coffee.mill

storm watch

Disclaimer:  Views presented in this blog are those of Roger German alone.  They do not represent views or opinions of the U.S. Peace Corps or the government of the United States of America.

 

            Wednesday.

            Once again I need to be channeling my Dad.

            Our first hurricane alert; a tropical depression spinning off the coast of Panama headed our way.  Mayor Ruiz asked if I would go with him, the emergency response councilor and the city traffic manager to the district town of San Ignacio to meet with the Cayo District NEMO, National Emergency Response Organization          .

            Absolutely!

            Last year a similar storm overwhelmed the Macal River, which runs right alongside City hall in Benque Viejo, my town.  The water never quiet made the building, but a small part of the lower end of town was under water, and part of the Western Highway, linking Benque with the rest of Belize was under water and ultimately damaged by the flood.

            That tropical depression dumped water into the Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve, the Chiquibul Forest Reserve, the Vaca Forest Reserve and parts of Guatemala, all of which drain into the Macal.  Folks here could not remember the river every being that high.

            So the response team wants to be ahead of the curve this year.

            My experience with emergency response comes from growing up in the German household, where lived the fire chief and the civil defense director (I could be wrong about that, but it's a reasonable assumption), the man who drove into storms to track them rather than dive into the basement, the house with at least one radio crackling at all times, monitoring police and fire departments in northeast Nebraska.

            And I served on the Pierce Volunteer Fire Department, and Southeast Rural Volunteer Fire Department.  And the Air National Guard in Lincoln, so I have a bit of a history with red lights and sirens, and my adrenalin still buzzes when sirens go off.

            But in Pierce, a town of some 1,200 citizens as I was growing up, I remember having two pumpers, I think two tankers, a grass rig, an ambulance/rescue vehicle, some 30-odd volunteers with turnout gear, air tanks, masks, and by the time Dad was done with it, a new fire station with command center and room for all the equipment.  We had a water system in town where the hydrants were regularly checked for pressure and volume.  Training was weekly and it was serious.  Fun, but serious business.

            In Benque, a town of 8,000, we have a fire truck.  It's a 1-ton 6-man GMC 4x4 dually, that carries 250 gallons and a three-section portable ladder.  There are few hydrants and pressure is suspect at best.  The station is manned by one full-time firefighter, and I think one part timer, and a handful of volunteers.  Belize's fire department is national, so the chief is in Belize City, and firefighters are assigned towns.  If they get a real fire here, they call Cayo for backup.  Cayo is actually the twin towns of San Ignacio and San Elena, separated by the Macal River.  But everyone here just calls it Cayo.  It's about 8 miles away.  Or 6.  Maybe 12.  Depends on who you talk to.

            Cayo has about 20,000 people, and according to the men at the fire station in Benque, three trucks.

            One of the interesting differences between Northeast Nebraska and Cayo is that emergency response in Nebraska seems intimately tied in with the fire service.  In Belize, it's tied in with the police.  We met upstairs in the court room at the police station.  I don't remember seeing any fire department representatives at the NEMO meeting, but there were a lot of people there.  Could have been.  But they played a subordinate role if they were present.          

            Mayor Ruiz does not want to be taken by surprise this time, and he's monitoring the storm as it moves up Central America.  We're a long way from the coast for Belize, all the way across the country.  But as the crow flies, it's about 55 miles.  To get to the coast by bus takes about 4 or 5 hours; depends on the bus.   That's Belize.

swearing in

Disclaimer:  The views expressed in this blog are those of Roger German.  They do not

                    represent the views of the government of the United States or those of the

                   Peace Corps.

 

 

            Note:  Four of us were asked to give some remarks at the swearing-in ceremony.              Three were asked to speak in one of the three languages we were learning,      Spanish, Kriol or Ket'chi.  I was very happy to speak in English.  My remarks were addressed to our class of volunteers.

 

 

            It is humbling to think that in the 48 years the Peace Corps has served as a ray of hope under a troubled sun, I was lucky enough to be part of absolutely the best class of trainees to ever swear in as volunteers, and astonishingly enough to swear in at the best possible location, Belize!

            When I told my family and friends I was finally fulfilling my lifelong dream of serving in the Peace Corps, there was the initial shock, and then (and I say this with only the slightest hint of irony) the look that said, "What a wonderful thing you are doing."  Then I would tell them I would be serving in Belize and the reaction shifted to, "Are you in the Peace Corps or on vacation?"

 

            There is only one time other than the last 8 weeks when I have grown so close to a group of random strangers, and that was at Lackland Air Force Base in 1970, basic training.

