to get an idea of country itself. So in honor of the month that just past I’d like to share what I’ve gathered about historical influences on the development of the political system, international alliances, and culture and how they pan out in the post-independent social system.

Belize is located in Central America and has a population that is majority Mestizo yet is aligned with the Caribbean historically and culturally. This continues to be a struggle for Belize especially since its economy and alliances are aligned with the Caribbean Community (CARICOM). To understand this unique features its necessary to look back into Belize’s history.

During the 16th century European Empires carved and divided parts of the Western hemisphere amongst each other, Spain being the first to explore Central America and the Caribbean islands. The British and other empires saw Spain’s growing wealth and territorial expansion as a threat. The British engaged in pirating Spanish merchant vessels. By the end of the 17th century they seized control of most Caribbean islands while Spain controlled Central America except for a few portions of land that were uninhabited either because of disease and dense bush or the lack of any prominent resources, one of which was the territory around the Belize River.

During the early 1600s British pirates, who intercepted and looted Spanish ships, found a safe haven amongst Belize’s swampy coast, numerous cayes (small islands) and shoals (shallow waters that made the navigation of large ships challenging). Consequently, the European powers outlawed piracy through the Treaty of Madrid. This treaty, but more notably the presence of logwood, a tree that produces a valuable dye used in the woolen industry, prompted the British pirates to settle permanently along the Belize River. Spain formally granted the Baymen (which the pirates are now called) the right to settle along the Belize River to cut logwood and eventually expand their boundaries further south, as a concession caused by wars that Britain won and lost against Spain abroad. It’s interesting to think that the boundaries of Belize were affected by Britain’s success and loss in the Seven Years War, the American Revolution, and the Napoleonic Wars, all of which didn’t have anything correlation to this area of the world. It’s important to keep in mind that these treaties never permitted the British erect a government. They only allowed the Baymen to inhabit what was considered Spanish territories to cut and export a resource that was plentiful in other parts of Central America. The logwood trade was therefore controlled indirectly by the British Governor of Jamaica.

As the demand for logwood decreased, the settlers began to export a more profitable wood, mahogany. Mahogany grows deep in the bush, unlike logwood that is plentiful along the coast and rivers. It is also significantly larger and tougher than logwood. The need for more labor caused the Baymen to import slaves from Jamaica and other British Caribbean islands. The slaves spoke Creole. The word “Creole” simply means “mixed.” In this case, Creole is a mix between English and African languages. The vocabulary is English though the grammar is African in origin. (For example, “I already went to tell her that I am sick” spoken in Creole would be “Ah me done gaan fi tell she ah sick”) The Creole that is spoken in Belize today, I am told, is almost identical to the Creole spoken in other Caribbean islands, except for the accent, due to the constant migration of slaves between these places.

The controversy between the Baymen and their Spanish neighbors erupted when the Spanish Empire’s presence in Central America ceased and Guatemala gained its independence in 1821. Guatemala claimed the territory that the Baymen settled on belonged to them arguing that the treaties made between Britain and Spain granted the Baymen only economic rights, not self determination. The Baymen, on the other hand, deemed those accords obsolete since they were made with a power that no longer had any rightful claim to its land. Once Britain formally made Belize into a colony Guatemala was reluctant to forcefully expel British inhabitants from the area, though tension has always existed.

Belize was granted “full internal self government,” meaning they could form their own government, in 1964 while Britain still controlled defense and foreign relations. Full independence was delayed for seventeen years until Britain and Guatemala could agree on some resolution to this historical claim. Unfortunately, the two parties were never able to reach assent and instead agreed on topics that Belize and Guatemala must discuss in the future regarding the dispute. Since then however, little progress has been made.

Getting the international community’s support for Belizean independence surprisingly was sluggish. I was told that some countries found Guatemala’s argument more non-discriminatory than British’s since Belize was at that time was simply a piece of land historically claimed by a neighbor. But by 1981 all members of the UN admitted Belize with only one refusal, Guatemala.

At lot has changed since independence. When Belize became independent in 1981 its history, culture, and politics were heavily associated with other Caribbean nations. The majority of the country’s population was Creole, not Spanish. Most former British colonies adopted the Westminster structure government and supported institutions put in place by the British. It was likely and only logical for Belize to continue its political and cultural heritage by joining the Caribbean Community (CARICOM), a supranational organization presently based on economic ties between Caribbean countries with the hopes of fostering closer political unions. Yet since independence Belize hasn’t had the overarching authority that made molding its traditions with other Caribbean nations much more efficient and practical than with its Spanish and U.S. neighbors—the British.

During colonialism, the U.K. was Belize’s chief importer and exporter. The British created a market for Belizean goods in its colonies and gave them preferential status at home. Belize is currently a small country that produces the same agricultural products as other Caribbean countries yet isn’t rich in mineral resources. Belize is expected to buy Caribbean yet receives few benefits from the free market of Belizean goods in the Caribbean. Location wise, trading is a lot more efficient between Belize and other Central American countries than it is with other Caribbean islands. The majority of Belize’s imports come from the United States and the majority of its exports go north as well. CARICOM countries comes second in both categories.

In education, the Caribbean Examination Council (CXC) develops standardized curriculums for all subjects that are taught throughout CARICOM. Belizean students just like Barbadian and Jamaican students will sit their CXC tests at the end of fourth form. Given the small market for Belize products, its small population, and Central American location, the content on the CXC doesn’t adequately represent Belizean society but tends to focus more on the larger nations such as Trinidad and Tobago and St. Kitts and Nevis.

Given the influx of Central American refuges from the civil wars during the 1980s Belize’s population in now 50% Spanish and only 25% Creole. This was the opposite twenty-five years ago. Furthermore, a lot of Creole emigrate to the States to further their studies or find better paying jobs causing a “brain drain” in the workforce. It is the only Caribbean country where the Creole population is not the majority. Since 1981, the United States replaced Britain as a country that has set the standards for Belizean culture. Belizean television is one-hundred channels of American basic cable TV save for two Belizean stations. The United States is idolized by many Belizeans for its culture, music, largeness, shopping opportunities, and prosperity, not other CARICOM countries. There is a little more than half of Belize’s permanent population living in the U.S.

When reexaming what has changed over the last twenty-five years, we see that Belize succumbed to influences that are more appealing and efficient than what it has traditionally been subjected to and utilized. Belize has a British colonial heritage with a population that is the product of the British slavery. Yet it is separated from Britain’s larger Caribbean colonies and is surrounded by Spanish influence. Once the British left, though Belizeans were and are loyal to their heritage, they started to find it more practical and appealing to acquiesce with their Spanish and American neighbors. But their cultural identity, political alliances, and societal institutions inextricably bind them to their colonial past and Caribbean identity. The country is in a tough spot. The nation can’t live without acknowledging its heritage but can’t progress if it doesn’t take a course that will yield the most fruit.

