the golden-grey days of training

for the most part, training can feel a lot like summer camp... i think (i've never been to summer camp). sure, we sit through safety and medical lectures and attend Creole classes, but we also have field trips, play our fair share of sports, and eat frozen yogurt at the bottom of the hill from camp.
our "cultural experiences" have involved climbing Mayan ruins, helping make cassava bread, watching traditional musical and dance performances, learning how to construct a drum, and conducting random interviews with strangers in a random village.
and you also create your own cultural experiences. the other night a handful of us found a group of locals drumming on the street. we joined in and were given a mini lesson that mostly consisted of "you just feel the rhythm." we practiced our Creole while i had a necklace made for me right there at the curb. we also partook in the karaoke culture (which seems to be unusually popular here), slaughtering great songs in a sweaty downstairs bar. this was after some great conversation that was completely upstaged (in a good way) by a preposterously entertaining cover band whose keyboard emitted a sound that could only be compared to circus music. but regardless of this car wreck of a distraction, i am continually finding myself fascinated by our conversations. these people are such characters; these dialogues are so absurdly and perfectly unique, they couldn't be written. sometimes i just can't stop laughing or smiling. these moments... drumming on the curb, belting bob marley while sharing one mic between 10 of us, glowing from the notion that you are surrounded by beautifully odd individuals... these are the moments that make a night's brilliance dazzle me. i lay in bed and soak in the sounds: the pouring rain, the neighborhood dog chorus, the croaks of the frogs across the street, the sporadic screams of the geckos scurrying throughout the walls of the house. these noises are cherished, unlike the cackles of the 5am roosters.
we maintain our sanity in the daytime by hitting up one of various fields in town after classes. sometimes i'm getting whacked in the arm with a soccer ball, sometimes i'm surprising myself by actually catching the frisbee, but i'm constantly kicking mud up the backs of my calves. and i'm always glad i chose to wear shoes and avoid the disastrous results of playing sports barefoot on a muddy Belizean field that is adorned with patches of red ant communities. our host moms just shake their heads and laugh when they see the sweaty, muddy, exhausted versions of us trudging up the steps.
and for a while, like i said, we can call it summer camp.
but then my housemate is getting sick, my whole body is foggy from an unthinkable amount of meds for a sinus infection, the sexual harassment is not any easier to hear each day, more than 6 trainees are hospitalized for stomach conditions.
and then a trainee gets attacked with clubs on his way home one night.
and i am slapped in the face with this reality. and i can't call it summer camp anymore.

but we keep playing sports, i keep swinging in a hammock and reading Vonnegut, and the stream of irreplaceable conversations flows on.
tonight a couple friends and i went up the hill to a hotel and i floated in a pink-tinted pool, staring at the stars. and regardless of the events that i desperately wish i didn't have to paint into my portrait of Belize, nights like this make me feel beyond lucky to be here- i feel lucky to be alive because moments like this exist. even if they are few and far between. they exist. it's moments like this that you must grasp with both hands and try not to let go. moments like this are what i need to create balance in my new world.

When you join the PeaceCorps...

... you are told to brace yourself for change. some of these changes are personal; you will have to make adjustments about and within yourself. some are of the external, uncontrollable variety, of which you will have to decide how to respond.
before i even left the states, change was in motion. i went from ten piercings to two- one in each lobe. i was told it would be wise to conceal my visible tattoos (one on each calf, one encircling my left wrist) as much as possible throughout our 8-week training period. due to sexual harrassment issues, females are urged to dress conservatively. all of these changes are meant to facilitate an integration into the Belizean community.
and then you're living in Belize and the changes stack up.
the climate is so far from anything i've known. the high humidity (i'm talking 80%, people) creates the kind of air you can feel. some days it's as though you just got into a car that's been baking in the sun all day and you're just waiting to get the key in the ignition so you can roll the windows down. but you're walking down the street; there are no windows to escape the stuffy heat. and then there are the spontaneous downpours, forceful and intensely loud. yet even when your clothes are soaked and clinging to you, it's still warm.
the bugs here are swollen and exotic. and the mosquitoes will dine on you, even if you coat your body in DEET every time you leave the house. of course there are some areas far worse than others, but we are fresh meat here wherever we go. my body is dotted with fresh bites as the old ones fade and allow me to forget about them.
"weh di guan, bally?" that means "what's up, friend?" while English is the official language of Belize, everyone speaks Belizean Creole... maan. there is also Spanish, Mayan dialects, Garifuna, and more sprinkled throughout the country. all trainees have Creole classes.
and all trainees eat rice and beans, or beans and rice, often served with stewed chicken, fried plantains, and potato salad. i am a pescatarian- the only meat i consume is fish. i am grateful to learn that maintaining this diet in Belize is not only feasible, but usually rather easy. at the market we encounter the largest avocados and papayas i've ever seen. the watermelon and lime juices are delicious; the mangoes are heavenly. due to our initial homestays with local families throughout training and our first three months of service, it will be a while before we will have the opportunity to cook for ourselves. for now, we eat what is put in front of us.
these are the easy changes.
and then there is more to adjust to.
you are told to expect frustration- in your community, at your job, with whatever languages you're now expected to communicate in, with the sexual harrassment on the street...
"white gyal!" "sexy!" "psssst! pssst!" "snowflake!" "beautiful!" "sweet white lady!" it's always there. some days the spoonfuls of "harmless sexual harrassment" that are shoved into my head are bigger than others. some days, they're just passing comments you can shrug off, "ignore." but some days the men call out to you, their persistent voices following your steps until you simply can't hear them anymore. and it feels awful. the degradation of women is strong and accepted on the streets. it's not the comments that make the pit of my stomach churn- it's the realization that in these men's minds, what they're doing is perfectly okay.

so far, the largest hill to climb for me has been that a love of mine simply could not fit in my dufflebag. nothing is perfect, but this felt pretty close. upon arrival, i had this constant, nagging sensation that i was missing out on an alternate life of happiness back in the States. good job, wonderful family, life-long friends, safe and respectful environment for females, and an inspirational human connection. i joined peacecorps and came here with a passion that is slowly slipping and i feel a pull to be back home.
within less than two weeks of being here i find myself searching to answer this: what is life really about? is it about finding love? or is it about finding yourself? this is the first time i've had to choose between an amazing love or what could possibly be an amazing self-discovery. i suppose stepping on that plane to come here means that i've determined that there's a personal journey i must take to find the answer. it's a risk i had to take.

i'm exhausted. emotionally, mentally, physically. i sit on the balcony of our training center and prepare to disappear via my headphones. i put on Andrew and close my eyes; memories of home wash over me as the rain falls, and everything feels bittersweet. but when i open my eyes again, i smile. because i am living in belize and i have an unwritten adventure ahead. and while nothing is perfect, maybe this is close enough for now.