            The bonds created in that simmering summer were unlike any I had known, until now.  And in that first experience I felt oddly out of place, despite the strength of the bonds. 

            Because, at its fundamental core, the mission of the military is to break things and kill people.  And that ran so against my own core as to break me almost in two.

 

            We are American Patriots, and we are proud to be Americans.

            This class of 2009 has just passed through a basic training no less challenging than my first.  We are warriors too, with warrior hearts.  And this has been basic training in a Corps whose mission is so closely aligned with my heart that I have lain in bed of a late night and wept, and laughed out loud.

            And I know I am not alone in this.

           

            Peace Corps.

            You 39 volunteers are absolutely nuts and I love you.

            At first I thought I could wax poetic about how we are all so similar, and I was frustrated by the fact that we are all so different.  From 22 to 71, short to tall, large to small.

            I remember seeing all these odd strangers in the lobby of a hotel in Washington, D.C., and I remember thinking, "Who Are these people?"

            Who are these people who dare to think the peaceful co-existence is possible, who dare to think that a non-violent solution to an intractable conflict is possible, to dare to think that digging an 8' hole in the mud in Armenia makes a difference, or trying to arrange meetings with over-busy town councils and alcaldes is worth the effort, or riding a boat onto a reef in the dark is worth the risk.

            I have fallen in with the craziest bunch of outliers I could imagine and I feel like I am wrapped in the arms of a family that understands.  And I realize now we are exactly the right people, because we recognize that our differences, which are large, are smaller than our commonalities.  And we recognize that truth not only in each other, but in the blended cultures of the people we hope to serve in Belize.

            Forty friends now, strangers no longer. 

            I am honored to be among this forty. 

            Now we begin, and we will use what we have to do what we can.

 

Addendum.  Some of you will pull only one thing out of these remarks, and mistakenly assume that I am anti-military.  I am not.  I am proud of my family for the service they have given, I am proud of my own service.  I am not a pacifist, because I will fight to defend my country and those I love. 

            We have mis-used and abused our military.  Honorable men and women fighting political wars.  War is an act of desperation, a last-ditch response to aggression, and in that context, I  would hope to be in the front lines.  We have used our military to further a political agenda rather than defend our country.  In that context I want no part of it.

beans and Spanish

Disclaimer:  Views presented in this blog are those of Roger German alone.  They do not represent views or opinions of the U.S. Peace Corps or the government of the United States of America.

 

 

            I was having breakfast this morning, cereal, basic comfort food, and wanted to have a conversation.  Nothing difficult or philosophical, just some morning talk.  Norma, the woman who prepares most of the meals here at my host family was soaking beans, and I was curious about the process.

            Now, as a bit of a backstory, it might not be Norma.  My host mom introduced us and I thought she said Lorraina, which I thought was great because my Mother's name is Lorraine...easy enough.  Only when I asked "Lorraina" her name the other day, I think she said "Norma."  Listening is tricky business in another language.

            So is speaking...hence the bean story.

            So I'm munching cereal, thinking I want to ask Norma/Lorraina about the beans.  I knew I could just jump into the conversation without the salutation, giving me a pass on the name problem.  So I want to ask, "how long do you soak the beans?"   Something very handy to know when I have my own place and am soaking my own beans.

            But I realize I don't know the Spanish verb for "soak."

            So how else can I say the same thing?   That's what you do when you're language skills are about at the level of a chimpanzee.  "How long do you put the beans in water?" I might ask.  That sounds plausible.  Hmmmm, the verb for "put."  Not in my head and my dictionario is not glued to my hip as usual. 

            And "how long" seems to have escaped also.

            Dam runaway words.

            OK.  I've got "how many" down cold...that would be "cuantos."

            And I can come up with hours, "horas."

            "Cuantos horas por los frijoles en agua?" I inquire.

            Which translates roughly into, "how many hours for the beans in water," at least that's what I think it means.  It could mean, "Is my nose in the refrigerator?"

            Norma smiles at me rather like one might smile at a chimpanzee, and graciously unscrambles my Spanish to say, "Una hora."

            Excited by this conversation extending past someone looking at me like I have three eyeballs, I show my surprise and try to respond that I thought the beans had to soak overnight. 

            However, I do not know how to say "overnight."  Nor do I yet know "soak."  So I, valiant chimpanzee say, "Una hora?" with a very large vocal question mark.  She smiles and says "Si," which I, clever chimpanzee, do understand.

