Economically marginalized! What the #$@% does that mean?

“As ever, the worst affected people in Belize are those who were already economically marginalized before the storm hit.”

Believe it or not this sentence was written in a press release just after hurricane Dean hit the northern part of Belize. I looked up marginalized in my thesaurus and it wasn’t there, so I tried ‘marginal’ and got trivial, unimportant, insignificant, minor, or secondary. I’m guessing, (because I try to see the best in people), that this person must have been trying for political correctness in describing the poor people of Belize. But – what the hell – why didn’t she just say poor people? Besides, being poor is not an insult to the poor, it’s an insult to the government who does not provide opportunity for prosperity to those who truly would put it to use. Like incentives for small business, tax breaks, education for better methods of farming etc. I won’t go into any more about politics, (for now) even though there is much more to be said. There, I’ve had my rant for the day.

I’m back home now and all is well. The cats are fine and all three chickens are accounted for. The runaway decided to come back on her own. Yeah! My seven bucks didn’t go down some bush-dog’s gullet after all. They have names now, and have become a part of my strange family and therefore cannot be eaten. The rooster is Randy, the white hen is Gertie, after a favorite aunt, and the little brown one is Beatrice.

Hurricane Dean comes calling…

I’m a little behind on the blog due to a fellow named Dean. Fortunately, I live south of where the hurricane did its damage, but on Monday morning no one was sure of where it might go. The area was being evacuated due to the impending winds potentially bringing down trees. In case you haven’t guessed, there are a lot of trees in the jungle. There was also a chance of flooding so it was time to batten down, pack up, leave the cats a mountain of food and head out towards the western border. The chickens would have to fend for themselves.

My car refused to start.

I walked three miles to the jungle lodge where my friend worked and saw that everyone was preparing to get out of there too. Ellen lent me her car and I headed back to the house to finish getting things out of harms way.

I packed up anything breakable and stowed them in the cupboards, bagged pictures, books and magazines, then stuffed anything loose under the beds.

It was starting to blow pretty good now, and the rain reminded me of an autumn drizzle in Canada.

After packing a bag, I coaxed the dog into the car and drove back to the lodge. Ellen decided the best place to go would be San Ignacio where her niece lived, so off we went into the wild rainy west!

The weather in San Ignacio didn’t even hint at a hurricane going one close by. It was raining a little, but that was it.

I had a friend who lived very close to Ellen’s niece, so I borrowed Ellen’s car again and drove over to see her. She had company too. Relatives from Belize City had come down to shelter with her. Cindy wasn’t the least bit worried about the weather, she figured God would sort all that out. She was very upset about her parrot Pepper though. Apparently he was frightened by the visitors and flew out the window to a neighbor’s tree across the street. She could hear him squawking but he wouldn’t come home. There wasn’t much I could do to help so I went back and watched some television.

Now T.V. is a big deal for me since I don’t get to watch it in the jungle. We all huddled around and watched CNN to see what Dean was up to. At that point he was battering Corozal in the north of Belize and Chetumal in Mexico and heading across the bay towards Veracruiz. It’s seems we’re safe and Dean is losing steam.

Everybody needs Chickens

I’m probably the least self-sufficient person I know. I don’t cook or bake, have a garden or make my own clothes. So naturally I figured it was time to get some chickens and produce my own eggs. Not actually lay them myself of course. I’ll let the hens do that.

I asked my friend Miguel where to get them and he told me about Miss Donita’s place in a little village not far from me. Off I went with a big Rubbermaid tub to find the perfect pollos.

It turns out Miss Donita does not speak a word of English and since my Espanol is no muy bien a lot of hand gestures and repetitions went on during the negotiations. – A hint on speaking a language that you do not well is: “speaking the wrong words louder does not amplify comprehension.” I learned this firsthand.

The problem was solved when her six year old grandson came to the rescue. Not that he could understand my Spanish any better that Miss Donita but he could figure out what I was asking when I spoke English.

I told him I wanted a rooster and two hens so he disappeared for a while and came back holding a ‘scrawny looking very young up-side-down scared out of its little brain’ bird by the legs.

“How much,” I asked? (“Como mucho?” does not translate well.)

After the translations and a lot of ‘Greek to me,’ I was told 15 dollars. Now this seems a little excessive considering I can buy a whole chicken dinner in town for 5 dollars!

Pointed out next were a white & brown hen about 4 months old and another dark brown bird that looked barely over the chick fluff stage.

“How much,” I asked? (My originality knows no bounds.)