Parade route of Carnevale 2005

St. Martin's Parish Fair May 2005

Belizean Flag & Post Office

Overview of Summer Vacation and Phase II

2006-08-28T11:45:00.000-07:00

Greetings everyone

I have a few more days of summer left until classes resume. I enjoyed my summer holiday. Despite its relaxing and slow paced nature, I found that I always had something to do. I taught summer school Math for three weeks at Sadie Vernon. The class was only comprised of six students, all of whom, worked hard and behaved well. I got to catch up on some books I wanted to read in the afternoon, spend some time with the Peace Corp Creole Grammar Book (something I should have done more faithfully when I first got here), cook, sleep, go to Placencia, have my mom and sister visit, and convert the extra bedroom into a “lounge.” We intentionally scattered random objects which we came across when we cleaned out the downstairs kitchen for the first time-- a set of paddles, a hammock, an artificial Christmas tree, a table cloth map of the world, a baseball helmet, and a burlap bag filled with 20 scuba fins— to evoke the feel of a college dorm.

On August 1, Chris, Adam, Musanda and I picked up our six new community mates from the airport. Three of the new JVs will be living in PG and the other three here in Belize City. We were thinking back to a year ago when we walked off the plane a year ago and saw a large banner welcoming us to Micronesia (another JV site in the Pacific). For a few seconds we were extremely confused as to where we were. We never heard of Micronesia except during the previous two weeks of orientation when it was spoken of frequently. Now we were supposedly being welcomed to that country. The six hollering white people holding the sign should’ve given it away. This year we continued the tradition and wondered if the new JVs would be just as confused as we were. They were not (probably a brighter bunch).

While at the airport I was thinking about how much I’ve become accustomed to Belize during the past year. It was actually a year to that day when we arrived in Belize. And now we were picking up our roommates who would probably be thinking and feeling the same things we were a year ago. A couple small observations about my very first impressions of Belize a year ago and my impressions of them now.
1. One of my first observations of Belize was the low water pressure of the toilet and sink in the airport. I know that’s a strange first observation but the first thing I did when I got off the plane was go to the bathroom. This year when I went into the same bathroom I admired how clean it was and the steady and forceful stream of water unlike the faucet at our house.
2. A year ago the airport seemed extremely small and dim which was exacerbated by the heavy humidity. This time the airport seemed much larger. Something I never really noticed the year before was the landscape around the airport. Living in a place where grass (provided there is grass) is cut with a machete or weed-wacker I was surprised by the well manicured lawn and the shrubs outside of the terminal when we returned a month ago.
3. When we met our roommates at the gate last year they gave us a bag of water. Sensing our confusion they instructed us to rip a tiny piece of the plastic with our teeth and then drink its contents. I can now open a bag of water without spilling it all over me and question why I’d ever pay $1.50 for a battle of water when the bag costs 25 cents.
4. Last year the new volunteers looked and seemed so much older than we were in a appearance and demeanor. They knew exactly where we were going and didn't seemed phased at all by the one lane roads, advertisements in Chinese or Taiwanese, and the endless undeveloped plots of land on the way back from the airport. I wondered if we looked different or were perceived to be older by the new JVs. This year on the way back from the airport I was filled more with excitement about the presence of our new community and the opportunity to share with them what they probably were staring at with wondering eyes than some aspects that still seemed a little foreign to me.

During the first week of Phase II (in-country orientation for the new JVs) we all stayed in our house in Belize City and arranged for some of our friends and co-workers to come speak to them on different aspects of the country: the role of the Church, how volunteers are perceived, the language, social problems, and teaching in primary and secondary schools. The first night we had one of our friends cook the standard Belizean-- rice and beans and stewed chicken— and served it with a Belekin Beer.

That weekend we held our retreat at Banana Bank, a Jungle Lodge near Belmopan, Belize’s capital. To get to Banana Bank one has to take the bus to Mile 45 on the Western Highway, walk along a dirt road for a mile until he reaches the river, and then bang the gong to call the boat to be transported to the other side. The grounds at Banana Bank were really nice. They had 330 acres of land complete with hiking and horse trails, a jaguar, a large bird house filled with dozens of tropical birds, and a few monkeys on leashes whom we befriended.

One week later we ran a summer camp for the students at St. Peter Claver down in Punta Gorda (PG). During the mornings we held classes and then sports and arts and crafts in the afternoon. Our theme this year was science. We performed science experiments and tried to impart to the campers some understanding of the scientific method. Musonda arranged a couple activities for us during the nights and on the weekend including Garifuna drumming, a trip to the Santa Cruz waterfalls, and dinner with families in San Jose, one of the Mayan Villages, and a stay there overnight. Though I’ve been to the villages several times, I am still in awe every time I visit them. All the villages are located along dirt roads that cut through the dense bush. Women holding babies peer out the windows of boarded huts with thatched roofs while the children run outside and either stare at us in confusion or wave. The women are dressed in the traditional attire and the children are wearing the same (though some just run around naked). Sometimes when crossing over the small plank bridges it wouldn’t be uncommon to see people either bathing or washing clothes. The lifestyle and culture of the people of the Mayan villages is an anomaly to the very open and loud way of life in Belize City. It’s always a privilege and a blessing to visit them.

Phase II was very similar to last year. It's hard to believe that a year has gone by since I went through it. Repeating a lot of these activities with the new volunteers made me more conscience of the small amount of time I have to take advantage of the enormous amount of valuable opportunities that living in an environment that can make me value the privileges I have been given during my life and the amount of privileges I'll have when I return home, being able to understand the vulnerabilities and poverties that can become masked in quotidian affairs and conformability we possess in familiar environments, having a community that supports and challenges me to grow spiritually, and the opportunities for forming relationships with people whose differences at first glance (language, race, history, culture) seem to outnumber our similarities but in reality share the same emotions, passions, joys, and sorrows, as we all do, affords.

Moving onto the second year of my JVI experience and seeing the anxieties and occasions of joy that have become ordinary for me makes me feel more blessed and grateful for this opportunity than I did a year ago. During the past year a lot of times I allowed these small occasions of growth to become nuisances or viewed them as impediments to getting work done when they were really the most important experiences to be valued. I pray that I don’t fall into this trap again and that I don’t avoid the truly loving, amazing, and gifted people and experiences God will give me along the way.

Santa Cruz Waterfall

Teaching: Romanticized Idealism? Mistakes and Improvements

2006-07-24T12:22:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long lapse. I find that the interval between each positing is getting longer. Anyway, mango season is coming to a close and my affinity for mangoes surprisingly was short lived. I’m typing at the computer in the principals office at school. I’m actually teaching maths (Belizeans mimic the British and put an “s” after math and for some reason I can’t stand this. I still write and say “math” out of spite though) summer school. It started two weeks ago and will be ending this Friday. It’s not that bad because it’s only an hour and a half every day and I only have 6 students. However they are from first, second, and third forms which makes planning lessons difficult.

I thought it would be appropriate to share some reflections on what teaching has been like during the last year. I have complained about it a lot but at the same time it has made me more aware of both my strengths and weaknesses, what it’s like to be a teenager growing up in Belize City, and clarified what teacher is supposed to be.

When I applied to JVI I expressed that I’d prefer to do some type of social work instead of teaching. Second semester senior year, I took a philosophy and education course where I came to believe that education can be liberating in itself. After taking this course I was excited to have the opportunity to teach the following year. John Dewey and Rosseau, simply put, describe a teacher more as a guide to students than the holder and dictator of knowledge. I hoped I could do the same. I had the idealistic aspirations of students teaching themselves with me acting as their guide. I wanted my students to appreciate learning for its own sake and see that it can be a source of pleasure and satisfaction. I knew that I would be teaching students who would be rougher and ruder than most students but still I believed they would value what they were doing in class. Ha! “Ah me had mi head eena di cloud den.”

