The End.

Almost a fortnight has passed since I boarded the puddle jumper back to Belize City and I still have thoughts of San Pedro on a daily basis. I have attempted to deal with my crushing burrito withdrawal by looking back over my time in Belize, realizing how truly impactful the experience was. It helped shape my views as a teacher and also allowed me to reach my full potential for consuming debilitating amounts of rice and beans.

As far as the actual teaching goes, one of the major affects this trip had on me was my view of inclusive education. In Belize, there is no real identification process for students with special needs. Instead, the children who would receive modifications or additional support were they to be educated in the States are swept aside in their Belizean classrooms. It made me realize that creating even slight modifications for students with disabilities can make a huge difference in that student’s education. For example, allowing a student who had previously sat in the corner without any interaction to pass out papers or help the teacher collect assignments is a drastic improvement over their prior experience. A child should first and foremost feel comfortable in their classroom, and it is especially important to realize this with students who have special needs. By interacting with these Belizean students, I have gained insight and confidence to teach students with disabilities back in the US.

The reality of this field experience being over is finally starting to sink in. I really hope that someday I’ll be able to return to San Pedro and if not relive the experience, at least create a new one with equally wonderful memories. But for now, I’m off to get ready for graduation in t-minus six hours. I hope I don’t trip. 

The Final Days

While I’m now physically back in America, for the duration of this blog post (and those to follow) we’ll just say I’m mentally still in Belize so you can read about the teaching, packing, and Star Wars that took place. A fair warning: this is another long one.  

First, the teaching: our last two days at Isla Bonita occurred sans local teachers. While the Belizean educators made their way to a professional development workshop in Belize City, the gringos were left in charge. Luckily for me, Ms. Yvette had been away on personal matters prior to this, so subbing for Standard Tree was nothing new. Thursday was filled with grammar lessons, fraction practice, and enough intermittent rain showers to cause pandemonium during lunch hour. While the majority of students thought they were melting, a brave few risked turning the playground into an inadvertent slip-n-slide, causing the teachers to have mental flashes of broken bones and revoked visas. Happily, lunch ended with no physical injuries and the learning continued. Friday brought sun, spelling tests, and a school-wide celebration. The morning was spent in the usual routine of lessons, but at noon the students went home for lunch to get ready for the beach party that was to take place when they got back. While the children went off to don bathing suits and swim pants (it’s apparently laughable to refer to boys’ bathing garments as “suits”) the student teachers sat down to a feast. We were brought perfectly seasoned beef tacos, onion soup, taquitos, and an amazing fried coconut cake (shout out to Mollpeeps). When the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, I waddled up to the classroom to get the students ready for the beach party. However, instead of the usual cacophony coming from behind the door I heard only silence, leading me to the only logical conclusion that they had all been running around the room, smashed heads, and were simultaneously knocked unconscious.  When I opened the door, however, I was greeted with a boisterous “surprise!” and found myself in the midst of my going-away party (much better than the comatose pile of children I was expecting). I was amazed at the class’ party planning ability; they had put together the entire thing at the suggestion of Ms. Yvette, who had been absent for the past 4 days. The students brought snacks, music, and enough coca-cola to stock three vending machines. So instead of going to the beach, the 10 kiddos and I spent the afternoon in the classroom blasting Lady Gaga and eating way too much cake. They even brought me presents, including key chains, magnets, a mug, and a photo album—all the things the tacky tourist in me wanted but couldn’t justify buying for myself. There were a few moments during the party when I started to get overly emotional, realizing how much I was going to miss these kids and San Pedro. However, at the end of the day the children deemed me braver than the last teacher since I didn’t actually cry. Really, I attribute this to the snacks; I don’t see how anyone could cry while dipping Doritos into cream cheese (thank you, Standard Three, for introducing me to such magic). After sad goodbyes and hopeful “I’ll try to come back and visit”s it was back to Pedro’s to pack.

Second, the packing: You don’t really care about that, do you?

