Cayes, Gallos, Indiana Jones, and new room mates

So my life is an adventure. That is pretty much a staple of my new life: absurdity. I was recently laying in my hammock over looking the sea listening to Christmas carols that Belizeans have been playing on repeat since November and I was reflecting the last week or so. My past two weeks are evidence of my absurd adventure that is my life. Recap:

Desert Island: For Allison and Pat's birthdays we went to Snake Caye (pronounced "Key") with some friends and fellow JVs from Belize City. Some friends offered to take us in their boat as long as we supplied the rum, not a bad deal! After an hour in said boat we arrived. The water was clear as glass, ice blue. A small strip of beach, white sandy beach, a handful of palm trees and a look out tower were the sum total of this tiny beautiful island. It was truly paradise. My good friends, beautiful island and a few drinks.... made for an excellent day in the Caribbean!

Illegal Border Crossings: One of the many joys about my job is that I travel most days of the week leading retreats all around the Toledo district. This includes going to far off villages that are multiple hour truck rides on very poorly maintained dirt roads... how does a JV relax after a leading a rowdy retreat to 30 7th graders? Illegally cross the border to Guatemala on foot for a few Gallos (great, cheap Guatemalan beer) and a snack before returning back to town. When I say "illegal border crossings"... most Americans reading this will think running through the desert in the middle of the night, hopping a wall and avoiding being shot by xenophobic minute men. However the rest of North America is much more casual about their borders. So much so, in fact, that 90% Jalacte's income comes from corn sales in Guatemala. Many Guatemalans cross to Belize for work and land to farm. So when I crossed the border it was merely a 20 minute hike across a river, through a field and through some one's farm. You know you have reached the border when you see the row of hedges in a line... and nope, I didn't even need to hop that, there is a well tread walkway. Next thing I knew, Pat and I were sitting in a bar listening to Spanish music sipping on something cold and synthesizing our day.

Remote jungle camping: Next up on the list of incredible things I have done in the past two weeks... Machakilha. Machakilha is the most remote village in Toledo, possible Belize. There is no road to this village. To arrive you must hike for an hour and half through the jungle. After leading my last retreat for this half our the year, Pat and I hiked to Machkilha. We were unsure of what to do or where to go but were led by a man from the village... who, as I would come to find out, wisely brought his horse. I jokingly told him I forgot my horse at home... (Note: humor does not translate well to non native English speakers). And we set out, mind you I looked something like Panama Jack in my khaki hiking shirt and zip off North face pants. (Pat wore his "diva"shades, a polo, and some sneakers and looked like he was going to watch the US Open.) Let me tell you, this hike is no joke. The whole time when I wasnt swatting flies or pulling one of my legs out of the very deep mud I was expecting to be taken out by a blow gun. I sang the theme song of "Indiana Jones" most of the hike. The fact that I was walking to one of the most remote areas in this part of the world was super invigorating. The jungle was nearly silent as we hiked and sloshed through the mud. We were told this was the dry time to cross... you must need a kayak to make it in the "wet" season, I had mud caked on my shoes all the way up both legs. After and hour and a half of very vigorous hiking... (these grasshopper legs are good for long strides) we arrived. Though it didn't exactly look like it, this I found out, was because there is no real "village" but rather just 20 families and a school. Open pastures, the mountains of Guatemala on the horizon. It was beautiful.
In the past four months I frequently frighten Belizean children by my appearance, I would like to think it is because of my stunning good looks, but in reality I think it is my gargantuan height compared to their 3 foot frames. This village was even more so, something told me not a lot of white people appear randomly on Friday afternoons like the tall, muddy, sweaty mess I was. Pat and I set up camp, and got ready for the night. During the hike I imagined staying up late learning from the village elders their ways and secrets to happy and long life life while sitting around a fire (think Dances with Wolves) but in reality after leading 5 retreats back to back and the epic hike I was asleep for the night by 6pm haha. It was super relaxing to be so far away from traditional civilization, the stars were amazing, and due to how tired I was, sleeping on the ground felt like a pillow top mattress. We woke the next morning had some tortillas and headed for the long trek home. (I'm wrapping this up... I feel very long winded in this entry)

Oh the last little bit of adventure in my life.....

Matt's Rats: Last week I found a dog bone in my Tshirt drawer, thinking it was a stupid prank from my elf heighted roommate I rolled up newspaper hit Pat on the nose and pushed his nose into it "BAD Smirf, BAD Smirf!"
... well not really, but it turns out he didnt place the doggie biscuit there.
I thought nothing of it and left for retreat, yesterday after returning from the long hike/ camp out at Machakilha I found 4 more dog treats in my t shirt drawer, 4 more in my collared shirt drawer. After a bit of investigating, it was found out- Pat received a bag of dog bones for our dog Baxter in a recent care package and in the bottom of this bag was a nibble hole, sure sign of a rodent. Turns out the rats (featured previously in Matt's Motorcycle Diary), snuck into the bag... and carried the bones into my room, crawled up the back of my dresser and into my drawers where they have now created a nest. Pat shook my dresser yesterday to see if the new friends were home and a Rat the size of a small cat came darting out (resulting in both of us yelling like little girls and jumping on the first elevated thing in site... for me, a chair, for Pat, he jumped on me... remember his short stature).

Two thoughts crossed my mind:
1) "Wow... that is kind of impressive they carried those big bones all the way up and into my clothes!"
2) "We just got those bones... have they been sleeping/peeing/shitting on my clothes this whole time and I didn't know?"

I slept on the couch upstairs last night.