My idealistic aspirations were quickly shot down. I was shocked by the basic level of so many of my students. They were not able to read smoothly, structure a sentence (let alone be able to differentiate between a sentence from a line on lined paper), recite their times tables, complete long division, and for some add and subtract two digit numbers. They were rude, disrespectful, inattentive, and careless. I realize now that my expectations to begin with were high even for a mainstream high school. So I was bound to be disappointed regardless of where I was teaching.

This shock didn’t last for long. After a couple of months I had a better idea of what my students were and weren’t capable of doing. I was able to discern what was challenging and what was simple and plan my lessons and assess them accordingly. However, the biggest cause of my frustration was classroom management.

Many of you know I am not very confrontational and at times am reserved. Though these aren't bad qualities, teaching requires sternness and the ability to command authority. I didn’t feel comfortable dictating what to do in front of a class of 30 students from a different culture when I couldn’t even understand what they were saying for the first month. It was difficult for me to feel like I was in control and get my students respect. I thought that easiest and surest way to create this state would be through reprimanding and yelling. Since these methods are permissible to teachers and not students I thought exercising them would remind my students whose boss. Accordingly, during my first months of teaching I was quick to give demerits and yell whenever someone wasn’t doing what they were supposed to be doing. I realize now that these actions only compounded an already bad situation.

Also when looking back to when I went to high school, I remember that whenever a teacher raised his/her voice, the whole class became quiet. I thought this was universal. Whenever I raise my voice to my students, though, they get defensive and argue back with a louder and more aggressive tone.

I had the same mentality with detention. When I was in high school detention for me and many of my classmates was shameful. I remember crying the first time I ever got detention. I was in seventh grade. It was during lunch and some of my friends were throwing food at another table. The monitor held us all after lunch and put us on detention, not personal detention, but office detention. A slip had to written out with our name on it, handed to the principal. After school we had to report to the A.A. (attitude adjustment) room for an hour. I was thankful I was able to leave school early for all-county band practice and missed the detention. I still felt horrible.

Sorry bout that. Back to Belize and my students. Detention and demerits don’t work for most Sadie Vernon students. There was one time though I did give a demerit to first form girl and made her cry. She never got a demerit in her life. I felt awful about it because two people in her group didn’t do their part of the assignment and as a result she couldn’t do hers. But they she had to realize that everyone has to accept responsibility for each other when you work in groups especially when your grade depends on everyone else’s participation. The girl also reminds me of my sister so I felt horrible when she started to cry. Anyway the students who care if you put them on detention or give them a demerit will argue about it and question your authority. This causes even more distractions in class so I learned that doing so exacerbates the situation.

Over Christmas break I started to read up on teaching and classroom management (something I should’ve done more of before I started). All the books I read and all the people who I talked to explained that when a teacher raises his/her voice or yells at a student it displays that he has no control over the situation and shows students that they have the potential to manipulate the teachers emotions. Shouting also reflects poorly of oneself to students and ones co-workers.

The books elaborated on the responsibilities teachers have in addition to lecturing and highlighted the power of positive reinforcement. When students know that positive behavior will be recognized and rewarded they become more aware of their actions and are more likely to want to do well.

As a result teaching has been a lot easier, much more enjoyable, and less time consuming during the last months of the school year (though there were times when it seemed I was back in September). I am thankful for having the opportunity to see improvements in myself and my students however minimal they are.

When comparing my idealistic intention of teaching to the actual reality I do not wish I never had these intentions to begin with. Teaching thus far has allowed me to juxtapose all the bravado of teaching and education with its reality. I still believe education and spiritual fulfillment can be liberating and rewarding for anyone whether rich or poor. However, I realize that idealism can be unhealthy if one doesn’t recognize the reality of the situation he is in. It can prevent one from dealing with reality most effectively. Here’s what I mean:

The Belize City reality is one where only half of Belizean teenagers finish secondary school, one where children don’t get the parental support at home, one where money is never easy to come by, one where female students have to dress, bathe and cook for their younger siblings, and one where the sense of hopelessness and neglect seems to affect everyone in some form.

When faced with these obstacles the value of education and learning just for the sake of learning becomes too abstract. There are so many obstacles that can prevent one from recognizing the joy that learning about something new and unfamiliar can bring. Sometimes those need to take precedent. If I stuck to my plan of structuring my classes to give students more of an opportunity to teach themselves and do discovery learning as I wanted to do initially, I would have lost them and it would’ve added even more to all of their frustrations. If I failed to recognize a student who put in a lot of effort into her work just because that’s what she was expected to do, I would’ve never been able to earn her respect and have her care about what she was learning.

As a result, given very loose control over what needs to be taught in each form, I tried to structure my lessons and choose topics that would allow my students and myself see progress. I realize now that the self-confidence and satisfaction that comes from completing something that is minute to the larger goals is the first step in working towards something that is ideal.

The King of All Fruits

2006-06-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

If somebody were to ask what is the king of all fruits, many would not know how to respond to such a query having never considered giving a fruit a name of such praise. Others, the ones who rightly personify their foods, would pridefully defend either the apple, orange, pineapple, or other petty fibrous protectors of seed. Well I can attest that the only fruit that was ever given divine right was the mango. I know the other six Jesuit Volunteers whose faith has led them to a part of the world which cultivates and nurtures this heavenly being as well as most Belizeans would agree with this statement and would consider the papaya and grapefruit to be on the lower end of the social hierarchy of fruit. And so should you.

First of all, unlike fruits that are available year round, the mango only graces us with its presence for a few short months. I say short because what has already been a surreal rendezvous will be over before I even know it. Though this is sad, waiting in expectation for something that brings so much pleasure and fulfillment allows one to really savor and appreciate its existence. The “weeping and wailing” that comes towards the end of mango season, as Henri Nouwen, a spiritual writer who I am sure was making Jesus a metaphor for mangoes, would say, “becomes the purifying preparation by which we are made ready to receive the joy which is promised to us [next season].” The mango, therefore, speaks to the human condition of longing for something that it purely beautiful. The pains that come with it are testaments to the joy and grace it will bring.

On a more sensible level, this fruit which is referred to on a superficial level as “a” mango, comes in a myriad of shapes, colors, tastes, and sizes all of which possess an individuality and uniqueness of its own. There are probably at least fifteen different varieties in Belize, if not more. Their names resemble their shape (such as the Slipper mango), their taste (the Apple mango), and color (the Black mango, which is actually green, and the Blue mango). The names of some mangoes don’t even have a logical explanation let alone a sensible title (such as the Number Eleven).

My affair with this fruit officially began last Friday. My second form social studies classes went on a field trip to the Blue Hole, a small pond in the forest fed by an underground river, and St. Herman’s Cave. On our way back to Belize City we stopped in Belmopan for lunch. The bus let us off in the market. I descended from the bus and saw that nearly every stand was selling one variety or another of this fruit. Mango season began.

Mrs. Tillet introduced me to the Number Eleven, her favorite, the Slipper, and the Haden mango. I found it fascinating that a fruit that I considered to have a standard flavor, could have diverse tastes, textures, and aromas. From that point on I tried to remember the shape, color, and flavor (if it was subtle or robust, tangy or sour, and the degree of sweetness,) so that I could become a mango expert myself and impress some Belizeans. Whenever I went to the market this week I asked vendors if they could tell me differences between each mango. Unfortunately, they’d either give me awkward stares, wouldn’t know the name, or were Chinese or Spanish, didn’t speak any English and would faithfully repeat “mango” whenever I asked a question. My attempts of finding a mango guru were, as one could say, “unfruitful,” until today.

