As the heat grows more intense with the ever-present anticipation of the coming summer, we sit day after day in our resource center that is directly next to what we had thought was a restaurant, but in reality turned out to be a whorehouse, that plays that Black Eyed Peas song “Iv got a feeling” at least 100 times a day at full volume. We are all slowly learning Maya, but it is with much frustration that we sit all day on hard wooden chairs, our brains melting in the heat, and attempt to unravel the still mostly mysterious noises making up the ancient language of our not-so-distant future. We can however, now proudly inform each other in Mayan “Wa tak in ta” or “I have to poop” or even more literally “its coming, my poop.” The importance of this knowledge can not be underestimated in humor nor necessity.
My host family is great, and carries on the same basic conversations with me on a daily basis so that I can get more comfortable listening for the few words I recognize. This mostly revolves around eating time, an activity that can some days be more of a chore than anything. I find that I mentally pace myself through meals of pig tail like a marathoner would during a race. “you can do this, come on, just a few more bites.” There are two easy yet dependable solutions to being served any food that is questionable: ik and wah. Ik is a dried and ground red pepper mixture that gives any food a delightful balance of heat with lots of flavor. Combine this with wrapping the burnt pig fat in wah (corn tortillas that are used in place of silverware) and you can power through anything that is set in front of you with a smile. Most days however it is just delightful beans and tortillas for each meals,which I got sick of for about a week, but now crave if I go a day without.
Since classes started I don't have nearly as much time to just sit and slowly discuss the day going by with my host family. It seems like I am always just saying hello before going to class, study, PC office, or bed. However, the other night was my host dad's birthday, so we all sat around, and had fun. It was a great night. Andres (my host dad) told us about how beautiful his long ago childhood home of El Salvador is. How he was once a great football player, but got his ankle injured (Achilles tendon most likely) during a game, and now is a tailor that has trouble walking some days. Pablo (my host grand-dad) told us about his days as a child living in the jungle of rural Toledo. About his life growing up, and the differences between the elder generation and his own. He was once a talented electrician that worked with the British Army, and held a certificate from London. I came to find out that he did the wiring for the church in one of the possible sites I will end up at and he swears that if I ask, people will know him by name. Then he told us about how when he was a young man he would go into PG town with his friend, drink for a week straight, until his skin turned green as he says, and then return to his women in San Antonio. We doubled over in laughter as he talked about all the strip bars he would go to, with all the detail and enthusiasm one would expect form a reading of Shakespeare. Then they asked me about America, and if it was true that rich people would give their brand new car to a bum if they disliked a single detail about it. I told them about America. About how it was not the promise land they had always heard, that the streets were not paved in gold, and that rich people did not give their cars to bums. How so many worked so hard for so little, and how so few had more than they would ever need. I said how amazing it was that just like in Belize, there is a greatly diverse people that make up one country and that there is not one color, creed, or idea that represents all the people. I told them about my family, and what it was like growing up in Indiana. Even all about my life on the road, all the far out characters I had meet along the way, and how beautiful all the different parts of America are, and how everything is so different, yet so the same.
That night was cool, and I was woken up by a horrible pain in my left eye. I sat up and in my comatose confusion and realized that I had forgotten to take my contacts out before going to sleep. I took them out immediately, but when I came to in the morning, my eye was nearly swollen shut. I have slept in my contacts many times, so I am convinced that a bug of some sort, got into my eye during the night somehow, but I have no idea what happen. I went through half the day constantly pouring tears out of my red, swollen eye (much to the confusion of my host family who are completely unable to comprehend the idea of tiny glasses that you put directly on your eyes). At lunch I went to see the nurse, who gave me a Zyrtec pill for allergies. Now, I love our nurse and I in no way mean to undermine her medical expertise, but even my dumb ass knows that allergies don't hit you like a bullet in the middle of the night in one eye without any history of them. The next day though she had an appointment for me with the eye doctor in Belize City. So with my one good eye got on a bus to Belize City, arrived without incident, hobbled my way to a taxi, and then meet the most laid back doctor in the world. After about 10 minutes of examination he rummaged around on his cluttered desk and handed me some drops with a Spanish label and Said:
Dr. “ uh, yeah, here ya go, this should work. Use it a few times a day.”
