Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer ​

​Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
"Gringo Potluck"
​Some of the most rare and perfect days in Belize were those special Sundays in the dry season when all of us ex-pats got together for a potluck. We gringos were few, probably only twenty-five of us, mostly couples, some with babies or young children.
  • Ben and Debbie, and Larry and Shelley from Mountain Pine Ridge
  • Dirk and Laurie from Pilgrimage Valley
  • Ed and Virginia from San Jose Succotz
  • Marco and Collette from Benque
  • Pat and Sharon, Jim and Annie, Jeff and Chris, and Dennis and June from Upper Barton Creek Valley
  • Mick and Lucy, Rosita, Bart and Suzie, and my family from the Macal
​As there were no communication devices whatsoever back then, we’d pass the word at Saturday morning market regarding who had volunteered to host the event, and we’d rotate. No cancellation needed. If it rained, we simply knew not to go.
​There was plenty of food—dogs barking, a bunch of little blond kids running around, plus music, beer, wine, rum, and lots of laughter. Everybody provided a covered dish. Some folks brought a guitar, or flute, or some drums, and the graceful women would dance. All of us worked so hard every day on our own little homesteads. It was helpful to blow off steam, and 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. Like us, many had wanted a cleaner, and more remote, natural environment. Some had moved to the Rockies, others to the wilds of Alaska, or a distant island in Hawaii, or the Caribbean. With no standing army, Costa Rica was politically-friendly, and therefore a popular choice. 
​However, because Belize’s geographical position, by road, made it the least-accessible country in Central America, only a tiny trickle of the most adventurous came here. Some knew where they were going. Others, like us, had 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, while others embraced the deep south of Toledo District at Blue Creek or San Pedro Columbia. As for the attendees at this party, we were the ones who had fallen in love with Cayo.
​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. Impractical, with stars-in-their eyes, they were seen as “marks,” and quickly swindled by smooth-talking predators. Some victims found themselves hauling water, by hand, in buckets from a source a half-mile 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. The biggest reason for failure was that they simply ran out of money before they could become self-sustaining. In truth, it was the majority who gave up, and gave out. Many had left after just one turn of the seasons. 
​The joke was: 
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. A well-liked homesteader named Karl had wiped out on the infamous “S” curve on the Western Highway, his motorcycle slamming into a truck. Another woman, a soft-hearted Canadian named Roseanne, had lent a hundred and fifty dollars to a local man, only to be found shot-to-death in her little house two months 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 in 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, ‘78, and ‘79. But for us, this era was special and timeless. Although some in our group would still fail, for the most part, 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 socializing because we were no longer just playing at an idyllic dream. Now we were all too busy trying to survive, pressing hard to find our niche in the future of Belize. In retrospect, some of the powerful people at that gathering were in the early stages of creating the very 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.