Third, the Star Wars: As a way to celebrate our final night, Pedro’s decided to throw a Star Wars costume party. This was great for me as it forced me (heh, force) to wear something other than the bathing suit cover-up I had been living in for the past 5 weeks. Frustration arose, however, when I tore threw my suitcase and realized I did not have a full-size Chewbacca costume that I might have just forgotten about. Luckily, my many trips to the grocery store had paid off, and on my floor were two bags—one red, one black. After a bit of cutting and some sharpie work, I put the plastic bags over my head and walked down to the party as Darth Maul. Apparently it is not just my own mother who is concerned about asphyxiation; I had quite a few partygoers question my wardrobe choice. However, I made it back alive. Dark Side don’t need no oxygen.

Schools Galore

After teaching a rousing language arts lesson in the morning (editing marks and proper punctuation, yeah!), Wednesday was dedicated to exploring the other elementary schools on the island.

At the very least, I no longer associate the words “elementary school” with field day and spaghetti dinners.  If this shift in thinking started tapping me on the shoulder in my North Carolina internship, it’s been smashing me over the head since I got to Belize. The lack of smartboards and speedy Internet that is complained about in the States is nothing compared to the need for adequate sewage in some Belizean elementary schools. Guided by the air of the rotating fans, we made our way across the rickety dock that passed for the hallway of Holy Cross Elementary, a school built on top of a swampy landfill.

What surprised me the most, however, was the school situated in the “middle class” neighborhood. The dusty courtyard and AC deficiency would not have been tolerated in any middle class system back home. It brought to light the stark contrast between what we expect in America and what is accepted in Belize. This middle class housing looked like its heyday would have coincided with Barry Manilow belting out Copa Cabana. The porch railings with sculpted lions and peeling Key West paint looked like a ninety-year-old woman who applied an exorbitant amount of makeup as a last-ditch attempt to recapture her youth. The bright colors and Greco pillars that were meant to cover up flaws instead accentuated the wrinkles and cracks of the once-youthful structures. As if the foot-deep potholes in the dirt road would have gone unnoticed.  

It was a lesson in gratitude to see schools coming from so little yet doing so much. I swear on my gradebook to never complain about another faulty expo marker or unsharpened pencil. The fact that I don’t melt into a puddle of perspiration by the end of the day is a comfort that I had not realized is afforded to so few. Long live central air, purified water, and Isla Bonita Elementary for providing such luxuries. 

Burritos

Halfway through the final week in Belize: my excuse to shove as many burritos into my mouth as possible. I wont start the reminiscing until the end of the week, but I feel the customary “my, time sure does fly,” is appropriate at this point. Three days left, let the tortilla consumption begin. 

Heritage

Last week, the inland trip with its cultural excursions and unlimited hot tea (thank you Rosa’s continental breakfast) drew to a close and gave way to a reality of full time teaching at Isla Bonita. Having spent the past few days wandering around ruins and, thanks to ATM, being literally immersed in history, I walked into school last Monday with the idea of Belizean heritage at the forefront my mind.

With such a rich and remarkable history, it only makes sense that Belizean students feel so connected to their past. They know their roots, and as a result are able to carry on the form and customs of their ancestors. These students feel much more of a connection to their forefathers than I do to the pale Bowdrings who crossed the Atlantic decades ago, bestowing upon me sunburns and freckles.

It is interesting to hear these students spout out knowledge of Caracol, Lamanai, and Xunantunich, whereas I have seen students in the US struggle to name the first two presidents. However, these students who know so much about ancient ruins are the same ones who overexert themselves trying to spell “house” and cringe in fear when they see fractions on the board. There is a great imbalance of what the students know about their heritage and what they need to learn about the rest of the world in order for them to be successful and carry on the heritage they are so proud of. 

Spelunking

Last night I came to the conclusion that the awesomeness of what I’m doing is inversely related to the amount of blogging I do. Case in point: it’s been over a week since the coolest adventure of my life and I’m just now sending it out for your perusal.

When I say coolest I mean that literally; it all began with a jump into frigid water that, by the feel of it, hadn’t felt sunlight since the ancient Mayans waded through it. Luckily, summers in Marshfield had prepared me for such a situation, and I recovered quickly from the chill. This icy H20 sits at the mouth of Actun Tunichil Muknal (ATM), the three-mile long cave system located in San Ignacio, Cayo District.

