Friday, August 15, 2008

A Postal Challenge

“Ms Birdie!” exclaimed Dan, a 13 year-old student who greeted me as if we hadn’t seen each other in decades, but actually we see each other almost every day. And everyday he puts the same amount of excitement into his greeting. Dan’s going to town to get a new football with the money his uncle gave him. I’m going to town to mail a letter.

Mail in Belize remains a mystery to me. The person in my village who collects and receives mail – otherwise known as the postman, except that he doesn’t distribute mail – is amazing. He’s also the PTA president and manager of a small grocery store. He is authorized to perform marriages and willingly gives out advice and information to anyone who asks. Often, he’s also hard to find. Most weeks he goes to town on Thursday to deliver mail to the “Post Office” so last Wednesday I went to his store to ask him to initiate the process of mailing a letter for me. He wasn’t there. His assistant told me to come back at 5 that day. I did. He still wasn’t there. The next morning I was happy to see him at the store. We exchanged greetings in Garifuna (he’s also helping me practice speaking Garifuna). “Buiti binafi. Ida biangi, Ms Birdie?” the post man says cheerfully.

“Magadietina, angi buguyu?" I reply, trying as hard as I can to be understood. It comes out something like “My gad, a teen. On gay ba goo ya?” Expectantly I wait for assurance that he, too, has no complaints. “May I give you a letter to mail?” I asked.

“I am not going to town this week. I am busy with the Garifuna festival. Next week will be soon enough for your letter?” Only a hint of question was in his voice. I knew that “next week” was acceptable for most village business, but my letter had a Virginia destination along with a sense of urgency. If I wanted my letter to have any chance of reaching Virginia this month, I needed to take action. That’s when I decided I would take the bus to town the next day to hand my letter to the town Post Master.

I set the alarm for 5:30. The sun normally wakes me around 6, but this morning I wanted to be sure I’d be waiting at the bus stop by 6:50 given the imaginative bus schedule that adds to the village allure. Today the bus came at 7:05. Dan and I had just greeted each other when we saw coming down the road the big yellow school bus converted to “Mr. Choco’s Bus.”

Dan and I are lucky: we live near the starting point for the bus run so we have our choice of seats. But by the time the bus traverses the main road of the village and heads out to the Southern Highway, there are usually a few people standing in the aisle. And before we arrive in town even more riders will be standing because the bus driver will pick up anyone along the way who waves at him. This morning Dan heads for the back of the bus and I take a seat behind the bus driver. In about forty-five minutes, Dan will be shopping for his football and I’ll be walking from the bus stop to the Post Office. I may stop at Val’s Hostel, Ice Cream Parlor and Internet Store where I’ll get a cup of coffee and check my email – after I mail my letter.