today I went out to the Botanic gardens and helpedwith 120 school kids and then i went and jumped in theriver and sunned my self.  tomorrow is the national elections, so most things are closing up and it’s an official holiday.  i plan to stay home, catch up on cleaning my house, laundry and reading.

This curriculum that I’ve been working on is at a more finished state, so I have to take it to the printer to get it bound and then there is a meeting next week with the MInistry of Education’s curriculum department. We want them to include it into the national curriculum so that we can invite belizean teachers to come to our “teacher’s institute for environmental education” and they can get credit towards their professional development….so we’ll see how the meeting goes. The reason they might not acept it, is because it’s coming from a gringo owned tourist resort…

I’ve been putting in more of an effort to WALK…It does suck while i’m sweating & trudging up steep hills, but i do always feel better. I’ve been wearing headphones while doing it, which really helps.   I’ve had more and more trouble with this ex-boyfriend…yesterday he lied to my landlord’s daughter, saying he had my permission to enter to look
for his social security card…which isn’t at my house…he went in and stole three pictures of me… I was pissed to say the least when I found out.  I walked down and talked to his sister, and told her that she need s to talk to him, or i will report him to the police.

My country director says to avoid going to the police if I can, and if i need to take a vacation to get clearance from my supervisors and let themknow…and he agreed that I should stop dating belizean men!…that’s it….because I don’t feel it’ll turn into a violent situation

Life is never dull

Since the wednesday photo thievery, I hadn’t heard from Mike until this morning. He sent one of his family meembers to my house with a book (self help on how to be a winner) and a note…which i have here.  Let me type it out for you , complete withgrammar/spelling errors so that you too can enjoy it…

Hola Alana Ryan Randall
 Hola Alana Ryan Randall
 I am living please dont hate me because you are the only woman I get to love so much in my life nobody will use your place that you use In the deepest part of my heart I will be loving you for ever because you are my shining star who will be guiding me becaus because you are the woman who who  make me change my life make me do the Right things thats why I need you to be my girlfriend again not now but I make before you leave the country. loser live in classic syle in the never land called Someday i’ll” winner live each day as if their last not in the future, not in the past and someday….. becomes now’ please leave your adress your phone number from your mom house mabe i will not see you before you leave so I could call you at your mom house leave it with faldy my sister all my family love you just like me I love you alana
mike 
I think he may have actually read a bit of the book on how to be a winner, but he didn’t learn anything about spelling.  I’m debating on actually writing him a note back to spell it out for him that I will never be his girlfriend again.

i’m still having mike problems. he came over yesterday and got me all worked up…why? I’ve never felt so much rage towards someone….maybe i did like  him more than just a little….anyway, i’ve never felt like i needed to hit someone or strangle someone like  i’ve wanted to do to him… I think i will seriously need therapy soon! why was i so damn mad?
Because after telling him i don’t want to talk, he hangs around anyway, keeps asking me the same damn thing,
but doesn’t understand my explanations anyway, but his only main concern is that i don’t get a next boyfriend to put shame on him. He does not want to have to see me with another guy. So, he points his finger in to my face saying promise me you won’t…and I tell him to fuck off, who is he to tell me what to do…and i threaten him with the police after he says he’s coming by tomorrow (today)…blah blah blah..
my ulcer is inflamed and i’ve never known anxiety like i know it now.  I’m basically fine, otherwise.the police bit is a
bit of a bluff, especially since i don’t have a phone and would have to use his sister’s phone. The main reason i said it is because after i told my friend about how he climbed through my window obviously uninvited she said, CALL THE POLICE….so Ugh!!!!! these goddamn macho men, annoys the hell out of me.
breathe.
yes, as long as i keep doing that, I will be fine.

I get tired of hearing about stupid gossip being spread about me in the village. The latest: my house is full of cat shit and pee.

January 17, 2003

My PCV group just got smaller. We came with about 34 and now we are down to 23 and that even includes the two transfers we got!!  another pcv just sent an email saying she’s early terminating….