So into the cave I went, in all my helmet-, headlight-, and tankini-clad glory. After only the first few yards of clambering for footholds and sliding down craggy rocks, spelunking had already become my new favorite activity (overtaking sitting on a dock and eating queso). As we went deeper and deeper into the cave, the darkness became something I could actually feel. We stopped at one point and everyone turned off their headlights, engulfing us in the thickest blackness I have ever experienced. Not being able to see my hand an inch from my face became quickly disorienting, and gave me a sliver of understanding about the Mayan customs. The ancient Mayans used to come into the cave for rituals, ingest some type of hallucinogen, extinguish their torches, and listen to the voices that spoke to them in the darkness. Something tells me, however, that you would start hearing voices even without the aid of drugs; it was an extremely primordial and spooky place. We continued the rest of our trek taking advantage of our 21^st century battery packs, shining our lights on the broken pottery and human skeletons that give a calcified history of those who braved the cave before us. The whole tour took approximately three hours, but time could have easily stood still as we squeezed our way through the maze of the Mayan underworld.

I hiked back to the bus laden with soggy sneakers, a feeling of having experienced history firsthand, and an ardent desire to find a million more entrances to the cavernous world beneath us. 

Caracol and a Waterfall

If you haven’t spent a day climbing and jumping off of things, I suggest you either find a place to do so or transform your backyard into a pool and jump off the roof. While this may not give you the same Mayan Indiana Jones feeling I had today, it’s the best idea I have for replicating the experience without actually coming to Belize. Which you should do anyway, so forget the backyard pool and just get on a plane.  

My morning started off with a peanut butter and banana sandwich, and considering I hadn’t had peanut butter in three weeks, I was already happy to call it a day. Little did I know just how much more exciting the day would get after my energizing breakfast. When the air conditioned passenger bus pulled up in front of our hotel at 7:30am, I was amazed at how far bussing technology had come since the previous day. The first place this miraculously cool mode of transportation took us was at first glance a dirt road. However, it turns out if you walk on dirt roads, they tend to lead to other places. In this case, we wound up at the top of a set of stone steps that lead down to the second entrance of a Mayan shelter cave. In case your cave knowledge is the same as mine was at the beginning of the day, caves are huge. Just the sheer size made me feel about the size of a mosquito, and that was before hearing about the history held its cool, damp walls. Apparently the cave was used as a shelter way back in the day (picture 600 B.C.), as evidenced by the pottery and tools found scattered around its ledges and near the small river that runs through it. Our guide, Diego, informed us that this cave is the smallest of the Belizean cave systems, which makes me rather giddy to explore Actun Tunichil Muknal (worth a google) tomorrow.

After a series of jaw drops and group photos, we headed back to the bus and drove onward to Caracol. Here we spent much of the afternoon having our minds and eyes filled with amazing knowledge of Mayan architecture, agriculture, recreation, and religion. Not only were we allowed to touch the ruins, but to climb on them as well. Caracol means “snail” in Spanish, which is appropriate considering how long it took me to crawl to the top of the ruins. Ancient Mayans must have had amazing legs.

Another highlight of the day was our protein-enriched pre-lunch snack—termites. I ate a termite. From a tree. It tasted like minty carrots.

After the insect appetizer, we sat down to an amazing lunch of chicken burritos, watermelon, and banana chocolate chip bread. It was right after we got under our lunchtime shelter that it began to rain, cooling the area and allowing me to stop sweating for the first time in 7 hours. From there it was back to the bus and on to the most refreshing part of the day; river swimming and waterfall jumping. Again we were dropped off on a dirt road with our backpacks slung over our shoulders and made the trek down to Five Sisters Falls. I have not felt such joy climbing rocks and jumping into water since the infamous River Rat trip of ’02. The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming around and, in my case, trying to look a lot cooler than I actually am by attempting to jump off the side of a waterfall. I made it out unscathed, but it seems I won’t be adding “graceful” to my list of attributes anytime soon.

The evening was topped off with a grilled chicken and brie sandwich and some San Ignacio exploring. Now I’m all set to be rocked to sleep by the gentle blaring of the techno music coming from the club next door. Goodnight to all. 

Enter San Ignacio

Disclaimer: This is going to be long.

Firstly, belated wishes: happy anniversary to madre and padre and happy Easter to everyone! I hope it was filled with more delight than a Cadbury egg. I really want a Cadbury egg.