El Salvador in review

I must admit, I have tried 3 or 4 times to sit and write about my experiences in El Salvador and can never seem to find the words to adequately describe that trip's impact on me. It was one of the most influential things I have ever been a part of. Some how I am worried I can not do it justice with words. There were so many emotions involved I feel that my retelling the experience will fall terribly flat. I shall try anyway....let me start from the beginning. (I apologize in advance if this is long, I am attempting to retell and entire mind blowing week into one blog post.)

After a very anticipated count down, everyday my excitement level jumped, Em and I finally packed our bags and walked to the Immigration office ready to start our two long day journey to Salvador. In the short walk through town I was overcome by the sense that I am no longer a resident of PG but just one more white person passing through. I have tried hard to fight that image but because of my skin color and big pack, I was once again a walking dollar sign, or so my paranoid mind thought. I was not worried for my safety but rather what I represent.
We boarded the Water Taxi that took us across our little stretch of the Caribbean to Puerto Barrios, Guatemala. The trip takes about an hour and the whole time I sat in silence trying to process what was going on. My mind raced as we skipped (read: slammed) across the water. It is important to note that behind us sat a few Peace Corps volunteers who the whole ride talked about "How hard it is being here" and "How life is America is so much better" and my favorite "We ONLY make this much money here, and the $6,000 they give us to get resettled in America is not enough" (It is important to note that PCVs make about 4 times as much money as JVs do a month and JVs don't receive a "readjustment allowance"). Emily and I just smiled knowingly to one another with the very clear divide nearly palpable between us and them. We were not just two white people on vacation but rather two seekers on a pilgrimage. Witnesses to the lives of men slain for their outspoken defense of the poor.
We spent the night in Puerto Barrios which is loud, bright, very dirty, Spanish speaking, quite dangerous and overall not appealing. I use the term ("spent the night"loosely...we had a 4am bus) We boarded our bus in the wee hours, having not slept much and made the 6 hour journey to Guatemala City. Guatemala is an enormous sprawling metropolis. We were driving for about 40 minutes within the city limits. Surrounded by the Spanish banter of old women selling fruit and tamales we got off the bus into.. dare I say it... chilly weather. A pleasant surprise! The next bus we needed to catch was at noon. Our taxi driver, Hector, told us... well told Emily (my terrible high school Spanish made traveling through Central America an issue.) That he could drive us to the Salvadoran border by noon, essentially saving us 2 hours. We thought about it, and seeing that we did not have to pay to leave Belize OR enter Guatemala (saving us about 50 American dollars!) We decided to splurge and take Hector up on his offer. I tried my best to become his friend with my basic Spanish, my theory is... who kidnaps their friends? We made it to the border caught a bus and made our way to San Salvador.
We made it to our destination. Extremely tired, by this point we had been up for about 17 hours. I ran into some kids from Carroll which was neat and my dear friend Lauren who is a JV in Nicaragua. Lauren walked me to the UCA (Universidad Centroamericana) the place where the Jesuits were killed. Lauren accompanied me to the Romero Center, the site of the infamous Rose Garden, we entered just before they closed at dusk, adding a dramatic sunset to an already moving experience. I was exhausted, covered in dirt, carrying my heavy pack and upon walking into the famous rose garden where 20 years prior the priests were dragged and systematically shot in the head, I was overcome with emotion and started crying. Here grow flowers from a patch of grass fertilized by the blood of men bearing witness to justice and human rights.
It was all too much for me, here I am a young man attempting to bear witness to the struggle of the poor in Central America at the place Jesuits were martyred for a similar goal. Oppression and injustice is not some abstract political jargon but rather a harsh reality of the worlds poor and marginalized.
I then sat in the room where the house keeper and her daughter were also killed. Innocence. Lives taken for no reason. The daughter, a 17 year old was going to be married not long after, however she became one of the 75,000 people killed during the war in her tiny broken country. All I could think about was her poor fiance. (the husband/ father of the women was the groundskeeper and the man who planted the roses).
I was extremely emotional and promised myself I would come back the next day once I had rested to pay a proper respects. I met up with Fr. Paul the man I would be staying with, a Cleveland diocesan priest, who I was referred to from a friend of a friend. Fr. Paul lives in La Libertad, an area to the south of San Salvador on the pacific ocean. Fr. Paul lived in El Salvador during the 70s- 80s during the war. He not only lived in El Salvador during war but was much more involved than I expected... as I came to find out. Paul was working back in Cleveland and asked to spend the rest of his life in El Salvador rather than as he said " die in some home, bored and alone". I knew from the start Paul and I were going to hit it off.
The following morning I took the bus 45 minutes from Libertad to San Salvador. Which was a terrifying, amazing adventure in it self. The bus system is San Salvador is one of the most unsafe places to be for a Gringo, in one of the most unsafe cities (once again my broken shitty Spanish... not helpful.) One would think that after living in Central America for multiple months that he would be used to feeling out of place, but let me tell you. Doesn't go away... that feeling of "Wow I am out of place, 3 feet taller than most people here... and everyone in the whole place is staring at me".
I was taking the bus to hear Dean Brackley SJ speak at the UCA. It was well worth the very scary 45 min bus ride. He is an exceptional man. Brackley was teaching at Fordhamin 1989 and upon hearing his brother Jesuits were killed over the weekend in Salvador he packed his bags and asked... "who is taking my classes for me on Monday?" and as swift as that, moved to El Salvador. Has been there ever since. Dean said " to combat poverty we need to make this the century of solidarity, we need to globalize the practice of love". I walked away inspired and enlightened. That evening I attended a backyard mass with about 80-100 of people between the ages of 17-26(the Casa program is an immersion/ study abroad program in El Salvador. Emily went for the reunion and I tagged along. Casa was atarted by two former JVs from Belize). Despite the fact it was in Spanish I was blown away by the Mass. All I could think was "yes.. this is the church. Young, vibrant, committed to social justice and solidarity to the poor". Fr. Paul and I spent the next day together, laughing talking with a lot of questions from me, answers from him. We had a long conversation about how religion makes so much more sense down here, it is simple, and vivid, and true to the condition of the people. He laughed and told me his first sermon back in the States, after living in Salvador for 5 years, was something a long these lines " I love you all... but I wanted to let you know, you are all going to hell" haha He is a great man. I was extremely grateful I had the opportunity to spend a week with such a social justice titan. Fr. Paul has done so much for so many people, and is so quick to brush off any praise or compliments... constantly telling me, it is what was needed to be done. The next day at dinner Paul and I were talking about the War years... something I was asking him about all week. He was slow to open up and I now understand why. Those killed and tortured were not random priests or random Salvadorans he read about in the news. These were his friends. He worked closely with Archbishop Romero, meeting once a week with him. Ruttlio Grande was going to say mass for Paul the week before he was killed. The Maryknoll Sisters that were raped and killed... were leaving the airport to drive to meet up with Paul. He was the one to report them missing. He was not simply in El Salvador during the violence, he was in the crossfire. At point I asked him... " Father, knowing myself, if my friends were being shot, raped and kidnapped.... I would have the urge to radicalize, did you feel that at all?" He responded with a completely straight face, " I could have picked up a gun, but what would that have changed? But I did what was going to make a change, I kept teaching. That's what the Salvadorans needed, not more violence, but education and love." Fr. Paul is incredible. Liberation through education. I knew this weekend was going to be epic but did not for see my relationship with a man I had never met meaning so much to me.

