Marianne on Mission 2014
"You have not lived a perfect day...unless you have done something for someone who will never be able to repay you."
Ruth Smeltzer, American Writer
Ruth Smeltzer, American Writer
Photograph-Rev. Charles Penniman
|
SEE NEW ENTRIES in PERSPECTIVES &
TO MAKE YOU THINK. BLOG Central America by the Numbers 3 countries 70 days and nights 17 beds 4 volunteer housings 5 hotels 8 airplanes 4 boat transports 4 shuttle van transports 5 taxi transports 2 TukTuk transports 10 days of open flat-bed truck transport 1 love-the-Canadians van transport 1 children's urban medical support project 1 children's video project 1 Maya pueblo construction project 1 Maya pueblo medical project 2 countries with successful projects 1 country was a bust 3 Episcopal services 1 evangelical service 1 inter-faith service 3 priests personally visited 7 laundries in a bathroom sink 44 cold showers 3 illnesses 4 dips in the Caribbean Sea 1 Pina Colada 1 Margarita 1 Rum Punch 100 x ? mosquito bites Wrapping up Belize, 2014
 CROCODILE ALLEY
 COCONUT ROW
Belize, March 1 - 8, 2014
March 1 I'm in Dangriga, Belize, doing what I've done before each of my other work assignments in Nicaragua and Guatemala - spending time getting to know the culture, observing people's behavior, learning what to do and how to do it so as not to be offensive in any manner, and learning what not to do at all. So far this plan has been useful so that when I do work with the locals I'm at least minimally prepared. I've found that locals and long-time expats are equally helpful in explaining the whys and wherefores and I'm my usually bold self in asking strangers if they'll talk to me for a while. It works for me. Belizeans I've met or interacted with in transactions have all been friendly and helpful. But I don't like Dangriga at all. DIngy, tacky atmosphere. Am leaving here tomorrow to go about 45 minutes south to Hopkins. March 2 Hopkins Village is exactly that - a village of approximately 1,200 people, almost all of whom are Garifuna. It's known as the cultural capital of the Garifuna people, and sits on the eastern coast of Belize, on the Caribbean Sea. The roads are all dirt, packed sand, or a combination of the two. Most of the village is ramshackle, with emphasis on shack, but the places are home to polite and friendly people who will smile and say "Hello," including chilldren and teens. I'm in the only place that I coud get on one day's notice and in my budget. Not gonna work out. It's a jungle kind of atmosphere with basic wood cabins, a widowmaker shower head, and mosquito netting over the bed because the critters here leave welts the size of dimes. All that would be okay, except... The real problems (for me, at least) are the crocodiles and poisonous snakes. The driver who brought me here told me that they live in the area canals so I shouldn't walk certain roads at night because that's when they come out to snooze in the road. As if I'm going out for a stroll late at night. But when I got to this place I saw that one of the canals runs just 20 feet away from my cabin. Asked the owner's father if what the driver said was true. Yup. But he said I shouldn't have a problem unless I try to pick up the snake. WHAT!? Got to find another place, even though his cooking is great. Twenty-feet away is 50 feet too close. March 3 - 8 I really lucked out here after my one night in "crocodile alley." The next day I went walking from there, on the north end of town, crossing over to the south end. Much nicer. When the road I was on came to a dead end I was in front of a place called Coconut Row, because the walkway to the sea in front of it is lined with towering coconut trees. The place includes an old large Caribbean house with rooms and suites, and other smaller casitas, or cabanas or whatever you want to call them. I knew it had to be too expensive, but I was curious. So I knocked and was let into the private apartment of the managers, Damian (American) and his wife Neesha (Garifuna). No, they didn't have any space available, and yes, it was too expensive anyway, but we had a really good, long conversation about foreigners moving to Belize and then leaving. After about 30 minutes I said goodbye and left. I had just gotten to the bottom of the stairway when Damian called to me. He said they felt bad that they had no space at an affordable price, but they liked me and that I had been doing mission work, so would I like to have the place across the way that had just been sold and they were caretaking for the owner? A huge ground floor apartment with two-bedrooms, bath, and a living/dining/kitchen combo that was about 18 feet wide by 35 feet long! And would it be okay if they charged