Heat Index

The second day I was in Spokane during my recent retreat in the USA, the temperature hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  It also hit a blistering 98 in temperate Seattle.  Both of those marks are hot by anybody's standards, but, and I am not trying to make all you Pac Northwester's sound like a bunch of sissies, it just didn't strike me as particularly oppressive.  Surprisingly, as far as I know it rarely gets above 90 in tropical Belize.  I say as far as I know because I don't actually have a thermometer.  I know that 104 in the desert heat of Eastern Washington is not quite the same as a comparable temperature in the dripping wet rain forest of Central America, but without an accurate gauge and some meteorological research I just couldn't be sure.

In the spirit of good empiricism I stopped by the nearest mega-multi-purpose-store that makes America so American (don't you dare judge me) and purchased a pocket sized digital thermometer/humidity gauge combo for only $8.99.  I carried that thing (and at least 100 additional pounds of crap that I probably wont need here in Belize but looked so pretty and useful up there in the USA) all the way back to my village.  And it works too.  But back to the problem of the heat/humidity interaction, known as the Heat Index to ever-zealous weather reporters.  This was a job for the internet.  It was here that I found a great Heat Index table that I immediately copied onto the yellow ledger that was on Jeff's desk and later taped to my bedroom wall.  No longer would I be curious about the temperature outside (which is always the same as the temperature inside) as well as how hot it felt to us of the human species.  Which brings up the question, does the heat index apply to cats and lizards as well?  Anyways, here is what I learned during my first day as amateur jungle weather recorder.  

• 7am: temp = 80 F, humidity = 74%, feels like = 83 F (chilly)
• 2pm: temp = 91 F, humidity = 79%, feels like = 112 F (I’m melting)
• 7pm: temp = 84 F, humidity = 78%, feels like = 93 F (I’m not even sweating)
  

I will resist the urge to bore you with the weather every time I write, but do expect updates on the most extreme situations.  For instance, if the Heat Index tops 125 F, you will be hearing about it because that is just ridiculous.  With that, I leave you to enjoy your climate controlled 68.  

Coast to coast

You know it's going to be a long day when your watch reads 8:15am and you
have already been up for 5 hours. That was today, my last full day in the
USA for another year. I could try to sum up my last 12 days of vacation in
the states, but it would make for a long read. The most notable aspect of
my trip was the lack of shock and the ease of adjustment. I really was
expecting a difficult, or at least weird experience as I entered my old life
after a year gone, but it was easy. It was almost too easy. Sure, the
grocery store was a fun experience, but I knew exactly what I wanted and
where to find it, even Target was a pleasant outing. So maybe I am not as
hard-core as I like to think I am, or maybe Belize isn't far removed enough
from life in the states. In any case, I am ready to get back to Belize, but
spending a few weeks in my old shoes reminded me how great it will be to
return as well.

So now I sit in a shady Miami Airport hotel watching cable and eating Trader
Joes Wasabi Peas for dinner. Hey, for $59 a night it's not like I am
getting room service, but I do have a bed and a shower all to myself.
Tomorrow I begin Shella in Belize, the Second Season. Stayed tuned for more
rants about rice and tales of tarantulas.

Normalcy exhaustion

I just realized how out of place I am going to feel during my retreat in the states as I was chasing a large tarantula away from my door with a machete on my way to the latrine, lighting this expedition with my headlamp.  And this is a normal event and did not even cause my pulse to raise or anything.  

Other events from this week, a normal week.

• A 10 year old boy nearly chopped his foot off with a machete, and no one took him to the hospital because both his parents were gone from the village and he was being watched by his fathers first wife.  No, not first as in before a divorce, as in polygamy.  The boy is now fine thanks to someone finally coming to me and getting some antiseptic and bandages, but I was floored when I found out that multiple wives is not only accepted in my village, but it was our newly elected chairman who has the two wives.  He is such a smart, hard working guy.  Even weirder, I understand.  The second wife is the sister of the first, and her husband died and she was left with 6 kids to feed and send to school.  Without a husband, children starve, and few single men here would marry a woman with children.  It made me wonder what I would do.
  

• I went to another wedding on Sunday.  Same family that I lived with, another daughter.  Flora is the third born and the third to get married.  It was a beautiful wedding, at least it was lovely until I almost ran smack into two severed pigs heads hanging from the ceiling as I walked through the kitchen area on my way to greet the bride.  Don’t worry, I have pictures, which can in no way capture the smell of animal carcass after 6 hours in a tropical climate with refrigeration.  Did I mention that Flora just turned sixteen?  Another surprise.  I guess she has been engaged for a year and a half now, so its about time.
  

• My lovely neighbors across the road got a new stereo system from one of their sons who work up in the city.  I cannot even describe how unbelievably loud it is, especially at 4am when their house is up getting ready to catch the bus.  Earplugs and a pillow over my head couldn’t even touch the thumping bass of punta rock that shook me awake at that ungodly hour.  
  

• The water pump was fixed, so I don’t have to haul buckets of water around anymore, woo hoo!
  

All this normalcy is wearing me out; I need a vacation.  One that doesn’t involved hauling my sheets down to the river and sweating over a rock in the sun for an hour just to have clean linens, a break from the 5am wake-up calls from people who want to borrow onions/envelopes/band-aids/pens/etc., and a respite from hot, crowded school buses that stop every 5 miles to let the drunks stumble off, piss on the side of the bus, and run into the shop to get more beer.  If I sound bitter and jaded, don’t be fooled.  I still love my life, I am just going to love it a lot more after a 3 week break.

Mennonite Nights

One of the more fascinating dynamics to where I live in Belize is having
Mennonite neighbors. Many years ago, a few families left the United States
for Belize in order to have a quiet place to raise a farm and a family and
to be free to practice their religion. I respect that, and since then these
families have made quite a home for themselves. They also own and operate
most of the large parcels of farmland around Blue Creek, including hundreds
of acres of rice.

Recently I have gotten to know a few of the girls who were born and raised
here in Belize, but look and speak and much like myself. They come to the
library to check out books and we chat about life and boys. Last night I
went over to their house for dinner and got a taste of mid-western
hospitality in the middle of the jungle. Chicken meatloaf, mashed potatoes,
and rolls for dinner and a fresh mango pie for dessert, served with hot
coffee of course. We talked about our favorite recipes and the flowers in
their garden and their life in Belize. It was amazingly interesting and I
am glad I have had the opportunity to get to know this family. After dinner
one of the girls drove me back to my place, stopping on the way to pick up a
quart of fresh cows milk. I was excited about the fresh milk, the first I
have had since I have been here, but my excitement was curtailed when I was
attacked by their uncle's dogs as I stepped from the truck. I wasn't
injured too badly, but it did shake me up pretty bad, and I have a pretty
good scratch and a ruined skirt to show for it. No harm done, the dogs were
just doing their job.

I got back to my house and patched up my wound and reflected on how strange
my life can be. One night I am eating tortillas and beans by Kerosene lamp
while sitting on a bucket and the next I am sitting in a clean, Western
kitchen eating mashed potatoes and pie with a white table cloth and flowers
on the table.