I had a conversation with my class last week. I gave them a simple journal prompt that asked them what they wanted to be when they graduated from school. Two of my students started smiling at each other from across the classroom. I asked what they were smiling about? They replied that they knew what the each other wanted to be after they graduated. I told them to write in their journals, and that I would let them share their responses after 10 minutes of writing. I selected the two boys first. I asked them to share with the class what they were smiling about. They told the class that ever since they were in Infant 1 (1st grade) they had always wanted to be tour guides in the rainforest. More specifically, they both had decided that they wanted to essentially be naturalists that showed tourists about the natural remedies that the rainforest had to offer.
About a week later, I had the students bring in one natural resource from their communities as an introductory activity for talking about what natural resources the Mayans might have used. I expected the students to bring in fruit and pieces of wood. Instead, the students brought in various types of plants. Of course I don’t remember any of the names off the top of my head, but there were easily about 10 different natural resources from their communities that were used for everything from headaches, to pulled muscles and injured bones. Some of the plants needed to be boiled, while others rubbed onto the skin, while others could just be eaten as is. Now the students could have easily picked any plant out of the forest and pulled a quick one on me, except for the fact that every student in the classroom confirmed exactly what each of the plants was called and what it was used for.
Now prior to arriving here in Gallon Jug, I had only read about the rainforest in books, and seen it on movies. It is a spectacular place. Zoia and I have had the opportunity to drive thru the forest. We have seen foxes, owls, ocelots, snakes, jaguars, and many other animals that have native names that I cant remember. The experience of seeing something for the first time that you have only read about can be compared to the likes of seeing the ocean for the first time. The rainforest is, indeed, a great wonder of the world; a sincerely magical place.
We have been so hammered with rain that all of the rivers have overflowed. Many parts of Belize have called natural disaster warnings. We are fairly safe because the rainforest drinks most of the rain, however the two roads in and out of Gallon Jug have been flooded. One of the trucks from Gallon Jug tried to pass the Rio Grande a couple of weeks ago. I would guess that the overflowed portion of the river was about 100 yards long. The car made it about 80 yards (almost to the end) before the front wheels went up, and the rest of the car continued. There were 5 or 6 dudes (all fathers of children at our school) who climbed out of the windows and swam to the side through a pretty rough current. One of the guys could not swim. He stood on top of the roof of the car until someone threw him a rope. Scary shit! The thought of loosing someone in such a tragedy is a horrible thought within itself, but even worse when you consider the size of our community.
Our community is made up of three entities: Gallon Jug Farm, Sylvester Village, and Chan Chich Lodge. Gallon Jug Farm is where we live. There are 6 other families who live on the farm, for a grand total of 19 people, including children. About 3 miles away is the village of Sylvester, where most of our community lives. Approximately 30 thatched-roof houses surround our futbol field, and extend from one riverbed to another. The village has one store, a community center, two churches (one Catholic and one Evangelical), and of course the futbol field. There are probably about 150 residents in Sylvester Village. The 3rd point in the triangle is Chan Chich Lodge, which is about 3-4 miles from Gallon Jug and Sylvester Village. Chan Chich is one of the worlds premiere jungle lodges. Tourists pay big bucks to come stay in the jungle, ride horses, hike, bird watch, and relax. There is a small village that makes up the workers of Chan Chich. I would guess that the population of Chan Chich is about 50.
Our entire community is no larger than 300 people. As you can imagine in such a small community, there are not many secrets. Bonchinche is people’s favorite past time. Everyone is quite literally related to one anther. One family’s grandfather was sick last week. As a result of his illness, the family went to go visit him. About 1/8th of our school was missing.
