Thursday morning began much like the others all week except this would be our last in Corazol. I ordered, The Belizean for breakfast, two pancakes, two eggs, sausage and hash browns. Plus, I had some Papaya that the locals say is good for your stomach. This morning we followed Mac and Jeremy along with the others in our little four wheel drive to the fish farm. They needed help with the fish harvesting so we were all recruited. We drove to Pachikhan, a small village on the outskirts of Corazol. We followed their truck down the main dirt road and onto a small path marked by two tire marks and deep ruts that was barely large enough for a vehicle to pass. We drove about a quarter of a mile to a clearing with a small wooden sign marking the edge of the camp. We parked, unloaded from the cramped car, and took a look around. The land had a small house and a plowed area where crops I didn't recognized were beginning to sprout. There were two pits filled with water the color of chocolate milk about 50 by 100 ft. where the Talapia were being grown. Even though the camp was only a short way from the main road, the encampment was entirely hidden by the dense jungle surrounding us. It was easy to see how illegal marijuana crops could go completely undiscovered by law enforcement agents.
Along with two local men who were also residents of the camp, we grabbed a large net fashioned with wooden floats on one edge and lead weights on the opposing. It was only slightly longer than the width of the chocolate pond and we all held a length while coordinating our efforts while we walked the net to the edge of one of the pools. The mud was soft and squished through my now bare toes as we wadded into the cool water. The idea was to let the end of the net with the weights to drag across the bottom of the pond while the top stayed above the waterline forcing anything alive toward the far end of the pool until finally ensnaring them in the net. This proved to be more difficult than first thought as the pool was deeper than anyone had anticipated. The difficult part was to not leave a gap in the net and the bottom of the pond allowing an escape point for the fish to wriggle out of. On our first pass, we did catch some fish but clearly not as many as the locals were expecting to see. Learning from our mistakes, our second pass yielded better results and enough fish to satisfy the group allowing us to get out of the Willy Wonka-like pool. The locals could not believe that we weren't freezing after multiple comments about how it felt like ice water to them. I said it didn't feel much different from swimming in the Cahaba River back home in Alabama when I was a kid, and it was actually a little warmer than I remembered that even being. They scooped the fish out of the netting and into a cement tub on the bank with large plastic buckets. The then ran a screen through the water in the tub that helped separate the smaller fish from the larger ones. They would then pull out the bigger Talapia and sell them at a local market. An occasional fish would escape the grip of the old man and fall victim to the skinniest sickly looking dog I have ever seen. You could see every rib, vertebrae, and leg bone in its body. Its gruesome features made me feel uneasy and was somewhat disturbing.
After we completed the task of putting the net back in its place on a wooden fence, it was time for Zac and I to head back to our apartment and pack our things to head for San Pedro island. We had a 3 o'clock flight at the Belize City Airport to catch and didn't want to be late. We said our goodbyes to everyone whom we had spent the past few days with, exchanged contact information and headed back to the Hotel Maya. On our way to Belize City we stopped by Nardo's house. Nardo is a young man who had attended many of the previous Sports Servants camps and Zac had grown very close with. He is an excellent student but had recently let us know that he was going to have trouble paying for his next set of classes at the University he was attending. Zac gave him enough BZ to cover most of his expenses and got a copy of his report card from the previous semester. He had done very well but told us he was disappointed as it was not one of his best reports. I think he had one or two B's and the rest were A's. Zac went to the car to get a small video camera to lend Nardo to make a highlight tape of himself playing soccer so he could give the footage to college coaches in the U.S. and hopefully get a scholarship. In Zac's absence I began to as Nardo questions. As we talked I realized that he indeed was very special. Well spoken, intelligent, and passionate about business and economics, I saw a little bit of myself at his age in him. While it was very encouraging to know that Nardo was going to get a chance at an education because of the support that Sports Servants was affording him, I couldn't help but wonder about the hundreds of kids just like Nardo who had no help or means of bettering themselves. It was scary to think about how many others, not only Belizeans, are out there capable and willing, but will never get the opportunities Nardo or I have been privy to.
We returned the Diahatsu back to the Avis dealership and bought our tickets for the puddle jumper to the island of San Pedro. As we boarded the small single prop plane I became suddenly aware of the crowd of tourists around me. This was the first time since touching down in Belize that I had been around anyone but the local Belizeans. I also became acutely aware of the tourist shops in the airport that were put together and obviously meant to attract foreigners. The feeling of sickness that followed this discovery only grew more prominent as we landed in San Pedro and checked into our resort hotel room. As unbelievable as it seems, I felt like an outsider for the second time on this trip. My surroundings seemed so void of any kind of reality. It all felt like an elaborate vale put before my eyes to distract me from the real Belize. The people I was talking with and trying to help were suddenly taking my bags, calling me sir, and acting as if I were somehow their superior. I wanted to tell them, "I'm not one of the tourists, I'm on your side, I care about you not this stupid vacation!: It was upsetting, but the people were clearly well versed in the scenario and there was nothing I could do to either change or prevent it. Thousands of visitors come to Belize each year never even getting to or caring to see the real country. This was some sort of adult Disney Land manufactured and solicited to the taste of rich, self-centered and ignorant tourists. It was as if I had been exposed to the real world for the past week and I was suddenly back in a mechanized world staring at droves of people walking through their lives like zombies. Slaves to their possessions, their status, their way of life and the most frightening aspect of these drones had nothing to do with them at all. The thing that terrified me the most about this plastic world in front of me was that until now, I was one of them. I was no better than any of these blissfully unaware people that now lay before me. How could I have been so blind before and would I still be so oblivious if not for this life changing experience? Most assuredly the answer was yes. This epiphany hit me like a ton of bricks and shook me to the core. We spend the afternoon sitting by the beautiful coastline looking out into the infinite emerald blue of the Caribbean. I had much to think about, and my mind began to contradict all previous understanding of what this trip was supposed to be prior to arriving. Even though I found myself in a beautiful paradise with any modern convenience at the tip of my fingers I truly would have rather stayed in Corazol surrounded by the truth. I would have rather enjoyed the warmth of the children who's smiles and laughter were so much more real and alive than anything in this manufactured tropical paradise could ever hope to achieve. Compared to before, everything around me seemed fake and dull as if looking at an old photo whose original hues had long faded with time. My emotions were in conflict.
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