The following day I went to the Vigilia for the men and women murdered. It started with a candle lit walk around the campus. There were close to 15,000 people there from around the world to bear witness to the lives and work of those men and women. It was an honor to be among their numbers. I walked with Fr. Jeff and Fr. Brian... a few of the Jesuits from Belize that also made the trip (they flew haha). After the walk there was a Mass for all those attending, including about 50 priests cocelebrating.
I have been so impressed by the Salvadoran people, a people who seem to constantly seem to get rolled over with violence and injustice and yet a people that soldier on. They pick themselves and each other up and walk on. So inspiring. The following day Fr. Dick, Fr. Brian, Emily and myself went to the church where Archbishop Oscar Romero was gunned down. Another person killed for their outspoken defense of the poor. It was one of the most impressive weeks of my life. Reaffirmed all that I feel about my small place in the world. Reaffirmed my work in Belize. Reaffirmed in me that living the Gospel message is not something nice hear on Sunday mornings, but rather a radical counter cultural commitment to the poor and to fight oppression in all its forms.


( I have much more to say about El Salvador but that will do for now)
"What I can do, you can not.
What you can do, I can not.
But together, we can do something beautiful for God"
- Mother Theresa

"The struggle against injustice

and the pursuit of truth

cannot be separated nor can one

work for one independent of the other."

Ignatio Ellacuría, S.J.

Murdered superior of Jesuit community

El Salvador....

Emily and I leave tomorrow for El Salvador. We are going for the 20th anniversary of the Jesuits who were martyred there because they were thought to be subversive to the Salvadorian government (by soldiers trained by the US to fight "communism"). I am extremely excited... for what exactly? Hard to specify. El Salvador, a new country.. checking out Belize's neighbors. The joy of traveling (while having no money) is really something I enjoy. Going to the epicenter of Liberation Theology, to the place were men and women's lives were taken for their outspoken pursuit of justice for the poor is big part of my excitement. Home to Archbishop Oscar Romero who was also killed for speaking out against the corrupt military based government, is another aspect.

This is a pretty huge trip for me... living and working for justice in Central America and going to such an epic event will be wildly influential, or so I hope. The Jesuits that were killed are receiving the highest honor from the Salvadorian government this year as an act of atonement. This does not undo the atrocious murders of 75,000 Salvadorians, nor does it fix the many many injustices still facing El Salvador but it is still something, and something is better than nothing.

I am very excited for this spiritual pilgrimage of sorts, and will have a better update when I get home next week. Pray for the Salvadorians who recently lost their lives in a series of mudslides that occurred because of Hurricane Ida.

"measure a man by the friends he keeps"

"I have to remind myself that some birds weren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knew it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But your world is just that much colder and emptier when they're gone. I don't know... maybe I just miss my friend."

I am sorry for the delay in posts my life has been a hotmess. Today I got a message from an avid reader of Matt's Motorcycle Diary saying "It's been 20 days and I check everyday, please write something" So this post is for Kathleen Reece. Thank you for the kick in the pants as well as the support.

Appropriate I would say because I am writing about something that has been on my mind a lot recently: value of friendship. As well as, the feeling of being restricted in my friendships while being here. Previous to coming to Belize I valued my rich diversity in friends, and prided myself on retaining those relationships. While in Belize because of certain aspects of my life it is hard to stay connected to the people you love. Phone calls are too expensive to make for me to check in on people. And if people want to call me we need a pre established date and time so I will be by the phone. These are not enormous hurdles but rather something to deal with. And yes I have become an avid writer of snail mail letters. But frequently my community mates and I say somewhat exhaustively " It is hard to continue to be a good friend while here". This is not something I even realized was an issue until being here. I had some idealized idea that my friends and I would talk at a frequent rate, not the case for most.

