Packing starts today *sigh*

Five pairs of heels

Because I am coming off the tale end of a violent illness I have been both unable to blog and unwilling to acknowledge my trip is coming to an end. And because today marks five days before I depart Belize, and I feel loads better than I have for the last two days, I think it's time for me to add an entry and officially time for me to stop pretending I am a permanent resident and get to packing. Everything is everywhere...very much how it is at home. So...it's 6:30am, and after I write this, I'll start the process of filing the million receipts I've racked up, throwing away empty water bottles and packing all those heels I never wore.

Speaking of heels, Belize has been very very hard on all of the shoes I've worn. Because most of the roads aren't paved, I've been walking on rocks and pebbles and stones and dead lizards and whatever else. The soles on the brand new pair of old navy flip flops are just about gone. My Steve Madden Gladiator sandals don't look like I spent the money I did on them and the two pairs of ballet slippers I brought should probably never see the U.S. again. I could never walk around in DC with the way one of those pairs of shoes look.

The actual dock. Taken one week earlier

I'm sure you all want to know about this "violent illness." I put it in quotations because some people think I'm an over-exaggerator. But this was, indeed, violent. No trip to a Latin American/Caribbean country is complete without body aches, night sweats, a million trips to the bathroom, violent chills....oh, and a passing out or two. My passing out just happened to happen on my trip back from San Pedro to Belize City on Saturday. The boat stops at Caye Caulker, another island about thirty minutes out and as soon as we pulled up to the dock, I felt dizzy and queasy. I told one of the crew that I was going to be sick and then everything went blurry. They were trying to help me off the boat and I couldn't talk. They told me to sit down on the dock and I literally passed out....laid out all spread on the dock, legs and arms flailed. When I came to, I said..."I am so fucking embarrassed." 


I had to wait three hours for another water taxi, so I slept in a beach chair for the entire time, in the sun shade and was FREEZING. The other woman I traveled with gave me a scarf to tie around my arms (cuz who has a friggin sweater in Belize in July?). I tried to go into town to buy a sweater, got 10 paces from my chair and couldn't do it...turned around and went back to sleep.

Everyone asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, but of course I didn't. I didn't feel like waiting around a whole bunch of sick people, or paying the money it was gonna cost for someone to give me some damn Tums. I realized at 9:30pm that night, three hours after I returned from Belize City, that a doctor's visit was necessary when, after about my eighth trip to the bathroom, I was sweating harder than I ever had in the gym. The nurse told me my temperature was 102. They gave me an injection in my ass to bring down the fever (I have NEVER had a shot hurt so bad) and four Imodium AD pills


The aches, and chills and sweating subsided immediately after the shot....the headache, nauseau and dehydration started the next day. I could only eat Ramen noodles, and only ate two packs of those in a full 48 hour period. Sunday night I discovered I could drink tomato juice. I bought two cans. Monday, I ventured into real food--a salad--as my body is still rejecting all sights and smells of Belizean food. I said the word "Salbuta" aloud yesterday and it produced a gag response. Half of the salad came up the last half stayed down. I think I'm good today. 


So! There it is...I am officially a world traveler. I've been duly initiated into this special club of sickers. Now that I'm finally good it's time to start the process of filing the million receipts I've racked up, throwing away empty water bottles and packing all those heels I never wore.

When I Wake Up...Everything will be beautiful

Jill Scott has a song on her new album called "When I Wake Up." In it, she describes being stuck in the pain of a break-up and uses the song as inspiration for what is to come. One of the lyrics says: "Here I am thinking again, all lost in my brain...when I know I should get up and out of it. I gotta keep moving." Another is: "Maybe right now I can't see the forest for the trees, so lost behind hurt...but I'm trying everyday exponentially to move forward." The chorus is "But when I wake up, everything will be beautiful"

I think I woke up this morning...

That B*!%h Stella

I left work early today. I finished a rough draft of a project I'd been working on for the past two weeks and was just sitting around waiting on a client to bring me some information for the VISA application we are working on. The weather got to me today, so I decided to transfer some money via BofA dot come, do a little window shopping at the mall and then head home.

Posted at the entry of the mall was a doughty Latino gentleman. I recognized his as the owner of one of the shops there. He smiled at me. I waived and smiled back.

With a huge grin, overbite and juicy lisp: I would like to talk with you.
Friendlily, Me: About what?
Him: I don't know. He shrugs with a heavy accent of some sort. You don't want to talk to me? Every letter is pronounced.
I humor him. Sure, what would you like to talk about?
Him: I recognize you from my shop before. You are so pretty. This is not the first time I see you. Do you want to go upstairs to my shop?
Me: Uh...no, that's okay. I'm actually on my way to the bookstore.
Him, hurriedly: Oh...the bookstore...it moved upstairs. His eyes glaring at me, smile plastered: I wrote a book. You can come read it. Please, come talk to me upstairs. I feel nervous.
Me, still smiling, weirdly blushing: Why are you nervous?
Him: Because you are so pretty.

