Matt's Motorcycle Diary

My view from the end...

2011-05-30T15:08:00.000-07:00

During our disorientation last month we were told to think of “our story”, what is it we will tell people about our time here. Which had me thinking… “What is my story?” Not necessarily the two minute elevator conversation version but the longer, truer story of my time and life in Belize. Due to my hectic work schedule and trying to wrap everything up before I leave I haven’t had a lot of time. Not to mention, I am a natural optimist and a pain avoiding “7” on the enneagram , so sitting with feelings of loss and the pain of leaving are hard for me. My mind naturally runs to what home is going to be like or how much I am going to enjoy seeing my nephews again.

Here I sit in the old, weather beaten, falling down shack of a house that has become my home over these past two years. I am sick, again, despite only having a week left in Belize. Part of me thinks this is my body shutting down from the stress of this wild transition, another more rational part of me thinks it may have been the food and water from the village where I was visiting some friends to say goodbye last weekend. (Soup made of pig tails was the dinner, mmmm!) Regardless of what caused this seemingly poorly timed illness it has given me ample time to sit, review, and reflect. So with that in mind, I am grateful for a time to just lay on the couch and think about what has happened, what is happening and what is about to happen.

Away for two years. That’s a long time to be out of the country where I was raised. Previous to this, the longest I had been out of the country and away from home was to study abroad, and that was in Rome, and only for four months, quite different than Belize for two years. Being away for that long hasn’t been the hardest part about my time here, actually its been one of the easiest. Once you realize you aren’t leaving it gives you the freedom to settle in to your new host country and build relationships. It’s the going “home” that is hard part for me now. Leaving all that I know here to go back to that place I used to know. That scares me.

Last week my second year community mate, Emily, came back for a visit. Which was consoling, talking with a former community member who has made the scary transition home right before I am about to make it myself. I was expressing some nervousness and she asked “Matt, do you feel that you have done what you needed to do in these two years? Do you feel you have completed the reason you were sent here?” Questions that caught me off guard, in the best possible way, and after a moment I thought to myself an unequivocal affirmation, “yeah, I think I have”.

My placement is to lead retreats through out the Toledo District in 30 different villages, most of which are indigenous Maya populations. I have loved my job, creating a safe space for people to talk about their greatest joys and deepest hurts in a culture that does not generally talk of such things has been incredible. Doing nothing to “fix” their hurts but just being with them, sitting with them, listening, and validating all that they are feeling is what I have attempted to do. I have worked with both students and teachers and I think when I leave next week I will have facilitated somewhere in the ballpark of 160 retreats and helped prepare nearly 600 students for the sacrament of Confirmation. This is not to say it has come easy, not in the least. Especially in the beginning, as I attempted to lead a retreat in a remote village 2 hours from the town where I live, in the middle of the jungle, to a group of adults, for who English is their third language, they were twice my age and are members of a culture I knew little about. It was certainly challenging (not to mention: heat, sickness, bugs, culture shock, bad dirt roads in old trucks, and loss of power and electricity on a frequent basis). However, it is in spite of, or rather, because of, those challenges that after two years I am so in love with this place and these people. Those villagers who were silent and skeptical of this lanky gringo in the beginning have become my friends, mentors and teachers.

So what has come of my time? In JVC we talk a lot about accompaniment, not “doing” but just “being” with the people we work with and for. Simply being present to them with our full selves. That is something I think about a lot, especially given that my job is to run retreats. Though another term that I feel is more fitting for my “story” has been “communion”. A term used in a religious sense for that moment at Mass when we receive God and the spiritual nourishment that comes with that. God enters us and we enter more fully into God. Communion also draws to mind other images, “communal union”. The idea that we are communal, that we are community that lives together and takes care of one another, and we are in union with each other, oneness. A group of individuals brought together, interconnected in an unbroken bond. And I think that is something I will take from my time in Belize, that “oneness”. That communion with the poor of Toledo is also something that I hope to bring back to the States to those people who are not materially poor, and I hope to recognize that communion with those in America, rich and poor alike. That oneness, I am in them and they are in me. The moment I forget that, then it is in that moment, I have failed.

During my time here I’m not sure how much I have “accomplished” in the American “to-do list” sense, but I have grown in self knowledge, which seems nearly selfish to think after two years in Belize the thing most changed is me. Well perhaps that’s the point. I can change nothing but myself. So as I depart for “home” I leave this place that has become my home different than when I arrived. The loss of this time, along with my identity as “Mistah Mot” is going to be hard. But I was never meant to be here long term, I knew that the day I arrived, that scorching day in early August 2009, that the next time I would be on an airplane would be to leave. That being said one can’t fully learn from the experience they have had if they stay. Perhaps more growth, self knowledge and life is to be found once I take this time home with me and unpack it then. I am nervous for the next leg of the journey but I find solace in the fact that the God I found here in communion among the poor is the same God who will be with me as I go home. She was with me, is with me and will be with me.

Thank you Belize for all you have taught me. Thank you for incredible jungles, and sparkling Caribbean Sea that mark your borders. Thank you for your people, diverse and beautiful, who despite their suffering have taught me to love beyond the limits I previously adhered to. Thank you for your mangoes and coconuts fresh from the tree. Thank you for challenging me, taking me in and shaping me. Thank you for your tremendous thunderstorms, your cheap rum, your rhythmic drumming, and warm corn tortillas. I will miss you and I will carry you with me.

There is an ancient Maya saying when one departs “I’na k’etch” and it means “I am in you and you are in me”.

“I’na ketch, Belize, I’na Ketch.”

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. "- Buddha

2010-11-17T11:59:00.000-08:00

Oh the blog conundrum.....

