Please grant me this exception to lump days one through three of the kids camps into one blog entry. This lump sum is the result of my debt owed to memory, and my deficiency paying my unmerciful creditor, Blogger. Also, forgive the dearth of vivid photographs. The irony is that I am taking hundreds of thousands of photographs on video.
The filmmaking strategy changed for this week. Zac and I began working more as a team with Zac taking on the role of production assistant, producer, and interviewer.
Monday - Josh brought fresh energy, dynamic coaching, and an analytical eye to our first day with the kids. We were disappointed that only Jesus Ek was available to coach the morning camp in San Narciso. There were further distractions because promptly at 8am a caravan of trucks and vans arrived. Suddenly the hurricane shelter/community center/coaching workshop classroom had become a medical clinic. An army of Americans, who looked like weird, high-organized space aliens to me, spilled into the room and began unloading supplies like the industrious leaf-cutter ants in our driveway. Jesus hoped that families coming to the one-day only free clinic would get exposure to our camps. So, poor Jesus had to run back and forth between the clinic and coaching camps. Jesus and Alfredo’s mother is having kidney problems related to diabetes and they are operating on her this week. I am inspired by his dedication to the kids. You would never know that he was looking after his mother simultaneously. The afternoon was better and more Belizeans showed up. I have to admit that I was disappointed with the guys at our nightly meeting. I was the only one with negative “man points” for asking for seconds before we prayed at dinner at Mr. Moralez’ house!
Tuesday morning I awoke to my 4:30am alarm ring. Then I shook Zac’s leg. He groaned. By 5am we were about a quarter of a mile away from the house unloading camera equipment by Corozal Bay. I was going to shoot a timelapse of the sunrise over the bay with Zac silhouetted in the foreground, sitting in a palapas thatched hut, and writing in his journal. The concept was metaphorically to stage Zac’s initial vision for Sports Servants. The footage could also be used at any other time in the video we will be editing from this summer. Zac narrated the first video and if we continue that structure in the updated edit, this footage could come in a handy – a real “wow” image. As we approached the hut we felt the relentless and strong wind licking up off the choppy waves. And in the darkness we noticed a familiar bum, sleeping on the floor of the hut. Bums can really mess up your brilliant filmmaking plans, you know. We decided to shoot it anyway. Zac sat at the opposite end of the concrete table and his feet were beside the feet of our supine sleeper. I raised my voice over the wind to communicate with Zac and I saw the sleepy and confused forehead and eyes of the sleeper peek over the table at us. About 10 minutes into the animation, from the perspective of the camera that is, the silhouette of the sleeper rises out of the earth, packs up his things, and saunters off. Zac continues journaling without a glance. I’m glad he left early because the sunrise turned out to be astounding. We shot on hour of footage. You don’t know how painful it was getting up at 7:30am, though! In the morning I went with Carver and Reid to their camp in Calcutta, another village of East Indians like San Antonio. They were all young kids, it was a beautiful soccer field, and they were really sweet and well-behaved. I enjoyed the change of scene. Carver helped me conduct a great interview with Frank. Frank is a security guard in the free zone. He goes to work from 7pm to 7am, takes a quick nap, and then coaches the children because he loves soccer. An amazing volunteer, indeed! Zac and I were so tired that after lunch we misplaced the truck key (which was hanging from the truck door) and we passed out. I sneaked in a good, one-hour power nap. I couldn’t have made it through the day otherwise. The high light of the day was the walking interview/tour that Lincoln gave Zac and me in San Antonio village. For those of you reading this blog, San Antonio is the East Indian village where Byron lives. It’s the most uncomfortable neighborhood we’ve had camps, if you know what I mean. We ate at Tony’s Hotel for dinner and the service was absolutely horrible. Zac hit his stopwatch and it took one hour and twenty-three minutes to get our appetizers.
