(04/17/23)
|
Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
"Gringo Potluck"
Some of my fondest “halcyon days” in Belize were on Sundays in the dry season, when all of us ex-pat Americans got together for a potluck. Through time and circumstance, we had slowly learned of each other’s existence through chance meetings at Saturday morning market. In time, we found out who had gotten to Belize before who, and where each couple had landed here in Cayo.
We gringos were few – probably only twenty-five of us – mostly couples. Ben and Debbie, and Larry and Shelley from Mountain Pine Ridge. Dirk and Laurie, and Dick D from Pilgrimage Valley. Ed and Virginia from Succotz, Marco and Collette from Benque. Pat and Sharon, Jim and Annie, Jeff and Chris, and Dennis and June – all from Barton Creek Valley. Bart and Suzie, Rosita, Mick and Lucy, and ourselves from the Upper Macal. News was passed by word-of-mouth; there were no communication devices back then. We’d pass the word at Saturday market who would be hosting the potluck that Sunday, and each week the hosting would rotate. No cancellation needed. If it rained, we simply knew not to go.
Food, dogs barking, bunch of little blond kids running around, music, beer, rum & Coke, laughter. Everybody had provided a dish. Somebody brought a guitar, or flute, or some drums, and some of the girls would dance. All of us worked so hard every day on our little homesteads, it was helpful to blow off steam. And because, by then, we had long been steeped in all things Belizean – it was also meaningful to socialize with our own age group, within our own American culture.
We gringos were few – probably only twenty-five of us – mostly couples. Ben and Debbie, and Larry and Shelley from Mountain Pine Ridge. Dirk and Laurie, and Dick D from Pilgrimage Valley. Ed and Virginia from Succotz, Marco and Collette from Benque. Pat and Sharon, Jim and Annie, Jeff and Chris, and Dennis and June – all from Barton Creek Valley. Bart and Suzie, Rosita, Mick and Lucy, and ourselves from the Upper Macal. News was passed by word-of-mouth; there were no communication devices back then. We’d pass the word at Saturday market who would be hosting the potluck that Sunday, and each week the hosting would rotate. No cancellation needed. If it rained, we simply knew not to go.
Food, dogs barking, bunch of little blond kids running around, music, beer, rum & Coke, laughter. Everybody had provided a dish. Somebody brought a guitar, or flute, or some drums, and some of the girls would dance. All of us worked so hard every day on our little homesteads, it was helpful to blow off steam. And because, by then, we had long been steeped in all things Belizean – it was also meaningful to socialize with our own age group, within our own American culture.
The “back-to-the-land" movement in the States had been in full swing. Young people had wanted cleaner air, land, and water – to grow their own food, and raise their children in a natural environment. Some dissidents had moved to the Rockies, others had gone to the wilds of Alaska. Some had chosen a distant Hawaiian island, and some had migrated to Costa Rica. And, despite the fact that Belize’s geographical position made it the least-accessible country in Central America, a tiny trickle of only the most adventurous ex-pats crossed into Belize. Some by air, some by sea, but most of us came overland through Mexico and the northern border. Some knew where they were going, others drifted through the Districts, searching for destiny. Some settled on Ambergris Caye, or Caye Caulker. Some liked Corozal, took a shine to Orange Walk, or landed in Crooked Tree. Some found their dreamscape on the Hummingbird Hwy, and others embraced the deep south of Toledo District at Blue Creek or San Pedro Columbia. And some of us fell in love with Cayo.
And many, many, many gringos failed. And quickly. They hadn’t brought tools, or generators, or even a solid plan. Some were trust-fund babies, who didn't need to be serious. Some were European trams, who had come on a whim, with back-packs, and a booklet called “How to See Central America on $5 a Day.” Impractical, with stars-in-their eyes, many were seen as “marks,” were quickly swindled by smooth-talking predators (both brown and white) who set them up on a piece of dry land in the wet season, or on a piece of wet land in the dry season. When the seasons reversed, the victims found themselves hauling water, by hand, in buckets from a water source two miles away, because the spring next to the house had dried up. Others found themselves standing next to a flooded river, watching the wreckage of their house swirl downstream – lucky to have gotten away with their lives. Many gave up and left after one turn of the seasons.
Question: Hey. How do you make a small fortune in Belize?
Answer: Start with a large one.
Some didn’t get away at all. Some died. One American woman, named Sharon, had been driving a tractor straight up a steep hill, when it flipped backwards and crushed her to death. One of the Swiss guys, Karl, had wiped out on the infamous “S” curve on the Western Highway, his motorcycle slamming into a truck. And another woman, a soft-hearted Canadian named Roseanne, had lent a few hundred dollars to a local villager, only to be found shot to death in her little house two weeks later. The debtor had decided it would be easier than paying her back.
**************
The beauty of the potlucks was the fact that they had manifested organically, coming together only because all the components had been there. In terms of history and the greater scheme of things, this period was but a brief sojourn, lasting approximately twelve to fourteen weeks over the three consecutive dry seasons of 1977, 1978, and 1979. But for us, this era was special and timeless. We were the gringos who were succeeding, and thriving, and would now share a forever bond.
By 1980, circumstances would change. There would be less leisure time for socializing. Each of the couples would be pressing hard to make a living, raising young children, carving out their own little niche In retrospect, we were creating those enterprises that would play a key role in building Cayo’s economic infrastructure, and laying a solid foundation for the tourism that was, eventually, sure to come.
And many, many, many gringos failed. And quickly. They hadn’t brought tools, or generators, or even a solid plan. Some were trust-fund babies, who didn't need to be serious. Some were European trams, who had come on a whim, with back-packs, and a booklet called “How to See Central America on $5 a Day.” Impractical, with stars-in-their eyes, many were seen as “marks,” were quickly swindled by smooth-talking predators (both brown and white) who set them up on a piece of dry land in the wet season, or on a piece of wet land in the dry season. When the seasons reversed, the victims found themselves hauling water, by hand, in buckets from a water source two miles away, because the spring next to the house had dried up. Others found themselves standing next to a flooded river, watching the wreckage of their house swirl downstream – lucky to have gotten away with their lives. Many gave up and left after one turn of the seasons.
Question: Hey. How do you make a small fortune in Belize?
Answer: Start with a large one.
Some didn’t get away at all. Some died. One American woman, named Sharon, had been driving a tractor straight up a steep hill, when it flipped backwards and crushed her to death. One of the Swiss guys, Karl, had wiped out on the infamous “S” curve on the Western Highway, his motorcycle slamming into a truck. And another woman, a soft-hearted Canadian named Roseanne, had lent a few hundred dollars to a local villager, only to be found shot to death in her little house two weeks later. The debtor had decided it would be easier than paying her back.
**************
The beauty of the potlucks was the fact that they had manifested organically, coming together only because all the components had been there. In terms of history and the greater scheme of things, this period was but a brief sojourn, lasting approximately twelve to fourteen weeks over the three consecutive dry seasons of 1977, 1978, and 1979. But for us, this era was special and timeless. We were the gringos who were succeeding, and thriving, and would now share a forever bond.
By 1980, circumstances would change. There would be less leisure time for socializing. Each of the couples would be pressing hard to make a living, raising young children, carving out their own little niche In retrospect, we were creating those enterprises that would play a key role in building Cayo’s economic infrastructure, and laying a solid foundation for the tourism that was, eventually, sure to come.
NEXT: CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX>>>
"Hurricane Greta - Part One" |