This afternoon I was gluttonously gorging on some mangoes in the staffroom at school. Mrs. Hyde who sits a couple of desks away from me asked if she could have one. Wanting someone else to take part in this small but aesthetically pleasing feast, I happily obliged. I gave her what I believed was a Black mango. She told me in a serious tone that “dat de no da wan black mango!” She grasped it from my hand, cupped it in her’s, anxiously brought it to her nose and with a stern face sniffed it like someone who is a connoisseur of such fruits.

“Dis smell laik wan hairy mango,” she said (at this I began chuckling under my breath). “No, no it too sweet.” She bit the end, pulled the skin off with her teeth, and sucked out some of the juice. “It da sweet...... but no... no... ,” she was saying as she examined the specimen for any more clues that would reveal its identify, “eh ga no hair... dis da wan Judgewig mango! Yes da Judgewig.” “It sweet (she said sternly and took another bite)..... juicy (slurping the juice that was running down her hand)..... and no hair (she said this part with a smile on her face and an elation in her voice as if she is talking to a baby).

Excited by her knowledge of and passion for mangoes, I enthusiastically asked her to tell me all the varieties, how they can be identified, and what they taste like. A couple teachers laughed at such a question and so did she. Wanting to get specifics, I defined my question more narrowly by asking her about the Haden and the Hairy mangoes. I had Haden a couple of times and remember its tart flavor and dark aftertaste. I was eager to see if her description matched mine. However, she said the Haden has a subtle flavor. I asked why mine tasted differently. She explained that a mango can be picked and eaten during one of four stages: when it’s not ripe, turned, ripe, or overripe. Supposedly you can differentiate between a mango that was picked and eaten when it was ripe and one that was picked when it turned, ripened, and then eaten. I’m still unclear on the difference between ripe and turned. The Haden mangoes I ate were probably picked before they turned and then ripened afterwards. That would explain their tartness. I now realize that my attempts to classify each mango according to taste these past two weeks were hindered by the time it was picked. I was very disappointed in myself but understand that I still have at least a month to develop a fluency in this area.

The conversation then evolved into the Julie Mango, the sweetest and most pleasant of all mangoes to eat. A couple teachers were sighing just at the sound of its name. I was told that the Julie mango has a beautiful yellow color. Its flesh is juicy but not soft and it free from stringy fibers found in the majority of mangoes. However it is not easy to come by. Mr. Middleton despondently told me how she was only able to find one Julie during mango season last year. After that everyone was became silent. I’m sure many of the teachers were silently reminiscing about the times they came in contact with the Julie or that one perfect mango—the one that for them embodied heaven on earth.

I still have a lot more to learn about mangoes and experimenting with different recipes. But I hope after reading about my encounters with the mango, you can see that any fruit that can rouse such passion, dedication, and longing must posses some godly quality. For that reason, I urge you to strip yourself of any pagan loyalties and exalt the Mango as the one and only king of all fruits.

Belizean Dignitaries

2006-05-14T14:46:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that many times when I listen to what somebody is saying I unconsciously merge details from a previous conversation with the present one, thereby completely missing out on whatever was trying to be conveyed. Whenever I comment on what was being said, I am met with perplexed looks that convey the sentiment of "are you joking" or "are you serious." Once I get the same perplexed look everyone around me starts cracking up. I had one of those moments two weeks ago during a meeting with the principal of Sadie Vernon, some staff, parents, and the host of radio talk show in Belize.

Sadie Vernon is trying to raise money to build a fence around the school. Only a small portion of the compound is fenced in making it extremely difficult to monitor who is on the campus. A fundraising committee made up of parents, teachers, staff and community members was formed to help with this effort. It is headed by Evan Hyde a radio talk show host and an influential person in Belize. He suggested that we look into some long-term fundraising events outside of the small ones we were having at school. Since karaoke is big in Belize, he suggested organizing a karaoke contest between some dignitaries and public figures (business leaders, athletes). Seeing such important people willingly embarrass themselves would surely bring in a lot of money. We came up with a list of people to ask and businesses we should contact to sponsor the event.

We then moved onto talking about the school dance that we were planning to hold on the first Friday of May during which would draw the winners of the raffle we were running. School dances in Belize are usually not held at bars or clubs not at school. They are also open to the general public (other high school students and adults). I was surprised by this just as I’m sure you are. Mrs. Noralez (the principal), Nicole (another teacher) and I went to check out a couple places earlier that day. One of the bars on the north side of the river was in safe area and was right near the sea. However, they were charging $500 ($250 US) for the night, which was pretty steep. Mr. Hyde said that if we decided to hold it there we should not have it without the dignitaries and suggested that we move the dance to the end of the month to make sure they were available. Everyone agreed with him.

We then spent the next ten to fifteen minutes throwing out possible dates for the dance. We didn't have much luck because the dignitaries, as Mr. Hyde kept saying, wouldn't be available for the dates suggested. All the while I was trying to think why we needed to invite dignitaries to a high school dance let alone have to change its date around their schedule. The reason we were having this dance was to fundraise money to build a fence around our school which should've been paid for by these "dignitaries" to begin with. Not only were they forcing us to raise $40,000 on our own but now they were making us change the date of our dance because they couldn't make it. What were they going to do there anyway? Stand there with a smile on their face and then interrupt the music to make some cheesy speech? Our students could care less if they showed up. I could understand that people would pay to hear them sing and embarrass themselves but I highly doubted their presence at a high school dance would compel people to show up.

So I finally asked Mr. Hyde why it was necessary to invite politicians to a high school dance. It became awkwardly silent and everyone got that perplexed look I was talking about at the beginning. I rephrased the question in a politer way believing that I just offended everyone for even pondering such a thing.

Mr. Hyde respectfully responded that "Da Dignitareez" is a sound system/band that he developed a couple years ago. It is very popular and a lot of people would show up if they knew Da Dignitareez were playing. There was a couple more seconds of silence followed by uncontrollable laughter. Mrs. Noralez tried to justify my oblivion to Mr. Hyde and the parents whose students I teach by informing them that since I don't have a T.V at home it would've been hard for me realize that Mr. Hyde was talking about his sound system. I turned red and realized that thinking Mr. Hyde was planning to invite politicians to a high school dance ridiculous I started to laugh myself. We finally decided on May 12. Though it was soon, it was a night that Da Dignitareez were available so planned it for then.

The dance was two nights ago. I got there an hour early to help set up and stayed till the end. I stayed behind the bar or at the door with the other teachers. We had a good time and a good turn out partly because of Da Dignitareez showed up.

Lesson Planning Woes: Laissez-Faire School Schedule-Authoritarian Beer Monopoly-Revering the Monarchy

2006-05-09T11:28:00.000-07:00

There are four weeks left of school. There were really supposed to be five. The last day of school at Sadie Vernon was always the last Friday of the second week of June. After becoming a government school this year, the school began to follow the schedule for government schools, nothing really different except that the start and end of the school year and vacations are determined by the government instead of the Council of Churches. Much to everyone's pleasure, including mine since I found out that I'd be teaching Math and Social Studies instead of Religion and P.E. a week before school began, school began the first week of September instead of the last week of August. I'll get to that part a little bit later.

