Life in Belize

Last week:
Stefan, Camille, and I were walking back from their grandma’s house on the next street over. The day had already been long and I had had nothing better to do so I had decided to walk over with them. On the walk back we decided to take the other route home. On the corner of Jasmine Street we neared a fence that had completely toppled over in the middle. Across the road, the skinniest rooster I had ever seen was strutting around the yard as a chicken gathered her chicks into the shade from the hot day. Some clothes were hanging on a clothesline. They were not in the sun but rather were sharing the shade with the chicks under a house that had been built on stilts to protect from hurricanes.
As we approached the corner, Stefan absently picked up a rock and looked up at me. “Do you want to get chased by a dog?” he asked with the same sort of glee that I expect he would have had if he had asked if I had wanted to go on a rollercoaster for the 14th time in a row. The sort of glee that only a 10 year old can have after 13 straight times on the same rollercoaster. “Not particularly?” I said, trying to betray my surprise (something that I always find myself trying to do when traveling). Before the “larly” had even left my lips, a dog jumped from over the toppled fence, headed straight for us. Before the “ly” had left my lips, rocks were already in midair, loosed from Stefan and Camille’s hands and on a trajectory for the dog. The rocks bounced around him in some sort of cheap, Belizean reenactment of the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. Only this brown mutt was playing the part of Tom Hanks and the kids were the Nazis. I was Vichy France.
The dog stopped in his tracks, waiting for the barrage to end. “Quick!” yelled Stefan, already running. Down the road we ran, all the way back to the pink house with ‘Nolberto’ over the door.

Last night:
We were having dinner when I heard a sound outside that was strangely reminiscent of a street sweeper. Now mind you our street is a dirt road, so a street sweeper would be completely insane. That being said, I would have been only slightly surprised if I had looked out the window and seen a street sweeper that had been stupidly donated by the European Union or the Republic of China (Taiwan) and emblazoned with the flags of either. What I did see when I looked outside was a street sweeperesque truck releasing clouds of insecticide into the air in order to suppress the mosquito population after our recent rains.

This morning:
In nearly a month in Belize (I’m counting the week I spent in Belize City last year), I saw a fire truck for the first time today. As it drove down the street, water was literally spilling out of its truckbed.