There's a gecko in my printer

I went to the library today to pick up some photocopies.  Another person was running a print job when a gecko, sans tail and with a desperate look in his dimunitive eye, dashed across the table.  He looked funny, not so much because of the missing tail, which many lizards can lose and then regrow,  but because he was covered in black splotches. 

"Oh," said my head of department, Mr Mai, "he must have run out of the printer."   I was quite taken aback by the notion of reptiles taking up their abode in office equipment, but this did not bother the native Mr. Mai, who started collecting his copies.  I then observed aloud that the printer was smoking.  This likewise did nothing to phase Mr. Mai, who merely commented on the fine quality of the print job.

I beat it out of there, not wanting to be present should the thing burst into flame and disgorge a whole family of printer-dwelling lizards.

the Maya temple

Hey everbody!

This week we made our first foray into historical Belize!  We explored the ancient temple site of Xunantanich, a minor temple of the Maya Empire.  It dated to about 650 A.D.   The Mayans tended to have temple plazas,  where the temple was only one of various buildings and courts.  Believe it or not,  games that were a cross between soccer and basketball were of high religious and social importance, so the courts were quite close to the temple site.  Most of you are familiar with the typical look of a Maya temple, a tall pyramid-like structure dominated by a kind of porch landing with various altars.  What I learned was that the stairs were made deliberately steep and high so that supplicants approaching the priests at the top would have to practically crawl up to them.  Believe me,  scaling even this minor temple in the full heat of Belizean midday was no fun.  Even the proudest man would be humbled as he half-climbed, half-crawled towards the dark silhouettes of priests standing several stories above him.  Apparently only animal sacrifices were made at this site though;  I remain unclear on whether the Mayans practiced human sacrifice like the Aztecs. I'll have to do some research.

Since the view and breeze are wonderful, we lunched at the top of the temple.  A friend and I took turns reading a biography on Damian of Molokai, another Catholic missionary.  It occured to me that God's grace truly is pervasive, since now here we were learing about a great saint in place that had once been embroiled by darkness.  The light has not been hid under the bushel basket.

Jonathan

One month down

Its been a whole month for us new volunteers down here in Belize.  For many, including myself, it feels much longer, like three or four.  I think this it is generally true that people in new environments experience each thing more vividly, so time tends not to just slip past you.

Belizean culture also tends to strengthen these sensations.  Belizeans tend to take their time about things.  For example,  we make all our copies at the library, but each copy job has to be handed in the day before at least.  You simply don't expect same day service.  But on the other hand,  stress levels down here are always low.  Nobody really gets worked up over much.  The buses don't leave on time, but in a way, its nice to know that you can probably still make it to a bus if you're a couple of minutes late.  Maybe all this is because we are in the tropics.  Whatever the case,  watching the futbol game is considered more important that readying a lesson plan for tomorrow.  The futbol is now.  That lesson plan can always be handed in the day after.

We got a copy of the Wall Street Journal today.  We were all glued to during lunch.  It was irresistable to read something straight from America.  What is going on out there in the wide world?  We glean a little bit from the internet,  but I could tell you practically nothing about any part of the world except that Vermont got flooded recently.  Still, it can be nice to be away from the constant noise of American culture.  We should all give it a shot sometime I think

horses

Today I got to ride a horse in parade!  Granted lots of people ride horses in parades.  But let me tell how I got the horses.  That's more interesting. 
I met a  student named Rolphie at 5:30 am to head out to the ranch.  Since cars aren't something anyone lends out around here,  we had to bike.  On one bike.  So anyone up early this moring in Benque might have seen an American teacher furiously pedaling a single gear bicycle with a Belizean teenager perched on the handlebars.  Eventually we picked up another rider with an extra bike.  We rode to the ranch, saddled our trusty mounts, and headed back for Benque.  Turns out that these horses like to stop occasionally for no reason. They might do this anywhere; in this case, one horse decided to stop in the middle of the road.  Now traffic in Benque does not stop, not matter the obstacle.  So this horse refuses to move, but the oncoming bus does not stop.  I thought something was gonna die.  The bad news.  The bus hit the horse.  The good news, nobody was injured.  The horse wasn't even bothered by it; apparently, the blow was glancing.