Me. “Okay, so one drop three times a day until gone?”
Dr. “uhhh yeah, you know, a couple drops every couple hours.”
Me “so 2 drops every 2 hours?”
Dr. “sure that should work”
Me “so whats wrong with my eye”
Dr. “I don't know, It doesn't look like an scratch, Probably a inflamed iris”
Me “oh, okay, so these drops are anti-inflammatory?”
Dr. “Yeah, Oh and if it gets worse you need to call me right away, some people have a really bad reaction to that stuff.”
Me “Alright well it's already feeling better, thanks Doctor”
When I got pack to the Nurse she took the Spanish mystery drops away from me and gave me some sort of PC certified drops. Either way, my eye is better and he was probably the coolest doctor I had ever meet.
I returned to The City the next two days, first for meetings with the whole HC group followed by an afternoon by the pool at “Crock-land” which as far as I know, may or may not contain any crocodiles at all. Then on Friday for the rest of the weekend as part of the PCV visit. If you have ever been to mid city New Orleans, add open sewers, crabs that live in the sewers and a higher murder frequency and you get Belize City. It was a pretty chill couple days. There wasn't to much to do in the city, but we did go to a great restaurant before we caught a water taxi out to Caye Caucker on Sunday, and spent all day waist deep in the most crystal blue water you can imagine. It was the greatest re-energizer anyone could ever as for. I know I wont be spending much time floating carelessly in paradise over the next two years, but as I gazed out into the endless horizon all I could think was “there has to be worse places to be a volunteer.”
I returned home to the find that my host grand-dad Pablo had made the trek back to his home in the next village, complaining of the lack of breeze and constant noise from the children. I can't blame him. The last few days have been the hottest we have felt since arriving in county. My host grandma tells me its been in the high 90's that feels like 109 with humidity. There is no escaping the sweat, that covers my body from head to toe all day and night. A good bucket bath keeps me clean for about as long as it takes to walk the fifteen feet back to my room. The last few nights have been sleepless ones for most of the people in my family, including myself. This seems to make everything move at a wonderfully slow pace as the days pass by in a dreamlike daze. It's too hot to be in a rush, and your brain cant move fast enough to hold complicated thoughts or care about most anything, so you take your time doing anything.
One month had already passed by, and 26 more at least remain. I will be leaving my host family in 2 weeks to go to Toledo, and as much enjoy them I can't help but look forward to the mystical place down south that I have heard so much about. My feet have began to itch, and I sometimes miss my free days of living out of my rucksack with no home or plan in front of me. The days before the Peace Corps told me where to be and when, however once training ends, so does my set schedule. Then I no longer have to spend long days sitting in a classroom, and can start to really learn.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Easter Weekend
After a whirlwind 24 hours in Texas, followed by a week of sessions in Belmopan on everything from diarrhea to development, I finally arrive at my home for the next 5 1/12 weeks. I was one of three PCTs assigned to learn Maya Mopan, one of the dialects of the Maya Indians, which is primary spoken in villages around the Toledo District, the southernmost district of Belize. I have heard that is a hard language to learn, as it does not share many similarities to English in pronunciation or grammar, but what the hell, it means Ill be going to rural Toledo, and it will be cool to learn a language that only about 20,000 people in the whole world speak.