            Tired by this exhausting conversation I place my cereal bowel on the sink, take my leave and scoot on up to my room to rest, and read the dictionary again.  For "soak" I could choose "-v.i. penetrar; calarse; filtrarse. -v.t. 1, (drench, saturate) remojar; ensopar, empapar. 2, (absorb) empapar; embeber; chupar; absorber."

            That is almost helpful.  I'm thinking maybe "absorber," which sounds a bit like absorb...perhaps that I can remember.  Then again, the next time "soak" comes up in a conversation it will probably have to do with rain, and will be a different word, probably in a different tense, and second or third person.  Arrrrrgh!

            I always try to have some sort of starter conversation in my head when I'm going out, meeting people, walking to work.  The problem is, the people I meet don't have the same conversation going, or, they have some unique way of answering that doesn't fit my pre-arranged word order.  Which leads to more of the chimpanzee talk.

            My host family has a son who just turned five.  We get along nicely because he doesn't seem to think it odd that he has to repeat and repeat when he's talking to me.  But I think at times that even he becomes a bit frustrated as he looks expectantly at me, then at his mom, then at me, as he waits for a reply that is not forthcoming.  The one concept I have taught him is that just because a person is large does not mean they are particularly smart.

            Kay, who is a linguistics and writing professor, tells me that up until about the age of 4 or 5, children "acquire" language; they don't "learn" it.  I like the sound of that..."acquire."  This learning language business is a bit like learning to drive a clutch in San Francisco with no brakes and a burned clutch plate.  Lots of bumps and bruises.

            Makes me think a bit about the millions who immigrated to the U.S. with limited or no language skills.  Very smart people working menial jobs just to survive, watching faces and gestures intently, just to try and grasp the barest meaning of conversations that swirl about them, their only asset an indomitable spirit. 

            Forget nuance.

            Right now, for me, it would be nice to be able to have a morning conversation extending on into, say, four sentences.  I'm working on it.

plans change

Disclaimer:  Views presented on this blog are those of Roger German.  They do not represent the views or  opinions of the U.S. Peace Corps, or the government of the United States of America.

    Plans change and sometimes the change brings a shift in perception.

    Last Thursday I was to meet a PCV in Belize City; she had done all the paperwork and coordinating for a hundred T-shirts.  That's a lot of T-shirts for one person to handle on a bus, and Belize City near the bus stop is sketchy at best.  Carlos, the mayor's driver, had said he could give me a lift into the city to save time and bus fare, since he had some business to take care of there.  But then he called and said something had come up and he could only take me as far as Cayo...which was fine.

    When he showed up, there were four people in his five-seater Swingle.  I climbed in back next to an older Mestizo man and a woman I guessed to be his wife.  She had a small coffin on her lap.

    They were staring straigh ahead, not talking, his working hands resting on his knees.  He had on a well-worn cowboy hat, nice clothes; she wore a dress, her hands resting on the white satin-covered coffin.

     The local government provides coffins for folks who can't afford them.  Carlos was taking the couple to the hospital to pick up the body of their 5-day-old grandchild.  I climbed in.

    We sat there for a while, bouncing down the road, and I do mean bouncing.  My Spanish is so poor, but I wanted to say something...all I could think of was "lo siento."  I'm sorry.  The man turned to me, his dark brown skin lined and weathered, a slight smile creased his face, "Gracias."

    I told him my name, that I had children, two of them.  He smiled again.  I could say that much.  I asked his name, how many children he had.  He told me, and I don't remember exactly what he said, but the child who died was his son's.  I said it is hard, "duro," to lose a child.  His eyes misted some, he nodded his head in affirmation, looking into the distance.  I asked what he did...he's a farmer, has always been a farmer.  Corn and beans mostly.  I thought of my brother-in-law and my sister who farm in Nebraska, the similarites, the differences.  Corn and beans.  Hilly ground.  Hand tools and combines.

    They too have new grandchildren, alive though, healthy.

    We dropped them off at the hospital.  His son was waiting at the emergency entrance, his eyes looking strained and haunted.  Carlos and and I took off for the bus station and I headed off to Belize City to pick up T-shirts.  But the perspective of my day had shifted.

    Life and death happen everywhere, I know that.  Sometimes it seems a little more raw here, cut a little closer to the bone.  What can I do about it?  Not much more than recognize another human being perhaps.  And perhaps that's why I'm here.

    .........it is more than a week since I wrote the above piece.

     Have not been able to find a computer I could log onto that would allow me to cut and paste, and time compressed in trying to drag my computer along with me so I could copy by hand.  With my typing skills, that is a labor intensive task.