This may sound like ramblings of a white kid in central america but at the heart lies a deeper issue. This past week a deep blow was dealt to the John Carrol community. To deal with something so serious from so far away was quite hard. This not only deeply affected me in a personal way, but affected many of those that I love back in the States. It is hard to be a compassionate friend while out of touch more or less. Being far away has been helpful and hard at the same time. I am not surrounded by what was affecting everyone, but at the same time I felt on my own. My community mates have been incredibly supportive to me in this time of darkness doing everything they can for me. And I am appreciative of that.

On the flip side, while being here in Belize I have retained friendships that are now cemented into my life, people who have made themselves part of my experience. Those that I love who are invested into my life down here have been a huge blessing. This has helped me with feelings of "what am I doing here?". Knowing people love and support me from far away has filled me with an amazing sense of gratitude. Being here in Belize has stripped down my life in a variety of ways - lack of materialism, no hot water, reduced communication with home, changed comfort zone, serious tropical illness, as well as a minority status . But that being said, what is left when all of that is gone is in a sense, my real self. With the long slow discovery of one's self, your inner most desires are acknowledged, challenged and questioned. Never before in my life have I felt such a rapid change in who I am, more importantly who I am becoming. This existential discover has become my day to day. Included in that are the people who support, applaud and stand back and watch... my friends and family who I am indebted. It is odd, some of my closest friends who I have known either the past 4 years, or my whole life, I feel that our friendship has grown closer more so in these 3 months than in the past three years. This is equally true the men that have known me my entire life, my brothers. The conversations had with my brothers while being here have been the most in depth and intentional we have ever shared. In a way they are my greatest supporters, and I didn't fully comprehend the size of that love until being here.

This post is all over the place, I realize that. But that is very much where I am right now. A mixture of comfort, discomfort; known and unknown; my reality versus the reality of Belizeans.

Thank you for continued support I have received as I go day to day, digging through the 'big questions' of the injustices of life in Belize, as well as the daily brilliant, beautiful joys of being a volunteer.

Love,
Matty

Rest in peace Cody Gullete
"a brilliant life cut too short"

'Where have you Found God today?" -Steph Galeota

"Now the summer days are through

You pass through places

And places pass through you

But you carry them with you

On the soles of your traveling shoes"
-The Littlest Bird's, Jolie Holland

Its October I can't believe it! I am in my third month "in country" and I feel like life is flying by. (this has a lot to do with the fact that temperature wise, it still feels like August). My retreats have started up with a fury. I was extremely nervous for my first two (a teachers retreat, and a confirmation retreat) but once the wheels started turning my apprehension subsided. To walk into a room with 20 silent, mostly Maya, teachers was incredibly intimidating... for a variety of reasons including the following:

1) 90% of the teachers were older than me
2) This was my first time leading a retreat in Belize and though I had previous experience in college I was worried about imposing North American cultural norms on the group. (this is something I have become extremely sensitive to, as Americans we view our way as the only way, most times without realizing it)
3) I had a bit of a scheduling issue with a previous retreat and was very worried about anything happening in front of my boss, again. ("First mistake, no sweat, you are new"...Second... "you are an idiot." Well not really but that's how I was thinking)
4) I am a tall, white, young, unmarried man who isn't becoming a priest. I myself am an anomaly ("No I don't have children" "No I'm not married" "Not a priest" "No, not gay")

The purpose of my retreat was to examine where each teacher was in their faith journey. By doing that they can see where they would like to be. And throughout the day I introduced a variety of prayer practices that were outside of what they had experienced. For a group of people raised in an extremely orthodox Catholic upbringing I wanted to show that there is no right or wrong way to pray, and we can pray in our everyday using everything around us. We each bring what we have: our gifts, talents, imagination and use our experiences both good and bad, accept them for what they are, to reach God. Many people, including most of the Teachers, assume we have to be a certain way to be faithful. But comparing ourselves to others we ultimately fall short. But by comparing "where we think we should be" to "where we actually are" we get a better understanding of our struggles with faith resulting in a more authentic experience with the Divine (whatever that is for you).

I received a lot of positive feedback from the teachers who were blown away by the simple prayer methods I introduced, most of which were based in Ignatian Spirituality. Some of these included "Practical Prayerwalking"... walking with intention, be mindful instead of just rushing to a destination, walking slowly, purposefully using our senses to experience God in our everyday world; Making a Spiritual Life Graph and examining situations throughout your life that has brought you closer to God or turned you away from God. By reflecting on that and talking with others the teachers had a better understanding of where they were. Faith journey is not something often talked about so that in itself was new.

I was really happy to bring my experience to help enhance the spiritual experience of the Teachers. And it also felt really really good to do a job and do it well. I know for certain some of my retreats will completely flop (most of the success of a retreat comes from dialogue and interaction from the retreatants) but for now I feel good knowing I did good work. And at other times I struggle with the question "Why am I here? I merely lead these silly little retreats". So having a successful first retreat helped with my sense of purpose. (this is all I have time for now, but I wanted to leave you with how my boss Fr. Dick closes every Mass which I think is simple and wonderful )

"Let us go and Love one another and that is how we will love God"

-Matty

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."
— Chris McCandless

"Is there happiness in your heart?"

Recently I was thumbing through one of the many "Belize" travel books on our shelf and one of the more in depth books had a section on basic Ket'chi phrases. (The two separate groups of Maya people in Belize are the Ket'chi and Mopan). Seeing as I will be working with Maya people for the majority of my retreat ministry I thought it would be helpful to learn some helpful phrases. *Ket'chi is near impossible using many sounds that we in North America cant produce, back of your throat type sounds* But intrigued, I read on.