Halfway Back

Being silly, lazing around

Being in Belize has been almost dream like for me. I don't really have any cares...I've met people who volunteer to drive me where I'd like to go, my houseparents feed me breakfast, lunch and dinner...I can walk wherever I want whenever I want...and eat whatever I want on the way to that unknown place. If I REALLY don't want to go to work, I don't really have to...another instance that screams "dream." But, on Friday, I went to a grocery store in Belize City with my new friend, "the professor" and was jolted back into reality after seeing American novelty products like Eggo Waffles, Ben and Jerry's ice cream and Bisquick pancake mix. The professor bought some Apple Jacks and Oscar Meyer turkey bacon. Somewhere between my slow procession from the pancake mix to the ice cream, I suddenly realized that I actually have a life outside of this dream I've been living. Like an amnesic, I started to think, "I buy this stuff at home...hmmmm...home...I have a house. Oh, and a job...my Honda Civic...oh snap...bills to pay. I have a gym membership for God's sake!" I was jolted back into reality... I can't continue on here like I don't have any responsibilities...spending every dime sampling street food or catching cabs. In the grocery store, I suddenly thought to myself...damn...at some point, I have to go home.

After a while, you get tired of swatting the flies.

Sometime at the beginning of May, I changed my facebook status to "The Lean on Me moments are becoming more and more frequent." The declaration was a blind description to my increasing inappropriateness at my job. I was referring to an incident where I had to curse one of my student's out to get her to understand that we love her (as a school) and want to see her succeed.

It was the second time I had done it and both times I felt horrible. Anyone who knows me in a professional capacity, can vouch for the fact that I, at the very least, TRY to maintain my professionalism with every encounter. I felt that at the very moment I let out the "f" bomb, I lost the title of "professional social worker." I was embarrassed and told very few people. But...the truly ironic part of the story, though, is that IT WORKED. I mean, it actually worked. Though I cursed them both out, in both instances, my language communicated honesty, love and support. I realized that when I spoke as a "professional social worker," those students saw me as being fake and "white."(This is a whole 'nother blog entry on cultural differences as a Black woman social worker in DC from California. Just wait for it)

Technologically Frustrated....I just aint gettin' any

Since arriving in Belize two weeks ago, I’ve listened to DC’s Russ Parr Morning Show online every morning while I get ready for work. I check my email as soon as I wake up on both Gmail and Facebook. I update my status as I’m walking out the door—a quip something to encourage or enlighten my folks back home. When I get home from work, I stream movies and television shows on Hulu www.hulu.com and Netflix www.netflix.com. I downloaded Jill Scott’s new album, The Light of the Sun, from iTunes on Wednesday afternoon. Two nights ago, I had a two-hour video chat on Gmail with my best friend. Last night, I watched a marathon of Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction. 

The bootlegged Internet went out three hours ago. *blank stare*

No Heels Allowed, Right....?

Yesterday, I reached out by email to my new friend....one of the ladies I met at Rolson's last week. Mary...affectionately referred to as Ms. Mary or her official title, Reverend Mary is a sweet, eccentric and lively 61-year-old Belizean newbie from Michigan (among other places). She responded to the email I sent and invited me to her initiation into the San Ignacio Chapter of the Rotary Club. I enthusiastically accepted the invitation.

"Those People"

A couple of years ago, a very good friend and colleague of mine invited me to a resource fair put on by a service organization.  Her organization had a table and she thought it a good idea for me to come. It was sometime in November, I remember, because it was cold out and I was dressed, trendy enough, for the weather. I had on a pair of jeans, heeled knee boots, a black puff coat with fur around the hood, big dangly earrings and a hat with the brim cocked to the side.

I walked to the table and was greeted by a white woman who asked me to sign in. When I finished, she handed me a paper with the word "Goals" written at the top.

I smiled politely. "Oh, I'm not a client, I'm a Social Worker."

A second of confusion passed across her face. "OH! I'm sorry. You don't have to sign in here, you can sign in on this piece of paper. Are you just here to check out some resources?"

"Yes." I said.

When I approached the mouth of the gymnasium, another white woman greeted me. "Welcome, welcome!" she said. "What goals will you be working on today?"

This time, a bit more stern. "I'm not a client, I'm a Social Worker."

3rd day...I think...I'm losing track of days already.

Its 5am and 80 something degrees. I went to sleep early last night....around seven. The heat drained me and I think every crease on my body was lubricated from the sweat. It seemed as if even when I stood still, I was dripping. My room doesn't have air conditioning but I've figured out a trick on how to manipulate the positioning of the fan so it doesn't blow the covers off of me at night or degrade my hearing.

I also went to sleep early because my bootlegged internet service (literally bootlegged from the Mexican Restaurant across the street), became too shoddy to endure any longer. The entire episode of the 70's group Heatwave's Unsung on TV One played perfectly....but when I got to Miki Howard, the damn thing started buffering every minute and a half. I even tried switching to the Fat Boys and Klymaxx....nothing. I threw my hands up in frustration, closed the windows, turned on the fan and turned out the lights. #irritation.

My First Day June 19, 2011

Taken from my camera phone #android

I got picked up in an “authentic Belizean family car”…an 87 4-door Subaru with two broken doors, and a broken steering column that allowed you to turn the car on and off while it was in motion. It took about an hour and a half to drive from Belize City, where the airport is to the town of San Ignacio, a quaint community of homes in various stages of completion built by their owners. On the way, we stopped at an outdoor market that was closing up for the day, but I had the chance to smell the amazing produce tropical places are known for. I was once told that you can’t smell anything in the produce section when you go to a grocery store…but an outdoor market!!?? The smells themselves were almost tangible. I saw a green onion the size of the entire length of my arm and avocados the size of both my fists put together. Flies were everywhere though, which I noted would be unsanitary in the States, but at the market, seemed commonplace. I guess in a tropical region, flying insects (even flies) are just as much part of the culture as the greenery.