Parched...quenched

Clouds rolled overhead, not merely promising to the dusty roads and
depressed greenery; delivering excessive moisture to my true Seattle soul.
These rains would make even a January day in the evergreen state blush at
its amateur attempt at soaking. Toledo rains mean business. Twenty seconds
in a meaningful shower mimics a full plunge in the expanding river.

Welcome back rainy season, you have been missed. Dry season, that short,
hot respite from rain forest feeding precipitation, on its way out. Crisp,
clear air rises above the steaming jungle. Back home the rains are ending
while I prepare myself. Clear the cobwebs from the boots, waterproof the
jacket and get some fenders for the bike. I'm reading, bring it on.

Employment

A short essay

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Employment

Everyone gets to that point in their life when they start worrying about finding a real job, a career.  Halfway through my Masters degree and one year into a two-year commitment to the Peace Corps in Belize, I started thinking about what it might be like to have a real job.  My first job was working at a candy and caramel corn shop at the largest mall between Seattle and Minneapolis.  Standing behind a glass counter lined with by-the-pound sweets, I sweated over a copper kettle, perfected my own caramel corn technique, and weighed candy into decorative bags for the guilt-ridden with a sweet tooth. I learned about the mania caused by Vermont Maple Sugar delicacies in the fall and a perfectly fluffy spool of cotton candy in the summer.  I was also fired from this job, another first, but I’ll get to that later.  
         I was told that I was hired for my wholesome good looks. The two women that owned the mall candy store together were honest in their hiring practices; only girls, preferably under 18, that possessed an innocent charm.  This helped attract the cigarette and Coca-Cola craving male mall employees on their way outside for a 15-minute break. As it was my first job, and my parents knew nothing of me scouring the mall for paid employment, that sort of ethic worked just fine.  At $4.90 an hour I would have that mint-green 4-door 1980 Volkswagon Rabbit in just 150 hours (taking taxes into account).  Working 12-hour weeks, I could buy that car in about 3 months, just in time for my sixteenth birthday.  So I started my journey into the world of adulthood, as I would begin most things in my life, with a calculated analysis of the costs and benefits and a wildly optimistic attitude.
         I kept that job for about 6-months before I learned the hard lesson of having to choose between going to work and going on a weekend ski getaway with friends.  I chose the ski weekend, but my bosses found it hard to believe that I had a sudden flu that resulted in a goggle tan.  Getting fired hit me hard, I had never failed at anything, and now I was an unemployed candy girl.  I eventually moved past the rejection and realized it was for the best. Sampling with a 16-year-old’s metabolism was no problem, but I fear had I kept the job throughout high school, my average yet acceptable figure would have suffered from years of cheese corn and chocolate covered gummy bears.  
         My next job as a bank teller would last me 5 years, an impressive feat for a failed mall employee.  Once again I found myself standing behind a counter, using my girlish charms to convince customers to purchase products they knew they didn’t need, and would in fact regret buying.  Licorice bridge mix and credit cards have the same power of immediate gratification with a stomach souring digestive process.  The same idealism and optimism that won me first job caused me to quit the second.  Convincing people to put their hard-earned home equity on the line so that they could buy a new mini-van was not as rewarding as tempting people to indulge in some sour apple drops (just a taste, you don’t have to tell your wife, smile, wink).  
         Going into detail about my various employments between the ages of 21 and 25 would be tedious and pointless.  I made money (sometimes enough), learned a thing or two, and did not get fired.  Eventually my focus, or was it my lack of, led me to join the Peace Corps - the ultimate job for those who have become disenchanted with working.  You mean to say that someone will hand me a plane ticket to some exotic local, take care of my loans while I am gone for two years, give me enough to money to buy all the rice and beans I could possibly desire and two thirds of my job description could be roughly translated as “hanging out?”  And I thought pilfering chocolate turtles behind the bosses back and eating soft serve direct from the machine was fun.   
         The 1/3 of my non-hanging out work hasn’t been all lollipop and lemon drop happiness.  My girlish charms don’t work in quite the same way when trying to convince the village council to stop arguing about who’s pig ate who’s garden, and I am a long ways from instant gratification, or instant anything.  My enthusiasm for the simple serves me well (a light bulb for the library!) and my cost-benefit calculations have never led me astray (one more tortilla: does cost of stomach pain outweigh benefit of happy host-mom). Occasionally, between integrating, eating and meetings, I imagine employment after the Peace Corps.  With a couple of degrees, a couple of years abroad, and some fine candy making skills, what sort of work awaits me?  Will it involve standing behind a counter somewhere, smiling?  Or will my cost-benefit analyses put me into a position where I can upgrade from store-brand to name-brand cereal?  Wildly idealistic and all, I am not worried about it, so I put this thought off for another day as I swing in my hammock, imagining the feasibility of opening a caramel corn stand in my village.   

