I rose early to quietly greet the morning. Tiptoeing around the kitchen, I put on the kettle before making my way to the patio doors. Outside the palm trees bend in the gusts of wind rushing towards this luxury villa with fervor from the bay in this charming Peninsula in Belize. No hammocks for me this morning, I think to myself smudging my fingerprint as I tap the glass.
The usual routine beckons: editing content, social media correspondence and networking, answering and sending emails, but I can’t be asked today. I sip my tea watching the languid movement of the trees. I shift my focus between the undulating surface of the private pool and the restless seafront as I process the beauty of this location and the warm fuzzies I’m still feeling from the previous evening’s events. A truly enchanting night out among locals and foreigners drinking, dancing, indulging.
The Garifuna people are a blend of Afro-Caribbean people indigenous to these shores. Once a week the local tribes come into town to perform a drum circle of traditional dances. Children ages 7-13 perform alongside adults in matching outfits; a simple two-piece ensemble with appropriately tribal printed hemlines, and white bandanas on their hair. The performers stand to the left of the drummers, tapping their feet in unison, swaying their bodies to the thrum of the drums. The music crescendos as their foraging bodies begin to form a circle in the middle of the wooden floor, which serves as the performance space in this touristy bar by the seashore in Placencia Town.
They challenge one another with rehearsed dance steps meant to entice cheers from the crowd. I’m elbow-deep in my ginger-sesame wings (on special for $1 each) when two of the young girls in the entourage begin to pull surprise-faced strangers from the audience into their dance circle. I chew quicker and wipe the side of my Bilken (the local beer) to wet my fingertips with condensation before wiping them clean (ish) on a paper napkin just in time to accept the tiny dark-skinned hand extended in front of me.
I’m spinning and laughing (and vurping) as the young girl and I twirl around each other. She says she is 14, but doesn’t look a day over eight. I mimic her movements and feed off of her passionate energy as I twist my hips in circular motions. I love dancing, especially when I’m in the mood for dancing. She and I perform for each other as if there’s not a crowd of dozens cooing and clapping their hands madly all around us. I’m lost in this cross-cultural exchange – these moments of happiness go into my memory treasure bank – which are priceless to me.
The show winds down for intermission. A pause I am grateful for because my lungs are on fire. I’m dripping sweat and the contents of my stomach are thoroughly jostled. I grab my things and b-line for the beach hoping to catch my breath while listening to the sound of the rolling waves. Inhaling the salty-sea air in an attempt to satisfy my aching lungs, I stare out into the blackness of the evening’s horizon. Distant flashes of lightning cast magnanimous silhouettes of cloud formations hundreds of miles from shore. Each flash revealing another dark figure huddled in the distance; a group of dark shadows ready stand to rush the shore if properly provoked. Storms constantly brew over the deep sea this time of year gathering strength from the dark waters below.
Lost in this reverie I’m gulping the rushing wind, guzzling it as if it was a tall glass of ice-cold water and I’m parched. I whisper my gratitude into the wind and squeeze my eyes shut to listen to the song nature is creating around me. This moment is colorful and fragile, like the edge of a rainbow. The thinnest of foundations forming with the support of water and light. I lean into the wind, listening to the sea’s song. Feeling its mist soak the ends of my hair. My mind reaches for her, my Mother, in the darkness. A new ritual that has manifested recently during my travels when a moment has captivated me and I want to share it with her. I find a warm happy memory of her smiling face and hear her laugh play like a melody on the wind. My whole heart smiles.
A tiny finger wraps itself around my pinky and tugs me backward. “Coming to dance again with me, Miss?” I open my eyes and stare into the darkness as the sound of my Mother’s laugh drifts out to sea on the night air. I blink hard and wipe my wet eyes, turn to her and with a wild grin, oblige her request.
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***This blog post contains affiliate links and the stay was sponsored by SBRV