I have attempted to write three separate blog entries this week, and deleted each one shortly after beginning. Let me spell out how I am feeling about this blog.

I am in my second year, so blogging has become more of a burden than something I like.

On the one hand I feel obliged to continue with my musings and points of interest about Belize, what I am up to etc. People at home enjoy it.

But on the other hand, I don't feel that I should have to blog because others enjoy it. Something about blogging takes me away the present as I attempt to have interesting stories about my life, or more generally, about Belize. I am invested and involved in work and my community more than ever, so to try and sum that up is more challenging, and there is, indeed, something a bit fake about it..

Since being in Belize, and removed from America, I have made a concerted effort to increase the intentionality of my communication with others. I have written many more letters in these 15 months than I ever have before in my life, I deleted Facebook, I write sincere emails, and have one pretty cool postcard relationship (thanks b. knapp!). That being said, I am happy to share myself and what it means to be a foreigner in a small, forgotten country as I attempt to accompany the beautiful people of Belize, but I am not sure blogging is the best way for me to do that.

I am sure this all sounds like I have gone off the deep end, so I apologize for those who check this regularly, but I also hope that my sense of gratitude and happiness, which has increased tremendously in year two, is apparent. I feel quite alive. I feel I am part of PG and PG is part of me. I have people who love me, inspire me and teach me everyday. Yes, I am a short term volunteer, but I also feel like I have intimate friendships with those I encounter in my day to day. Being in Belize still knocks my socks off at times, what a special place this is, but on the other hand, after being gone for so long, this is also regular life for me. So blogging is a bit weird to write about my daily life. (I think that last sentence made more sense in my head, rather than when I typed it out haha)

The recognition that my time here is not forever is also becoming apparent. Especially in this holiday season in Belize.... suddenly beginning "my lasts" (Garifuna Settlement day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc) . So that being said, I plan on actually being here... rather than worrying/ attempting to recreate my life here for those who read my blog.

I sincerely hope you are all well and are blown away by moments of joy and gratitude in your own lives.

with love,

Matt

* I may update later in my time but for now, this will be it.

5 second update

2010-10-02T14:23:00.001-07:00

In my last post I told you how we fled to the city, scared for our lives etc.

Well 5 days later I was back up north. This time to get my poo tested.

It felt like deja vu, as I sat in the overly air conditioned waiting room waiting for my test results. It was the last day of September.

September of last year I was in the same waiting room, in a considerable more amount of pain, waiting for my results also. Last year it was dengue.

This year it is, as I would come to find out, parasites. Specifically giardia.

A red flag was raised mentally when I had the runs for quite a while (2 months) and then in the last week I lost about 7-10 lbs.

So after 4 hours in the hospital, sure enough. Parasites. No worries, take some medicine and I am on my way.

Or so I hope... as the doctor was writing the prescription he kind of shrugged and said " I hope this works" (I hope it works to, but didn't you go to school for this, man?) haha.

Life is busy now and I will be working all weekend in preparation for my first teachers' retreat of the year on Tuesday. (Naturally, I am last minute with the planning. ) Then Wednesday morning I hop on the boat to Guatemala to begin Matt's Big Adventure To Nicaragua! (from here on out it will be referred to as: MBATN) I will go through Guate, to Honduras, spend the night, then take a bus from San Pedro Sula and arrive in Managua 12 hours later.

Sounds pretty straight forward. But if we know anything about Matt when he travels , and I'd like to think I do, it never goes according to plan for our valiant hero. So check back here sometime in the near future to hear all about the adventures.

Oh Matthew...

2010-09-27T13:31:00.000-07:00

Word spread fast that Matthew was coming to Belize inspiring fear and trembling among the Belizeans. They didn't know what to expect so they prepared for the worst. Keeping their children locked indoors and covering their windows they waited until he came with his wild fury.

No this is not a recap of August 2009, before I moved down to the obscure little country. It is in fact the story of last weekend when Hurricane...err... Tropical Storm Matthew made his crash course to Belize. A storm that I didn't even know about until Thursday night when roommate Jeremy said "What are we going to do about this storm?". (I thought he was talking about the thunderstorms that come every single evening in PG.) So I responded

"Young Jeremy we will do what we always do, read our books maybe drink a beer or two"

" Uh no I mean the hurricane coming towards Belize"

"Hurricane?"

Jeremy shrugs, " I guess, all the Peace Corps are on standby and schools are all canceled tomorrow"

"Oh... well that sounds kind of serious"

(We JVs are generally the last to find out news with no TV or radio)

So we were unsure what was to happen next. It looked like we may be spared as the storm was aiming for Belize City ("Ha! those suckers" we thought) But Matthew had other plans for us and said "Sike! I'm coming right for YOU". Fr. Jeff our fearless leader eventually made the call Friday afternoon that we should get the heck out of town and make our way to city as soon as possible. So, my roommates and I, began to pack. In case you haven't experienced it, packing to evacuate for a hurricane is a crazy process. "what do we need?" "what if the house gets blown away?"(a strong wind makes our house sway) "How many pairs of boxers do I need?" "What do we do with the dog?"etc etc.

Off we raced in the truck... driving at a bit of a crazed speed... unsure if we were going to make the infamous Kendell Bridge in time before it flooded over and cut us off from safety. The Kendell floods during every major storm which is a real pain for those trying to go either north or south. In August I, and my fellow Belizean travelers, had to be ferried over the raging flood waters on a small boat because the bus couldn't pass. Safe? No. Adventurous? Yes.

We made the bridge and the water was low... a good omen.