I was told that a National Geographic photographer/USC professor came out here to photograph something or other. He ended up visiting our school. He told our principal that in all of his travels throughout the world, he has never seen more “pure” children. The word “pure” is a perfect description for these people. They are genuinely beautiful, gracious, gentle, and caring people. Their physical characteristics are strongly Mayan, with significant traces of Asian ancestry, as the Mayans probably crossed the Baring Strait from Mongolia. The Mayan hierarchal system is vaguely familiar in our community. Certain families rise to the top in regards to school achievement, more desirable jobs, and social networks, while others follow different destinies.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Keepin' Busy
We just came off a long weekend for Pan American Day. I have heard two sets of stories about Pan American Day in Belize. Some celebrate it as “Columbus Day”, or the day Columbus bumped into America, and others celebrate it as the day that the Mestizo people traveled South into Belize from the Yucatan Peninsula.
We have started to figure out how to mix up our week day nights after school. I have been getting rides into Sylvester Village a couple nights a week to play futbol with the fellas, and Zoia started her first dance class last Thursday at the village community center.
The “community center” was a large open space with about 5 beds in it and a pile of old 80’s donated books. We cleared the beds away, hooked up the music, and waited for all the dancers. About 15 women, myself, and Paulisito (also my right fullback) got it cracking as the whole village looked through the door. The dance class has some serious novelty value in these parts. Zoia broke it down as usual, and everyone else tried to keep up. She taught some cumbia, merengue, salsa, and a little reggae. The women, and Paulisito, ranged from ages 10-40. It was a good time, but next class Zoia will close the door, so the whole village doesn’t act like it’s a performance. The women were justifiably real self-conscious.
Since the adult class on Thursday nights was such a hit, but also such a spectacle, Zoia has created a class for the girls of the school two days a week at the same community center. Right now she is teaching hip-hop on Mondays, and African on Wednesdays. The movements are very new for the girls, but they seem to enjoy it very much. Those same two days, I coach the boys futbol team on the village cancha. Our team is 14 boys ranging from 4-8th grade. I take Siboney for the first half of the practice, where she attempts to do jogging warm ups with the boys, and then proceeds to cry at half field when she cant keep up. I then take her to the dance class for the second half of the class, where someone in the village inevitably buys her a dulce, and she jumps on the beds in the community center for the rest of the class.
When we are not teaching dance class or playing/coaching futbol after school, we are working. The school has very high expectations, and as with any teaching job, there is lots of planning to be done. Prior to arriving, we had this notion that we could kinda cruise on by because we were in Belize, and for some reason there wouldn’t be high expectations. I think Zoia and I would both attest to the fact that we are working harder here than we have at any job in the states.
There are also days when we are not coaching or teaching, when we are able to take a ride on the horses, take a jog around the farm or on the airstrip, feed the chickens, or pick fruit from the farm (bananas, oranges, mangoes, avocados, or breadfruit). There are obviously no restaurants nearby, so we cook every night.
I will spare you all another long futbol story, but will add that I had a hat trick in our last game at Indian Church a couple weekends ago. Apparently the little Belize futbol circuit here has never seen a gringo who can play a little. You would think that there might be a little love for the newcomer, but instead the hate seeps out of peoples pours. Apparently teams are out for me now. Great. Our team advanced to the second round of the tournament, where the competition gets much harder. Our next game is against Pine Ridge in the village of Guinea Grass. We play on Nov. 2nd.
We are trying to get our hands on a car, but with our remoteness it is very hard to get anything done. A whole day excursion is basically necessary to make it out of the bush and into some towns. Not to mention the fact that we are in Belize, and things move a bit slower in the tropics than they do in the states.
We are enjoying ourselves, and try to inhale the beauty of the rainforest as much as possible. We are slowly learning about the natural remedies and birds that surround us. We are in the midst of the rainy season. A relatively fierce rainstorm has come thru Gallon Jug just about every day for the last month. Apparently the village will easily break its rainfall record for the year. Many villages South of Gallon Jug are being flooded as a result of incoming Guatemalan rivers that are rushing really hard this time of year.
We have started to figure out how to mix up our week day nights after school. I have been getting rides into Sylvester Village a couple nights a week to play futbol with the fellas, and Zoia started her first dance class last Thursday at the village community center.