    But we have been sworn in as of yesterday (Thursday).  We are now official Peace Corps Volunteers, sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States and to protect her from all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

    We were sworn in at the Governor General's compound in Belmopan, and I was honored to have the opportunity to speak briefly at the same venue as the new ambassador to Belize, Vinai Thummalapally.  And I learned to say his name correctly, not an easy task for a Midwesterner.

    We then dined with the ambassador and his wife at their home on the embassy compound...his wife Barbara was cooking all day for some 75 guests, along with her staff.  Great time, great party.  And then there was the party after...but what goes on at the Garden City Hotel, stays at the Garden City Hotel.

    Let it be said that I did hit the sack much earlier than many of my younger colleagues.

posting; Benque

Disclaimer:  Views presented in this blog are those of Roger German alone.  They do not represent views or opinions of the U.S. Peace Corps or the governments of the United States or Belize.

 

            After weeks of anticipation, we all received our assignments last Friday.  Twenty-one head south into the Toledo district where more than 60% of the people live below the U.N. poverty level of $1.30 (U.S.) per day.  The rest of us are scattered through the middle Cayo and Belize districts and north to Orange Walk and Corozal.

            I'm in Benque Viejo Del Carmen, a town of about 8,000 a mile from the Guatemalan border.  The mayor had requested a Peace Corps Volunteer to work with him and the Town Council on tourism and infrastructure development, and training on proposal writing and project management.  He is about 6 months into a 3-year term, he's 29 years old (one of the youngest mayors in Belize), and is absolutely excited about the possibilities in Benque.  I will be pedaling dam fast to keep up with him.

            Just yesterday and part of today (Wednesday) I toured the border crossing, the Free Trade Zone under construction, the library, clinic, fire department, police station, traffic department, mostly with the mayor's driver Carlos.

            It's interesting that I would come all the way to Belize to be involved with projects custom made for my dad...will need to channel his skill sets if I am to pull this off.  The mayor would like park development, road repair/construction, city beautification, all with the intent of developing civic pride and pulling some tourist dollars into the community.  Right now most tourists pass through Benque on their way to Guatemala.  They shop across the border at Melchor and then head to the Mayan temples at Tikal, one of the largest excavated sites in Central America. 

            Benque is close to Caracol, the largest site in Belize, and there's a road from here that heads that direction but stops about 5 miles short.  Sometime in these next few days we're going to drive the road to the end, and then possibly 4-wheel through the jungle so the mayor can show me where he would like a road.  He said he thought the right 4 x 4 could make the trip.  That's interesting because many of the roads in the town of Benque require 4-wheel drive.  That's no joke.  When Carlos showed me the river, he had to shift into 4-wheel low to get up the road on the back side.  There are a couple of paved roads in town, the Western Highway which goes into Guatemala, a handful of others here and there.

            Will be interesting to see what sustainable projects we can begin in the next two years.  One thing I've learned so far about Peace Corps is adaptability and flexibility.  I had visions of living in a thatched hut in a primitive setting working with perhaps local crafts.  But here I am in a rural border town that is searching for an identity, with all the family dynamics and local politics entailed in years of frustrated efforts.

            I'm still working on my Spanish, and learning the names of community leaders. 

            My host family here is again, very accommodating and generous, and I think they will require more Spanish out of me...grandma especially said she would teach me each evening.  She learned some English in Ohio working for the gas company in Cleveland.

My host dad learned how to drive big rig trucks and heavy equipment, and with the help of his dad bought his first dump truck about 16 years ago.  He has parlayed that investment into his own road construction company with 10 trucks, graders, bulldozers and about 22 employees.  And all the headaches that come with small business and payrolls.  But he provides nicely for his family, with room for one lucky Peace Corps volunteer.  I'll be here for one more week of training, back to Belmopan for more administrative admonitions, swearing in, and then back out here with the family for a month until I find my own place.

            With everything else going on, seems I picked up some kind of bug, so I haven't been hitting on all cylinders this last week.  Down to a cough and sore joints now, but spent what free time I had napping, so my writing lapsed some. 

seeds

Disclaimer:  Views presented in this blog are those of Roger German alone.  They do not represent views or opinions of the U.S. Peace Corps or the government of the United States of America.

            There is one Belizean site possibly more rustic than ours here in San Antonio.  That would be Armenia, where Peace Corps Volunteers are training for the Healthy Communities track.  The site is only about 8 miles from the capitol, Belmopan, but it's a world away. 

