Falling in love with spring here in Belize

I need to remind myself that home in Western New York averages four inches of snow in April.

Dispelling some untruths

If you keep your wits about you, and you are situationally aware, then there is nothing stopping you from coming to Central America except self-imposed fear.

I was never in danger. I have traveled to many places around the world that have way more threatening issues than El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala and Belize.

Stop listening to the reports about drugs and gangs here, and that all those “bad “ people are coming to the United States with their vices. Most coming across the border are looking for honest work, and they are sending money back home to support their families. Certainly the standard of living is low here, and that is why many seek opportunities for betterment in our country. Some face oppressive situations.

How folks south of the of the border enter - legally or illegally- disturbs citizens of the US. The Central Americans see it differently. Coming legally is a nightmare of beauacrtic red tape. In Guatemala alone, 500 people line up per day at the US embassy to get the paperwork started at a cost. Our system is broken.

I’ll conclude the personal comments as I realize that I am treading on thin ice. Many of you will not agree with me. That’s fine. Others of you may want to explore this further.

Telling a story in faces

When traveling often you remember a particular spot by a picture. That is the same way with faces.

A deep well of wisdom pours out from this woman of seventy. Her passion is for women’s equality, and she wants me to know ( through a translator) how important it is for females in her village to find satisfaction through weaving. The tears running down her cheeks say as much as her words, and I pause to reflect on her honesty.

A carefree little boy passes me the tamales across the table and agrees to give a big smile for a picture. He speaks only Spanish and I speak English. It doesn’t matter. Food is a universal language. Minutes later he is back with his device.

The farmer and his wife come to sell their vegetables at the wholesale market after being up early in the morning. They both look tired, but joyful working together dividing the onions. I stop and ask for a photo. The woman holds back a bit not sure of my request. Not many Americans pass through the town, although all the workers here cautiously nod If you smile first.