A couple weeks ago I asked the principal how final exams work at Sadie Vernon (ie. Are there final exams? If so are they given during classes or is a week devoted to them?). She stated that it was the latter and that the week prior to exams is devoted to review. With that in mind I was able to plan my lessons accordingly for the remainder of the year. Many call me crazy but I was able to actually plan and write out the rest of my lessons for both of my Social Studies classes and roughly outline the length of the topics for Math.

I knew from the start that I wouldn't be able to get through my yearly plan for my Social Studies classes. I didn't stress about this since I was able to pick the topics I wanted to teach. So not getting through all of them wouldn't be that big of a deal. Also the head of the humanities department is very lax about sticking to the syllabus and only checks my lesson plans when I give them to her.

Math on the other hand is a different story. Math, like English, is a compulsory subject, meaning if a student doesn't pass one of these subjects he/she must repeat the entire form, not just the class. The Math syllabus was given to me by the previous first form teacher and outlines the topics needed to be covered. The second, third, and fourth form syllabi are based off of the areas expected to be covered the previous years. The head of the Math department is really on top of things. He's a stickler with details and organization just like I am (or try to be for the latter). He also teaches Remedial Math once a week to both sections of my first former classes. He's able to explain the material a lot better than I can and can get through it a lot faster. Sometimes I walk into the room and see the board covered with problems that would take me two or three classes to cover. I am currently six weeks behind even after omitting two weeks off of ratio and proportion, which I was told would be retaught in second form.

When I looked at the yearly plan last August I was nervous not because I feared that I wouldn't be able to get through the material but because I thought I would get through it too quickly and be stranded in front of a class of thirty students with nothing to teach for four months. How I wish that was the case. I never realized the elementary level many students were at and as a novice teacher I was foolish enough to believe that I wouldn’t have to get into that much detail about many of the topics because it seemed too simple for high schoolers. ha!

So getting back to the first part of the story about asking the principal how final exams work and the fact that we now follow the government’s schedule. Many of the teachers including the principal, somewhere down the line forgot that school would ending June 23 not June 16, like it usually does. When they became aware of the last day of school (though we all received a school calendar at the beginning of the year) they became very irritated by the thought of having to be around students for another week. They also planned their lessons around that date as well. I didn't mind ending a week later than usual because I expected to do so and I already wrote my lessons and was very far behind. When I came back to school from the retreat we had last week I was told in passing that the last day of classes would be the 16th! The principal was able to convince the Ministry shave a week off our school year somehow. I was visibly frustrated. When the teachers asked why I was angry I told them that I already planned my lessons through June 9, the week before review. They all started to laugh and jokingly asked "what's wrong with you?" So now I have two weeks left of classes with eight weeks of material to cover.

We also have two holidays during that time. Teachers Appreciation Day on the 19th and Commonwealth day on the 23th. Belize like all former British colonies are part of the British Commonwealth, meaning Queenies photo appears on all currency and a Governor General appointed by the Her Majesty serves as a symbolic tie to the country. I don’t know what the festivities entail but I envision people chanting, “Long live the Queen!” (actually probably not).

For Teachers Appreciation Day the teachers at Sadie Vernon are planning a trip to Chetumal Mexico. Mexico is only three hours from Belize City. Many Belizeans travel to Chetumal to shop. Chetumal from what I've heard is an urban metropolis like many American cities, complete with malls, fast food chains, wide roads, and multi-plex theaters. We're going there to shop, see a movie, and drink beer other than Belikin, Belize’s national and solely distributed beer manufacturing company. Barry Bowen, a private citizen owns all the rights to manufacture and sell soft drinks and beer in Belize. All other products are illegal. Soft drinks include Coca-cola, Fanta, and Sprite. Beer includes Belikin Beer, Belikin Stout, Lighthouse (Belikin lager), Guiness (Belikin manufactured and tastes nothing like Guinness), and Heineken (the real thing). Belikin is great (the beer not the company). But I am so excited to have the opportunity to remember that beer has many different flavors which I’ll be able to try again in Chetumal.

Anyway, enjoy the free market and variety. Next time you drink Sam Adams, Bass Ale, Pabst, or any beer other than Belikin (which I'm sure is not in the States) remember me.

Easter Vacation

2006-04-19T17:21:00.000-07:00

Easter Vacation began two Fridays ago (I wish I was saying only one Friday ago). Our principal decided on a whim on Thursday to make Friday a half day and allow the student’s to wear their “rags” (street cloths) to school. Usually I get frustrated when there are changes like these in the schedule since I usually have my lessons and the periods I teach all mapped out. However, I already anticipated that I would not be able to get anything done given that it is impossible to keep students’ attention the day before a two week break, let alone during regular classes, and that whenever students are not in their uniforms chaos ensues. For some reason students think that rags days are sanctioned opportunities by teachers for them to stroll on the veranda and not do any work (though some of them have this attitude just about everyday). A couple times I tried to control this disorder and would force myself to get through my lessons. However, I would always be frustrated and annoyed in the end. For that reason, I allowed my students to work on the two homework assignments I gave them during classes on Friday.

One of the assignments involved tracing several maps of North America and the Caribbean, labeling the countries, and assembling the maps into an atlas. Most students have never bought their Caribbean Atlas, one of the books they were required to buy at the beginning of the year (that's another thing, high schools students have to buy their textbooks, the schools don't provide them), so I thought it would be a good idea to have them make their own. For math I gave each of my classes a load of problems to solve which drew on things they learned from the beginning of the year. I can't believe I did this but as I was handing out the assignment, during which students objected to doing any of them and made exclamations of "Madas Sir" (expression frustration and anger), I actually gave them the classic and ridiculous speech that was given to me by my teachers.... “When I was in High School I hated when teachers gave us assignments over holidays. But I realize now they were doing it for my own good.” I also told myself that if I'd ever become a teacher I'd let my students call me by my first name. That never happened.

Vacation started off very well. I brewed my third batch of beer. It’s now fermenting in a water cooler jug and am hoping that it does not lack carbonation or taste like vinegar like the previous two batches did. I think my roommates have lost faith in me. This time I used ingredients sent to me by my Godmother whose son just opened up a brewery and spent an two hours sanitizing the kitchen and the utensils I’d be using beforehand. So I have high hopes.

On Thursday I went to San Ignacio (this time by car) for a couple of days. Erin one of the volunteers down in PG is getting married this July. Her fiancée came down to visit her for Easter, rented a car, and was kind enough to drive some of us out into Cayo. On Friday we went on the Ix Chel Medicine Trail. The trail was started by a doctor from the States who came down to Belize during the 80s to study with one of the few remaining Maya Shaman (Bush Doctors), Elijo Panti`. She created a hiking trail out in Cayo named after Ix Chel the Mayan Goddess of Healing. Along the trail trees and plants were identified and labeled for their medicinal purposes. Our guide pointed out the Allspice Tree, whose berries that when mixed with beef fat "make an excellent remedy for foot fungus," and the Poisonwood Tree, which when touched can cause one "terrific suffering" if he does not immediately rub the area with the bark of the Gumbolimbo Tree which usually grows next to it. I also learned that chewing on the bark of the Cockspur can delay the venom from a snakebite from entering the bloodstream. I was both happy to hear this but at the same time became a increasingly anxious as the guide proceeded to talk about the Tommygoff (also known as the fer-de-lance). The Tommygoff is Belize's most deadly and aggressive snake. Its venom is powerful enough to kill a man if he is not treated within twenty minutes. Surprisingly, I have not yet seen a snake in the jungle and hope it stays that way.