me one-third of the usual price? And was about 60 steps to the sea? And had a free WiFi area? God is good. God is great. And a really super rental agent besides. Monday - I get the keys, go to the grocery store, another 60 steps away, stock up on food and water, and settle in to reflect on my good fortune. I also send an email to my contact at the Episcopal/Anglican Diocese office in Belize City telling her I'm in Belize. I sent one in January just to say I was in Central America, but I never got a response. Figured it must have been misplaced somewhere. She and I know when I'm supposed to start but I don't know where I'm supposed to go to get officially on-board or what time to be there. It's Tuesday evening. No response from my contact. Another email. In the meantime Hopkins is a welcome relaxation spot after Guatemala, which was constant action. Haven't cooked since Quaker House in Nicaragua in January. It's a challenge here because all the meat and fish at the grocery store is frozen, unrecognizable, and mostly expired, so I won't buy it. It's Wednesday and I still haven't gotten an email from my contact. Damian let me use his cellphone to call her. A fellow named Stephen said she had just gone out for the day. Left a message. Three nice Canadian couples are here celebrating the 60th birthday of one of the women. We commiserate about snow back home then gloat about the sunshine where we are. Thursday - another phone call and message with Stephen. I am now officially ticked off. I'm looking for a Plan B because the Belize City assignment is dead in my mind, and I can't waste time trying to figure out or learn why. In the afternoon I find a note in my Belize folder about a program in San Ignacio that I'd heard about from a Swarthmore professor who used to do mission work there. San Ignacio is 100 miles in the opposite direction from Belize City which is my departure point when I leave. That's 200 miles roundtrip out of my way, but I came to do things and clearly I can't count on the person/people I should be able to count on. Send an email to San Ignacio. Friday - Hallelujah! San Ignacio says come right away. They have a literacy program without anyone experienced or trained and can use me starting the following Tuesday because Monday is a national holiday. Saturday - Firmed up plans to take the two necessary buses (dragging two large, heavy bags, my electronics shoulder bag and my own sorry self) to San Ignacio on Sunday because nothing will be moving on the Monday holiday. Doesn't matter. I have a place to be and work to do. Besides, San Ignacio is much better and safer than BC, so maybe it was meant to be. Feb. 21 - 28, 2014 Guatemala Left San Lucas Toliman' by boat across Lake Atitlan' to Panajachel on Friday. Met up Martha Thomae from the PA Companion Diocese Committee and the Diocese's Guatemalan man-of-all talents, Victor Hugo Contreras. Stayed overnight in Pana. Drive to the home of Rev. Alberto Cuc and his wife, Dolores Rocche in the Maya community of Solola'. Such a hospitable and gracious couple. Two sweet teen children, Miguel and Veralilia. Martha is a long-time friend of theirs. Alberto was a Roman Catholic priest at one time. He was sent to study in Italy and considered a rising star. So he speaks some some Italian and some English, but chooses not to unless prompted. Changed his direction to the Episcopal Church. He and Dolores are also Maya. Alberto is Kaqchikel and Dolores is Tz'utujil. Two different languages. His church, Iglesia Madre de Dios, is across the street from their house. A small building, less than the dimensions of a good-sized convenience store. The congregation is all Maya. Went to the Sunday service, which included three baptisms. Martha, Victor and I were the only non-Maya present. The honored male elders sit along the right-side wall at the front. About 90 people present. Albert noted our presence to the congregation at the beginning of the service, referring to us as sisters and brother. Alberto's service is reminiscent of a Catholic High Mass, complete with incense and tinkling bells. The congregation likes the elaborateness of it which is similar to elaborate traditional Maya ceremonies . The service is in Spanish but the sermon is in Kaqchikel. The Maya are quite conservative and wary of outsiders. I am always cautious to respect that and ask permission to photograph them. I had asked Alberto if it was okay to take photos and video. He said photos were okay, so I took some of him before and at the beginning of the service. At the end of the service he told the congregation that I would like to video to send it to my church congregation. So I was able to capture some of the people and the space