Secondly, a recap of last week (another disclaimer: there are going to be a lot of colons): It was officially our service week, which I have just now decided to deem “How Do You Run an Easter Camp With Only Construction Paper and Why Can’t We Get There Early to Cut the Paper?” week. To clarify, our group of sunburned, aspiring teachers made our way to the local library Monday through Wednesday in order to head up an Easter camp for some of the local youngsters. It was a very enlightening experience in that I never knew there were so many Paschal uses for paper, glue, and crayolas.  Baskets, placemats, ducks, eggs, and crosses require little more to make than some scissors and overly sugared seven-year-olds.  

This last week also gave me more of a glimpse into Belize’s laid back culture. On our first afternoon camp shift, Lauren, Alyssa, and I showed up early to get the materials ready (cut out paper, pour glue, other exciting things) only to find we were locked out of the library. As the time for the children to show up got closer and we were still locked out, I felt my desire to distribute scissors grow stronger and stronger. Back in North Carolina, we would have had ample time to prepare materials and lead the lesson with astounding grace. However, in Belize one must lend themselves to a much more go with the flow school of thought; we had to organize the craft in the midst of actually doing it, leaving much to be desired in the way of planning time. Since it logically follows that this method of “thinking on your toes” extends to the schools as well, I may have to adjust my mindset (which is already pretty far away from Type A to begin with) to accommodate for planning at a moment’s notice.

Thirdly: I have a new home for the week. This morning I packed up five days worth of belongings, shoved them into my backpack, and headed off for San Ignacio. While it sounds simple enough to travel inland, the reality is an intricate maze of transportation changes and crossed fingers. Our journey began with a water taxi from San Pedro to Belize City, on which I shuffled my iPod and stared peacefully out to sea for the 90-minute ride. From there it gets much less romantic. From Belize City we hopped on a chicken bus (read: old school bus crammed with more humans than should ever be allowed in one place at the same time) for the two-hour ride to San Ignacio. While the bus driver’s complete indifference to the posted speed limit and penchant for driving as if he were Luigi were memorable enough, it was the way we got on the bus that stands out the most. We were lined up at the terminal, waiting for the gates to slide open and to board in an orderly fashion, when all of a sudden the gates were up and it was a mad rush to the bus. Those of us from UNCW were herded to the back and boosted three feet in the air, limbs flailing and heads hitting all manner of objects (sure to include both alive and inanimate) as we scrambled for a precious seat. I have never before felt such a primal need to shove children out of my way. Parker and I secured ourselves a spot in the middle of the bus directly behind a less-than-rosy smelling man, but at least we had a seat, which is more than we can say about some of our fellow travelers.

Now I am sitting in front of a fan at Rosa’s Hotel, trying to ignore the ants on the wall, happily staring at my inexplicably fluffy towel, and looking forward to the continental breakfast in the morning. Tomorrow I will be channeling my inner Eliza Thornberry as we hike to a Mayan ruin, so expect a detailed account tomorrow evening. Goodnight from the Cayo District!

Teaching Spanish to Spanish Speakers

While the past week has been dedicated to Easter camp and sandy egg hunts (more on that later), this week off from school has given me a chance to reflect on my first week of Belizean teaching. I was prepared for a certain level of organized chaos and a shrunken pile of resources, but what I was unprepared for was the immediacy with which I would be left in charge of the classroom.

On day one, Ms. Yvette informed me I would be on my own with the students every afternoon that week, as she was in charge of Miss Isla Bonita (the school’s pageant and life blood). As Ms. Yvettte directed dances and put an embargo on slumped backs, I nervously stood in the front of a classroom trying to come up with a productive way to fill the next two hours.

It was definitely an exercise in quick thinking; Yvette had given me free reign to “review anything” with the class, and I had to use the students as resources in order to figure out what to actually teach during that first afternoon. I learned that eight-year-olds are not necessarily the most informative age group, and had to question them for a solid ten minutes in order to get any semblance of a foundation to work off of. We ended up playing a game to review the Spanish words for furniture, which was most likely more informative for me than it was for the students; the words “rug=alfombra” are permanently tattooed in my brain. This is sure to come in handy some day when I’m in Central America shopping for floor coverings.