Later on that day, being Good Friday, I attended mass. Mass was the same mass that is said in all Churches on Good Friday. However, unlike being read the Stations of the Cross like most Churches do back at home, individual shrines for each station were set outside parishioners homes throughout the town. After mass the priest asked for everyone to form a line outside, the pallbearers of a statue of Jesus in a glass casket in the front, followed by the men of the parish, and then the women. A truck with a megaphone attached to its roof led the way augmenting the voices of the group of people singing Lenten songs in the front. Everyone (about 3-400 of us) walked in silence pausing at each station as one of the leaders read a short description in either in English or Spanish. The walk lasted three hours. We walked from the church to halfway up the hill that culminates in the ancient Mayan ruins of Cahel Pech, through the town which was completely hushed as well, and across the Hawksworth Bridge which three weeks beforehand was lined with hundred of cheering onlookers for the Ruta Maya.

I came back to Belize City Saturday evening. I finished Harry Potter Four on the bus ride back. My roommates and I spent 10% of our stipend a couple months ago to see Harry Potter and the Goblets of Fire in Belize's only movie theater. Afterwards, I read the first book and have been hooked to the series ever since. I realized how obsessed I became with the books after I told Erin that I wish I could create a Patronus for mosquitoes while hiking. A Patronus is a spell used to ward off dementors—hooded creatures that suck the happiness out of anyone who comes in contact with them. I was hoping I could do the same for tiny blood-sucking creatures as well.

Most of us were in Belize City for Easter. A couple of my roommates had friends visiting which made the atmosphere even more festive. That morning we attended mass at St. Martin's. Most Belizeans go to Placencia or to one of the cayes for Easter so it was a smaller crowd than I expected. Later on I went to one of my student’s Church for lunch. Though she invited me personally I think she didn't know how to act around me outside of school so ended up ignoring me most of the time. However, I finally called her out on her behavior and she was fine after that. Afterwards, I went home and started baking the ham. I was hoping that somebody would cook us a traditional Belizean Easter meal, stewed iguana and hicatee (sea turtle), but were given a ham by the Jesuits at St. John's instead. I cooked it in a coke/rum/brown sugar/pineapple glaze trying to give it a Caribbean feel with the rum and pineapple. Along with the ham we ate smoked grilled salmon which Dorothy's mom vacuumed packed and smuggled through customs when she visited a couple weeks ago.

Since Sunday I've been spending my day lesson planning. It’s my hope to finish all my lessons for the rest of the year before the weekend.

If anyone wants me to write about anything specifically please tell me. There are many things that feel very routine but would be glad to tell you about them if your interested. Also the part about only writing to me by hand in my first entry was sarcasm. I hope people realize that. Many times I'll say something sarcastically which will be mistaken for seriousness. I love hearing from everyone and appreciate anything that is sent to me in any form.

RUTA MAYA Part II

2006-04-07T15:34:00.000-07:00

DAY TWO

We set our alarms for 5:30 which would give us enough time to eat and get ready before the start at 6:30. However, someone was kind enough to honk the horn of his truck every fifteen minutes starting at 4:30 to ensure everyone had ample time to get ready and scream how many more minutes until "breakfast is serving." This happened for the next two days. By the last day all the rowers were pissed at this guy and cursed him off in unison from their tents in the darkness.

About eight hours into the second day we were extremely exhausted and the last thing we wanted to happen was to tip over to prolong our arrival in Burmudian Landing. There were about a dozen kids swimming in the river. A couple of them started to swim to us. One of them grabbed hold to the stern and almost making us tip. I was hoping that Chris would smack him across the face with his paddle but he didn’t. I guess he is a lot more patient than I am.

Some ways down the river, people were standing on a hill near the shore and were throwing something at the boat ahead of us. When we got closer we realized that they weren't throwing water or food (at least not with the intention of being eaten) like a lot of spectators did but were throwing what seemed to be rocks. One of them hit the Hugh G. Rection and all of the sudden amidst the peaceful buzz of the flies, the chirping of the birds and the howls of monkeys one of the Brits roared in a heavy accent, "Stop throwing plums you f***ing wankers." Belizean plums aren’t the one’s we’re used to. They are picked while they are still hard and are eaten with salt. Having one of them chucked at you from a distance would definitely hurt. I thought it was pretty funny.

Later on we came across the Hugh G. Rection again. One of the Brits asked, "Are we lost?" I gave her a perplexed look and was about to say, "How the hell can anyone get lost on a straight river" but realized she meant "are we 'last?'" My response, "what the hell do you think, of course we're last!"

By the end of the second day there were blisters all over my ass and what appeared to be an open sore on one of the cheeks (sorry for the explicit details). Adam's was worse. We couldn't sit let alone stretch. When you're in the boat, you really don't have the liberty of choosing different sitting positions and when you do you must do so with caution so not to upset the balance. As a result, the weight of your upper body is concentrated on your bottom for an extended period of time. Having to exert these muscles to correct the balance when you tilt only exacerbates and irritates this already sensitive area. On the third day I got it checked out at first aid. I felt embarrassed but the last thing I wanted was to get an infection in that area.

One of the guys on the crew team at Holy Cross got an infection in this area freshman year. He had to have surgery to remove the infected parts and carry a pillow around with him wherever he went. I could only imagine what it'd be like having to explain to my students who are extremely blunt and already try to find ways to mock their teachers why I couldn’t sit down. So I got it cleaned up, padded and patched. They put a very thick piece of tape on it (which almost seemed like the material they make a cast out of) so the bandage wouldn't fall out. The worse part was taking it off after the race on the fourth day. I knew it would be easiest to pull it off with one fast yank. However whenever I tried, the adhesive was so strong that I didn’t have enough strength to do so. I had to yank it in five second intervals and then wait ten minutes to gather enough courage to do it again. It finally came off after an hour and a half.

DAY THREE

On the third day we had a great start and were actually rowing in the middle of the pack. However two hours into the race the fat girl boat snuck up from behind and bumped us into the pricker bushes on the side of the river. The boat tipped causing water to flood the hull and then started to sink. We were able to pull the boat out of the bush but weren't able to flip it over because the water was too deep to stand and the side of the river was lined with thorny plants. So we had to wait about ten minutes for the safety boat which stayed behind the last boat to reach us. They were able to pull the canoe over their boat, empty the water, turn it over, and send us on our way. Though we were able to catch some of the Japanese people and the fatties we weren't able to go back to our previous position.

DAY FOUR

The last day was the shortest of all four. It was only twenty miles and took between four and five hours. Two thirds of the way we approached the mouth of the river which emptied into the sea. But we had to make a sharp right hand turn into Haulover Creek, a tributary of the Belize River, which would take us into the heart of Belize City and to the finish line. Living in Belize City, I'm used to seeing the end of the Creek— a wide waterway surrounded by urban infrastructure. I was surprised to see that the majority was in fact a narrow jungle passageway covered by a cathedral-like canopy of green tropical plants of all shapes and sizes that vines that plummeted into the river and wrapped themselves around trees whose roots extended beyond the soil into the middle of the stream. It was quite a sight.