The book said that the Ket'chi people only have one proper greeting. It is used at all times of the day or night. The phrase translates exactly to "Is there happiness in your heart?" and the proper response is "My heart is full of happiness". ....How beautiful? To greet friend and foreigner with such a poignant phrase.... Is there happiness in your heart?

I was so struck by the simple truth and beauty to this phrase I have been thinking about it and mulling for a while. Then I applied it to myself. I think for the first time in a very long time, there is nothing but happiness in my heart. All aspects of my life seem to be coming together in such a wonderful fashion. My work life was a bit slow for my first month here, a lot of prep work for my retreats which was not exactly to my liking (sitting behind a computer all day, not my style). But I have recently gotten the ball rolling on my retreats and I will be leading 11 retreats in the month of october! I thrive on this pressure and anxiety that comes with it. I feel like I am truly settling into Belize, and my life here. Next week will be 2 months "in country" crazy to think how quick that has flown by! So much has happened , so much more to come. My community has provided me with such a great space to be myself, to be ones true self with no walls or hesistation is so appreciated. Those that know me well, know that I am loud, inappropriate, spiritual, at times obnoxious, and always quick to laugh. To be around one another, being not what we think we should be, or refraining from what we think or feel, but beings one's true self is really great.

In a recent email to my buddy Sam Brenner I was trying to put to words how overcome with happiness I have become and I struggled with how to put it to words. I just feel so right. The simple beauty of my life has made me just smile. What sacred space I have here, to live in a developing nation, trying in my own way to accompany the belizean people, hoping to learn all I can, trying in some small way to help, but also a time to work on myself. Developing more than anything- myself.

This is not to say, I live in some Disney movie where people have no troubles and candy falls from the sky. But rather, it through the discomfort of the day to day (sun burn, cockroaches, rats, bug bites, searing heat, non stop perspiration, homesickness, helplessness, frustration with the culture and people) that I have dug deeper. Outside of those very real pains, a happiness has bubbled forth. A happiness that is pure and good. It surrounds me, fills me with energy and laughter. Quite truly I'm drunk on it, can't get enough.

I'm sure my roommates are sick of me coming home for lunch, enjoying my lunch (generally left over rice and beans) and exclaiming "God damn its a great day!".

Call it the rush of a new JV, or the musing of man given too many endorphins at birth but when asked I can truly respond "My heart is filled with happiness".

May your heart be filled with it,
Matty Woots

The crazy clinic.....

All right so I'm back in PG after being flown to Belize City to get access to better health care. I am feeling a lot better and hope to be back to work tomorrow (monday), I am taking it slow Mom and Dad so no need to worry. Though the whole concept of taking anything slow is new to me. Well before I went to the city in the north I first went to the free clinic here in town. And that is when the story/adventure/ hilarity began. Note: It is funny now that I am looking back, at the time it was absurdly out of control. But I am getting better so the follow story is meant for comical enjoyment.

After three days of serious sickness I woke up feeling progressively worse and decided perhaps it was finally time to get some professional help. In my mind I still thought I had the Flu (in the early stages Dengue and the Flu look similar in symptoms, until it takes a turn for the worse). My room mate Pat took me to the Free Clinic not far from our house. He asked do you want to walk or bike? At the time, it took me 25 minutes to muster the strength to walk from my bedroom downstairs to the couch upstairs so the idea of walking anywhere farther than the bathroom seemed outrageous. " Bike" I decided but not totally confidently, it seemed as if he had asked me to run a marathon. Biking I at least thought I could just sit there and of roll to the clinic, I mean PG is the size of about University Heights... you can run the perimeter in about 20 minutes. So nothing is actually far, but I hadn't gotten off the couch in 3 days so it seemed like a Herculean feat to bike anywhere. I biked.. well wobbled my way to the clinic, all the time thinking I was going to pass out ( I think an old woman passed me with a cane).

I got to the clinic and did not want special treatment because I was white. I wanted to make certain of that, well let me tell you... no need to worry about that. The woman at the desk took my information, a bit surprised that i wasnt a visitor or a tourist, but that I was an actual resident of the city. I sat and waited to be called, at this point my fever was about to spike again for the 5th time that day which included all of my clothing getting soaked sweat dripping off the tip of my nose. Basically I looked like a hot mess.

I am called into the doctors office, no lets call this the preliminary examination room, which was a kitchen. I was in this tiny little room, there are sinks everywhere and faucets and I'm a bit dazed from the fever and think I am in the wrong room. Nope right room, I am in this kitchen cubicle and the air conditioning is BLASTING. It was like walking into one of those "beer caves" at grocery stores, you know your hair blows back and your nostrils get frozen. Why they felt compelled to have such a temperature shock for people who are already ill, I will never know. But I am sitting clutching myself because my body was covered in sweat, covered like my boxers were soaked I was sweating so much and walk into this ice box and immediately all the bits of water on me freeze or so it felt. I am in a tank top and gym shorts, the same thing i have worn for three days because its 90 degrees and throw in a fever and i felt like i was on the sun the past three days. The nurse in the little kitchen asks me all those litany of questions all doctors offices do "do you have cancer?" "are you pregnant?" "do you shoot meth?" what?!.... thinking back, maybe these are just questions they ask at the free clinic haha. The perky nurse takes my vitals and says "oh my! you have a fever" I refrained from saying NO SHIT... I thought it would be rude. So I'm feverish and shaking and borderline hallucinating and she takes my blood pressure and all I hear is "hmmm that cant be right, according to the chart, with a blood pressure like that you should be a 5'2" female" Right Miss, that's me. All gangly six feet three freaking inches of me. The brain surgeon I have working with me then goes to say... "you must be really sick. " (SWEET MOTHER OF GOD THATS WHY IM HERE) but instead I politely grunted and walked out to wait for the doctor, bracing myself for 60 degree temperature jump outside the frozen kitchenette.