The “community center” was a large open space with about 5 beds in it and a pile of old 80’s donated books. We cleared the beds away, hooked up the music, and waited for all the dancers. About 15 women, myself, and Paulisito (also my right fullback) got it cracking as the whole village looked through the door. The dance class has some serious novelty value in these parts. Zoia broke it down as usual, and everyone else tried to keep up. She taught some cumbia, merengue, salsa, and a little reggae. The women, and Paulisito, ranged from ages 10-40. It was a good time, but next class Zoia will close the door, so the whole village doesn’t act like it’s a performance. The women were justifiably real self-conscious.
Since the adult class on Thursday nights was such a hit, but also such a spectacle, Zoia has created a class for the girls of the school two days a week at the same community center. Right now she is teaching hip-hop on Mondays, and African on Wednesdays. The movements are very new for the girls, but they seem to enjoy it very much. Those same two days, I coach the boys futbol team on the village cancha. Our team is 14 boys ranging from 4-8th grade. I take Siboney for the first half of the practice, where she attempts to do jogging warm ups with the boys, and then proceeds to cry at half field when she cant keep up. I then take her to the dance class for the second half of the class, where someone in the village inevitably buys her a dulce, and she jumps on the beds in the community center for the rest of the class.
When we are not teaching dance class or playing/coaching futbol after school, we are working. The school has very high expectations, and as with any teaching job, there is lots of planning to be done. Prior to arriving, we had this notion that we could kinda cruise on by because we were in Belize, and for some reason there wouldn’t be high expectations. I think Zoia and I would both attest to the fact that we are working harder here than we have at any job in the states.
There are also days when we are not coaching or teaching, when we are able to take a ride on the horses, take a jog around the farm or on the airstrip, feed the chickens, or pick fruit from the farm (bananas, oranges, mangoes, avocados, or breadfruit). There are obviously no restaurants nearby, so we cook every night.
I will spare you all another long futbol story, but will add that I had a hat trick in our last game at Indian Church a couple weekends ago. Apparently the little Belize futbol circuit here has never seen a gringo who can play a little. You would think that there might be a little love for the newcomer, but instead the hate seeps out of peoples pours. Apparently teams are out for me now. Great. Our team advanced to the second round of the tournament, where the competition gets much harder. Our next game is against Pine Ridge in the village of Guinea Grass. We play on Nov. 2nd.
We are trying to get our hands on a car, but with our remoteness it is very hard to get anything done. A whole day excursion is basically necessary to make it out of the bush and into some towns. Not to mention the fact that we are in Belize, and things move a bit slower in the tropics than they do in the states.
We are enjoying ourselves, and try to inhale the beauty of the rainforest as much as possible. We are slowly learning about the natural remedies and birds that surround us. We are in the midst of the rainy season. A relatively fierce rainstorm has come thru Gallon Jug just about every day for the last month. Apparently the village will easily break its rainfall record for the year. Many villages South of Gallon Jug are being flooded as a result of incoming Guatemalan rivers that are rushing really hard this time of year.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Goal Maestro!
Well Sunday, alone, was worth the price of admission for moving down to Belize as far as I’m concerned. I was picked up at my house around 9 am to embark on the journey. I boarded the bed of the pickup truck where I was greeted by 2 of my students, una senora vieja, 3 of the other players, a couple futbol fans from the village, the coach, a bag of platanos, and a bucket of okra. I later found out that there were about 7 people inside the truck. Needless to say, we were rolling deep. We caravanned with 3 other trucks that had a similar set up. We drove about 2 ½ hours through the jungle and the Mennonite community to the pueblo of San Felipe. One of the trucks broke down right outside of San Felipe. Most of the Gallon Jug community has roots in San Felipe, so we spent the next couple hours greeting family members, eating, dropping off bags of platanos, and trying to fix the broken car. At around 12:00 it was time to head another 15 minutes north to the pueblo of Trinidad for our futbol match. We had adopted 3 more players in the bed of our pickup truck as a result of the broken down truck.
Now I knew that Belizeans took their futbol seriously, but I had no idea that this particular tournament was of such a magnitude. There were to be 3 games that day. The field was packed with fans from the 6 perspective teams, blasting reggae music, a few vendors selling tamales, tacos, and empanadas, and of course your pueblo borachos. We watched the first game, and started to stretch and get suited up for our game.