After an hour of rowing the canopy ended and the creek opened up. We were on the outskirts of the city and rowing through the Back-of-Martin's area (one of the poorer section and most densest sections of the city). It was Baron Bliss day, a holiday that commemorates a man who lived in his yacht off of Belize City and never touched Belizean soil his entire life. He left his entire inheritance to the country, which was enough money to build several libraries, a museum, and a cultural center. Every year Belizeans celebrate his generosity. On this day there was no school. People were blaring Punta from five foot speakers while the aroma of barbequed chicken filled the air. Many of my roommates love Punta but I find it extremely irritating. The fast repeating pulse of drums and horn-like instruments makes it sounds like your listening to a skipping CD. However, hearing this familiar sound and a couple of my student's screaming my name was a great welcome into Belize City.

We were approaching familiar sights—the towers of the flour mill, Save-U shopping center, the Belize City Center and finally Hawksworth Bridge's counterpart, the Belcan Bridge. We paddled under the overpass and docked on the side of the Belize City Center which was filled with food stands and a myriad of rowers, tourists, and Belizeans who came to celebrate the end of the race and Baron Bliss. We stepped out of the boat for the final time, lifted it out of the water, put through the back door of the school bus and went home.

Some of you may still be wondering why anyone would do something like this. After all, it was a long, grueling, and frustrating race, we placed fourth to last, and we rowed in "sorriest piece of shit on the river."

Despite these struggles, participating in such a race or doing something that challenges the body and spirit, I believe, helps one appreciate the amazing things human faculties can accomplish and develops a reverence for how one can derive immense satisfaction, joy, and entertainment, from them. Though I wrote a simple chronology of the race, it is also a description of what happens, what is laughed at, what occurs to your body, and what you'll treasure and hate most about rowing one-hundred and seventy miles instead of doing so in a more convenient and less perilous way.

I'm not trying to condemn modern conveniences or call a retreat for things people did in the past but think that it is important to recognize the exhilaration one feels when using his natural abilities to arrive at a certain place or complete a certain task. As human beings we are given the gift of receiving different sensation from whatever we come in contact with, both pleasing and disagreeable. During the Ruta, I was able to measure our journey not in miles but in touch (through our bodily reaction to the physical demands of exerting it for an extended period of time), in sight (being aware of the currents and the shape of the river for thirty hours— four miles per hour at a time— and in the passing of day to night), and finally in sense of movement (being constantly aware of how to tame our canoe to the forces of nature). The fatigue and the aches of a bruised ass, sore muscles, and a sun burnt scalp, though irritating, were not dampers on the race and should not be considered deterrents or discouraging factors for anyone to try something challenging. They were a fundamental part of the journey. They are testaments to the distance we traveled and are the byproducts of the satisfaction of being able to row the width of Belize.

RUTA MAYA HOME PAGE

Check the times for “My [and your] Favorite Team” on http://www.larutamayabelize.com/rutamaya/startpage.htm

TOP: Me, Adam, Chris (approaching Belcan)
BOTTOM: Starting line at Bermudian Landing
(Pictures taken by Erin)

LA RUTA MAYA Part I

2006-04-03T15:55:00.000-07:00

The area flanked by the Hawksworth and Belcan bridges would be our challenge—one hundred and seventy miles of water bordered by dense jungle. One may point out that it only takes a car two hours to travel this distance but would take us four days to complete, thirty-one hours and twenty five minutes of pure rowing, three nights of camping, medical tape, bruises and damaged spirits. So why would anyone do it?

The Ruta Maya is a canoe race on the Macal and Belize Rivers. It starts beneath the Hawksworth Bridge in San Ignazio, a town near Belize's Western border, and ends at the Belcan Bridge, one hundred and seventy miles later in Belize City. The race is broken into four day segments: 44 miles on the first, 60 miles on the second, 35 on the third, and about 25 on the fourth. The Baymen, British pirates turned buccaneers, settled at the mouth of the Belize River and would travel inland to cut mahogany. The logs would float down the Belize River and congregate in what was then Belize Town (today Belize City) waiting to be shaped and exported. Therefore, there is some truth in the saying that Belize City, which was originally swamp, was built on mahogany logs and rum bottles.

THE DAY BEFORE

Thursday afternoon I left school after 6th period to help with last minute preparations for the race. Our support team (the female second year JVs) prepared most of the stuff the night before (food we would eat during the race, the tents, safety kit, medical tape, blankets, etc...) and were going to leave work early the following day to finish packing and pick up the bus along with the paddles, life vests, and possibly a canoe.

You see we were still undecided about the boat we were going to race in. FedEx allowed us to use one of their boats for the race back in January. We practiced in it twice and by the end of our second (and last) practice we were able to row thirty consecutive strokes in a circle on the sea without flipping—a major yet still minimal improvement from our first practice when all three of us couldn't even sit in the boat. I tried to find other places that would be willing to lend us a boat but didn't have much luck. However, Wednesday night Mr. Woods, Adam's boss at the prison, the owner of Old Belize, and a really great guy whose family we've gotten to know over the past months, said that we could use one of the canoes they had at Old Belize. Since the girls weren't able to get off from work I agreed to pick up the vehicle and check out the boat.

Riding my bike to St. John’s (the Jesuit High School that lent us the bus) was pretty nerve racking because our vehicle was actually the 150,000 mile recently repaired mini-school bus that stalled on us right near one of the busiest intersections in Belize City last September. I was becoming increasing anxious about driving this bus, especially when I passed the rotary, which was beginning to become congested with cars, because it would be the first time would be driving in seven months, the first time I'd be driving a school bus, and the first time I'd be driving through a rotary. Luckily, I didn't have any problems and made it to Old Belize with little problem.

When I got to Old Belize I paddled the canoe around the lagoon a couple of times while the manager got life vests in the Woods' boat. Though the boat felt a lot more stable than the FedEx one, it only had two seats. And I'm sure Adam wouldn't have enjoyed rowing on his knees for thirty hours. So we grab the oars, life vests, left the boat, and headed back home to grab our gear then pick up the River Rat at Fed Ex.

It seemed that we underestimated the size of the canoe and overestimated the size of the bus. The boat was sixteen feet long and the bus was a little more than half that size. "Hmmm... ," most of us were thinking, "I guess we'll have to do the safe thing— attach one of our red t-shirts to the bow to warn people that seven feet of boat is protruding from the rear door."

By 4:30 we were driving across the Western Highway, catching glimpses of the Belize River along the way. Belize has three highways (actually three standard sized roads that link the country's six districts)—the Northern, Southern, and Western Highways. We reached San Ignazio, a very inviting and lively town about fifteen miles from the Guatemalan border, at 6:45. We had just enough time to check in our hotel before the start of rowers meeting at the Princess Hotel during which we would hear the important details for the next four days. I was really looking forward to watching the safety video on the race not because I'm a dork but because the JVs from two years ago made it in the part of the video on "what not to do"—in their case it was going left at Big Falls.

