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.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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
My Dance With Chango
For those of you who have known me for long enough, you know that I’ve done a few stupid things in my life, but this one may just take the cake. We encountered the biggest storm I have ever been a part of last night. There were rumors going around about a cold front from the North headed our way. Yesterday was extremely hot and still, and apparently those two ingredients (warm front and cold front) meeting is the recipe for a pretty nasty storm.
At about 7pm is when the rain slowly started to fall, and very soon after, the lightening and thunder. At about 7:15 I realized that there was a big possibility that I had left my computer plugged in, with the window open, in my classroom at school. Not thinking about the implications, which is pretty much the impetus for all of my stupid actions in life, I threw on my raincoat and shoes, and headed into the storm. Zoia cursed me out the door, and Siboney just looked a little bit confused. I imagine that it is a bit confusing to have a superhero for a father.
Now in my defense, my initial plan was to run to our principal’s house, which is only about 20 yards away, in order to borrow his car. Upon approaching his house, I found him, his wife, and his daughter kinda huddled together with all of the lights out. I asked if I could borrow his car. “Car died on me today” he replied. He also told me that he was worried the students had not closed the windows to the computer lab that day.
Well me being the brave hearted soul that I am decided that I would take one for the team. “Give me the keys to the school and your flashlight!” Climatic music begins now…
My dumbass ran 100 yards through a wide opened farm to the school, as lightening literally danced around me. (I realize that this story may seem a bit embellished, but please bare with me). I got to the school. Computer was safe and sound in its bag, and computer lab windows were totally shut.
As I’m running around the school checking these things, I can hear Zoia from the loft yelling my name. I called back up to her that I was OK. Now as I was preparing for my trip back up to the house, and lightening and thunder began to get closer and louder, I realized that I was in quit a predicament. Thoughts of spending the night at the school crossed my mind, but that would a punk way to end the story.
Probably not to your surprise, I took the brave route again. I laced up my North Face amphibious shoes and ran zig zags back up to the loft. I later realized that you run zig zag when your being chased with guns, but at the moment, the same rule applied. So I ran zig zags back up to the loft, and was untouched by Chango and his compadres.
I opened my door, and expected to be embraced as a soldier should upon arrival from battle, but was instead greeted with some more cursing. Sweet! We turned out the lights, hugged eachother tight, and trembled at every sound of thunder that rocked our little loft on the hill all night.
At about 7pm is when the rain slowly started to fall, and very soon after, the lightening and thunder. At about 7:15 I realized that there was a big possibility that I had left my computer plugged in, with the window open, in my classroom at school. Not thinking about the implications, which is pretty much the impetus for all of my stupid actions in life, I threw on my raincoat and shoes, and headed into the storm. Zoia cursed me out the door, and Siboney just looked a little bit confused. I imagine that it is a bit confusing to have a superhero for a father.
Now in my defense, my initial plan was to run to our principal’s house, which is only about 20 yards away, in order to borrow his car. Upon approaching his house, I found him, his wife, and his daughter kinda huddled together with all of the lights out. I asked if I could borrow his car. “Car died on me today” he replied. He also told me that he was worried the students had not closed the windows to the computer lab that day.
Well me being the brave hearted soul that I am decided that I would take one for the team. “Give me the keys to the school and your flashlight!” Climatic music begins now…
My dumbass ran 100 yards through a wide opened farm to the school, as lightening literally danced around me. (I realize that this story may seem a bit embellished, but please bare with me). I got to the school. Computer was safe and sound in its bag, and computer lab windows were totally shut.
As I’m running around the school checking these things, I can hear Zoia from the loft yelling my name. I called back up to her that I was OK. Now as I was preparing for my trip back up to the house, and lightening and thunder began to get closer and louder, I realized that I was in quit a predicament. Thoughts of spending the night at the school crossed my mind, but that would a punk way to end the story.
Probably not to your surprise, I took the brave route again. I laced up my North Face amphibious shoes and ran zig zags back up to the loft. I later realized that you run zig zag when your being chased with guns, but at the moment, the same rule applied. So I ran zig zags back up to the loft, and was untouched by Chango and his compadres.
I opened my door, and expected to be embraced as a soldier should upon arrival from battle, but was instead greeted with some more cursing. Sweet! We turned out the lights, hugged eachother tight, and trembled at every sound of thunder that rocked our little loft on the hill all night.
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