Cacau Fest 2007

Now this is my kind of celebration. Two days of fun, music, and even
fireworks all designed to pay respect to chocolate. This past weekend was
the first annual Cacau Fest in Punta Gorda Town, providing a perfect excuse
to spend a few days in PG. Saturday was the "Taste of Toledo" where you
could buy rice, beans, cahoon cabbage, tortillas, and fish (which are all
the things that you can always buy, but this time they were in one place).
The local vegan rasta was also serving up some tasty soy chocolate-avocado
ice cream, a surprisingly delicious combination.

That evening there was jazz and chocolate tasting at the Coral House, a
small hotel owned by two Idahoans, followed by Blues and Reggae at Earth
Runnings. I can't remember when there has been so much to do in PG in one
single night. We cruised the scene on our beach cruiser bikes, enjoying the
live music and festive atmosphere. Sunday was a little bit more typical of
PG, which means there was absolutely nothing to do or eat until about 5pm.
Our small Toledo family gathered potluck style to wish one of the second
years good luck and farewell as he prepares to leave us for grad school in
Monterrey. The hot and spicy corn dip that I brought (thanks Mom) was a hit
and fresh shrimp with cocktail sauce added to the posh atmosphere.

Sunday evening was a special treat. Two of Belize's most well known
musicians, Paul Nabor and Lilla Vernon, performed traditional Creole and
Garifuna music by the sea. Fireworks capped the night, leaving me with a
conflicting sense nostalgia for the state and comfort in this not-so-new
setting. If I had a better connection, I would post a video. Maybe
someday, but for now you are lucky to get a post from me.

Lucking Out In Lucky Strike

Lazy day in Toledo

Last weekend I actually left Toledo and ventured into the great beyond known as the Belize City District. A distant land where grocery stores have air conditioning, streets have pavement, and buses don't transport livestock. As is usually the case when I leave Toledo, I attended/supported the Peace Corps men's futbol team in their efforts to boost the moral of the Lucky Strike Village team. Yes, the village is actually called Lucky Strike and no, it doesn't seem odd to Belizeans to name a village after a defunct brand of cigarettes. Lucky Strike, in addition to having a great name, is also home to PCV Jerry (who happens to have to have the same birth date as myself, so obviously a cool guy).

Me and Micah in front of the official Maya Ruin of Belize

Most of the team and the fans stayed the night in Lucky Strike, getting to experience the culture of a Creole village. Belize has all kinds of villages: K’etchi, Maya, Garifuna, Spanish, and Creole. Each has it’s own niche in Belizean society, and from my very limited experience I am going to say that the Creole village fulfills the Karaoke consumption niche. At least it was the first time I had seen Garth Brooks performed with stray chickens and dogs loose underfoot. Earlier in the evening we sampled some local history, visiting Altun Ha, the most visited Maya ruin in Belize as well as the model for the Belikin bottle (the best..I mean only beer in Belize).

The next morning, waking in our gender separated accommodations (Jerry works and lives at a Christian High School) I began the day by killing a Scorpion for a couple of “city girls”, I guess Belize district villages are not so different from my own. The game started after a turkey dinner feast, proceeds going to fight world hunger. Only 9 players managed to make it, but the local team was generous by only playing 9 on their side. We lost, of course, but it was still a great game. Clouds and a light breeze made the 95+ temps a little bearable, but then again I was sitting under my umbrella on the sides instead of running around in the sun. Did I mention that they were going to have me play goalie? Hahahahaha. Luckily for them I brought only flip-flops and a strapless dress and despite our captain’s optimism, I insisted that this was not appropriate futbol attire.

