Saying goodbye to an Ozark original April 14, 2010
Posted by Tracy in : Uncategorized , 14comments
Oh come, Angel Band
Come and around me stand
Oh bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home,
Oh bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home.
ROSELLE, Iron County, Missouri – Redbud blossoms splashed the spring-green hills the day my mother called me home from Guatemala. The freshness in the air and the gentleness of the colors were medicine to my eyes, and yet they pained me, knowing as I did how my grandfather loved this time of year.
Normally, I thought, he would be out on his Missouri Century Farm planting right now, or standing on the banks of an Ozark stream or pond, reeling in a bucket full of fish to share with family and friends.
He was struggling to manage basic functions when I finally reached his bedside – breathing and swallowing were a painful chore. His already birdlike frame seemed even tinier and frailer than when I had left him in December. He was asking to be released, to be allowed to go home to his Lord.
He groaned when he saw me. “Oh, I didn’t want to be such a bother,” he managed to get out.
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From Guatemala to Missouri: Swallowing the sadness April 13, 2010
Posted by Tracy in : Guatemala , add a comment
Goodbye, Livingston
GUATEMALA CITY – I greeted the sunrise at the Livingston boat dock with a heavy heart, clambered aboard the lightweight skiff that passes as a ferry and braced myself for the sea-spray-slamming commute to Puerto Barrios, where I would catch the bus to the capital, spend the night in a hostel and grab the first flight home to Missouri.
There in the harsh and sterile environment of a hospital lies my grandfather, the farmer, a man who can’t stand to lie still or be indoors for too long. Weakened to the point of surrender by a string of virulent infections, he asked the doctor yesterday to give him a pill to end it all. Hardy as an old oak tree, he’s weathered many a storm, and this isn’t like him. He’s going home with my parents tonight on hospice care. Two days might be too long, but there’s no help for it. I’m praying to be able to see him once again, but more importantly, for the pain to end.
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Holy Week Garífuna style: Where Jesus is Black April 4, 2010
Posted by Tracy in : Guatemala , 4comments
LIVINGSTON, Guatemala – I knew I had finally found the place when I heard the music. Completely unlike the punta drums and reggae blaring from the bars and restaurants a few blocks away, a dramatic instrumental selection drifted through the dusty streets. A crowd had begun to gather around the place they call The Minerva – a small building undistinguishable to my eye from any of the others, except that the door was covered with a white sheet and palm fronds, and guarded by a young boy with a spear in a red robe, white kneesocks and sandals and a red cowboy hat, pinched up into a pointy crest.
Semana Santa, or Holy Week, is a grand affair throughout Latin America, with spectacular processions and dramatic reenactments of the Easter story taking over the streets and lasting for days. Here in Livingston, the event is traditionally organized by the Garifuna community, and carried out with an unusual African-Caribbean flair.
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Loving Livingston, Guatemala April 2, 2010
Posted by Tracy in : Guatemala , add a commentEmancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
–Redemption Song, Bob Marley
LIVINGSTON, Guatemala — I arrived by boat five days ago to this half Garifuna, half Maya fishing village on the Caribbean. The only way to arrive, in fact, is by boat. 
The 45-minute trip from Punta Gorda was a carnival ride without the safety features, and by the end, we were all soaked with sea spray, clutching each other and exhausted from screaming, so I was in no mood to deal with the hustlers trying to get me to go on their tour or head to their hotel. I strapped on my pack and headed straight up the hill to immigration, past the stalls of Bob Marley T-shirts, Rasta hats and finely embroidered and woven Maya crafts.
Dining with Gomier, The Rasta veggie man April 1, 2010
Posted by Tracy in : Belize , add a comment
PUNTA GORDA TOWN, Belize – The best meal I had in Punta Gorda was prepared by a Rastafarian vegetarian by the name of Ignatius “Gomier” Longville. And the conversation was even better than the food.
I asked Gomier to explain to me how he came to be a vegetarian. “I consider myself a Rasta man,” he said. “To be a Rasta man you have to be respectful; what I don’t like for myself, I shouldn’t like for you.
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