            Here in San Antonio, when it stops raining it only takes about half an hour and the clay roads and paths are drying up. I haven't visited there yet, but from what the volunteers there have been telling me, there's just no place for the water to go.  So it stays there, pretty much until the next rain.  The first major purchase the volunteers in training made was for rubber boots.  Accommodations are similar to San Antonio, with no running water (unless you count running after it), and outhouses.  The volunteers in training there are building a latrine and talking to the residents about basic health issues.  The village is,  I think, poorer than San Antonio on the whole.

            One of the women on the team there, Tracy, is about my age and seems to have a second sense for the heart of what makes the Peace Corps unique. 

            She said she had talked to her house 'dad' about planting a garden.  He said he hadn't had much luck with a garden there, but would be willing to give it a try.  So Tracy got some seeds, and waited until he was ready to take the lead.  And she waited.  She said she had thought he had forgotten about it when one Sunday he said he was ready to get going on the garden.  She jumped at the chance and worked with him clearing a little plot.

            One of the village women came by while they were working and Tracy explained what they were doing, and why.  She then offered the woman some of the seeds and wished her good luck on making her own garden.  But as the woman walked away, Tracy noticed she was crying.

            She asked her house 'mom' what was wrong, whether or not she had offended the woman in some way.  Her mom said no, Tracy had done nothing wrong.  It's just that the woman's husband had recently died, and she had eight children, and had no idea how she was going to be able to support them.  The seeds were for her, hope.

            That's why she was crying.  Tracy might not have given her the hope, but she had given her the seeds of hope.  That's exactly why we're here.

            Seems my heart's on my sleeve out here; had a hard time keeping the tears inside when she told me about it, on break from one more class at PC headquarters in Belmopan

where they had reconvened all forty of us for what seems like endless training on policies, procedures, health and safety issues, training on our technical assignments at our sites, and of course, language.

            We're all eager to get our assignments next week...hard to believe the five weeks are coming to a close and the next phase of training is to begin.  We'll have two weeks on those sites, getting oriented, meeting our "counterpart," learning the lay of the land in a new village.  Then we are sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers.

            Each time I write these columns from this stunningly beautiful "third world country," my mind drifts and rambles, sifts through the myriad details of the compressed days and nights.  What to include, what to leave out.

            Severo and Cristina's 20-year-old son Cefas works about twenty miles from here, at Francis Ford Coppola's resort, Blancaneaux.  South of San Antonio in the Mountain Pine Ridge Reserve, where wealthy tourists vacation.  Cefas showed us around last Sunday on a day off and it's amazing.  Villas overlooking a mountain stream, steaming outdoor hot tubs to soak in before stepping into the massage cabana, honeymoon suites with private pools, a horse barn, Italian restaurant, concrete and stone paths and steps, picturesque waterfall tumbling 50 or 60 feet through falls and rapids, well-stocked bar.  Private air strip, room for 80 guests.  

            The least expensive cabana is the Garden View, at $180.00 ($360.00 Belize) per night, single occupancy in off season.  The upper end is The Enchanted Cottage at $1,200.00 ($2,400.00 Belize) per night, off season, $1,600.00 ($3,200.00) per night peak season. That rate does not include the 9% Government Tax and a 10% Service Charge.

            Cefas takes a 6:15 bus to get to work, puts in his 8 hours and gets back on the bus at 4:30 to return home.  Sometimes he works a split shift, from 7 to 1 and 6 until 9. 

            He's paid $30.00 per day, Belize.

            That's $15.00 per day American.

            They take out $1.00 for breakfast and $2.00 for lunch (Belize).

            That leaves him $13.50 per day, American.      

            He's been there two years and told me he's up for review, and may get an increase to $35.00 Belize.  He figures it's a pretty good job.

            It's hard to explain what life is like for the people that live here in San Antonio, in the rural villages of Belize.  These two vignettes illustrate a point, I hope, but that's up to you. 

spider & caves

        "...Mr. Roger...Mr. Roger...there's a spider by your window."

            I was working on a presentation for my Business/Organization class, my back to the open window, a light breeze cooling early evening sweat.  It was fairly dark and I couldn't tell who was talking, either Esmeralda or Febe getting water for the evening meal, so I looked behind me over the window ledge to the stack of block up against the outside wall.

            Now, I had never seen a tarantula up close before, and this one was 4 inches from my hand on the sill.  Overall, about the size of a saucer under a coffee cup.  I called Don Severo, trying to sort out the protocol here... was this a "good" spider I should leave alone, because it ate bugs?  Was this a critter I should be concerned about?

            Don Severo smiled, got his machete and dispatched the beast.  He wasn't fond of them either, as one had bitten him on the foot years ago and he "lost the skin off the bottom of (his) foot," as he said.  Some may consider them harmless; that would be neither Don Severo nor I. 