More translating and five minutes of gibbering back and forth brought a sum of 12 dollars for the white one and 7 dollars for the little hen for a grand total of… well, you do the math. I would have tried to barter, but I’m not one of the most patient people in the world, so I just paid the lady.

Their legs were tied (the chicken’s legs that is) and the three of them were plunked unceremoniously into the Rubbermaid container in my trunk for transport back to my place.

Upon opening the trunk back home, I found the Houdini Chicks had all freed themselves from their bonds. One by one they hopped out of the tub, onto the ground and headed for the bush!

I lunged like a linebacker and managed to grab the white one and put her in the coop, (an old dog house reinforced with a chicken wire fenced yard.) Miguel caught the rooster but the little one was headed for parts unknown!

After 3 hours of beating the bush for this 7 dollar chicken, the search was called off and I decided to accept my losses. Poor baby, I don’t think she’ll last the night out there when the predators come out to hunt.

Lara Croft to the Rescue

Thanks for coming back to check on my survival status. I did survive the ants. That last bit about the attack was a little exaggerated, but I swear the rest is absolutely true, including the six bites on my foot, now swollen up like a balloon and itching to drive me crazy.

And the excitement continues…

I live with three cats along with various other pets and jungle life. Diablo is the smallest of them and black as a New York alley. As felines often do, he caught a little bird and decided to bring it into the house to torture and play with before killing it.

I could hear the bird squeaking for mercy and there was no way I was going to let that bird die. I chased them out from under the dining room table and into the bedroom. Diablo dove under the bed. Down on my hands and knees, I pushed the rug towards them until they ran out to the living room.

Finally, he let the poor little bird go and I got it outside. Before I could shut the door, the terrified little bird flew back into the house!

‘The Rock’, a black & white tabby pounced with Diablo close at his heels. I was faster. I grabbed both cats by the scruff of their necks and threw them out the door closing it behind them. “Whew! Finally it’s safe”, I thought, and went to find the bird to let it out.

Cat number three, Cleopatra (who ended up being a boy but is stilled called Cleo) was stalking it! Fortunately for the baby bird, he’s a pretty old guy and slow as molasses so I got to it first. I picked up bird and put it and its poor over-beating little heart into the chicken coop (no chickens yet and the two foot long iguana that the mechanic found at the side of the house and put in there had escaped).

I checked on it a little later and it was gone. So, me jungle girl, Lara Croft, tomb raider and rescuer of winged creatures saved the day.

Okay, that's not really exciting, but it got me pumped!

The Horror!

I just finished my breakfast and found some old bananas that had been in the fridge too long. As I opened the screen door to toss them out I looked down… And screamed out loud like a girl! (Well I am a girl so I guess that’s okay.)

It was a house invasion! Ants, millions and millions of ants! I ran for the bug spray, and then remembered I’d used the last of it on the nasty looking spider from hell yesterday. Panicking, I grabbed a can of roach killer powder and spread it on the ants coming in through the door. Grabbing a broom, I furiously swept them back out the door but that didn’t work worth a darn, they just kept on coming. I ran back into the kitchen. They were creeping through the windows, climbing up the screens, crawling all over the walls devouring everything in their path.

In the dining room they were almost to the ceiling, crawling in swarms toward the living room. I ran into the bedroom and there they were, marching across the walls.

I’m thinking, “These are no army ants. There’s no discipline here. They’re not walking in nice lines. They’re not even going in the same direction. In fact they bump into each other as if they were blind, or maybe zombie ants right out of a Stephen King novel.

“Boots I cried,” and opened the front door to go to my car for boots. Uh oh, I can’t go that way. Ants have taken over the porch. I slammed the door shut and locked it – great idea, that’ll keep em out… duh. Plan B. I shook out my sandals, put them on and went out the back door where it seems the ants have decided they don’t like the roach killer after all.

Boots donned, and back in the dining room watching their progress I tried to think out a plan of attack. The swarm seemed to be thinning out. They’ve stopped coming in the windows and are done in the kitchen. Now they’re all in the living room.

Ah ha, I now have a plan! I’ll do nothing. I’ll just wait and hope they don’t decide to take up house-keeping. Great plan, I sure hope it works.

Wait! They’ve stopped! They’re staring at me. They’re moving down to the floor, coming towards me… Aaaaaaah!!!

Hello from the Belize Jungle!

This blog is new. I'll be writing about all the fun I'm having living in the jungle. I can't wait to get started. Here's a picture to start off with. These babies where hatched outside my window!

Later....

Belize Jungle Girl