It was one of those crazy-hot Belizean April mornings while I waited patiently to be picked up by the Ministry of Works truck to take me from Blue Creek Village to San Benito Poite. The dusty, two-hour truck ride on an unpaved back road took me many miles away from my (already) remote village to the beautiful and mighty Machaca river that envelops Poite. The guys were polite and fun-loving, and I knew that I would enjoy working with these workmen as they helped me build not only a bridge between the north and south banks of the Machaca, but also between a promise made by a recently Returned Peace Corps Volunteer and to the dangerous reality facing the people of this village.
The Machaca river is feared during the rainy months of the Hurricane Season (roughly June through November) because it massively floods over the fifty-yards-long cement bridge that connects the villagers to the back road I had travelled, which in turn takes them to the local school, health post, and (three and a half hours away by bus) the nearest district town, Punta Gorda, to sell the bounties of their farms at the market. During the rainy season, this bridge floods frequently, and small children are known to try and cross the flooded bridge to get to school, pregnant women have tried crossing the rushing current to give birth at the health post, and many farmers have tried crossing with bundles of firewood, bags of corn, and their own small children to get to town or to get back to their homes. Needless to say, this is exceptionally dangerous, and does not always end well.
As a resident of the beautiful but perniciously flooded Blue Creek, I know all too well the pain and frustration caused by an un-passable bridge. The missed work, the claustrophobia, and the loss of control of your already meager transportation options can leave one feeling helpless, especially when your rainy season routine includes hurricane consolidations, meetings in town, and trips to refill medical supplies, food supplies, and drinking water (and, okay, junk food). When I was approached by Lilly Berger, the volunteer finishing her service in Poite, to take over the project after she left, I jumped at the chance. Lilly had utilized the Peace Corps Partnerships Program and fundraised money for a “hammock” bridge, a bridge of board and cables stabilized by cement castings on the north and south banks of a river. The villagers can cross this walking bridge over the flooded river to the dry bank on the other side. The cost of the bridge was almost $14,000 BZD ($7,000 USD), and before she left, Lilly had secured almost all of the building supplies and work plans, under budget. However, a surprisingly long and arduous rainy season prevented construction before Lilly’s departure, and a project management contingency plan was needed to complete the project before the next rainy season began. This is where I stepped in, with plenty of experience in managing projects in my former life as governmental Liaison Officer in Washington. I began meeting with officials from the Ministry of Works, planned out our work schedule, and after several delays (contentious elections taking its toll on the public works organization I worked with, equipment failures, and the non-stop rain that apparently followed me down from the Pacific Northwest), we began work in April.
Suffice to say, after so many delays and setbacks, I was grateful to get in the back of that dusty red truck to get to San Benito Poite on that hot April morning. I had a job to do that day that would set the pace and tone for the rest of our work; I was needed to be a liaison between the Ministry workers and the Village Council of Poite. I was the only one that spoke enough Q’eqchi to lead the meeting (although I still think they just wanted to hear me speak it because they thought it was funny, and I definitely accidentally blessed a pig and praised the village for their stewed horse meat because of my loose grasp of the language). The meeting went well, once the council’s roaring laughter died down after I proudly declared “Inka saj wink, La’in aj Q’eqchi” (“I am not a white man, I am a proud Q’eqchi!”). We were given the council’s blessing to begin construction, and were granted ten men as “Fajina” (community contribution) for each work day to help pour cement, haul gravel, stretch cable and fasten boards).
Construction consisted of seven total workdays, although this was spread over three weeks because of the amount of time that it takes cement to harden. It was hard, sweaty work on hot day after hot day, but it was satisfying to work with the villagers and see them make friends with the work crew from the city. We bonded over tortillas and caldo in their homes at lunch time, and drank contraband Guatemalan “Super Cola” (trust me, it is “Super” in name only) as we talked about our homes and families. They listened intently as I told them of vast grocery stores that are open 24 hours a day and they marveled as I told them about life in the Northwest (and after hearing the facts, agree that the Seahawks were robbed in Superbowl XL). They even helped me track down Oscar, the toddler who outsmarted me and stole my sunglasses. They played solar-powered harp and marimba CDs for me so that I could hear local music, and I pulled out my iPod so that they could listen to music from my home (they didn’t like Nirvana but loved The Decemberists).
As the sun set on the final work day, and I was nursing two painful Doctor Fly bites on my back (look it up), I helped fasten the final board after carving the initials “LB 09-11 and DO 11-13” for the volunteers (Lilly Berger and Daniel O’Neill) that contributed to the project, and I took pictures with the crew and villagers. As I helped pack up the truck I was approached by several villagers who invited me to stay with them whenever I return to Poite, which despite its distance, I am certain I will. I am proud to be a part of their village history, and their kindness and warmth will remain with me always. If you ever make it out to San Benito Poite, you can cross the bridge and see the carving if you look for it hard enough, but seriously, don’t trust Oscar with your sunglasses. That kid is a thief.
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