Never a dull moment.

More later

Music

Two nights ago Benque celebrated St. George's Caye, a sort of saint's feast rolled into a national holiday.  At the end of the night there was a sort of street dance at which they played quite a bit of American music.  I was off playing basketball, but the raucous sound of Lady Gaga telling us about her bad romance were unmistakable.  I had two distinct reactions:  First,  the sound of a familiar American artist was a great comfort, although I am not a fan of her music by any means.  Nonetheless, something so distinctly American made me feel not so much at home, but that home was not so far away.

Second,  I realized the the battle for souls in Belize is not drawn at the poverty line, so to speak. Belize has just enough affluence to allow a pipeline of Americana to reach its people, especially the youth.  To be blunt, I don't see this as a good thing.  The products of pop culture seem to be accepted with near total openness.  The fact that something is from America makes it popular.  At least this is how it appears to me thus far.  More later

pants

What's with the two belts loops in the back of pants?  They are always right next to each other, and they are always right where I can't see 'em.  Did someone need extra practice sewing?  Did the one  belt loop call for reinforcements? "uh, oh, We got a 44- inch waist here, I'm gonna need backup, over."
 Here's my take on it.  Why should a pair of pants set me up for embarrassment by making me miss a loop every time?  Its not like I put the belt through one loop and say,  "Ooh, that doesn't feel strong enough, better find another one."  No, One loop and I move on.  Look if, their going to insist on the extra loops, why not have them in front where I can see them?  That way I don't walk around with this under-over mess.

Imagination

As I stand here
Splash, plish, slosh, splosh, cars through puddles in the road.
Never could 've imagined
thump thump thump, rat-tat-tat, rain on all the tin rooves
Being here, here in small Belize
Hey mon, hola, que dollars? a hundred people in the bus station
here

the weekend

Hello everybody,

This weekend I headed to Belmopan, the capital of Belize, for a referee clinic.  Ostensibly, its purpose was to teach me how to be a good basketball referee.  However, the biggest lesson that came out of it was that I need to learn Creole.  Here's how it went down.
 I arrived and was of course the only American at the clinic.  However, the presenter, Jaun, spoke very clear English I thought that the next several hours would see me soaking up knowedge about the finer points of reffereeing  basketball.    This remained mostly true until lunch. (rice and beans and chicken, of which I only got the chicken)  The conversation around the lunch tabe revealed that English was not the preferred language of anyone but me, a bad omen.  We gatherede again after lunch and the presenter continued onto the rules of the game, specifically, how many feet must be in the backcourt for a backcourt violation to be called.  But about this there was far more disagreement than about how to raise one's hands on a three-point attempt.  One participant disagreed with the Jaun, saying (I think) that one foot is permitted to return to the backcourt.  Another flew to the rescue of Jaun, the instructor, saying (I think) that any contact by the ball or dribbler in the backcourt was a violation.  Soon both were speaking in raised voices in Creole, while everyone else prepared their two bits on the topic.  Eight voices clamored at once, each offering counsel, each straying farther from the topic at hand.  At this point I lost all comprehension of the conversation, and sat in silence, trying to make some sense of the language. 
 Its impossible to relate the experience exactly, but here is my best approximation of what I heard.
Speaker One: "But ghol en henz o playa maciatio es"
Speaker Two:  "No way mon.  the ball hes too fubber en ghulltion o lyning"
Speaker Three (Very loudly):  (Ooh mon,  tu sixtyn secos omee befo macceeccee ober.)
Speaker Four:  "HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"
(Indistict conversation between Speaker One and Six)
Speakers 5-8: various stories, anecedotes, and opinions.
Speaker four:  "You understand what we say, mon?"
Me:  "Not really,"  (shy smile)
Speaker four: "HAHAHAHA, yah mon."

And so it went.
For two and a half hours.

Needless to say, this little language barrier obscured all discussion of controversial rules, so I flunked the exam.  Passed the physical though, so there was some consolation. 
Now I just need to wait until december to re-test; this gives me plenty of time to work on my Creole, to which I say, yah mon.

Jonathan