The driving got a bit more intense once we reached the mountains in the middle of the journey. We reached the mountains the exact same time the rain started pouring and the sun went down. Not a good combination for the driver (me). So white knuckled for the next hour or so I wound our truck through the blind curves and steep descents with the poorly functioning windshield wipers at full speed.

At last we had made it to the city.

Long story short, we spent the weekend in the city with our amazing fellow JVs and the Jesuit community hosting us, displaced peoples from the South. We got lots of wind but not much rain in the city, and from what we heard, PG had the opposite, all rain no wind. (Also during the gale force winds I decided to give myself a haircut... mind you I haven't cut my hair in the nearly 14 months I've been here. pictures to follow. So it was a quite a big deal)

What does one do after fleeing for his life from an unknown powerful tropical cyclone?

Celebrate of course.

Upon coming home, my beloved Miss Cathy, the 60 year old cook for the priests, said "Of course this Matthew was a softpop hurricane, just like the other Matthew is a soft pop" ("Softpop" in kriole means a wuss. A name that Miss Cathy dubbed me due to the 49596 times I have been sick in this country. haha Generally it goes like this "Softpop if you put your hand in my food again I will BEAT YOU! we love each other.)

It was great to have an impromptu adventure to the City with my community mates. Now we have the irksome task of putting our lives back together post chaotic packing spree. Though it is nice to have that problem at all rather than the alternative.

Many thanks to the SJs and JVs up north for greeting, feeding and hosting us.

(note: as of this writing there is a 40% chance of a tropical storm forming off belize's coast..... gotta love hurricane season in the caribbean)

In Memory of 4 beautiful Civil Rights Martyrs.

2010-09-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

The year was 1963.

The place 16th Street Baptist Church, Birmingham Alabama.

The victims: 4 sweet girls who were changing into their choir robes after Sunday School. Killed by 22 sticks of dynamite thrown into the church basement.

Today is the anniversary of their martyrdom and I would like to dedicate my blog entry to them and others like them. They were killed not because of what they did, but because of who they were and what they believed in. They represent a whole host of victims killed in America and abroad by men, who look like me. So today I honor the memory of Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Cynthia Wesley, and Carole Roberts. Innocent children, victims of hatred and fear. May their short lives be a witness for us.

The following is an excerpt from the good Dr. King's eulogy of the girls:

These children—unoffending, innocent, and beautiful—were the victims of one of the most vicious and tragic crimes ever perpetrated against humanity. Yet they died nobly. They are the martyred heroines of a holy crusade for freedom and human dignity.

And so this afternoon in a real sense they have something to say to each of us in their death. They have something to say to every minister of the gospel who has remained silent behind the safe security of stained-glass windows. They have something to say to every politician who has fed his constituents with the stale bread of hatred and the spoiled meat of racism... They say to each of us, black and white alike, that we must substitute courage for caution. They say to us that we must be concerned not merely about who murdered them, but about the system, the way of life, the philosophy which produced the murderers. Their death says to us that we must work passionately and unrelentingly for the realization of the American dream.

And so my friends, they did not die in vain. God still has a way of wringing good out of evil. And history has proven over and over again that unmerited suffering is redemptive. The innocent blood of these little girls may well serve as a redemptive force that will bring new light to this dark city. The holy Scripture says, "A little child shall lead them." The death of these little children may lead our whole Southland from the low road of man's inhumanity to man to the high road of peace and brotherhood.

To the parents of the victims Dr. King went on to say:

And so today, you do not walk alone. You gave to this world wonderful children. They didn’t live long lives, but they lived meaningful lives. Their lives were distressingly small in quantity, but glowingly large in quality. And no greater tribute can be paid to you as parents, and no greater epitaph can come to them as children, than where they died and what they were doing when they died. They did not die in the dives and dens of Birmingham, nor did they die discussing and listening to filthy jokes. They died between the sacred walls of the church of God and they were discussing the eternal meaning of love. This stands out as a beautiful, beautiful thing for all generations.

Let us pray for peace. Peace in hearts, and peace in our streets. Pray for a peace that will drown the hatred, racism and xenophobia that still plagues our country.

Pray for us Dr. King, Addie Mae, Cynthia, Denise and Carole.

pictures and poets..

2010-09-02T09:15:00.000-07:00

A few pictures supplemented with the words of some of my favorite poets.
Enjoy.

"I've heard within my inmost soul

such cheerful morning news,

In the horizon of my mind

Have seen such orient hues"

-Thoreau

" The world is charged with the grandeur of God

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to greatness, like the ooze of oil"

-Hopkins

"I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings.

The coming down is the hardest thing"

-Petty

all photo credit to roommate jeremy.
checkout jer's blog (on the right) for more pictures

Wednesday Morning...

2010-09-01T09:12:00.000-07:00

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Thanks for the great poem Cyril!

wonderings of a wanderer

2010-08-27T13:34:00.000-07:00

I don't quite have a full blog decided on so I will just write a few of the many ideas I have flowing around my mind these days. These will be completely undeveloped thoughts but I think an insight into what someone is thinking about can be just as informative as what they say.

-Year two has begun, the new community has unpacked and is getting settled into their lives and work here. Its a bit strange, or was at first, to be in a place that I call home, in a country once foreign but now comforting with people though, who are new. Much of my first year was spent asking questions to Pat and Emily about what they have learned, what the meaning of certain cultural norms, how to properly express something in Kriole etc... and those are the questions being asked of me. Funny, after being here a year, I feel like I know so little... but compared to Jeremy, Al, and Kathleen my 13 months of time here is a wealth of knowledge.