The match: Gallon Jug vs. San Lazaro. Considering the remoteness of our village compared to the rest of the pueblos, we probably had a good 25 fans. Our coach pulled us together, and went through the starting lineup beginning with the defensive line. As he got to the front line, I listened up for any indication of my name; Alec? Alejandro? Gringo? Nothing. But he did mention the name of the starting center forward as “Maestro”. All of the guys pointed at me in case I didn’t catch that one. What a fitting name for what I was about to teach on the field that day.
This game was no joke at all. Each team lined up on the sideline facing each other. Both teams walked to center sideline, and then turned in and proceeded towards the center of the field walking side by side. As we got to center field, all of us were to face each other. The ref said his little schpeal; we shook hands, and then took our positions. At this point, I noticed that nobody was in any rush to start the game. Instead, all of the players turned to the sidelines and started to wave for the next 5 minutes. The crowd erupted as they made it clear which team they were supporting. Apparently this was our moment to soak of the spotlight, and wave to our fans. I really had no choice at this point. I had to represent.
About 15 minutes into the first half, my partner, Neto, controlled the ball at about ¾ field and dished it out to me on the right flank. I took about three dribbles past my defender until I was about a yard in from the 18-yard mark, and nailed it into the lower left hand corner. Goal Maestro!!! The crowd went wild.
I continued to play the rest of the first half pretty much out of my mind. I had a header off of a corner kick that hit the post, and a connected bicycle kick off of another corner kick that didn’t have much power behind it, but looked cool nonetheless. We scored another goal off of penalty kick as a result of a handball in their box. The opposing team scored a break away goal late in the first half, and the score at half time was Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1.
Pretty much the theme of our halftime speech was Ganas! Y Animo! About 2 minutes into this very inspiring speech, it started to pour down rain. This torrential downpour lasted for the next 45 minutes, which just so happens to be the entirety of the second half. The second half was a hysterical mud fest mess. We were pretty much playing in 6-8 inches of water and mud. There was absolutely no soccer being played. Players were slide tackling every chance they could, wrestling in the mud, and attempting to dislodge the ball from the mud any way they could. I thought the fans might take cover as a result of the storm. Nope. Every man, woman, and child manned the storm and continued to cheer for this mess of a half. Final score Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1. We won, which means we head to the pueblo of Indian Church this Sunday.
We all jumped back into our trucks, and headed back to Gallon Jug. The drive back was not short of celebratory cervezas and pan dulces. About 2 hours into the ride back, our car pulled over. Apparently Mexico was on the other side of this river that we were driving next to. We each paid a $2 customs fee in order to get in a little boat that some dude rowed about 100 feet to our neighboring country of Mexico. By this time, it was probably about 6pm, and I was pretty warn down from the game, the cervezas, and the 2 hour ride in the back of a pickup truck, so I was wondering why we were now heading to Mexico rather than heading back to Gallon Jug? Apparently groceries are considerably cheaper in Mexico, so all of the woman went into this little grocery store and stocked up, while the men relived our victory. We loaded the boat up with all of our Mexican groceries, and got back on the road.
By this time it was about 7pm, and we were all a bit tired from the excursion. About an hour from Gallon Jug, we approached a river that had completely overflowed the road. I would guess that the overflowed portion was probably about 200-300 yards. Cars were pulled over, as people stood next to the overflowed river, and scouted it out to see if it was passable. We saw some cars headed our way from the opposite direction, so we decided that if they could make it, we could. With my main man, Neto, behind the wheel, we went for it. Now I still think that it is a miracle that we made it through this road because I could not see the road through this water, so I’m guessing that it was about 2 feet high.
In any event, we made it through the overflowed river, and headed another 45 minutes through the jungle back to Gallon Jug with a Jesus-esque miracle, a victory, and some Mexican groceries.