My mom sent me a package i just got today, so that should cheer me up. I haven’t opened it, i’m showing great restraint….it’s nice to wait and open it at home, otherwise, people like to see what you get, and maybe it’ll make them feel bad, or me because i’m not generous enough to share…especially if it involves chocolate!

So, you may know by now that i’ve been dating Mike  in my village. He’s been saying since i met him that he wants me for his wife. and once i started seeing him he is convinced that he’s going  to marry me….and he tells everyone…everyone.
 I just talked with the village chairman and this other guy, oh, apparently mike told them the wedding is the
 24th…this month…or they were just shitting me.
 It was the third time today alone when someone asked me when i’m getting married. I’M NOT FUCKING GETTING
 MARRIED AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

arghhhhhhhhhhh today, i just hate this country.
… I want to put on the brakes. tell him to go away and leave me alone….  that’s now, the problem is that he is a likable
 guy. he’s nice.  I’m attempting to keep my head and think straight at all times.but it can be so  hard.
  I assume he only wants to marry me so that he can get an easy ticket to the states..

Where’s Alanna Now? If you look closely, you’ll see me still tucked away in the foothills of the Maya Mountains alongside the Macal River in Belize, Central America. I’m probably swinging  in the hammock reading or drawing. Or maybe you’ll see me down at the school. I’ve had to substitute teach a couple of times and soon i will be there everyday with the preschoolers.

Something like 16 months in the Peace Corps and I feel up to doing another 16 months easily. I’m sure that I will sign up for a third year, although i’m not sure if I will stay in Belize or transfer to another country. I’ll find out more information soon.

It must be getting cold up there, because the cold front down here has left me bundled up at night as temperatures dip down to 60, or 58. And my little unheated, uninsulated wooden house doesn’t keep me very warm. A couple of blankets, socks and two cats usually do the trick. If I’m lucky there’ll be three cats. One of my cats has not made an appearance at home in five days, so i’m a little  worried.

I accompanied the primary school on a field trip to Caracol, a Maya ruin here in Belize. I hopefully got some great photos of the little ones climbing the ancient temples. We saw some howler monkeys in the trees, but I was much to far to get any good pics. The bus journey was hell, and so far from American ways of doing things. At 7am, over 70 people (students included) showed up to join the trip. The bus arrived. Its 66 person capacity was exceeded before all the students were even on the bus. Oh but those Belizeans! We loaded everyone on, minus ten or so, who followed
behind us in a pickup, with people loaded up in the back. I was stuck in a little seat with two ten year olds and a 6 year old on my lap. the little one had lice in his hair that i spotted right away, and then became paranoid about my own hair becoming infested. nevertheless we managed the 60 mile journey over bumpy unpaved roads through deep bush into the Mountains. The Caracol site is not as excavated as some, such as Tikal in Guatemala, but it does give you a wonderful sense of the power the ancient Maya people had.

I made it home in one piece, though my leg muscles hurt from climbing steep temple steps and my head hurt from yelling and screaming students.

By: Alanna Randall, PCV, EE

October 8, 2001 is a memorable day for me. I packed up a
few of my belongings and boarded the 5 am bus headed north out of Placencia
Village. I had been living there for a little over a month as a Peace Corps
volunteer. My assignment was to work with Friends of Laughing Bird Caye and
educate coastal communities about important environmental issues.

I was leaving my li wooden house on the sidewalk because Hurricane Iris was gaining momentum and
headed towards the peninsula. The mass of swirling red on the radar screen
resembled a bowling ball and Placencia a waiting target.

The bus ride north took me through Dangriga, where
hundreds of people were swarming about like ants, carrying stereos, pigtail buckets
and duffel bags. They, too, were evacuating the coastal town for higher ground.

I arrived in Belmopan, backpack on, a pillow under
my arm and a bag of food (I had not yet bought a pig tail bucket). Feeling like
a refugee, I was still disbelieving about what was about to happen.