As far as host families go, I think I hit the jackpot. I am in a small village not far from Belmopan, but worlds apart. My host mom is very funny and welcoming, always telling me to feel at home. My host dad is from El Salvador and therefore wants to teach me Spanish. They are married by common law and have one seven year old boy and a 14 year old girl who are both shy but wonderful. My host grandfather is a wise old man that walks with a cane and spends the entirety of his days laying in his hammock, taking every opportunity to speak with me in Mayan. I sit at night with my notebook on a stool next to him, scribbling as fast as I can to write all of the words he tells me. Repeating them back to him until he he finally says "Aha!" in a satisfied voice, and then I know that I have pronounced the word correctly. My host great grandmother also lives here. She is a great shy old women, who is constantly working on preparing food or doing launddry all day until she falls asleep on the couch at night. She was embarrassed beyond belief when the silly gringo (me) was hanging her dresses on the line to dry after the wash. My host grandmother is a strong Mayan women who is as good at making perfectly round tortillas as she is at effortlessly breaking a chickens neck for caldo. She is always teaching me about the old ways of the Mayans, what they ate when there was no meat, how to wrap a fish in a certain leaf and then how long to but it in the fire and ect. My favorite time of the day may be sitting with the old women at the fire heart (Mayan stove) and stumbling through my words as they correct all my attempts to name the things I see around me. My 14 year old host uncle is a smart, polite young man that takes me on walking tours of the village and informs me of where to avoid the drunks and gangsters in town.
Children are always coming and going, and even they enjoy asking me what I am doing or what my name is in Mayan so they can giggle and correct my broken speech, but they obey instantly when one of the women lets lose with a deep growl of words that I hope I never understand. There is no questioning who is in charge in this house. Life is constantly moving, but in a wonderful relaxed manner. Everyone is so warm and kind, after just a few days a feel right at home. They make me promise that after I move down south I will come see them whenever I make it to Belmopan, as if I could ever pass up a free meal so close to town.
Seemingly advanced for some of the houses in the area, we enjoy electricity, running water (meaning a pipe in the yard that you don't have to pump) and even wireless internet, that we get from the University of Belize, that is directly behind the house. Even the latrine is much better than I was expecting, although I have to hunch over and turn sideways to get through the door because I seem to be about 2 feet taller than most Mayans. I have a nice room that locks, because as my host mom is always telling me "you can not trust anyone out there!"
This weekend was the Easter Holiday, so my first weekend here we all just hung out, cooked, ate, and talked. When I get tired I lay in the hammock in the open air side room and recite the few words I know in my head until I fall asleep. To be awaken by either the sounds of children playing or being called for a meal. It has been a great way to start training.
Today, our language professor was kind enough to take out for a relaxing day of swimming in then sun. Mallory, Dan and I all piled in the back of his truck and headed southwest along the stunningly beautiful Hummingbird highway. None of us were sure where we were going, but the sun was shining and the dense, jungle covered hills wrapped around us, soaking us in its moist heat, so no questions where asked. As we speed along the winding road I was in awe of how perfect life can be at times, and how lucky I am to be doing what I am, when there is so much pain in the world. It was a moment when everything makes sense, and is at peace. Just like in Ghana, and New Orleans, my mind is at peace, and I am more than ready to get to work.
This gave way to our arrival at the river. A large river with a high bridge passing over it. There were people doing laundry, bathing, and playing in the cool water all around. We were surrounded by high hills and lush green jungle. We swam up stream and rested at a shallow point where a stream met the larger river, watching people lives go on in front of us. Taking in the this snapshot of life in Belize
On the way back home we stopped at Blue Hole National Park. A small limestone sinkhole in the middle of the bush. We rested and snaked on the wah that my host grandmother prepared for me. She wrapped them in a large leaf, saying that this is how the Mayan would transport food for lunch long ago when out in the fields all day, and that now that I am Mayan this is what I will do. We then swam in the pristine still waters of the Blue Hole, which gives off an eerie blue glow at the spot that sinks down so deep that I could not dive to the bottom. I floated on my back and gazed up at the sun peaking through the think canopy and felt the stillness and oneness of the world. A painful sunburn on my face and neck are my souvenirs of the day, but it was well worth it.
Classes Start early tomorrow morning, and then it will a long, hard haul of language and technical training until swearing in at the end of May. All of the things on the schedule seem really interesting though, and I am anxious to begin, and to be one step closer being a PCV.