at the time of dismissal. Later Rev. Alberto and Dolores let me video them giving a greeting in Spanish to my congregation in Philly. Most of out time in Solola' is spent discussing the circumstances of Guatemala - political, economic, societal, and religious, especially the rising evangelical influence from US churches. The Mormons, Pentecostals, and Assembly of God churches are most active and growing. Alberto explained that the growth is because Guatemala is such a poor country and those churches have committed to providing needed services to distant villages with feet-on-the-ground long-term missionaries - schools, healthcare, housing, clean water filters, and the like. Drive to Quetzaltenango, known as Xela (shay'la), another Maya town. Here we meet with Rev. Roberto Armas, also Maya, another Episcopal priest and the pastor of Iglesia San Marco, on Tuesday. Roberto is also a medical doctor, and therefore is a dedicated, active, and influential figure in all the clean water projects in Guatemala sponsored by Episcopal churches there and in the US . A long and informative conversation with Roberto updating the current projects, and explaining the difficulties of getting new projects going in some communities. The whole process can take a year or more from first discussions in the community to actual installation(s). Money, how it's donated, and how it's handled by the Guatemala Diocese are major discussion points and potential roadblocks. Rev. Roberto also agrees to a video message to my congregation. On Thursday Martha and I split up. She heads to another small highland town to meet with a priest whose parish is a potential site for a water filter project, and I spend from 6 AM wake-up until 4:30 PM getting to Guatemala City, where I'll spend the night before leaving for Belize on Friday. 
Feb.17 - 21, 2014
Monday 17 - A 12-person volunteer group from Minnesota arrived yesterday. Minnesota was the home of Father Gregory Schaffer, the Catholic priest founder of San Lucas MIssion. Most of the Mission's volunteers come from Minnesota. Father Greg, as he is known, devoted 48 years of his life to San Lucas. When he arrived San Lucas was a pueblo of grass shacks and dirt roads. He was the idea man, fundraiser, and initiator who established the first hospital, a women's center, a Montessori pre-school, the private elementary school, the Juan Ana coffee farm and processing facility, the stove project to replace wood-burning stoves with no ventilation with more efficient, ventilated stoves in Mayan homes, and who raised money to buy back and distribute to the Maya more than 12,000 acres of their land that had been stolen by Spanish Conquistadores and subsequent government and military officials. It's not an exaggeration to say that the Maya population here considers him a saint. (See sanlucasmission.org) This morning we visited the various projects, except for stoves. In the afternoon we went to the coffee processing site and sorted good from bad coffee bean. The beans come in 110-pound sacks that men carry on their backs from trucks to the sorting shed. In the shed they set up wood-framed screened filters about 7 feet by 3 feet. The beans, which are light beige in color and smaller than a peanut, are dumped into the screen and have to be sorted by hand. Bad beans are dark-colored and must be hand-picked out of the 110 pounds. It doesn't take too long to realize that hand-sorting and -picking coffee beans is not a job you'd want to send your days doing. Feb.. 18 - 20 Today we're starting stove-building out in the highland pueblo of Panimaquip, where I had been the week before with the med team. After the first roundtrip there I was glad the trip was over because the pueblo sits high up a mountain with switchback turns on a narrow road that make for a scary trip. Just what I needed was three more days and six more times up and down that mountain! In addition to 10 of the Minnesotans and me there are three fellows from New England - Dennis, Ed, and Bill - that I had met at the coffee farm. When we arrive at the pueblo I understand one of the Spanish-speaking local fellows who will work with the teams tell our Mission rep that they have only enough materials to build two stoves instead of three or four that would have kept our 14 members busy. I quickly realize that the 10 Minnesotans probably want to stick together, so I can either join the three fellows in a small team and be active in the process, or join the Minnesotans and end up waiting my turn in line to get my hands on a tool. I quickly join the three fellows and tell them straight up that I'm on their team. They go with it and we're set. Good choice on my part. Over the next three days