When I arrived in Belize City late Monday morning, I asked a women, Bridget, if she knew where Regent Street was, as that's where my hotel was. She cheerfully said she did, in fact it was the same street she lived on, and she'd be happy to walk me there. She talked along the way about a number of things, but what sticks out for me is the information about herself. I learned about her children, her work and sometimes lack of it, her boyfriend being out of work, and how hard it is for them to make a living.
We found my hotel, and after depositing my belongings, we went in search of something to drink. I told Bridget, then, what I wanted to do with my time in Belize and my needing to make arrangements to get to Honduras. She said it was my lucky day because she was a tour guide and would be happy to help me with all of that. On the way to the pier, where she said all my plans could be made, we stopped at her home to see her boyfriend and son. We made it to the pier, and I gathered information about boats and buses and was dismayed to learn that I'd either have to return to Guatemala on Wednesday or stay in Belize two more days to take the boat. Just what I'd seen of Belize City and the expense of it helped me decide to leave on Wednesday.
After gathering the information, I had to get money from the ATM. Now, I know better than to let anyone into that little vestibule when I'm using my debit card. I know that. And yet ... I stepped into the vestibule, and Bridget said, "I'm just gonna come in and enjoy the air conditioning. I won't look while you're getting money. I'll turn around. You can trust me." I felt my heart drop and didn't say a word. I withdrew some cash and then realized it wasn't enough. I inserted my card again and withdrew more cash. I remember putting the money in my travel pack and Bridget saying, "Take your time. We're in no hurry."
Writing this just now, it occurs to me that she had been watching that second transaction or she wouldn't have known what I was doing. Anyway, I don't recall removing the card the second time (I've made that mistake here in the states, too), I didn't realize I didn't have it until later in the day.
We returned to the pier, where I bought boat tickets to the island and my bus tickets back to Flores, Guatemala, and San Pedro Sula, Honduras. As I'm paying for the bus tickets, Bridget asked me how I thought she was as a tour guide, that some people really like her personality. She also said that sometimes she gets really lucky and wealthy Americans will hire her to show them the island and then take her out to a really nice lunch. I told her she didn't get lucky with this American. I asked her what she generally charges for her services, and she said that she leaves that up to people and that she wasn't going to charge me because I was her friend. I gave her the equivalent of ten US dollars and told her that I just wanted to be by myself and walk around. She said okay, that she was going to go to the store right then and buy her son some milk, and that she would stop by the hotel in the early evening.
"You can trust me." "You're my friend." They're statements you wouldn't expect to bring you a sense of dread, and yet that's just what they brought me. I work with high-risk sex offenders who score high in psychopathy. I know "glib and superficial charm" when I experience it, and my radar went off about this woman, and I didn't pay attention to it.
I don't know what made me think of it, but I discovered that I didn't have my debit card. I checked my hotel, all my pockets, and the ATM machine. I called home (for free, thanks to the manager of the hotel!), and a friend helped me cancel the card. I ran into Bridget a short while later and asked her if she knew where my card was. I mentioned that I couldn't recall removing the card after the second transaction, and she told in great detail exactly what must have happened. I told her it was no big deal as I'd cancelled the card already and no one could use it.
I didn't see any more of Bridget. I made arrangements to have my laundry done and then walked around town, crying much of the way. I found a bit of sanctuary in a church that had to be unlocked as it was after visiting hours, and I'm grateful for the man who did that for me. Then I saw a sign for American Airlines at a travel agency! I was told that changes to international flights had to be made at the main office and was told where to find that. I trekked all the way there, reluctant to use the little cash I had for something as non-essential as a cab ride. I found the main office and made arrangements to return home nine days early.
My friend was wiring money to me Tuesday morning, and Monday night, I needed to find a restaurant that took credit cards. I found one, had a $22.00 dinner, and tried really hard not to think of the homeless people I passed on the way to the restaurant or the fact that it would be dark as I returned to the hotel. The next night, I had money and could have eaten anywhere, but there were only two restaurants open within walking distance, the one I'd been to the night before and one that would have given me my meal in Styrofoam. I passed a number of people eating on the street, in the same place I was certainly they'd sleep that night, as I searched for something to eat. I ended up buying a single bottle of milk and returning to my hotel to drink it with some cereal I'd bought a few days earlier for munchies ... all the while knowing it is still so much more than millions of people would have that night.
Tuesday morning, I went to church. I'd missed communion on Sunday, and while I truly enjoyed the Mayan ruins at Tikal (a spiritual experience of its own!), I don't enjoy missing Eucharist. Mass was held in a small chapel off the main sanctuary, and I cried through much of it. I didn't circulate during the peace and few people greeted me. At the end of the service, one woman asked me if I was visiting, and when I said I was, she talked about herself and the two women for whom she provides home health care and brought with her to church. Neither of the two clergy approached me after the service.
Tuesday afternoon, I went to Caye Caulker. It turned out that no one went out snorkeling in the afternoon, which is information no one shared with me and I didn't know to ask. I walked around the island, drank a bottle of grape soda, took lots of pictures, and reflected on the events of recent days.
Here are a few of those reflections:
- When you're looking for a refuge, as I was going to Belize, it's more than disappointment or frustration when you discover it's no refuge at all ... only more of the same that sent you in search of refuge in the first place.
- I was identifying with my patients' victims -- always feeling a mark just because you look a certain way and people are making assumptions about you.
- I was identifying with my patients, too -- suspicious, paranoid, believing the world is an unsafe place where everyone has to look out for themselves because no one else will.
- I want to go home before I don't recognize myself and don't like at all who it is I see.
- What does a lifetime of deprivation and desperation do to the spirit of man ... if my spirit was this ... compromised ... in such a short while, especially given that I could buy my way home ... and had done just that?
- What does it say about me that I couldn't make it twelve weeks and/or that I bought my way home out of a situation that millions of others are consigned to?
The next morning, I boarded a bus to return to Guatemala, and I remember thinking, as I waited for the bus that was late, that people probably lied to me and the bus didn't leave from there at all, that I would miss it, and be stuck there for another two days.
It really was time for me to leave, if I was going to categorically dismiss all the people of Belize City as liars and con-artists.
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