I am told to go to a back room to have a Malaria test done. They run the Malaria test and give you medicine for it even if you don't have it. I am wandering around looking for this doctors office when I find it and its a professional office: computer, big wood desk, swivel chair, calendar with cats... the whole deal. There are two women also in there, sitting on the "patient" side of the desk. No apparent doctor in the house. I sit down and after a bit they ask if I need something... well I assumed we were waiting for the same person for the malaria test. Nope she was merely chatting with her friend here and would do it for me. Ok I thought. Friend leaves. The lady grabs my hand pokes the end of the my finger and smears it on a microscope slide. Mind you, we are in an office that in itself weird. She is testing me for a blood borne illness and she isnt wearing gloves and I am certain she didn't clean my finger before she pricked me. She prys open an old candy tin and wraps two pills in a napkin, I am instructed to take them with my next meal, in case I have malaria (I am so sick at this point I just go with it)

I am brought into the waiting room, I am the only gringo here. There are a lot Mayan families sitting around, as bad as this place was it was the only place for many families to come. Many of these families took buses for hours to be seen by a doctor. With that in mind, I was trying to think more positive than negative.

I am told to wait my turn and the doctor would call me when its my turn.

Sitting, waiting, clutching my rolled up napkins of pills (still finding it weird) and who comes to sit next to me? A convict in handcuffs escorted by two armed guards. This man is enormous, bare footed, and has what appears to be a faded tattoo on his face. I also notice that his cuffs are in the front. The policemen walk away to sit to get a better view of the soap opera playing. All I can think is WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE? This man is clearly a threat to society and you are watching goddamn "All My Children". I think for sure I am about to be a hostage for some medicine. He is going to choke me out with the cuffs I just know it, its like that movie John Q ... with that my name is called and I all but run into the doctors office.

The doctor is a nice Cuban man and I am hoping he is better at medicine than he is at English. I begin to explain myself, symptoms, conditions, how long etc. when I get cut off by a family of Mayans burst in the door with a baby that is sick. The doctor asks me to step outside which I do, feeling miserable and longing for the couch, wondering why I ever left. After a bit I am told to go back in, he says... I think its Dengue. (Shit sounds serious). He tells me to follow a nurse that he points to and to come back if I get worse, writes a prescription for tylenol and ibeprofin. (I found out later in Belize City that my strain of Dengue may cause internal bleeding, so giving me ibeprofin ...a blodd thinner.... is the worst thing for me to take, or so I found out. Gee thanks Doc!)

I follow the nurse into another room and then realize she is prepping a shot. "Woah Miss whats that?" "I um no so good with english ... followed by a spanish statement" I put out my arm and roll my eyes, what in God's name am I getting injected in me.... "No Senor" the nurse says and makes a motion to take off my pants. Oh, of course I am taking an unknown shot... and nope its not for the arm, but for the butt.

I limp out to the lobby clutching my now sore butt cheek to find Pat, I have no idea whats going on. We need a dengue test which is done at the lab next door. I get there having spent far to much of the little energy I have. I can barely hold up my head and the woman giggles as she writes my name... "heheh do you like to eat at Hooters in the States?" (How old are you lady? Now is not the time for jokes with the last name!) No. No I don't. Please take my blood. I look away as she preps the injection (shes not wearing gloves but does use alcohol to clean the skin) I look back when I hear "WHOOOPSIE!"

note: it is NEVER a good sign when someone handling a needle near you says WHOOPSIE. never.

I look down to see blood cascading down my forearm creating a purplyred pool in my palm of my outstretched hand. the damn woman pierced my artery! FORCHRISTSAKE! I am pissed but let it go, no need to lose your temper Matt, not a big deal. I then ask how long for my results.

"Three Weeks"

"Three weeks, wait, isnt Dengue serious?! Shouldn't I know before three weeks?"

"I dont know talk to the doctor"

"Miss Dengue only lasts 12 days.... I will be better by the time I find out if that's what it is, or not that"

"Sorry"

I stand up and walk out with Pat, pissed, exhausted and just start laughing at the absurdity of the whole ordeal. Only in Belize. We find our bikes and I coast home to cash out on the couch in a mix of high fever and chills. Another day in the life.

real quick update

I have Dengue Fever. I was flown to Belize City to go to the Hospital to get my blood work done. I am still up here, slowly getting better. Dengue is a tropical blood borne illness that mosquito's transmit. It involves aches, pains extremely high fever. Unlike the flu that fever spikes at a very high temperature then goes down, my fever has spiked up to 6 times a day at its worst. There is nothing to do about it except ride out the pain and take Tylenol. I should be going back to PG later this week. I am doing fine I just feel like shit most of the day, it is the most painful sickness I have had in a while. They call it "bone break fever" because that's what it feels like.

This is all I have time for now. Thanks the concern... I should be feeling better, by some degree, by next week.

Also my next blog post, when I have the time and strength to type it out involves my adventures with the Belizean Medical care! All this terror about health care reform in American, I suggest the GOP all get a serious disease and come to Belize. Whatever Mr. Obama is offering will look like God's Gift to Sick People. It was an adventure to say the least : )

a preview: no gloves, at times no shoes, injections whose names are in Spanish, a convict, prescribed medication that actually WORSENED my condition and a nurse who pierced my artery! all of this and more!