            Was not able to write last weekend, so have some catching up to do...We spent Friday night, Saturday and Sunday with PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) currently serving in villages and towns, to learn from those in the trenches.

            We were scattered all over the country, but I lucked out with my posting in Hopkins Village on the coast south of Dangriga.  I fell asleep to the sound of the surf (and of course, barking dogs), and awoke to the sound of surf (and of course, roosters).

Coffee and toast with the sun coming up over the Caribbean coast; bit of a swim before breakfast, then off to visit local projects and people.  The training has been intense, but this little stretch of time felt like a vacation.

            Think perhaps only one or two others of the 40 volunteers in training had postings on the beach, so I try not to comment too often on my good fortune, but when asked it's hard to keep the smile off my face.

            Last week Thursday was a national holiday (The Battle of St. George's Caye) which is an official day off.  Christen, Federico and I followed Christen's house dad Leo Tzib to Elijio Panti National Park.  He takes care of it as best he can, his salary paid by an NGO rather than the government, so he's not exactly a park ranger.  But this is about 100 square miles of jungle and it's him pretty much alone, on foot. So it's rustic.

            We walked in, about 45 minutes, on a road of sorts.  Leo walks each day because it would take a formidable 4-wheel-drive to make the trek, and if it rained, well, a vehicle would be useless.  And it rains often. 

            At the main compound there's a nice visitor's center and a thatched-roof hut with picnic tables.  We then walked another hour and a half to where the caves are, taking a shortcut through jungle to hook up with the only access road.  The two roads converge at a waterfall farther to the south.  We couldn't do both the waterfall and the caves in one day, so we choose the caves.

            This is eco-tourism at a fairly raw level and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  We scrambled around in the caves with little guidance and minus the obnoxious guard rails, steps, lights and sanitization of similar attractions in the developed world.  We did not find the Mayan pottery Don Severo said he found when he took his family in, but I hope to re-visit with him.  Febe said she remembers having to squeeze through a narrow opening and skirt a hole where "we threw a rock in and didn't hear it hit the bottom" to find the cache of pottery.  Hope to see it before I leave here.

            As we were hiking down, Leo said at one point to "be careful of the black ants."  I saw some scurrying in front of me, but didn't really catch his drift until I realized that they were cutting about a 15-foot swath across the path.  And they bit.  Hard.

            That was one place my Keen sandals were the wrong choice.  I was motivated to move on through there, but it didn't help.  Ripped off the sandals when I finally cleared the hordes, beat and slapped til I killed most of those chewing on my feet.  Had to catch a few that were heading up my legs under my pants too.  Pounded the rest off my Keens and we moved on.

            We found the main path just as the sky opened up and dumped some inches of rain on us in a very short time.  At least it was warm.

            This is a country ripe with promise for ecologically friendly and locally owned and operated development.  There will be enormous pressure for the politicians to sell out and line their pockets; there have been and will be land grabs and sweetheart deals.  But Belize is doing what it can to protect itself from rapacious developers and predatory capitalism.  Somewhere around 36% of the country is now in protected status of one sort or another.  The Peace Corps is doing what it can to lend a hand.

            I'm happy to be part of the process.

Memory

            It's Saturday afternoon and the rain is pounding on the zinc roof at the Tzib house.  I'm done with school for today and have some unexpected free time.  Been editing pictures I hope to upload onto Face book when I can get a connection.

            Was going to walk around this afternoon, just for some personal time, for some exercise, just to let my head wind down a bit.  But I got into the pictures, moving them off the camera onto the computer, one thing led to another and I started adding captions while I still remembered what it was that I was shooting,  and here I am...at least I didn't get caught out in this downpour.  It is cooling things off some, but had to close the shutters on my window so the rain wouldn't wash over my computer.

            Have no feel for the weather here yet, so I can't tell if the rain is coming or going or staying.

            One of the talks we had mentioned that we carry about 6 months worth of memory that we access regularly to kind of keep us grounded in time and space.  We remember more than that of course, but that's longer term, and is stored differently.

The 6-month short term gives us a base to work off of, something to connect to and reference.  The speaker said that making a drastic change, or having some shock to the system, emotional or physical, wipes out that 6-month base.  So a person is set adrift until he can build that memory back. 

            He (or she, I can't remember) said joining the Peace Corps and moving to a foreign country is just such a shock. 

            It was a helpful analogy for me.  It's like a whole lifetime has been crammed into the last two weeks, and the time before that is distant.  It's not gone, it's just helpful here only as myth, because the only thing familiar is the basic core of being human.  And that's exactly the connection I believe in, the connection that makes the Peace Corps work; we are all human.  There are differences, but at the core we all want the same things.