Today, Wednesday, we got knock out interviews. We got numerous kids and on camera and tried to follow Osvaldo’s story. His father, Romero Pech is an amazing man. He built his humble wood and tin home, and painted it bright Caribbean blue for his family: his wife, Eden (8 years old), Osvaldo (11 years old), and his daughter (years old). In the back is a small shed and, of course, a clothesline flying a rainbow of laundry, fluttering like Tibetan prayer flags. The house is one large rectangle. Mr. Pech has divided the house in half width-wise with a wall that does not even reach the ceiling. The rafters are visible on top of which is hammered corrugated tin. There is little chinking between the horizontal wood siding that also constitutes the walls. The half of the house that we entered was a beautiful surprise. I think a momentary hush fell on Zac as it did on me. The interior was also painted the same color as the outside, that outrageous Caribbean turquoise. But paintings covered the walls, Mr. Pech’s paintings. Most were beautiful still-lifes. Pitchers, a knife, and a sliced papaya or mango, for instance. In the center of the room was the largest painting, a nearly life-size jaguar reclining on the jungle floor, his head perked up alertly as if the viewer had disturbed him. Another small painting on the opposite wall depicted a felled tree and a cougar growling beside it. On another wall was some kind of fabulous creature that resembled a harpy and a mermaid. The painting that intrigued me most was leaning against a wall in the corner of the room. In this work, a mischievous angel, resembling the barefoot Belizean urchins you see everywhere, wears tattered clothes and holds a tin cup. He stands on rocks in a rushing stream, looking out from the painting and laughing at the viewer. Mr. Pech told us that he had this dream, woke up, and painted it. In the dream he was afraid to drink the water but this angel appeared, playfully scooped up the water, drank it, and proved to Mr. Pech that it wasn’t contaminated. I want to buy this painting. Real Belizean folk art! The most beautiful painting of all was an old portrait of his wife. It was a fine portrait, a really fine portrait. It resembled a Frida Kahlo painting. Her red blouse seemed to radiate out from her heart and surround her head in rays of golden light. I wish I had my still camera with me to take pictures! It turns out that Mr. Pech was born in San Narciso, one of seven brothers. As a young man he would wake up at 3am, workout for an hour, and then go work in the sugar cane fields all day. He was known as the most fit man in town. He also trained in Karate and in Mexican wrestling. In his early twenties he went to Mexico to become a boxer. Once he got married he left boxing. His left hand was injured, though, and he decided to paint to rehabilitate it. Pretty soon friends wanted his paintings. His dad convinced him to at least charge enough money to pay for his supplies. He told me that the three reasons he paints is for concentration, meditation, and relaxation. He began painting murals and taking other commercial jobs from time to time. Then he showed us old photos of his life. He was amazingly fit, the Jackie Chan of San Narciso.
After lunch Zac and I stayed behind at the house to plan some things out. After two hours online I finally figured out how to get to Guatemala City by bus. My current plan is to ride with Zac and the others to Belmopan early Friday morning. (They are going to the capital to meet with people at the Embassy. Go Sports Servants!) On their way they are swinging through Belize City to pick up Fitz. They will drop me off and I will take a taxi into Belize City to hang out. At 2:30pm my air conditioned express bus leaves for Flores and arrives there at 7:30pm. Then at 9:30pm I continue on an 8-hour overnight bus to Guatemala City. Claudia is supposed to arrive on Saturday but I haven’t heard from her. I sure hope she will be there. I plan to stay with her for a day or two before heading to Lago de Atitlan with a short stop in Antigua. After surmounting boiling volcanoes ringing the lake I will return to GC, rejuvenate at Claudia’s house, and then head back to Corozal. I am really tempted to stop in Flores on the return trip. From Flores you can hire a guide to take you on a three to five night expedition into the jungle, literally, where you battle mud, ticks, mosquitoes, and the rainy season. There are no campsites or shelters. Then you arrive at the greatest complex in the Mayan world, El Mirador. The tallest Mayan temple is buried in the jungle here, El Tigre, which rises 18 stories above the forest floor.
In San Antonio this evening the camp went fabulously. Josh gave a great interview and I shot B-roll of the soccer game and of some beautiful children. As we were leaving new recruits arrived, the girls: Abby, Ellie, Presh, and Melanie. David, who had left to catch a bus to Belize City and eventually a plane home, showed up because his bus never arrived on Corozal. We all went to dinner at the Chinese Restaurant, got hustled by a San Antonio kid wiping down our cars without permission, and came home. A few minutes ago as I was writing the last sentence a roaring sound started coming from outside. A terrifying wind had kicked up and the rain came down in torrents. The tallest palms whipped back and forth like a dinosaur was barreling through the jungle. It looked disturbingly eerie in the dark. This is the natural world of the Mayans, filled with magic, and certainly haunted.-AR
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