Feeling yucky in Belize,
Matty

Waterfalls and loss of running water...

Work starts tomorrow! Woo Hoo (who says that? I must be the only person I know psyched for work) But my reason for the excitement is to really settle in. It is kind of like the start of the school year, kids say they aren't looking forward to it, but in reality everyone enjoys seeing their friends again (ok that was a stretch but go with it)

All week the Belize city JVs have been living with us as we ran a summer camp at the school. The camp was hilariously out of control and we all had fun. The BZC kids left today to head back to their respective house and various places of work. It was hard to see them go, we have been together nearly everyday since Orientation at Carroll nearly a month ago. At the same time, it is a sign that the transition of Phase II is over and we are beginning to settle in.

The past week our second year volunteers have taken us on a variety of fun adventures. Including some ancient Maya Ruins, two separate waterfalls (one: tranquil and scenic and the other... raging flood waters, 30 feet high) Needless to say I jumped off of both of them. (I'm still alive mom don't worry) and a Garifuna Village...

I have pictures of our adventures to come.

* i have been reading a lot while here in Belize... I have been here for three weeks and I have already read four books. My house has a really great book selection. Books read so far: Siddartha, The Alchemist, Radical Compassion (amazing book!) and Beautiful Boy.

If you have a book that you fniished and think is great, send it down to me and I will think YOU are great. .... in the world of no tv, vcrs, and dvds... books are one of the main sources of entertaintment.

(my apologies for the briefness and boriness of this post)

the gringo goes to the jungle.

Look at this faithful readers 2 updates in a week. I'm on a roll.

I just got back from my three day stay in the Mayan Village of San Benito Poite. It was an incredible experience and I have many hilarious stories. But for now I thought it would be best just to give you my first impressions. This is directly out of my journal so bear with me...

"Pat (my roomate) dropped me off at the old school bus that served as the bus to San Benito Poite. Truck fulls of men were loading enormous sacs of rice as well as cartons of eggs and other recently bought goods into the back of the bus. I met my host brother. I could barely understand a word he was saying. It then occured to me that he was the one that was going to translate for the rest of the family that spoke solely Ket'chi. Oh boy! anxiety and excitement began to grip my chest.

I walked up the steps of the packed school bus and the loud banter and bartering in high spirited Ket'chi died immediatly. Total silence. 50 pairs of dark brown eyes watching me as I awkwardly made my way down the isle of the old school bus. I had heard the Mayan people were quiet people. This is going to be a long few days.

Mayan people are small people. Built like little squares made of steel. I notice they sit comfortably three to a seat on the old school bus with room for all their bags and recent buys from, the "big city" (note: PG is one of the smallest cities in Belize) .

My seat mate is a Mayan man that looks, I would say, not a day under 150 years old. His feet barely touch the floor while my knees are jammed into the seat in front of me. (The last time I was on a bus like this, I think I was in the 7th grade and we were going to the Air and Space Museum) He stares at me in amazement and silence as I write this. Something tells me he cant read.

I am tense from the anxiety of being so different and so wildy out of place I hear "Wha' es you-er nammme?" Says a little voice named Oscar over my left shoulder. He becomes my first friend. Goodwork Matt, one down four thousand to go.

Oscar is five and we have a great relationship. He points at things of mine and says "Can I have?". No oscar you cannot have my tshirt. Basically, we are the best of friends.

I just realized, as I stare through the windshield to take in the journey ahead, nothing blocks my view, even though I am half way back in the bus. The jet black heads of mothers, children, men and chickens can barely see over the seat in front of them. At least I have a good view. The 13 people 5 babies and two chickens behind me aren't so lucky.

A realization sets in. These are the people I will be working with for the next two years, I am only on the bus and I feel wildly out of place. Should be an interesting two years to say the least.

I've never seen so many people cramped on a bus before. This is the market bus, so it must only run twice a day. No seats left, an average of 3 people and a baby to a seat. The isle down the bus has just as many people standing, all laughing, yelling and talking in Ket'chi, a language I apparently will never comprehend. The heat is intense from all these bodies so close to one another, keep in mind it is 90 degrees to begin with before I got on the cattle car. I am sweating like I am at a full sprint and Im not even moving.

We keep making stops to pick up more people, I am convinced there is no way we can possibly hold another person on the bus, regardless of how tiny their Mayan frame. A man puts a 5 gallon bucket down next to me, a makeshift seat. Clearly he is a pro who has made this trek a time or two.

To my unfortunate suprise - about 5 miles out of PG the pavement stops and the entire bus is banging and rattleing around on the grey dirt road- we have 3 hours to go. I am convinced that all the riders and I (what I estimate to be equivilant of the population of North Dakota) are going to flip the bus on the next hill. In all the banging about my eye catches the glint of an old copper sign at the front of the bus (keep in mind my perfect view with this bus load of oompa loompas) that reads "Your Childrens Safety is our BUSINESS". I look around and see 5 children standing on a seat two rows up all with their heads out the window, babys swoddled to their mother's breat smooshed into the seat in front of them as their Mommas falls asleep, and in the back 10 boys have no seat at all but sit/ ride sacs of rice like they are bucking broncos. The irony is just too much and I chuckle out loud to my self. The acient Mayan ruin stirs next to me then continues to snore.

Most of the bus clears out at Tumulk'in, San Benito Poite here we come.