Now I knew that Belizeans took their futbol seriously, but I had no idea that this particular tournament was of such a magnitude. There were to be 3 games that day. The field was packed with fans from the 6 perspective teams, blasting reggae music, a few vendors selling tamales, tacos, and empanadas, and of course your pueblo borachos. We watched the first game, and started to stretch and get suited up for our game.
The match: Gallon Jug vs. San Lazaro. Considering the remoteness of our village compared to the rest of the pueblos, we probably had a good 25 fans. Our coach pulled us together, and went through the starting lineup beginning with the defensive line. As he got to the front line, I listened up for any indication of my name; Alec? Alejandro? Gringo? Nothing. But he did mention the name of the starting center forward as “Maestro”. All of the guys pointed at me in case I didn’t catch that one. What a fitting name for what I was about to teach on the field that day.
This game was no joke at all. Each team lined up on the sideline facing each other. Both teams walked to center sideline, and then turned in and proceeded towards the center of the field walking side by side. As we got to center field, all of us were to face each other. The ref said his little schpeal; we shook hands, and then took our positions. At this point, I noticed that nobody was in any rush to start the game. Instead, all of the players turned to the sidelines and started to wave for the next 5 minutes. The crowd erupted as they made it clear which team they were supporting. Apparently this was our moment to soak of the spotlight, and wave to our fans. I really had no choice at this point. I had to represent.
About 15 minutes into the first half, my partner, Neto, controlled the ball at about ¾ field and dished it out to me on the right flank. I took about three dribbles past my defender until I was about a yard in from the 18-yard mark, and nailed it into the lower left hand corner. Goal Maestro!!! The crowd went wild.
I continued to play the rest of the first half pretty much out of my mind. I had a header off of a corner kick that hit the post, and a connected bicycle kick off of another corner kick that didn’t have much power behind it, but looked cool nonetheless. We scored another goal off of penalty kick as a result of a handball in their box. The opposing team scored a break away goal late in the first half, and the score at half time was Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1.
Pretty much the theme of our halftime speech was Ganas! Y Animo! About 2 minutes into this very inspiring speech, it started to pour down rain. This torrential downpour lasted for the next 45 minutes, which just so happens to be the entirety of the second half. The second half was a hysterical mud fest mess. We were pretty much playing in 6-8 inches of water and mud. There was absolutely no soccer being played. Players were slide tackling every chance they could, wrestling in the mud, and attempting to dislodge the ball from the mud any way they could. I thought the fans might take cover as a result of the storm. Nope. Every man, woman, and child manned the storm and continued to cheer for this mess of a half. Final score Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1. We won, which means we head to the pueblo of Indian Church this Sunday.
We all jumped back into our trucks, and headed back to Gallon Jug. The drive back was not short of celebratory cervezas and pan dulces. About 2 hours into the ride back, our car pulled over. Apparently Mexico was on the other side of this river that we were driving next to. We each paid a $2 customs fee in order to get in a little boat that some dude rowed about 100 feet to our neighboring country of Mexico. By this time, it was probably about 6pm, and I was pretty warn down from the game, the cervezas, and the 2 hour ride in the back of a pickup truck, so I was wondering why we were now heading to Mexico rather than heading back to Gallon Jug? Apparently groceries are considerably cheaper in Mexico, so all of the woman went into this little grocery store and stocked up, while the men relived our victory. We loaded the boat up with all of our Mexican groceries, and got back on the road.
By this time it was about 7pm, and we were all a bit tired from the excursion. About an hour from Gallon Jug, we approached a river that had completely overflowed the road. I would guess that the overflowed portion was probably about 200-300 yards. Cars were pulled over, as people stood next to the overflowed river, and scouted it out to see if it was passable. We saw some cars headed our way from the opposite direction, so we decided that if they could make it, we could. With my main man, Neto, behind the wheel, we went for it. Now I still think that it is a miracle that we made it through this road because I could not see the road through this water, so I’m guessing that it was about 2 feet high.
In any event, we made it through the overflowed river, and headed another 45 minutes through the jungle back to Gallon Jug with a Jesus-esque miracle, a victory, and some Mexican groceries.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
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