the four of us have a heck of a good time. From the get-go they are totally accepting of my being the lone female and I pull my own weight every day so that we work with mutual respect and good humor. We trade jokes (using the nasty outhouse is an on-going one), spur each other on in the work, and share stories at lunchtime. We finish one stove by Thursday and go to a second house to start another. The stoves have to "cure" for three weeks, so the old stoves remain in place. The women fire them up before dawn to make the day's tortillas, so by the time we get there at 9:30AM the stoves are hot and still burning, which means there is heat and wood smoke in the space where we work. The old stove at the second house is actually in a wood shack in front of the house. Wood smoke is pouring out of the place in giant clouds while I'm in front of it screening the rocks out of the soil we'll use to make mortar. It quickly becoms impossible to see and to breathe. I close the shack door, which only serves to re-direct the smoke, so we're constantly changing position to avoid it as the changing wind sends it our way. The sad reality is that the Maya women stand over the old stoves daily breathing in the wood smoke, as do their children in the house, which is why they all suffer from lung disease and upper-respiratory illnesses. It's common for the children to have black lungs by the time they're three or four. There are no emissions or exhaust regulations in these countries. I have been coughing constantly and my nose has been running continually for the past two weeks because of all the dirt and smoke I've inhaled since landing in Central America in early January. My lungs feel heavy in my chest. I figure that after three months in CA I'll probably need another three months at home to clear them out. I won't be around to finish the second stove because tomorrow, Friday, I'm leaving the Mission to meet up with Martha Thomae, from the PA Diocese. Martha has been active in Guatemala since 1996, especially in the clean water project. At 79 years of age she is a marvel of dedication and action on behalf of Maya populations. We will travel together to various parishes to visit with Episcopal priests and their families whom she knows well. Feb. 21 I take the boat from San Lucas to Panajachel, where I meet Martha and Victor Contreras. Victor is the driver/guide/information guru and all-around man who arranges everything for PA Diocese people who come to Guatemala. Martha and I spend the night in Panajachel. 
FEBRUARY 10-14, 2014
The WVU Medical Team February 10 is my first day of mission work in Guatemala. I am working through the San Lucas Mission in San Lucas Toliman' on Lake Atitlan', the most beautiful natural locale in the country. The on-site volunteer director, Katie Wallyn, asked me if I would like to work for the week with a medical team from West Virginia University Medical School that is staying for a month. Sure, why not? I just left a 17-person med team in Nicaragua. |
Perspectives
Central America Observations
1. Public breast-feeding Breast feeding in public places or circumstances is not an "issue" in the Central American countries where I spent time - Nicaragua, Guatemala, and Belize. Not a problem. Not a controversy. Not up for debate or even differing opinions. It just is. Doing so "discreetly", as we call it in the US, by hiding the baby's face and any glimpse of the mother's breast under a blanket, or more insultingly, requiring them to hide the feeding in a public restroom or a car in a parking lot, would not be understood or tolerated. The female breast is one of evolution's perfect combinations of form and function. And the product is free. That's a prime consideration in poor countries where even if the cultures promoted packaged milk or formula, which they don't, the poor population masses couldn't afford it. Need I mention also that babies, and yes, toddlers, because they might still be nursing at two or three years of age, aren't hungry on an adult's convenience schedule. So they must be fed when and where they feel the hunger. I have been confounded for years by the American hypocrisy regarding female breasts. Can't get enough of them in movies (not just porn), magazines, music videos, fashion, red carpet events, performances, high school prom dresses, street-wear clothes, tinier-than-ever bikinis, push-up-push-in bras, fancy ball gowns, and even strapless, cleavage and breast-baring altar-bound wedding gowns in any denominational worship space. All of it on public display. Too much of it beyond the limits of appropriateness for place and time. Much of it lewd by anyone's American standards. But none of it shocking. Yet a woman