I fell asleep at some point and wake to a banter of high pitched excited Ket'chi. I have no idea whats going on and everyone is clearing out off the bus. I look out the window and we are what seems to be, in the middle of the jungle. I find my host brother Martiquo, and he says with a smile. The bridge is out, the river flooded! (Why is he so excited? haha) Sure enough the raging waters flow over what I assume at one point was the bridge. We ford across these fast past waters the water up to my knees, these poor little men its up to their thighs. WE have to cross not one, but two former bridges, now raging flood waters. Finally we make it to the other side and my little friend (who reminds me of Indiana Jones' little asain sidekick) says now we walk to his house. What he ment by walk was hike a mile up a semi mountain.

It was a really great weekend and I learned so much but I thought it would be more interesting jsut to have my initial thoughts.

Peace and Love- back from the jungle.

my life as a vagabond

"When I arrived in my old set of clothes
I was half a world away from my home
and I was hunted by the wolves
and I was heckled by the crows
Darlin’ do not fear what you don’t really know "

-Brett Dennen

Sorry to everyone with my lack of updates. My life has been one set of transitions after another. Last week or so we said our goodbyes in Cleveland and got on the bus for the airport. Orientation, the first part, had come to a close and it was terribly sad to leave my fellow JVs. Though we had only known each other for a short time our lives are forever intertwined. These people that were strangers two weeks prior had quickly become the closest people to me. To struggle with idea of moving to a developing nation for two years with all the uncertainties that come with that, in the end only the fellow JVs could truly understand what we were going through. I was sad to leave but it was a beautiful thought to know that we would be scattered across the globe all working for justice and peace in developing nations.

All 7 of us, Punta Gorda Volunteers and the Belize City Volunteers, lived in Belize City together with the second year Volunteers for a week. 11 of us in one house. It was really nice to all be together for the transition. We got exposed to the Belizean culture and spent the week doing touristy type stuff including a 650 ft zip line! We also went to the Zoo... which was more like a rainforest than an American zoo.... oh funny I should mention the zoo, while exploring the flora and fauna that Belize has to offer I got an unexpected surprise. We were inspecting the Tipir cage, the national animal of Belize, when he decided to give me a little gift. Let me correct that, and enormous wet gift. I bent down to get my camera to take a picture of the ugly creature and got peed on by the damn thing. I do not mean to be graphic but I did not merely get peed on as if it were a dog. It was like someone opened a urine firehose on me! I was covered and in shock from the recent explosive shower of pee that landed on me! haha I hope that’s a good sign to be 'christened' by the national animal regardless, i smelled like a Porta-Potty the rest of the day. A tipir in case you are wondering is the ugly step child of the animal kingdom. It looks the cross between an ant eater, a manatee, and a pig.

After living on the floor for a week Allison, Pat, Em and I got up well before the sun (4:30am) to catch the Express bus to PG. I loaded all the things I own (3 bags and a pillow) onto the bus. The trip took about 5 hours but I was captivated, in between naps, because we got to see the diversity of the Belizean countryside. We left the urban jungle of BZC (belize city) and headed down south to the paradise of PG. As my roomate Pat noted "the trip to PG looks like you are driving into Jurassic Park" The rainforest and tropical scenery is really breathtaking. I moved into my home for the next two years and finally unpacked after living out of my bag for multiple weeks.

About our home, let me just tell you... it is amazing. The Caribbean is 20 yards from my front door. It looks like it has weathered some serious storms, and knowing the location probably a handful of hurricanes. It has the charm of an old wooden battered beach house. (It would be condemed and called "unfit to stand" in the US) We have a veranda on the second floor that gives us an amazing view of palm trees and the Caribbean. On clear days on the horizon we can see both Guatemala and Honduras. It’s absolutely amazing and I feel so at home here.

There is something to be said for simple beauty, simple entertainment and a simple lifestyle. I run most days a few miles by the water (when the sun isn’t scorching), do yoga on the pier looking out over the water in front of my house and finish by jumping in the sea like a little kid on summer break. I have read 2 books since being here and sure that number will grow exponentially. In the states, I enjoyed reading but it is different here, to delve into a book while swinging in a hammock, being perfectly content with the silence is something I never had at home. I don’t wear a watch, don’t have a computer, don’t have a cell phone and haven’t thought about TV and I don’t miss any of it. I eagerly await the growth and great change this lifestyle with bestow on me.

I have to run to get ready for my home stay... every first year JV has to do a home stay with the population you will be working with, mine involves a two hour bus ride out to a Mayan Village where I will be living with a family, on my own for a few days. I am excited for such a cool experience and to get a peek into the Mayan lifestyle since a large part of my job will be working with the Mayan people out in the villages.... knowing myself this will also present some hilarious cross cultural mistakes. This will be one of those times where I will be not only the white guy in the village, but also, the white guy who is 3 feet taller than everyone else in the village haha. I hope I don't get eaten by a jaguar....

Be well. Stay in touch and email me about YOUR lives. And find the simple beauty in your own routine….

The adventure begins...

This is it... the time has come for the next chapter of my life to begin. I am back up at ol' JCU for training with my fellow Jesuit Volunteers (living in my nasty sophomore housing ha). Our days are intense in a lot of regards... getting spiritually where we need to be, studying the root of Catholic social teaching and analyzing the root of poverty and oppression, and fully comprehending what we have committed to (living and working in solidarity with the poor, living in an intentional community grounded in faith and living simple while working for justice) for two years. Our days are long but I have loved getting to know and bonding with my fellow volunteers. It is an exceptional group of young people who are bringing a real change to the world. I am revived by the energy of everyone here.

I want to thank all of my donors and support system from home. Thank you for investing into what I am doing. I can't thank you enough! Love you all...

May your journey always be an adventure.
-Matty