Experience is Knowledge

Burton “The Organic Preacher” Caliz and I at the Mafredi Methodist School, where he helps the children once per week with their school garden. I was told this is their favorite time of the week, and who can blame them?

As I sit here writing this entry, I am incessantly scratching the seemingly endless insect bites I was blessed with while staying with a farming family in Mafredi Village for the past three days. Honestly, I have no fewer than 60 dreadfully itching bites, mostly concentrated on my elbows and forearms and my now swollen ankles. While I thoroughly enjoyed my time with them and all the wonderful learning experiences that came along with it, I humbly admit that I am not cut out to be a full time farmer. A couple of the experiences that I enjoyed, appreciated rather, the most were bathing with a bucket of rain water in a small structure with a privacy sheet around it that only came up to the bottom of my chest, and riding an old bicycle with a crooked rear wheel and defective pedals on very muddy road in the pouring rain for half an hour each way to get to and from the farm. Mr. Caliz, who I found out was the 2005 Belize National Senior Organic Farmer of the Year, is known throughout the area as “The Organic Preacher.” This name could not be more fitting, as he is constantly connecting organic farming to the meaning of life in catchy phrases, so much so that this deeply spiritual 56-year-old man says organic farming is his form of religion. He says he feels more connected to the Creator when he is out on the farm than he does while singing songs in a man-made building, and after just three days with him I found it difficult to disagree with his stance.

Mr. Caliz teaching me how to get a papaya down by breaking it off with a stick and then quickly dropping the stick, as to have both hands ready to catch the papaya before it hits the ground and gets bruised. Believe it or not, it is more complicated than it sounds.

This experience proved to be what I was hoping it would be. It was a glimpse into the life of a poor farmer in a rural village of Southern Belize. Mr. Caliz, who works literally 365 days per year, put me to work all day with him each day I was there, so I feel I got a good understanding of what his daily life is like. I got tired, hungry, sore, and blistered, but certainly never bored, as even our down time during the harder rain was occupied by grinding ginger, sharpening tools, and doing lighter work close to the house. I kept thinking about how I considered myself to have a good physical fitness level by most standards and yet I could scarcely keep up with this man who is more than twice my age. The only condolence I offered myself was that I certainly could beat him in a foot race, but how exactly that was relevant I am not sure. So I remain humbled and content with being in shape by the non-functional-for-most-of-the-world American standards. I digress. I am definitely much more excited and, I feel, equipped to start some smaller scale organic gardening when I return to the states and get my own property, assuming that ever happens.

Three of the products from the organic pesticide workshop. The products that went into these include ground papaya and madre de cacao leaves, bar soap, boiled onions, and lime. Hungry?

The rest of my time has been filled with normal day to day activities of visiting families and helping them with projects including mostly gardening and building stoves and latrines. Last Friday I was able to participate in an organic pesticide and fertilizer workshop put together by one of the S.H.I. extentionists for area participants. That was great for me because I had not yet learned the specifics of making and applying such materials. Sadly I had to say goodbye to Kevin last week as well because he will be leading a couple different groups of volunteers in Honduras for the entirety of my remaining time here. He was a great companion for me here, not only because he is a fellow gringo, but because he shares my desire for personal growth and my passion for appropriate development for people in developing areas of the world, all with a great sense of humor. We spent a lot of time together sharing laughs and processing experiences and consequent evaluations. Now I feel more isolated in my processing, which is not ideal for me as a verbal processor, but that is the reality and so I move forward with my journal as my best friend. I have no problem with this.

Kayaking on Joe Taylor Creek. As you can see, it is beautiful, running from deep in the mangroves all the way out to the Caribbean Sea. There are a lot of great animals to observe, including tons of little crabs, birds of all sorts, jumping fish, and brightly colored iguanas.

Since I got back last night from the farm, I have noticed my anxiety levels rising, which I originally pinned on returning to the stressful life in the metropolis of Punta Gorda. So, naturally I went to my journal to organize and understand it, and I soon realized that this is just a natural part of transition for me. As change approaches, I tend to get very reflective in hopes that I will see that I have taken full advantage of my current situation before I leave it behind. That reflection never turns out quite the way I hope. I have started to ask myself questions about whether or not I have done and learned all I wanted to, and made the most of my time in Central America. Overall I would answer positively to both of those questions, with some obvious peaks and valleys along the way. The people here have taught me so much and given me a perspective on life that I otherwise definitely would not have. I am in much need of a few days to relax and reflect at this point, and avoid too many intense situations calling for processing, so a short stay in Placencia on my way to the Belize City airport next week will be very welcome. I just can’t believe where I will be in now less than two weeks – living with a bunch of kids who have already in their young lives been through way more than I could be in my whole life. I am so lucky to have the opportunity to spend time with them and learn from them. I just hope I can return the favor and help them in some small way.

This is the welcome sign to Punta Gorda (“PG” to the locals) as you come into town from the north. You can see from the sign that it is a very diverse town, with Mayans, Garifunas, East Indians, and many other groups represented as residents.