When I took my driving test as a teenager way back in 1964, you had to navigate the impossible curve into Berkeley Street from Albert Street West, and then you had to stop on the climb up Pound Yard Bridge, double clutch into first and continue the climb without a jerk. In those days there were no automatic transmission vehicles in Belize, British Honduras, and you couldn’t buy your driver’s licence. Things have changed.
Traffic in Belize City today is a proposition which will make you nervous and frustrated. The first thing you should understand is that on weekday mornings the old capital traffic is swollen beyond capacity, so to speak, by a plethora of buses streaming in from the Western and Northern Highways with thousands of students and workers and vendors and shoppers. Add to that all the giant container trucks and various construction vehicles. Throw in the tourist buses and the occasional crane. And then understand that the three small bridges across the Haulover Creek became inadequate fifteen years ago, so that the Belcan Bridge is always, always a traffic jam just waiting to happen.
Then, the temperature gets ratcheted up on weekday mornings by the taxi drivers. They run traffic lights and bolt in and out of the traffic with no respect for the law or their fellow drivers. They are trying to make a living, and the most money is available when students are going to school and workers are headed to work. They figure if they get caught in a traffic jam they don’t make their day’s pay. So, after the PUDP politicians who have refused to build the fourth bridge, it is the taxi drivers who cause things to begin unraveling.
The traffic wardens in Belize City, it appears, are not as concerned with the smooth flow of traffic as they are with collecting money for the traffic treasury. They will set up a traffic checkpoint any time and any place with no regard for anything except whatever financial quotas they have to fulfill. There are times when their attitude reminds one of a piranha. I have harsher things to say, but, then, you see, I have to drive in this city without pity. So, I will hold my peace.
Apart from the fender benders which ruin traffic around Belcan in a split second, the police checkpoints can be really cruel. I always try to control myself for the police checkpoints, because they often have to do with increased crime surveillance on the domestic front. And then there are times when the police and the army have to become very serious because there are people who have international activist credentials who live amongst us. If they do not live amongst us, then for sure they are always passing through. The recent immigration disclosures only confirm what has been so for decades in Belize.
Two weeks ago my friend from Corozal Town, Clinton Uh Luna, drove in from Finca Solana to Partridge Street. Just the short distance from the Northern Highway over Belcan on to Boulevard and down Mahogany into Partridge, he was involved in a fender bender. The other driver chased him to Amandala and demanded a hundred dollars. Clinton told me the incident was the other person’s fault, but he eventually settled with him for fifty. The city is rough, and getting rougher.
On Wednesday night the weather was bad, a lot of rain. Albert “Pappy” Smith and Arturo Azueta travelled all the way from San Ignacio to be guests on my radio/television show. They reached a few minutes late, so I ran the show fifteen minutes overtime. This was out of respect and appreciation to them, and for beloved Cayo. I hadn’t seen these guys for many, many years, so after the show we had to continue talking, along with two of my younger brothers.
It was after nine when I left the yard. I had to pick up my granddaughter from one of the streets in St. Martin’s, which is a tough area. The rains made driving that much trickier on the narrow streets, but I got to Mahogany all right enough. Then, I remembered I hadn’t given my Camalote brother gasoline money for driving Pappy and Turo from Cayo. I swung back to Partridge, but Colin had just left, and now I am headed north again to Mahogany on a narrow street.
I am praying not to meet any traffic on this street, which has vehicles lined up on the western side because of a mechanic shop. At this hour of the night when it is raining and chilly on Southside Belize City, the average citizen will be wrapped up at home. Only the gangster gunmen will be out, and the policemen who have to chase them.
A small car swung into the street from Mahogany. He has the right-of-way. But, in order to give him that right-of-way, I would have to back up about half a block in the dark on a flooded street. I decide to gamble that he can drive. But, as I move over to the side, I see that a small wooden bridge on my right is broken, so that if I am not careful I will slip into the drain. This makes things a little more dicey.
I figure he has ten inches to play with. So, I am side by side with him, but I have to stop because I don’t have any margin for error on my right. If he hasn’t bought his licence, all he has to do, on my left, is continue straight. But, he stops. I roll down my window, and he immediately addresses me in an unfriendly voice, cautioning me about his rear view mirror and what my insurance will have to pay.
I do not reply, because I realize I am in danger, and plus, he has the right-of-way. I became convinced of the danger when I see, as we finally clear each other, that he has no licence plate on his vehicle. I reach home safely, and I am relieved. But why should this be so? I am not in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Belize City streets are becoming more and more lawless where traffic is concerned. The thing is, most of our streets are already narrow and people park how they please.
I almost forget to mention that Belize’s ancient custom of walking in funerals through the city streets makes traffic matters that much worse.
In Japan, which is a small country with a great many people, they have developed a culture of extreme personal courtesy in order to avoid friction. Belize City is a crowded city, Jack. Things will get worse in the weeks leading up to the Pascua. All I can say to you is think Japanese, think Japanese.