Sunday night a few of us Toledo folks stayed in the big city, which seems bigger and bigger every time I visit. Bright lights, fancy cars, and bars open past 8pm on a Sunday; amazing! Returning to the south on Monday, we stopped in Belmopan for free internet and AC at the Peace Corps HQ’s as well Thai Noodles for $1.25 US at the market. Then it was back to our reality.

PS – After four weeks of bone dry conditions, the rains came back. It was a short dry season, but for all my complaints about mud the Seattleite in my rejoiced in that moist smell and misty comfort that a good rain brings.

Rewards

Working in the Blue Creek Library

Sometimes I forget just how rewarding even the simplest things can be. This week was an especially rewarding one, if somewhat average. The last two weekends Blue Creek has hosted other Peace Corps Volunteers, giving us a chance to show off our wonderful village and some of the great things we do here. Walking with strangers through my village is such an affirming experience, knowing all the names, inside jokes, and people treating me like their neighbor. Seeing it through the eyes of my guests was very renewing.








Last Sunday a local tour guide invited me along with Jeff and Mike (another Toledo PCV) on a 6am jungle hike to one of the peaks surrounding Blue Creek as a thanks for me helping him study for an upcoming tour guide certification test. Nothing says reward like the top of hill, well except for maybe a cold beer after a ten mile bike ride (that was on Saturday). I’ve been up a couple of hills around the village, but this one was a 45 minute non-switchback incline that ended at an amazing limestone drop-off of about 1,000 feet. And way down below I could see my tiny little house and the tiny little village. While no mountain by Cascade or Rocky standards, this was an impressive vantage point that allows for view all the way to the Caribbean Sea on a clear day. Unfortunately, slash and burn farming is in full force right now and visibility is at about 4 miles instead of the usual 20, but the effect of the smoke on the fresh daylight was undeniably enchanting.

Then there is my work, the actual stuff I do which I realize that I hardly document but is none-the-less the reason I get to live off of the government for two years while living in the tropics. My favorite and most rewarding is my work at the library, because deep down I secretly envy the life of librarians. Surrounded by books and inspiring children to push themselves to read more challenging books than they imagined possible. My sister used to mock me for choosing a book over the mall or going downtown, which I can’t really blame her, I was a nerd. But now I get to channel that inner bookworm and help kids discover the books I loved as a young adult, we even have some Baby Sitter’s Club and Harry Potter at the Blue Creek Library! Along with my usual work at the school and library this week, I also met with the new village council, which is eager to work with me, and the PTA, who are struggling to agree on how to help the school but at least recognize the necessity of their work. And Thursday was the district final of the national Spelling Bee which I attended as a chaperone. One of Blue Creek’s own was one the winner of the regional, so we cheered her on as she came in 5th. The kids in my village don’t learn English until Kindergarten, so I love seeing them compete against the “city kids” who have grown up with English as a first language.

A full and rewarding week, just the kind that they put in the brochures about Peace Corps. Bike riding, village council meeting, conflict resolution, hiking, checking out books to a crowd of eager kids, and ending it all by pulling up in a hammock with a cool drink, an ipod full of music, and my trusty lap-top computer.

Blue Creek Village: A Tiny Piece of Heaven

Could Somebody, PLEASE, turn the heat down

Now I remember. Almost one year ago I stepped off a plane into the
sweltering tropics. I complained, I sweated, and then I adjusted. Or so I
thought.

In reality, it had just gotten cooler. The last 6 months I have been living
under the delusion that I had become one with the heat, reaping the benefits
of years of sitting in saunas. Nope, I am hot. Really, uncomfortably, hot.
In any case, I didn't want all of you up in the great North to start envying
me as summer approaches and you yearn for heat. Soak up the rain and 60
degrees, please, for my sake.