While I enjoyed
myself playing scrabble™ with other PCVs at my assigned shelter, hurricane iris
was wreaking havoc on all in its path. Folks that stayed in Placencia during
the storm, talk of seeing houses picked up and thrown by the powerful winds,
which was so loud in their ears. They reported twisters coming from the
hurricane and some say that Hurricane iris had three eyes.

Two days later, with Peace Corps Staff and some
helpful PCVs, we cruised down the peninsula to inspect the damage. First we
checked in on PCV Dave Lansing’s house in Seine Bight village. His house had
some minor roof damage, but many of his neighbor’s houses had been severely
damaged.
Even at this point
I was still hopeful, but with each passing mile south I became more discouraged
as more and more debris and damage became evident. I hardly recognized the
village as some landmarks had been moved or disappeared. So much vegetation had
been cleared that I could see all the way to the sea from the road, unlike
before. Suddenly the PC Land cruiser stopped and I wondered, “where are we?”
But then I saw Beach Bazaar, a brightly painted wooden gift shop now off its
stilts and turned around but still intact. It had been my neighbor.
My house was
nowhere to be seen.  “It’s gone.” I said,
hopping out of the vehicle. “My house is completely gone!” We all descended on
the debris-covered area where my house once stood. The remains had scattered
across the sandy cemetery. I stood there staring in disbelief while Mr. Barbieri,
CD, Ken Goodson, APCD and some strong, helpful PCVs began sifting through the
debris looking for some of my belongings.

As I stared, things became visible. Dresses still on
their hangers were caught on tree branches. I unearthed a boot, never finding
its mate. My medkit was there, the contents all ruined. Clothespins were still
on the line. My bed was pinned down by a wooden staircase, presumably from a
neighboring guesthouse. A ziplock bag of exposed film was found (and later
developed, with only a few rolls ruined.) Many of the clothes I found had
stains on them and a smell that vanished only after repeated washing. My
indestructible Nalgene bottle survived, but it, too, has a lingering smell that
no amount of bleach can remove.
Of the things I
found, I am most grateful for the photos. I’m sorry to say I lost a completed
journal, some photos on my wall, 3 pairs of contact lenses, some sentimental
knickknacks, many CDs, my luggage, and everything that my parents had just sent
me: toiletries, clothes, art supplies.

In the end, that’s just stuff. I was able to move on
and restock with the help and support of Peace Corps, my family and a PCV’s
very generous mother who supplied me with a huge box of household items.

Post-Hurricane, I was in limbo, waiting to discover
what was next. By the end of November it was decided that I would be in Cayo
district, assigned to three different agencies in the hopes that at least one
would work out well for me. It wasn’t until February 2002 that I moved into my
new house in Cristo Rey Village, which was high in the foothills of the Maya
Mountains. (No worries of hurricanes taking this house!) It wasn’t by the sea,
but I found myself very happy to enjoy the view of the hills and the chickens
while relaxing in my hammock.

Words

*

the sky has come down

glistening the land

fresh green

eyes of the countryside

alive & fluttering

awake

*

“Na Na she come”

says Andrew

as I walk up

dirty, dusty

from long road home.

big smiles for me.

*

Beyond me,

 the rain falls in

washed out lines

of watercolor

green turned to grey

red to orange

*

insects begin

their rhythmic ritual

as

 the heat of the day

slips

over the hills

chasing the sun

as

night begins

 to enchant the moon

with

twinkling jewels

 and

singing trees

*

dust filtered sunlight

in evening’s quiet solitude.

Cohune’s palmy finger sway

feather like in the sky

the red sheen of mahogany wood floor

rays of sun’s last shinings on my house

to slip west past my hill,

past Chaa Creek Valley

over Guatemala to the  Pacific ocean

and back to me to rise

at 6am parrot squawking dawn of another day

in Cristo Rey’s Peace Corps simplicity life

*

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