As far as host families go, I think I hit the jackpot. I am in a small village not far from Belmopan, but worlds apart. My host mom is very funny and welcoming, always telling me to feel at home. My host dad is from El Salvador and therefore wants to teach me Spanish. They are married by common law and have one seven year old boy and a 14 year old girl who are both shy but wonderful. My host grandfather is a wise old man that walks with a cane and spends the entirety of his days laying in his hammock, taking every opportunity to speak with me in Mayan. I sit at night with my notebook on a stool next to him, scribbling as fast as I can to write all of the words he tells me. Repeating them back to him until he he finally says "Aha!" in a satisfied voice, and then I know that I have pronounced the word correctly. My host great grandmother also lives here. She is a great shy old women, who is constantly working on preparing food or doing launddry all day until she falls asleep on the couch at night. She was embarrassed beyond belief when the silly gringo (me) was hanging her dresses on the line to dry after the wash. My host grandmother is a strong Mayan women who is as good at making perfectly round tortillas as she is at effortlessly breaking a chickens neck for caldo. She is always teaching me about the old ways of the Mayans, what they ate when there was no meat, how to wrap a fish in a certain leaf and then how long to but it in the fire and ect. My favorite time of the day may be sitting with the old women at the fire heart (Mayan stove) and stumbling through my words as they correct all my attempts to name the things I see around me. My 14 year old host uncle is a smart, polite young man that takes me on walking tours of the village and informs me of where to avoid the drunks and gangsters in town.
Children are always coming and going, and even they enjoy asking me what I am doing or what my name is in Mayan so they can giggle and correct my broken speech, but they obey instantly when one of the women lets lose with a deep growl of words that I hope I never understand. There is no questioning who is in charge in this house. Life is constantly moving, but in a wonderful relaxed manner. Everyone is so warm and kind, after just a few days a feel right at home. They make me promise that after I move down south I will come see them whenever I make it to Belmopan, as if I could ever pass up a free meal so close to town.
Seemingly advanced for some of the houses in the area, we enjoy electricity, running water (meaning a pipe in the yard that you don't have to pump) and even wireless internet, that we get from the University of Belize, that is directly behind the house. Even the latrine is much better than I was expecting, although I have to hunch over and turn sideways to get through the door because I seem to be about 2 feet taller than most Mayans. I have a nice room that locks, because as my host mom is always telling me "you can not trust anyone out there!"
This weekend was the Easter Holiday, so my first weekend here we all just hung out, cooked, ate, and talked. When I get tired I lay in the hammock in the open air side room and recite the few words I know in my head until I fall asleep. To be awaken by either the sounds of children playing or being called for a meal. It has been a great way to start training.
Today, our language professor was kind enough to take out for a relaxing day of swimming in then sun. Mallory, Dan and I all piled in the back of his truck and headed southwest along the stunningly beautiful Hummingbird highway. None of us were sure where we were going, but the sun was shining and the dense, jungle covered hills wrapped around us, soaking us in its moist heat, so no questions where asked. As we speed along the winding road I was in awe of how perfect life can be at times, and how lucky I am to be doing what I am, when there is so much pain in the world. It was a moment when everything makes sense, and is at peace. Just like in Ghana, and New Orleans, my mind is at peace, and I am more than ready to get to work.
This gave way to our arrival at the river. A large river with a high bridge passing over it. There were people doing laundry, bathing, and playing in the cool water all around. We were surrounded by high hills and lush green jungle. We swam up stream and rested at a shallow point where a stream met the larger river, watching people lives go on in front of us. Taking in the this snapshot of life in Belize
On the way back home we stopped at Blue Hole National Park. A small limestone sinkhole in the middle of the bush. We rested and snaked on the wah that my host grandmother prepared for me. She wrapped them in a large leaf, saying that this is how the Mayan would transport food for lunch long ago when out in the fields all day, and that now that I am Mayan this is what I will do. We then swam in the pristine still waters of the Blue Hole, which gives off an eerie blue glow at the spot that sinks down so deep that I could not dive to the bottom. I floated on my back and gazed up at the sun peaking through the think canopy and felt the stillness and oneness of the world. A painful sunburn on my face and neck are my souvenirs of the day, but it was well worth it.
Classes Start early tomorrow morning, and then it will a long, hard haul of language and technical training until swearing in at the end of May. All of the things on the schedule seem really interesting though, and I am anxious to begin, and to be one step closer being a PCV.
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