            Severo and Cristina Tzib are raising a great family here.  They work hard every day to ensure their future, working within the reality of San Antonio, Belize.  My parents did that, I did the same thing, my brothers and sisters do the same thing.  They do what they can, where they are, with what they have.  What we might be able to do as Peace Corps volunteers is to bring another perspective, some different possibilities, if asked.

            Severo likes to watch WWF wrestling on TV.  He asked me with a straight face if I thought it was real.  I finally learned to read him like I had to learn to read my uncles and learn when he was pulling my leg.  He knows it's opera, just that the very large women with powerful voices have been replaced by very large men with powerful muscles.  Most of the rest is the same.

            There a seven churches here in San Antonio, one Catholic, one Jehovah Witness, and I think the remaining 5 are a Pentacostal/Evangelical mix.  Every night of the week one or two are having services, and with the windows open (no glass, just openings to the warm night), the sound carries over most of the town.  There are three bars in town, one of which I plan to visit this evening so I can fulfill my obligation to investigate all aspects of the village.  Some parts of Peace Corps service are more difficult than others, but I will do my best to fulfill the mission.

            I know already it will be hard to leave this place, this family, when my 5 weeks is up.  I could easily settle in for the two years here.  Before I fired up the computer I helped Severo chop a little wood for the fire Cristina needed to prepare our evening supper...it looks delicious.  "Bollo," with the double L pronounced like the L's in tortilla...boyo.  Corn tortillas spread with a sauce, chicken pieces laid in, some onions and I don't know what else added in, rolled up, wrapped in banana leaves and slow cooked.

            Can't wait.

Tzib

            I'm standing naked on concrete, showering by pouring a cup of water over my head from a 5-gallon bucket on the floor, giving some thought to the idea of "What the hell was I thinking..."

            I am very thankful my host mom Cristina Tzib warmed the water up.  It does feel good compared to the cold showers from the rooms in Belmopan.  Since it's dark and there is no electricity in this room, I have a flashlight propped up on a shelf.  And I used too much shampoo.  Since the water is rainwater from the cistern, it's naturally soft; that's my theory.  A bit hard to rinse off all the soap.  Then, as I stand there dripping, I realize I did not bring in a towel, had not asked for one and am not sure where to find one in the dark.  Awkward.

            This is rural Belize, the village of San Antonio, in the foothills of the Belizean mountains (maximum height about 3,300 feet) surrounded by jungle/forest so dense and green it seems you could walk on the color alone.  I'm here for 5 weeks of Community Based Training, where I'll learn some Spanish and the basics of the Business Organization and Development job that I'll be doing once I leave here and spend two more weeks in my eventual placement site.  Then I'll head back to Belmopan for swearing in to become an official Peace Corps Volunteer.  Yup, I'm not one yet; I'm a trainee.

            Then I head out for two years of service.

            I'm somewhat used to the outhouse, since Grandpa and Grandma "A" had one at the farm, and that wasn't all that long ago.  I'm also happy that this one has real toilet paper instead of the Sears Roebuck catalogue or cobs.

            Dońa Cristina and her husband Don Severo have three daughters and a son ranging in age from 20 (their son, Cefas) to Ivy who will be 14 next week, with Esmeralda and Febe in between.  The house has a small concrete floor kitchen with the shower/laundry through a doorway left, a fairly large living room and as far as I can tell, two bedrooms, one of which I occupy.  Mine is about 9' x 9', give or take.

            The house is cement block, with a frame roof, corrugated metal topping it off.  Don Severo built it about 20 years ago.  He also built the house next door for his younger brother, he built the one just up the hill which is partially finished and the church school across the road on land he gave to the church, and the church in the east part of town.  He built the house behind the church for his older brother, who also happens to be the pastor.

            Don Severo farms a little, as far as I can tell about forty-two acres.  Haven't seen that yet, but hope to visit soon.  He is 64, a strong, compact Mayan who once almost chopped his hand off at the wrist with a machete while harvesting cane.  He showed me the scar.  A branch overhead deflected his blade just as he swung, and he severed the artery.  His dad wrapped it up with a bandanna and got him to San Ignacio where there was a doctor.  He had almost bled out by the time he got there.  He was 30.  When he was 42 he married Cristina and started his family.