using her breast for the physical purpose it was made for is more than American sensibility can accept. And how can we explain our supposedly educated American attitude that what comes naturally and cost-free is less acceptable than these realities: Packaged baby formulas are attempts to replicate what comes naturally in its purest form from the breast; packaged formula has a dollar cost to the buyer, as well as environmental costs of manufacturing, energy consumption, packaging disposal, fuel consumption to transport it, infrastructure wear-and tear paid for by tax dollars, and on and on. I think that the giant elephant in the midst of the public breast-feeding controversy in this country is the question of class. Before there was infant formula there were only nursing or plain cow's milk in a baby bottle. All mothers had those two choices, regardless of the mother's financial or social standing. When formula became available it was considered new, modern, and a sign of upward socio-economic mobility. Breast-feeding was considered backward, and left to those who couldn't afford to buy formula. That perspective held on until the back-to-nature and women's movements started in the 1960s. At that point, breastfeeding came back as a "trend," and has gained respect and popularity ever since as the better choice, if a woman is able to nurse. Our dilemma is that we have not reconciled how to fully accept and honor the act of breastfeeding while at the same time not wanting to see it being done. It makes us "uncomfortable," as if we're sitting on a chair cushion made of gravel. At best our society says okay, you can do it, maybe, but only if we don't see the child or any part of you that connects to your child, even though connection and nourishment are the reasons for it. Those women who ignore our imposed collective discomfort are subject to our collective disdain. Don't they know that we are "uncomfortable?" Don't they care? They must be uneducated. Inconsiderate. Ill-mannered. Defiant. Low class. In sum, less of everything desirable while doing the very act that is most desirable for their child. To put it starkly - seeing bare breast tissue at the prom, walking down the church aisle, and on the streets of Any CIty, USA, is fine. But for feeding a baby, it's not. If I could have a wish about this hypocrisy it would be this - Anyone who makes an issue of public breast-feeding would be sent for one month to a country where it is considered usual, accepted, and even praise-worthy behavior. Guaranteed that when surrounded wherever they go by the normalcy of hundreds of exposed breasts in the act of nourishing , the objections would fade away. Or so I would hope. *** Belize, March, 2014 When cheap can be costly I have forgotten the number of years that I have subscribed to the magazine International Living. More than 10, most likely. International Living is the publication for anyone who plans to, or dreams of living outside the country where they live at the moment. Having lived in Rome, Italy, for many years in the past, where snowfall happens so seldom there are teenagers who have never seen it in their city, I am always open to possibilities, especially when the white stuff piles up day after day in Philadelphia. In any case, it's been fun to read about places that I've never been to. IL covers the globe - from Cambodia to Colombia, Malta to Malaysia, and the current darlings of relocation, Ecuador and Belize. In most cases IL pushes cheap cost of living, friendly locals, cheap living, tax advantages for residents versus the US tax code, cheap living, and ready-and-waiting English-speaking friends in the form of other expatriates. Did I mention cheap living? In each issue there are pages of first-person testimonials from people who have made the relocation leap. Some are in their 30's, more are 40-plus, but the significant numbers come from the 50 to 70-something crowd. So most are either approaching US retirement age or are there. And of course, all are as giddy about their new home as the day they first got the keys to Dad's car. The fact that the testimonials are all way too slick to have been written by Norman from Albuquerque or Edna from Dubuque doesn't matter as much as the following promises: A modest pension and a Social Security check will rent a two-bedroom two-bath condo with a water view, daily maid service, resort-like amenities, restaurant dinners at least three times per week, stuffed grocery bags of organic fruits and vegetables, seafood and meats, and leave plenty remaining for entertainment and travel. Whew! Why am I not there? Oh, right, I am there. Here. Right now, in Belize. And Belizean realities are not exactly the