Saturday, September 16, 2023

I used to come to Belize every Easter and every 10th of September, until that changed to every Independence Day celebrations! The thing about landing at the Philip Goldson was that the moment you deplaned, I deplaned, I felt that I was home. The warmth, the smell of home, like the fire hearth, was so welcoming, so comforting! It was as if though you never left, just had been away for a long weekend. That’s what coming back home felt like. You stepped out of the airport and were met by taxi drivers whose faces were very familiar, or to your ride waiting for you; you were back home. You took for granted the fact that you were going to have a good time out at the cayes or marching in a parade, and hopefully it wouldn’t rain? Coming home, life was good, and that Belizean warmth flowed through your body, through your veins, into your heart! Coming home was like the fluttering pulse of a yearning.

I believe that if you live in Belize you don’t notice the subtle changes that occur in your day-to-day life and your surroundings. It’s like being married for a long time and your spouse looks the same to you; even as the years and age reshape the physical self, they look the same to you. The familiarity and the love and devotion do not allow you to see or acknowledge the greying, the weight gain, the wrinkles. Sure, you do know that things are changing, but again, you know, familiarity. Things just creep up on you and you accept them as though they were always there. I suppose this happens universally, but I’m talking about the Jewel, home!

In the last, let’s say five years, that feeling of warmth has changed to excitement filled with apprehension. Excitement for being home and apprehension as to what to expect. The airport is now world class and very busy, which is a good thing, I guess. Passing through immigration and customs is a breeze, especially if your baggage is carry-on only, and then you step outside. You don’t recognize anyone; even the cabbies don’t look familiar anymore. As you enter the suburbs of the city, Belama in my case, you notice the changes in architecture. You notice that Belize isn’t Caribbean anymore; it’s a mixture of Central America, the United States, India and Lebanon and Chinese architecture, all mixed into one. Gone are the wooden structures; I counted one only in my sisters’ neighborhood; they live alongside each other in Belama. I love a good old two-story wooden structure with the verandah and those wooden blinds. You have to go into the heart of the city to find those, these days. Progress does not allow time to stand still, but the changes still are so glaring and surprising.

The color of the population has changed dramatically, not only because of the mixing of the races, but also because of the significant influx of foreigners who have made Belize their home. The smells, the music, the food cooking as you walk by, are different. Makes one feel like a jilted lover, coming home and finding someone else has moved in.

Being a very nostalgic person, I miss my old houses, my thatched roofs, my mule and cart, my bicycle cart, Miss Figaroa panades, where late into the night on Orange Street she would be dribbling in the frying pan, dozing while cooking the best-tasting panades! I miss Burke’s ice cream and Rocky’s cow foot soup, in which he allegedly used the same bones over and over. I miss Meighan’s [“Meegan’s”] beans at 3:00 in the morning. I miss bocatora and peccary and armadillo meat. I miss the familiar faces I would meet on the street. I miss the Creoleness of the old capital!

Coming back to Belize is not like coming home anymore. It’s more like visiting another tourist destination to me. I don’t feel that emotional warmth. How sad is that? And mostly, I miss my friends.

Glen.