As I biked back to Pedro’s Inn after the first day of school, I felt both accomplished and a little confused. It had certainly been a day of new experiences and overactive heart beating. However, as the week went on, I began to feel more and more comfortable being the leader of this new group of mini humans. I was able to bounce ideas off of Yvette and the other UNCW students, helping me come up with new plans and get excited about resuming my charge of the children.

Standard Tree

In my real life (I’m currently surrounded by palm trees, pineapples, and puppies so this can’t be real life) any trip I have taken would be coming to a close. However, at the end of week one in San Pedro, this expedition is still in its zygotic stages. After seven days and three times as many meals*, I feel I have leveled up from “shoobie” to whatever the classification is for a level two tourist. Perhaps “overly comfortable houseguest.”

I have spent these past five days of increasing acclimation in Miss Yvette’s Standard 3 classroom at Isla Bonita Elementary School. The ten (what a peacefully low number “ten” is) children in my class are quite possibly the sweetest, but at the same time most mischievous, eight and nine year olds I have seen in my days. They are respectful to their teachers and excited to learn, but have no qualms about throwing a stuffed bear across the room at their classmate’s head as punishment for a wrong answer. This behavior seems to stem from their unwavering devotion to Angry Birds, a hobby that I was certainly not expecting to find at a small school in Central America. There’s a nice juxtaposition to be found in the students’ modern interests (Mario, Halo Reach, Ben 10) and their classroom language; they refer to their teachers as “miss” and “teacher x” so I have learned to respond to “Miss” (à la Summer Heights High) and “Teacher Shannon.” Feel free to continue this tradition once I’m back in the US.

An overly comfortable houseguest’s observation: You have the right of way in San Pedro. Whoever “you” are, zoom around the corner and skip across the street (no need to turn your head either way) because it’s all yours.  However, be careful of any other “yous” who happen to be out there zooming and skipping, taking advantage of their own right of way. I’m considering investing in a blinker-clad helmet in order to ensure an accident free walk to the fruit stand.

Thank you for your readership and have a pleasant day.

*Updated food list: fish empanada, chicken burrito, pineapple smoothie, banana bread, pico de gallo-infused turkey panini, chicken curry, coconut rice, watermelon, flautas, spinach and pork/cheese pupusas, and pineapple coconut juice.

I'm Alive

Despite not having updated this blog in four days, I did in fact make it to San Pedro, bags in hand.  From the backseat of an 11-person Tropic Air vessel, I waved goodbye to Belize City and hello to Ambergris Caye. A word of advice to anyone interested in taking this excursion themselves: deal with being cold on the plane because it’s not worth being a long-sleeved sweltering mess when you touch down in Central America. While the weather is the essence of tropical vacation when experiencing an ocean breeze, once the wind stops so does any memory of ever needing to wear more than a bathing suit.

A chronological update on my food experiences: coconut cream shrimp burrito, fresh pineapple, watermelon, habanero hot dog, papaya, chicken burrito, stewed chicken with rice and beans, fried plantain, and topped off with coconut ice cream that is still pleasuring my taste buds as we speak.

So far the ten of us on the trip have been filling our days with poolside lounging, off-the-pier swimming, bicycle rides through town, and gaping at what has to be the clearest water that exists on this planet.

One of the more amusing aspects of San Pedro is its dogs; they have the numbers and free reign of squirrels back home. This squirrel-dog lifestyle is one I’d adopt back in the States, especially if dogs could learn to climb trees.

Yesterday was our first visit to the schools. I will be working with Teacher Yvette in Standard III (or as the students say, “standard tree”) at Isla Bonita. I think the school is best described as “open air;” to get to my classroom I walk through a small courtyard and up a set of outdoor stairs. The children seem rambunctious but enthusiastic. More details to come on Monday when we begin our regular schedule in the schools.

I hope everyone back home is doing splendidly. I’ll send thoughts of pineapple your way.

Pre-Departure

Greetings and welcome to day one of my blog, day negative one of my Belizean adventures. As I sit in my room, 23 hours away from takeoff, I realize there is a world out there I will never be a part of. A world in which people do not throw their clean laundry on the floor, where suitcases are packed days before a 5 week trip instead of laying open on the ground waiting to be fed wrinkly t-shirts. It is the world of good packers, and I will never belong. Regardless, this time tomorrow I will be sitting on a plane bound for San Pedro--hopefully my clothes will be with me. Stay tuned to find out.