            Dońa Cristina is a wonderful cook and I'm a bit concerned that I'm gonna roll out of here like a fat bean if I don't get more exercise and a little less food.  Had chicken in a spicy (but not burn your lips off) salsa, with a large serving of rice criss-crossed by plantain strips and a salad with cucumbers.  And a very large mug of coffee with milk.  Had to leave some of the rice, and asked Don Severo to explain to his wife that it was only because I was too full.  Did not want to offend her, but needed to let her know that I would appreciate it if she would cut back on the servings a little.

`           Think it worked because this evening we had a thin bean soup, and coffee again, but I ran into my old nemesis, bread.  This bread started off as round flattened dollops of dough about 5" in diameter, folded once and deep fried on the stove.  Whoa!  Had to have several of those...warm, crisp, tasty.

            As I mentioned earlier, the house up the hill is incomplete.  It's common in Belize, Guatemala and Haiti for people to build as they can, paying as they go rather than accumulating debt to service for the rest of their lives.  So though it can give a village a disheveled look, it is a conservative tactic to allow people with limited means to still eventually own a home free and clear.

            There are a few of the traditional buildings in the village with thatched roofs, but most are now built with block and wood.  Don Severo said he could teach me to weave a thatched roof and that would be great, but I don't think we'll have time.  The classes are filling my brain past comprehension it seems; Spanish is still Greek to me. 

Belize 1

    So, here's my hope.
    I hope to share with you the view of one country, Belize, through the eyes of one person.  I have no aspirations beyond that. I think there is no more that I can do, and I hope at minimum to do do disservice to that.
    This is not a Peace Corps blog, and neither the Peace Corps nor the U.S. Government endorses what is written here.  I write that because I am required to, and I write that because it is important for me personally.  I am one person, an American, choosing to live in another country for a time.
    The three main goals of the Peace Corps are, first, to help people in other countries who ask for our help.  We do not go into countries who do not first ask the Peace Corps to come in.  Second, we hoe to promote better understanding of Americans in the places we serve.  Third, we hope to promote better understanding of others peoples on the part of Americans.
    That's it in a nutshell.
    I am a man who loves words, their meanings and subtleties, the twists and turns phrase, and I can hardly find a way to build a sentence that can capture the excitement I feel at being part of this larger endeavor, signed into Executive Order #10924 by President John F. Kennedy on March 1, 1961.  It has been a long time getting here for me.
    At the end of his remarks on creating the Peace Corps, Kennedy said, "Life in the Peace Corps will not be easy.  There will be no salary and allowances will be at a level sufficient only to maintain health and meet basic needs.  Men and women will be expected to work and live alongside the nationals of the country in which they are stationed-doing the same work, eating the same food, talking the same language."
    "But if the life will not be easy, it will be rich and satisfying.  For every young (well, that's what he said then...) American who participates in the Peace Corps-who works in a foreign land-will know that he or she is sharing in the great common task of bringing to man that decent way of life which is the foundation of freedom and a condition of peace."
    I have no preconceived idea of what I can bring to the table other than a desire to communicate and heart open to service.  Where exactly I will be working I do not yet know, nor do I know my primary assignment, other than that it is in business organization and development.'   
    I am here with a group of 41 volunteers.  There are 5 married couples.  Most of the volunteers are in their mid-twenties, but perhaps half are spread from 30 to our oldest volunteer, and man who will turn 71 in October.  One woman celebrated her 60th birthday en route from Washington D.C. to Belize.  We sang happy birthday when, at 1:30 a.m. we gathered to board the bus for Reagan International Airport, and her husband introduced her and with tears in eyes said he was very happy to be right there, with her, ready to board a plane to Belize.
    It is now Sunday the 23rd of August and though we have been in-country only since...and now my mind plays tricks and I can hardly recount these few intense days, so replete with travel and change...since Thursday.  We 41 are bonding in ways that those of you know, who have been in military basic training, or who have shared late nights and long hours on long, demanding projects or emergency service.  It is exhilarating and exhausting.
    We stay here in the Belizean capitol of Belmopan until thursday next, when we move to our Community BAsed Training sites.  That means moving in with a family in one of the surrounding villages to learn the language and begin to absorb the culture.  Though most Belizeans speak English, the host family is instructed to speak to us only in Kriol, Spanish, K'etchi (one of the Mayan languages) or Garifuna.
    We all learn a bit of survival Kriol, which seems to be similar to New Orleans Creole, but based more on Spanish/English rather than French/English.
    I have been having a bit of difficulty connecting with websites here, including the one at Peace Corps HQ.  Will be interesting to see what happens on site out of the capital, since I've been counting on staying connected with family and friends through the internet.  It would be a major adjustment to get my head around not having that option.  Keeping my fingers crossed.