same as those testimonials, not to mention the TV ads now running in the US and Canada inviting everyone within viewing reach to "Come on down. Live the dream. We speak English, we won't tax your American income, and you can sing all the way to the bank while the sun is always shining! ." I can't deny that in these US times of the rich getting obscenely richer and the rest of us gasping at the cost of everything, the pitch is seductive. Sexy, even, when you throw in those video scenes of snow white beaches and swaying palms. If only that were all that makes up a satisfying life. But it's not. And when you include a North American's expectations of living not the same, but better in Belize than in the US, and certainly not the same as the average Belizean, reality can bite a big hole in one's dreams. LANGUAGE Let's start with the English-speaking claim. Yes, most Belizeans speak English. But the reality is that most Belizeans are from indigenous backgrounds such as Mayan or Garifuna, or are mixed race-ethnicity. So whatever is the language of their ethnicty is the language that they learn from birth at home and is their mother tongue. As children get older and start to play with others outside their family circle or ethnic background they learn Belizean Kreol. This language has become a national uniting tongue so that people from different ethnicites can understand each other. It's not until children go to school that they begin to learn English. So English is not typically a Belizean's first or only language. This means that their fluency runs the gamut from very little, to good with a heavy accent, to fluent because they spent some years in the US, and/or had an English-speaking parent. When two or more Belizeans gather they will always communicate with each other in their own ethnic language or Kreol , which means that more often that not, you will not understand what they're saying even if they're talking in front of you, unless they have to communicate with you, which will be in English. CHEAP LIVING Cheap by comparison with where? The US? Yes, and no. I have seen dozens of (supposedly) American brand items that are the same price or more expensive than in the US. And they are not luxury items. The reason I say "supposedly American brands" is because there is so much counterfeit stuff here. Sometimes it's enough to read the label and know that Banana Boat does not make a "sunskrene." But sometimes everything can look right until you open and use the item at home. My Dove bar soap was shaped exactly right and seemed to have the Dove scent. Until I used it the second time, when it had no scent at all and turned into a white blob that looked and felt like mush. So what kind of savings was that if I got a trash item made from who knows what? Electric here is very expensive. Which is why there is no hot water in the kitchen and bathroom sinks. People take cold showers rather than have a water heater, or have a "widow-maker" shower head that has an electric wire running into it (!) and heats the water as it comes out. Sounds okay, except for the wire, until you find out that you can have either water pressure or warm (never hot) water because the wire cannot heat a full flow of water fast enough. So turn the pressure to minimal for warm, or have a tepid shower with a full flow. Take your choice. Electric cost is also the reason that the few people who have electric wall unit air conditioners don't use them, even when it's 95 degrees. Or the reason that an apartment or house might not have more than two electric outlets in an entire room. Table and floor lamps are too costly to operate, so the typical abode has a middle-of-the-ceiling outlet where one compact fluorescent casts a dim grey-blue light. Since high ceilings are the norm, that bulb can be 12 to 16 feet in the air. How anybody, including children doing homework, can read is a mystery. Insult to injury on electric service is that it can go out without any notice or warning. Same with cable TV and Internet service. I had just completed a lengthy and detailed email and hit "send" at the same time that the cable service went out. It stayed out for two days. You can imagine how impossible it is as an individual to get anything done, let alone completing business transactions if businesses have no Internet service. PRICES - FOOD & DRINK, GROCERIES, CLOTHING Let's start with this fact - prices in Belize are not cheap, especially when compared to the low earning power of the typical Belizean. Minimum wage here is US dollars $1.62 per hour. Most working class people do not earn even that much. Food can be less expensive in a restaurant, or not. Depends on where you eat, and I don't mean local