- Work is beginning to have regularity again as the school year begins. Despite working in the Parish , my work is primarily with schools so when schools out it makes work less consistent content wise. I have 30 retreats between October 1 and December 1! So I think the next few months are going to fly by when the intensity picks up.

-Feeling really good about being disconnected recently. The distance from Belize isn't that far from the States though at times it can feel like the other side of the world. But recently I have been really appreciating the fact I don't have a cell phone, shaky Internet access, and starting this summer, No facebook account. The seeming "lack" has created for me a really nice use of time. Spending more time reading,contemplating, praying and swimming is how I spend my free time. (not saying boredom isn't present at times, but rather, how I choose to deal with that is different)

-Time left vs. time here. It has come to my attention recently that the months I have been in-country has exceeded the time I have left. Which from the outside may seem like nothing note worthy but for whatever reason this feels like a huge, scary, accomplishment. Next week will mark my 13th month in Belize, it will also signify that I only have 9 months left. (9 months you're saying, that's so long!) But to someone who will be gone for 23 months, 9 is not very long. I don't want to give the impression that I am pining away to go home, quite the opposite. But the main reason that is on my mind is because I have been scheduling all my retreats from now until Christmas, so seeing December on my planner is scary.

-Gratitude in a variety of forms:I feel really appreciative of Ally, my friend who I met this summer who worked at an environmental NGO in PG, who just sent me some cookies and bomb dandelion tea. Which makes me grateful for all the other stuff that's been going on in my life. (Gratitude has a way of multiplying itself once you start to pay attention). Feeling grateful for my brother, Nick, who constantly goes out of his work day to help me with little things that are much harder to do from Belize (contact people, or send faxes for example). In turn, feeling really thankful for all the people who are supportive of my work and time in Belize, who send me a little love in the mail, or shoot me an email to let me know I am being thought of. For someone on the receiving end of all these blessings it makes my day that much brighter.

-Wondering if I will be able to work on Spanish in the remaining 9 months. Self teaching has never really been my thing (the exception being the pogo stick in 5th grade). I have a textbook from 1989 and I am hoping for the best, haha. I hope to make my way back to El Salvador this year so by hook or by crook I'll get by.

- Looking forward to getting engaged in activist work when I get home. Recognizing my own limitations as a foreigner here and respecting my role as a volunteer. Here to accompany the people of Toledo on their journey, bearing witness to their struggle but not here to work for structural change. That has to come from the Belizeans themselves, if I did that, it would be just as oppressive as those aspects I want to change. The struggle must come from the roots. Being in a place where I can not get political helps me appreciate the power I will have when I get home.

-Smiling as I realized this morning at the All Teacher Mass and Meeting to start the school year I knew every single person in the church, about 200 people, and everyone of them knew my name, despite most of the teachers living and working in remote villages. It was one of those moments reminding me of how cool it is to be here... here is a group of 200 teachers, that teach in nearly every single school in the Toledo district and they all smile and greet me by name. An unofficial signifier in my mind, that I have been here a year.

Please excuse my ramblings. I'd love to hear what each of you are thinking about these days.

Namaste-
Matty

"Give your hands to serve, and your heart to love"- Mother Teresa
(yesterday would have been Mother Teresa's 100th birthday)

Summer update.

2010-07-09T12:19:00.000-07:00

I may be a dreamer,

but I believe in faith

Only in the darkness can you see the stars ablaze

In my darkest hour I shall keep my strength and say

"Go and let your fire live"

- Trevor Hall 's song Many Roads

Well once again, the elusiveness of time has passed me by and its been two months since my last update. lo siento.

Whats happened in my life since then?

Well year one as a JV has come to an end. I am officially in my second year. (In Belize we end up serving for 22 or 23 months rather than 24) So according to the Calendar and by default... Pat and Emily my second year roommates moved out. So I am the only JV in PG as of now. This was a time I expected to be a rough transition. But reality frequently surpasses our expectations. Yes, it was sad to see Pat and Emily go. But I had a great surprise to help deal with the transition.

One of my closest friends came at exactly that time. In typical G style she bought her ticket last minute and it was wonderful to have her here. For me this year, there has been a bit of anxiety concerning friendships and relationships from before I left. People change and move in different directions so there is a worry that one's former relationship will grow stagnate or just fall off completely. G and I were so pleased to pick up where we left off 11 months ago. With all the loud, embarrassing outrageousness we are quite used to.

It was really great to share my life and work and Belizean friends with someone I am close with from home. That is something I have struggled with since being here, how does one relate this experience to everyone back home who doesn't have a clue what I am talking about. Well frankly you can't expect anyone to understand. Normally, the outlet for this frustration would be Community. But seeing as my community is not in the house with me at the moment it was really wonderful to share it with someone from home.

(A side note about our relationship: So G and I are quite close I met her and her man, Brian, at JCU. So her whole visit we called each other "cousin" to clear up any would-be issues. And in fact, this is the perfect way to describe our relationship. *Momma G and Dr. Larr- are you opposed to me calling you Aunt and Uncle? I'm going to take that for a test drive when I get home, just so you know.)