Big Falls isn't a waterfall but a series of rapids that are unavigable even for experienced rowers. Matt, Matt, and Mark apparently thought they were supposed to go left, not right. They realized they made a mistake when their canoe crashed into a boulder replacing part of the hull with a hole and throwing them over the gunwales into the river. Two of the boys drifted downstream while Matt (the JV who I replaced) tried holding onto the boat to prevent it from sinking. When the safety boat arrived (which just so happened to have a camera crew with them), in an "overly dramatic way," ordered him to let go of the boat. Surprisingly, most Belizeans don't know how to swim. So seeing someone in the middle of river with a bit of current would cause some to panic. All this was apparently caught on tape.

We arrived at the Princess and the meeting room was packed with excited and energetic men and women both young and old from all over—the States, England, Belize (of course), Japan, and Canada--dressed in their team t-shirts. The great part of the Ruta Maya is that though it draws very experienced and competitive rowers from around the globe, it also attracts those who have no clue what they are doing, like us, but are just in it for the challenge and the fun of it. They informed us that meeting was at 4:30 so unfortunately, we missed the video and any other important information we needed to know.

That said, we went out for dinner--pizza. Though the pizza was relatively good compared to other pizza I've had in Belize, nothing compares to the crust of NY pizza. Pizza here tastes like pizza you'd try to make at home. Its crust is a cross between flavorless foccaccia and a loaf of dry bread. NY pizza, on the other hand, has a crust that is rough and browned on the underside and thin but spongy on the top allowing the rich tomato sauce and the oils from the melted cheese to be absorbed while maintaining its unwavering unique base. At that moment, however, I wasn't dwelling on the crust flaws of Belizean pizza but was trying to figure out how we could stay afloat in a boat that always has an upset stomach and a habit of hurling its contents. So we went to our hotel set our alarms for 4:30 and prayed that we wouldn't embarrass ourselves in front of the hundreds of spectators the following morning.

DAY ONE

I guess God didn't hear our prayers. The following morning when we started paddling to the starting line the River Rat had an affinity for bumping into boats along the way. Some of the rowers were getting angry at us. So we had to get out of the canoe and walk it over. Behind the bridge we held onto some twigs from the trees hanging above for support. When the officials shouted GO we let most of the boats pass before we attempted to push off. Finally, we put our paddles in and started rowing. We weren't flipping, which was a great thing considering the wakes of the other canoes and the motor boat, but we weren't able to steer the boat. It had a mind of its own. Instead of going straight, the boat decided to take the grand tour and travel from bank to bank. About five minutes into the race all the other boats were out of sight while the hundreds of spectators who came out to see the started to stare at us. We crashed into our third or fourth bank about fifty meters from the starting line almost taking out a five year old girl. Chris tried to change his oar because it was too large for him. He gave it to Dorothy who was on the shore but the current pulled us away and turned the boat 180 degrees before Dorothy could hand him the other oar. So she jumped into the river, started swimming after us, and was able to amazingly throw the paddle in the boat before we got sucked through two of the abutments from the upcoming bridge.

By now one of the official boats saw we had no clue what we were doing and drove up to our side. I thought the guy was going to throw us a rope and tow us in but instead he gave us some pointers. Before he let us go he asked where we got the boat from. I told him FedEx let us borrow it. He started to nod his head as if everything just fell into place and said, well "that boat's the sorriest piece of shit on this river." He explained that the boat was designed to be really fast by making a rounded hull and by lowering the gunwales of the bow and stern. But it turned into is an unstable and erratic tub of metal instead. So with those words of encouragement we paddled off.

Surprisingly, Chris was able to implement some of the official’s instructions. We were doing well for the next hour or so until we came across some rapids which propelled us bow first into a tree in the middle of the river. The force of the river against the tree turned the boat sideways and threw us out. We didn't realize until we were twenty yards away that the water was shallow enough to stand in and were therefore able to fight the current by walking back. The good part was that the canoe was lodged between the trunk of the tree and one of its branches thereby preventing it from drifting down stream. The bad and scary part was that it was underwater making us question what would've happened if we weren't able to get out. We were able to pull it out and retain most of our supplies thanks to Dorothy who zip tied all our food and water to the ribs of the canoe.

A few hundred meters downstream we come across another series of rapids very similar to one's before except faster. This time three rowers were standing on the side of the river watching their canoe that was folded in half and wrapped around a tree. Though their canoe was made of plastic and ours of metal it was still a scary sight making me realize the force moving water can have.

Six hours into the race, the water was much calmer, so calm that it fells like weren't moving at all. By this time we were familiar with some of the people who we have been rowing near and would probably be rowing with or near for the next three days--the fat girl boat, the Japanese boats, and the British hippies who were rowing in the Hugh G. Rection and took some time every now and them to observe the local flora and smoke some it's "natural substances."

Nine hours and thirty minutes later we rowed onto the shore at Banana Bank (this time intentionally) and were greeted by our support team and the scores of other rowers who were either watching the sunset or bathing in the river. I felt drunk. One because I was so excited. Two, because I was dehydrated and slightly light headed. Three, because when you sit for nine hours and then try to stand and walk you don't have great coordination. The girls took our boat in and had our lunches waiting for us. The Ruta provides the rowers with all their meals including lunch because the majority of boats are finished by lunchtime, except for the ones like us who make it just in time for dinner. Surprisingly, after nine hours of rowing I wasn't that sore except for my bottom-side which was aching from sitting on a metal seat the whole day.

That day we rowed 44 miles. The next day would be sixteen miles and two hours longer.

Why I Just Started Doing This

2006-03-25T22:17:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been very disappointed with myself for not doing a great job of keeping in touch with people at home and not describing to them (to you actually) about what life is like in Belize. Most people have an idea of where I work and what I've been doing but still don't have a sense of what JVI is, what Belize is like, and the details of the past seven months. This is because:

1) After the first month of being in Belize everything started to feel normal and routine like. So I didn't think anything that I was doing was that unusual or crazy. However, after reading a couple of other JV blogs I realized that there is nothing normal about living in a country no one has really heard of and that the best, the worst, the funniest, and the most eye-opening aspects of being a Jesuit Volunteer, teaching at Sadie Vernon High School, and living in Belize come across in the everyday events that could be easily dismissed as unimportant or normal.

2) I don't have access to a computer that often. That is still the case but I have forced myself to either go to an internet cafe (they're not cafes but are just places to access the internet. I don't know what else you’d call them) or ask one of my roommates who has internet at work to let me use their computer.

3 and most importantly.....) Writing a letters by hand and receiving real mail are a lot more gratifying and fulfilling than doing so virtually. In email everything is as equally near as it is far. There is a lack of presence of the distance between the sender and the receiver that is evident in a piece of mail with a foreign stamp that took several weeks to deliver than it is with an email that can be typed quickly and delivered instantaneously. The distance from home and living in a different culture is an fundamental part of these two years in Belize. The old school method helps me appreciate that fact more fully.

However, I convinced myself to stop becoming old crank who reminisces about the way it was done in the past before my time and that the disappointment of returning home without my family and friends knowing anything about the past two years other than general details trumps my dissatisfaction of using a computer. So this will be ONE way for ME to keep in touch with you not for YOU to keep in touch with me. I still expect handwritten letters addressed to:

Danny Macri
St. Martin DePorres
P.O. Box 489 (not 789, the number I've been using for my return address for the past 6 months)
Belize City, Belize
Central America

after any entry that stirs you (along with care packages). Thanks!