everday versus luxe. The same kinds of places will have varying prices depending on what the clientele can afford. Prices in open air food markets are what you can negotiate because prices are not typically posted. Grocery stores are almost all foreign-owned and over-priced for foods that have passed their expiration date. Confirmed by Belizeans and my experience in three weeks in three towns in multiple stores. Foreigners pay at least 50% more than locals for everything, sometimes double or more because even the average working-class American is considered rich by the Belizean standard. Remember the $1.62 per hour. Taxis have no meters so you need to negotiate the price of a taxi ride before getting in the vehicle, even though you may not know the distance to where you're going or what a fair price should be. Clothing may be cheaper, or not, depending on the store. Foreign-owned stores tend to charge more, and most clothing stores are foreign-owned, but it's still cheap quality. So where is the saving? Gasoline is extremely expensive, which is why most people are on foot or on a bicycle. Even expats go carless, and rent when they need one. HOUSING Housing can be tricky. A woman I know paid $700 US for a halfway furnished house with no air conditioning, no outside space, no parking, utilities not included, up a steep hill on a busy main highway, and with a resident peeping-Tom local who lurked about on a regular basis. But when she involved a Belizean acquaintance to negotiate the next place of the same size, it had a garden, utilities included,and is within walking distance of the center of town - peeping-Tom not on the list. With the wall unit AC she bought for the last place already installed and the return of her security deposit for some furniture, the new place will cost $350 US per month. 'Nuff said. SAFETY/SECURITY The truth is that a highway of drug trafficking has been carved through Central America since the Colombian drug cartel was smashed into smaller pieces some years ago. It has affected some countries more than others but no country is spared. Palm trees do not mean an absence of serious crime. How serious depends on who you're talking to. People in Guatemala City and Belize City point their fingers at each other as the most-crime ridden city in Central America. But even Nicaraguans say that their government takes the prize as the most corrupt one in the region that turns a blind eye to whoever is doing whatever. So it's all a matter of perspective. In any case, in all three countries you should expect to see machine-gun toting guards at places as unlikely as the neighborhood drug store, the grocery store, the ice cream shop, the pizza shop, the shoe store, the clothing store, the bakery, the bank (of course), and riding on the backs of Pepsi and beer delivery trucks - for starters. In Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, one of the safest cities in the country, I saw three military guards with pistols and machine guns patroling the Central Park. Go to the park for relaxation and be jolted by the sight of AK-47s. Anyone with a home or commercial business space has minimum one guard dog, often two or three. They are not closed inside at night - what good would they do there? So they are out all day and all night, barking, whining, and snarling at the top of their canine lungs. Non-stop. Which leads to the question - Is Belize safe? Again - yes and no. Everybody in Central America agrees that Belize City is the pit of the country. Cross it off your list. San Pedro on Ambergris Caye is tourist party-hearty central, with the usual problems that accompany drunkenness, heavy drug use, easy sex, and way too many college kids. Enjoy for fun. Think three times before living there. Plus very expensive. Dangriga is small, seedy, and has little to do beyond 24 hours, and that includes sleep time. Beach is not pretty, water is not clean. Not dangerous unless you're looking for dangerous things to do. Hopkins is still a small village. Very safe. Reminiscent of American beach towns in the 1950s. Placencia is more touristed than Hopkins but is referred to as "how Ambergris was 20 years ago." Safe. San Ignacio in the Cayo area - safe. Spanish Lookout - heavily populated by Mennonite farmers and craftsmen. Very safe. You can always do as so many Americans do in Central America and other developing/third-world countries: Buy or rent in a gated community where the gate guards will be carrying real guns with live ammunition - often those machine guns. But you will then be announcing to the world that you obviously have things worth stealing, you will be associating only with other people just like you (which negates one