I had warned G before she came that hurricane season is underway and she might be sitting in my shabby shack of a home for the 2 weeks she was here. But luckily we had amazing weather! My work has slowed down (retreats follow the academic calendar) so I had plenty of time to show her my life. We hung out with my friends, drank the local beer. Visited I think a total of 5 waterfalls. Had a near death experience in a cave. Went kayaking through the peaceful mangrove swamps. We stayed with the wonderful Salam Family for a night to experience what Maya village life is like. G was taught how to make corn tortillas, a prerequisite to become a suitable wife in Maya culture. (Brian, sorry pal according to Maya customs you picked a sorry excuse for a mate haha). We went on an illegal border crossing adventure to Guatemala. And to top off her visit we went snorkeling out in the Barrier Reef off the coast. Spending the day on a sailboat enjoy the weather, the company of our international snorkeling friends, feeding nurse sharks, swimming with fish and a manatee (that I thought has going to eat me). It was really quite amazing.
But outside of sight seeing and hanging out it was a really great time for deeper discussion concerning the reality of Belizeans. The ideas of oppression, liberation, simple living, intentionality, poverty, charity vs. justice, the role of the Church, and solidarity with the poor were all subjects that carried a lot of weight in our time together. The reality of underprivileged Chicago primary school students that G teaches and the students I work with had quite a bit of comparisons. It was also interesting talking with one of my best friends who is about to start the next chapter of her life with the man that she loves about her joys and concerns. Especially someone in such a vastly different place than I. Different yet so similar. (Don't worry mom I'm not engaged to any lovely Belizean ladies.... yet :) G will be going into her second year as a Chicago Teacher Fellow working in one of the roughest areas in Chi-town. Both of us having a much better handle on the realities and uncertainties that are involved in our once scary service placements. Both craving deeper connections with the people we work with and for etc. Both trying to grapple with the realities of injustice abroad and more disturbing, domestically.
But that is the beauty of authentic friendship having a space to share and discuss. Also a space to be up all night scared in a Maya village with no electricity thinking the 30 rats near your bunk bed are going to attack! Or to giggle at the unfortunate British girl who was violently ill during the 7 hour snorkeling trip. (we felt bad but it was also comical, like watching someone trip in public)

After seeing G off my good friend and predecessor Bobby joined me on Caye Caulker for two more nights. Bobby had my job before I did with JVI. So it was great to catch up with him for a bit.

Now I am back to work in an odd limbo between years and communities. Jeremy, Allison and Kathleen (the new kids) arrive August 1st. I am really looking forward to the routine that comes with a full community again, and to meet, hang out and share with the new arrivals.

Next week I move to Barranco, a small village on the Sea, to facilitate a football (soccer) camp there. Which should end up being hilariously embarrassing for my lanky self. (My soccer career ended in the 4th grade at Holy Cross Elementary School.) But its all about the experience right?
Or so that's what I keep telling myself.

Happy July! Enjoy the lazy hazy lemonade sipping beauty of summer.
Matty

The boy with a curse...

2010-05-12T13:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Dougie, this one's for you. Due to content and kick in the pants you gave me to write again.

So I have a curse. I thought I could have evaded this curse. I thought the curse would have stayed in the Developed World when I left. I thought perhaps, due to the simple lifestyle I am committed to living down here, the curse would be obsolete. But sadly I am here to say that the curse has followed me to Belize, followed me into the jungle and followed me down dirt roads to remote Maya Villages.

"What is this dreaded curse" you ask? I am cursed with my interactions with machines, more specifically: automobiles. This all started just as I came to an age when I was legally allowed to drive. I use the term legally because in terms of ability I shouldn't have been able to get behind the wheel. The first instance occurred when as a young boy of 15 my dad asked me to start my Mom's stick shift to warm it up before school. Nervous due to the clutch and overall lack of talent, I climbed into the Jeep. The engine coughed and sputtered but didn't turn over. My dad standing nearby said " Put it in First". (He forgot to tell me to keep the clutch down) I did as I was told... and.... you see where this is going.... and drove full speed into my own bedroom. Rattled and nervous to the point of feeling like vomiting I climbed out of the Jeep vowing to NEVER drive stick shift again. (Not to mention embarrassed! Who drives into their own house?! haha)

Next incident involved my getting into a serious car wreck. I was driving a car that wasn't mine. In fact it was a dear friend, and retired priest, Fr. Jake's car. The holiness apparently faded from his use to mine. Long story short, I hit a car who hit a car, a Beemer and a Lexus respectively. ...I know, it was bad. I was hospitalized and thought I broke my neck. The next day I was released, no injuries.

Incident number three: I get rammed by a fellow high schooler on the way to a lacrosse game. Luckily not my fault. Then again the insurance company wasn't pleased.

This brings me to Belize. In my first 2 months in the country I get a ticket because I parked in an area that you aren't allowed to park in. There was, of course, no sign indicating such a rule so I was a bit annoyed but figured " Well Matt you are a visitor here and its your fault".

A few months passed with no signs of the curse. But that usually is a bad sign, like children who are too quiet. Something was bound to surface. Then in the past two weeks the following has happened

- On the way back from a retreat in the furthest village I got a flat in the middle of the jungle with the next village 10 km away. It was about 95 degrees. Well, we jack up the truck take off the spare only to find out someone has taken the tire iron out of the truck. (Who in their right mind takes a tire iron out of a truck that only drives on dirt roads?!) With Pat and I were 10 12 year old Maya children. We sent two boys to walk to the next village, we didn't know how far it was. So for two hours we sat and waited for help. We had no water, we were in the middle of the jungle so there was about 100% humidity and a lot of bugs swarming us. And I repeat 10 12 year children. I was going through all I could remember from Bear Grylls' survival information, except I could only remember the episodes where he is trapped in the Arctic, and building a snow cave to sleep in was not helpful at all.

After two hours we get help and make our way home.

-That weekend we are driving to the river. The river is the ideal spot during the heat, the sea is warmer than bath water. On the way back with two families in the back seat the truck breaks down. Not only does it break down but a freak rain hail storm begins. Just my luck. We sputter and break down after going about 20 yards. This continues for about 3 miles. By the end of the trip which normally takes a half hour (it took us 2 and a half hours) we end up pushing the truck into Ms. Cathy's driveway. She works with us at the Parish. A bus going into to town was just passing as this happened. We caught the bus into town but didn't have money to pay, thankfully the driver realized we were a mess and let us ride for free.

- Next up, within the same week. On the way back from a retreat the clutch breaks and we have to ride for 40 minutes in first gear from one village to the next. We also pop a tire. Double Whammy! (Before this incident I nearly broke my tailbone when I fell out of a tree into the river we were swimming in) We fix the tire, with the help of an ingenious teacher who made a ramp system to lift the truck. (I have a theory that all Maya men are engineers, carpenters, and electricians) The poor trucked limped home with us in it. nothing like a 3 and half hour commute home!

- The next day I get pulled over at a police check point and get a ticket for a tail light and blinker that are out.

Sweet Jesus I should never drive again. But my job has me travelling as far as 2 hours on the road to various villages. Something tells me this will only be the beginning and The Curse will rear its ugly head again.

I hope this entry made you smile, laugh or if you are my mom.... do a jig because I am no longer on the family car insurance.

ps. Doug, I hope The Curse doesn't impede my dream of being a member of the Glenn Gault Race Team. I promise not to touch the cars.

Belizean Sabbath

2010-04-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

As it has come to pass, I struggle with relating my time here into words. In a certain sense, I will never do Belize or JVI justice. There are too many dynamics simultaneously building me up, making me smile, breaking my heart and pushing the boundaries of who I am to ever really be able to articulate them all. So with that in mind I humbly go forth from here.

Weekends here in Belize are a unique creature. Fridays are boisterous, rowdy with most people in this small town out and about. We frequently fall asleep to the sound of Garifuna drums, really loud karaoke (the Belizean national pastime), or a car parked on the street blasting one of four songs that are popular in Belize. Saturdays are slow with some form of nightlight. And Sundays... well we will get to that in a bit. This past weekend was typical (except for the next three paragraphs), more or less.

Friday, Pat and I were bored out of our minds and decided to go do something. Emily had secured a dinner invite at one of our friends' houses. Lucky! So it was just the two of us to find dinner and something to occupy our time. It was approximately a thousand degrees and we set out. To where we did not know.

Our long and exciting journey brought us to the local "Chinee Restaurant" ( Chinese food place) which is a half a block from our house. There we indulged in overly greasy fried chicken and french fries. It is important to note that this is not traditional American fried chicken. But rather just a full cut up chicken, bones, innards and all and its all dumped in a fryer. The fries are also put in the same deep fryer so they taste more like chicken than french fries. Mmm delish.

We spent the better part of an hour eating our fried chicken bits with our attention to the TV in the corner. TV watching is also a luxury. We watched some mindless show on the Animal Channel , or Discovery channel or one of those amazing bits of television. After our dinner, our faces covered in chicken grease we waddled home. I noted to Pat that this is what it must feel like to be old and living in the midwest... when Denny's or I HOP becomes the big family outing(no pun intended). We shuddered at the thought.

We spent the rest of the evening sweating, reading and sweating some more. Emily came home for some quality community time (read: sitting, talking and sweating). And we continued to talk despite all of PG losing power on and off for the next three hours. Losing both electricity and water is a sometimes daily experience.

Saturday, after Pat and I came home from work. Yes, we work on Saturdays. More sitting, more reading. Then we decided to go to the river to swim, despite living directly on the ocean, rivers hold more appeal (you always want want you dont have right?) because they are much cooler, faster moving, shaded and much more culturally Belizean. 90 % of Toledo does their bathing, washing (both bodies and clothing) and swimming in the river. So off we went for a few hours to the river. It was a really great day being together just the three of us. I ended up running into some boys who I led on retreat who showed me how they jumped off a 25 foot high tree into about 3 feet of water (Maya children a like miniature super heros). So it was also a cool time for the boys to bond without me being "Mr. Matt" or "Sir".

Excuse me for that elaborate review and introduction. The point of this entry was to discuss the day that follows Saturday. Traditionally named Sunday, or as I like to call it: The Belizean Sabbath. On the Belizean Sabbath we are generally up early, Mass is at 7 am. Which makes the BS much longer than you realize. This past BS I read two hundred pages of my book, put it down and went for some lunch thinking it was about 3:00pm, to my shock it was but merely 10:15 am. Sweet Jesus its going to be a long day I think to myself.

The Sabbath is traditionally held by Jewish people from Friday at Sundown to Saturday at sundown. The Belizean Sabbath is a bit different as you will soon see. My only interaction of Jews participating in the Sabbath growing up was watching as they marched in their black, pants shirts, ties and top hats past the pool on a weekend when I was doing Cannonballs into the deep end. Needless to say from my perspective it always looked miserable. Also barbecuing with the Hedgepaths at the pool is another interaction I have had with Jews observing the Sabbath. (But I'm no Jewish expert but I think Mr Hedgepath broke every single rule of the Sabbath on those festive nights). The idea behind the Sabbath is really nice tradition, a day of doing nothing but prayer and thanksgiving for the week and to get ready for the week ahead.

In Belize, a pretty laid back country to begin with, takes that to the extreme. (I don't mean in the Hisidic Jew sense of not flipping light switches or using pens). But nothing is open in PG on Sundays. I don't mean only some places. I quite literally mean ghost town. (Think DC in August when Congress is on recess times 15). B.S. is family day, where someone, generally a daughter or mother puts food on the oven and the whole family sits around and eats and drinks heavily all day. Kind of a weekly "forced family fun" like my Mom used to make us endure as children where she would lock the house and not let me or my brothers out. Including CR who was about 19 at the time. Except in Belize there is no Dominoes Pizza or "Boy Meets World".

You might see where that puts Pat, Emily and I on Sundays then. On the couch, reading or talking (notice the trend?). Only to break the monotony to go for a run or a bike ride. Some days the Belizean Sabbath feels like cruel and unusual punishment, something similar to what convicts in lock down feel like. Even if there was something to do in PG, which is rare, there is definitely nothing to do on Sundays. Other times it feels absolutely perfect, relaxing and rejuvenating. (More in line with the real Sabbath).

In the age of the Blackberry and Internet on one's cellphone Americans have forgotten how to rest. Even on vacation you notice people pecking away sending emails and memos that are "urgent". Taking away from time with one's family and blurring the line between a work week and the weekend. Belizeans have it right, sit around, enjoy some food, perhaps a rum and coke, enjoy your family and just be. Work is for Monday. It truly can wait. These are things I hope to take with me from Belize, though I have a feeling once I enter the RatRace again it will be harder. But an emphasis on people not places or things or doing are the sermon to be taken away from the Belizean Sabbath.

Mozeltov!
Matty

The quote above my desk...

2010-03-25T15:20:00.000-07:00

"I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days

to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it become a wing,

a torch,

a promise.

I choose to risk my significance

to live

so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom

and that which came to me as blossom goes on as fruit."

-Dawna Markova

Good Merning!

2010-03-04T08:31:00.000-08:00

Holy Moley its been a while since I have blogged. A problem occurs when too much time passes without submitting to this very public forum.... time begins to snowball and then I am uncertain of what to write seeing as so much time has passed. That being said, I am going to cop out with this blog entry and use it as a recap of what has happened between now and the last time I blogged. (My apologies to those of you who came here seeking wisdom and insight, bear with me while I catch up you and the other two people who read this on my life in the recent months)

Most importantly! I am an uncle again! Carter Robert was born in the beginning of February. Which might not be a shock to anyone who knows my family... or if you are facebook friends with Cr and Stacy because they update the world every four minutes on their lives. (ZING!) But this came as a shock to me... not the specifics of course, but rather when I left home Stacy wasn't showing. So I have a mental picture of my family as it was when I left and now there is a baby which in my mind came out of nowhere. Regardless of that foolishness I am THRILLED to be an uncle again.

Another big event that corresponds with how long I have been in country is that Confirmation Week has come and gone. The infamous Confirmation Week has been on my radar since before I left for Belize. I had heard of its grueling intensity long before I stepped foot in my house in PG. Let me explain the truth behind legend. A major aspect of my job is to oversee the Confirmation formation for those children who will be receiving the sacrament. What this means is that I run confirmation retreats both in the fall and spring to prepare the children. This is less serious then it sounds... its a bit like I am a camp counselor and sprinkle in some Confirmation related information. The kids love these retreats because they are out of class for the day. That being said, these children are out of class, out of sight of any real authority figures and can ,if need be, create an atmosphere of total mayhem. Lucky me. haha
Unfortunately for them... my mom is a gym teacher and life long swim coach that can scare the piss out of any children. I'd like to think I inherited that trait. (thanks mom! ) So I would love to say that these retreats were spiritually enlightening for the children getting Confirmed. Thats not the case. Many times they involved me thinking on my feet and just making up a song and dance for the kids to remember the requirements of getting confirmed. Or playing games or just singing church songs. ( side note... Belizeans singing church songs is one of the most humorous aspects of my job due to certain ways Belizeans speak. the "TH" sound is not pronounced aswell as the "OR" sound comes out like an "ER" sound. e.g. "great TINGS happen when God mixes WIT us" or " I am clapping on my to my LERD's house to my LERD LERD LERD , to my LERD's house)
I really enjoy these retreats and there are aspects that are serious. When we help the children that cant read despite being 12 understand a work sheet or when we ask the children what makes them special, why are they loved etc. and seeing their faces light up when they realize they are unique and loved. That sounds incredibly cliche but it is true and to help children realize that, if only briefly, makes the day a good one.

These retreats lead up to Confirmation Week itself which is every Confirmation Mass for all the villages in Toledo. This equates to 16 Confirmation Masses in 5 days. Each ceremony is about 2 hours long and 95% of them are in Ke'tchi. You can do that math... results in a very very very long week. Many days Pat and I would leave the house before 6am and come home after 6pm. My actual work is limited for these ceremonies, basically Pat and I were the "advance team" for the Bishop and the priests. We would get to a village first, step up, get them anything they needed, wait for further instruction then sit while the ceremony went on then hurry to clean up and race to the next village. This led to a lot of just sitting , and at times feeling useless.

I need to express how big a deal having the Bishop come to their respective villages is for the community. It would be like Bono coming to deliver a high school commencement address or Pope Benedict flying in to do a wedding. It is a HUGE deal. At times during the strenuous week I forgot how big of a deal it is for these villages. So despite actually not doing a lot if I made the week run a little smoother then I found consolation in that.

Confirmation week has come and gone which is also symbolic for me because it is such a major aspect of my work year. Now that it has passed it is apparent to me that my first year is coming to a close. Pat and Em have a little more than a 100 days left until they leave. I still have about 30 more sets of retreats before my work year is finished(teachers again, and eighth grade equivilant before they graduate) but knowing I helped prepare 295 children for Confirmation is a pretty big step.

Ok before I leave this haphazard entry I would like to write a few of the hilarious aspects of my job.
(Pat and I were driving some children to a retreat... going about 30 miles per hour on dirt roads through the jungle)

child in the back seat: "Fodder Fodder I caught a bird!" (they all think I am a priest... remember the aforementioned "TH" difficulties)

Me: "First off, just call me Mr. Matt. Secondly, You what? Just now?!"

Child: " Yes Fodder as we were driving"

I have no idea how that child caught a bird, from the backseat, as we were driving full speed through the jungle but sure enough. A bird, recently deceased was in his hand. Not sure if it died from the shock of the experience or smashing into the child's hand.

Experience number two:
We were at a retreat at the furthest, most remote village, Dolores, about 2 hours from PG. The children go home for lunch and are to meet up again at 1pm. Everyone comes back or so I thought and we begin the next activity. I then do a quick head count and we are missing two girls. "Where in God's name did they go? There is nothing here", I think. 20 minutes later we see them running through the bush back to the retreat each of the girls' hands had bags full of things.

Mr. Matt: " Girls where were you? You're late. And what do you have in the bags?"

Girls: [giggle giggle giggle] "We went to Guatemala to get some TINGS"

Mr. Matt: "Oh ok.......wait. WHAT!"

Yep. The children went to Guatemala to go buy "tings" during the lunch break. I couldn't even pretend to be angry. Illegal border crossings through the jungle to buy things during a Confirmation Retreat. When I think I have seen it all....

I pray to the "Lerd" you are all having a good "Merning" (ok that was forced. haha),
Mr. Matt

Cayes, Gallos, Indiana Jones, and new room mates

2009-12-13T14:35:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-30T07:28:00.000-08:00

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....

2009-11-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

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"

2009-10-29T12:57:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-10-09T09:03:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-09-28T15:19:00.000-07:00

"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?"

2009-09-24T14:36:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

JVs on Vacation

2009-09-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, my room mates and I decided to get out of the city. Partially caused by the claustrophobia PG can induce and the general need to explore my new country I call home. Thursday we decided to plan and pick an appropriate weekend when suddenly I shouted in typical Matt Wooters fashion, "lets go tomorrow". My fellow adventure seekers thought it was a great idea. We were off to the pristine picture-esque paradise Placencia (alliteration was intentional). In one of the Belize Guide books Placencia is called "the most low key town in Belize, which is saying a lot". And so we left for the sleepy little resort town with our bags packed, filled with minimal clothes, a tent, and a jar of peanut butter. Said peanut butter might literally have saved our lives. But I am getting ahead of myself.

After the hour and half bus ride, we arrived at the water taxi, missing the boat by mere seconds. And we were told we would have to wait an hour for the next boat. "No Worries" became the slogan for the weekend as the misfortune continued and accelerated as the weekend went on. Caught the next taxi for the 15 minutes jaunt to Placencia. We found our way to the campsite where we would be camping on the beach for the weekend. The next of our issues arose, the American couple who owned the property were not home. Meaning the shower and bathroom facilities were locked... resulting in typical camping bathrooms, if you catch my drift.

But being glass half full we also realized we could save some money, they are not here, we don't have to pay. (This became crucial to our survival as you will soon learn).

That night after some bonding on the beach in some old Adirondack chairs, listening to some live music from a local watering hole that would make Jimmy Buffet proud (too expensive for JVs to enjoy) our luck took a hilarious but tragic turn for the worse. My roomate Pat had his murse stolen (man purse). The problem with that, outside of the obvious (credit cards, ID etc) is that Pat is the "responsible one" so he had our food money for the weekend. Also in the stolen man bag. This posed a bit of an issue. Three volunteers, limited stipend, 1.5 days left at the beach paradise.

I thought long and hard about our situation and the result. I couldn't stop laughing. My excessive optimistic outlook was not readily accepted by the realist among the group. But it was soon to be realized that all we could do was laugh it off. "No Worries". So we scraped together our remaining cash (not very much at all) to cover the three of us.

So we quite literally survived on a jar of peanut butter, refried beans and a loaf of bread for almost 6 meals. One day we splurged and bought hot dogs, which we unsuccessfully cooked, well warmed up is a better verb, over a small fire made of palm leaves. The fire actually took, once we had already downed the dogs. mmmm semi cooked hotdogs wrapped in white bread. Gotta love living simply! And if you think we had the money for ketchup or mustard you seem to underestimate how broke we were. The man who owned the place ended up coming the second day so we only had to pay for one night ($5 USD) for two nights on a beautiful beach. Had he been there the day before, we would have be completely out of money. So we spent one whole afternoon brainstorming ways to make a bit of cash to cover the way back, assuming worst case scenario he charged us for two nights. The best idea, I would lead a Yoga class on the beach for the chubby 'Parrot Head" ex pats on the beach who smelled of Rum Runners and cheap cigarettes. The worst idea, using our god given good looks to become dinner dates for the rich old folks at the expensive resort 200 yards from us. Some would call this an Escort service. I would say... desperate times, desperate measures. Don't worry Mom it didn't come down to that. Had the man charged us for two nights.... well that would have been a different story and me and some old lady name Gertrude or something would have become friendly.

Overall it was a great weekend that showed us you don't need anything to have a great vacation. We slept in a tent on a perfect beach under some palm trees, awoken every morning by a spectacular breathtaking sunrise directly in front of us on the horizon and only paid $5 USD to have such a view. The poor rich saps to our left at the resort paid $500 USD a night, same view, same beach.

Great weekend, great times, great adventure. The hilarity ensues.

(pictures to come in a few days)

The crazy clinic.....

2009-09-06T12:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-01T16:10:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-08-23T11:07:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-14T07:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-12T07:18:00.000-07:00

"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...

2009-07-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

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