of the reasons you supposedly moved here to begin with), you will cut yourself off from spontaneous interaction with those "friendly locals" whose company IL said you would enjoy, and you will definitely become a guard dog owner. So I hope you are able to sleep through the accompanying incessant noise. Do you live like that in the US? If yes, then you'll be fine. If not, you may find it confining, elitist, smacking of distrust, and claustrophobic. You should also probably re-think your decision to live here or in any third-world/developing country. MAJOR CAVEAT - In case you are involved in an accident, or a criminal incident against you, do NOT count on the police to assist you, take your side, put effort into finding the perpetrator, conduct an investigation, have correctly prepared documents, or any other action that you would legitimately expect from police doing their duty in the US or Canada. Not going to happen. In fact, you are immediately suspect as the outsider who probably perpetrated the situation and is now trying to blame a local. And then there's the paid corruption factor among officials for which Latin American countries are famous, or infamous. I could go on, but by now you probably understand why I will be canceling my subscription to International Living. FEBRUARY 11, 2014 GUATEMALA “You can disagree with another person's opinions. You can disagree with their doctrines. You can't disagree with their experience.” Krista Tippett, Speaking of Faith On Wednesday, February 5, I went to the Cafe' Condesa in the main square to meet Rev. Ricardo Frohmader, the Episcopal priest of St. Alban's congregation in Antigua. Just as he had previously described, he was wearing his clerical collar and seated at a table in the first room. |
A Guatemala Photo Journal
Thoughtful writings about mission work and if it's right for you.
About Marianne
Dear family, friends, and new acquaintances who have discovered this space,
I know that many of you wonder how I arrived at the decision to travel to and do mission work in Nicaragua, Guatemala, and Belize. And why? Some who have known me since childhood might think it’s logical because foreign travel has been part of my life from the age of 19. Got bored with college, packed up one day and took off to Europe (via Icelandic Air, the college students’ friendly cheap airline back then), and stayed for eight months. Rome, Italy, is an easy choice when it comes to cracking boredom. My life since then has included a seven-year stint working and living in Rome again, followed by more of Europe, dozens of islands, Africa, Asia, Antarctica, and a brief visit to Argentina. Six of the seven continents. Many friends who have known me only as an adult are of the clear opinion that I’m crazy, and can talk only of the dangers of where I’m going. Stories of bugs and parasites burrowing under the skin, only to emerge later from various body parts have been frequent. Not to mention die-hard (pardon the unintended pun) guerrilla soldiers still hiding in the hills, who might at any moment descend with AK-47s spewing bullets... 
|
With Thanks
So many people have done so much for me to make my mission journey real.
My pastor, Very Reverend Donna Maree, at Trinity Memorial Church in Philadelphia immediately saw value in what I wanted to do. Her support has been unwavering, and her creativity in bringing the message to the congregation was inspired. I also want to thank her husband, Charles Carr, for all the support he gives to her so that she can be as active as she is in these kinds of initiatives. The TMC congregation showered me with counsel, encouragement, prayers, and financial donations to pay for my time at the missions in all three countries. I am indebted to every one of them. Lyn Rossano, of my congregation, was the guiding light and chief tech person for constructing this Website. Amazing. Reverend Charles Penniman, a former pastor at TMC, was an original participant in establishing the Guatemala - Pennsylvania Companion Diocese relationship. He allowed me to use many of his photos for this site. Linda Angeline, a special person in my life, has made innumerable contributions of many kinds, including financial, and concessions in support of my mission trip. Thanks, as always. Bhavisha Patel, my surrogate daughter, who loaned me her iPad Mini for the trip and said she'll forgive me if it doesn't come back in the same condition she gave it. My small family has contributed with enthusiasm, money, and belief that my journey is valuable. Kim, Luke, Brooke, Kelly, and my step-father Burt - thank you. Mariann | ||
Click here for more about Trinity Memorial Church in Philadelphia and all of the ongoing mission work:
