Katie Smiley • Belize
So, a few nights ago, I went to the most laid back metal concert… ever, in the history of metal.
A few weeks ago, I saw a flier for a concert in San Ignacio called “METAL MANIA.” I was immediately excited because: 1. I love metal, and 2. a metal concert didn’t quite seem to belong in Belize. It seemed like a conundrum to me because Belize appeared to lack that certain angry/disenfranchised youth atmosphere and has an overall national spirit would most aptly be described as chill. Metal concerts on the other hand, don’t exactly have a reputation for feel-good times. Depending on the particular evening and flavor of metal, a typical concert experience can range from “high-energy” to “manic mosh-pit massacre.” Now, while I make every effort to avoid the latter, the galvanizing concert atmosphere is precisely where I find the appeal of this genre. Sometimes it gets a little angry, but it’s always exciting and visceral. Personally, I avoid the mosh-pit (mainly due to personal space issues and one almost awful incident at a Flogging Molly concert,) but I love to be around metal’s particular brand of frenzied near-chaos. So I was excited to see what kind of concert Belizeans would deliver.
As I walk up to the concert venue, it becomes immediately clear what’s in store for the evening. Prior to this concert, I had not come across one person in San Ignacio that I would classify as “hardcore” or the like, so I was excited to see some metal-heads come out of the woodwork. I was one of the few people there not wearing a black t-shirt with the name of a very angry band on it. There were even a few dudes sporting Mohawks and extraneous piercings. One girl in attendance looked like she had just stepped out of a Hot Topic, with a wardrobe consisting of white and black striped skinny jeans, plastic bracelets up to the elbow, a black New Moon t-shirt, and black and white checkered vinyl suspenders (worn angstily off shoulder.)
Soon it was time for the music to start. I’m not gonna lie, I had set my musical expectations pretty high. I was expecting to hear some mind-blowing fusion of standard metal with local sounds. I was expecting to have my mind blown. However, I was disappointed/bemused to hear that these bands sounded exactly like every other bad American high school band, born with little musical ability and a deep love of Iron Maiden. I don’t want to trash talk them too much because a few of them were quite talented, but I found it odd that there was a complete absence of local influence to their sounds. However, I soon found out that the local flavor was not to be found in the sound, but in the crowd.
During the bridge of one song, the singer called out to the crowd, “Come on! Headbang! Start the mosh pit!” … and then he giggled. Yes, you read that correctly; the front-man of a metal band giggled at a live show. Before this evening, I thought there were two universal rules: 1. you don’t talk about Fight Club and 2. you don’t giggle at a metal concert. But oh, how wrong I was. The crowd and band members alike were giggling, laughing, and hugging as covers of Slipknot songs echoed in the background. At first I thought that the crowd might just not be feeling the bands or their songs (perhaps they had gotten lost on their way to a Jack Johnson concert,) but I noticed that most people were singing along and seemed to know all of the words- this music was right up their alley. At one point, it looked like moshing was about to commence as two dudes chest bumped, but they quickly hugged it off and returned to their laid-back concert stance. Contrary to the event’s name, it was all metal, no mania.
As strange as it was to me, I found this experience quite enjoyable. The spirit of metal was evoked in a much different way, but it was a pleasantly chill evening. Musical genres evolve in different contexts, but this particularly example leaves me wondering, is it still metal without moshing?
Today, a stranger began a conversation with me with the typical congenial inquiry, “Where are you from?” I quickly replied “Ohio, in the States,” to which he admonished, “Oh really, I thought you were European.” I felt an immediate swell of pride. What could have possibly given him such a notion? Could it have been that I was wearing one of my nicer outfits today (keep in mind that nicer is a relative term since mud, rain, blazing sun, and sweat are a part of everyday life?) Perhaps it was the pretentiously thick book that I was reading? Or maybe the can of sparkling water I was enjoying provided the faulty clue? Either way, I took this as a compliment and now I’m writing this entry to try to fuss out whether or not I should feel guilty about that reaction.
Belizeans have never given me any reason to believe that they think less of or have a problem with Americans. In fact, this seems to be one of the most tolerable and least judgmental countries I’ve ever been too. There are so many different immigrant groups and they seem to get along quite harmoniously (people harbor some ill-will towards Guatemalans, but that’s because they’re larger, better armed, less politically stable, and the two countries have a long-standing border dispute.) However, Guatemalans aside, the people here are very accepting of different ethnic groups and tourists from all places. Belize has recently become an “eco-tourism” hot spot due to its vast rainforests, great marine life, and other luscious natural elements. And it seems as if all doors are open. I’ve never once felt like I was thought of as an ugly American, although this may be because I was thought to be European [cue pretentious hair flip,] but I think it’s likelier that people down here really just don’t care.
However, This “European” comment was significant because it forced me to think a little more deeply about reflexivity, which is basically how you (your presence, background, demeanor, character, style of questioning, etc.) affect the behavior and responses of the people around you. As someone doing ethnographic research, I think it’s extremely important thing to be constantly vigilant about reflexivity. To be effective as an ethnographic researcher, you need to accept that your identity makes it difficult to obtain completely truthful responses to certain questions.
Specifically, here in Belize I am interviewing women who use both traditional Mayan medicine and Western medicine in the hopes of figuring out how the simultaneous influences of these disparate systems affect they way women seek out reproductive care and think about the body. Many things I have read in medical anthropology point to the idea that locals are often ashamed to admit to Westerners that they use traditional healing methods because they do not want to be perceived as “backwards” or “ignorant.” However, I have the utmost respect for the knowledge of Mayan medicine and think Western medicine has quite a bit to learn from it. The last thing I want to be perceived as is another judgmental Westerner who thinks all they do is smoke and mirrors. So far, the results of my research seem positive. My participants have been seemingly open with me about their experiences with medicine.
However, how can I be certain that my identity as a Westerner is not seriously interfering with the honesty of their responses? Other than intuition, how can I gauge the openness and honesty of the person across from me? I know that the answers to those questions (in order) are “it does” and “you can’t,” but reflexivity is a puzzling point of preponderance, so inquire I must.
Cable tv is a stable in Belize. My room and most restaurants around San Ignacio come included with a nice selection of channels. Normally, I only watch tv to feed my growing addiction to the Home and Garden Channel, but, not this week. As most of you know, this is a very special week. It’s a time when sea-farers and land-lovers alike stay fixated to the soft glow of Discovery Channel programming. It’s that time when we squirm in our seats over scenes of insatiable sea monsters. That’s right, it’s SHARK WEEK.
In my short time in Belize, I have found some regular haunts. One of these establishments is a great breakfast/lunch place that is decorated entirely with James Dean posters. Every other time I’ve walked into this place, the tv in the corner has been broadcasting an international news channel. However, on this glorious day, the owner had switched to… SHARK WEEK! I asked him why he decided to switch and he replies, “Oh, this week they’re showing nothing except shows on sharks. It’s great,” to which I replied, “It really is.”
The omnipresent forces of globalization aside, some things in life really are universal: shake weights are ridiculous and sharks are awesome.
“Live every week like it’s shark week.”
Have you ever fallen in love? Have you ever met someone that complements you in such a way that you are, with each passing minute, illuminated, challenged, and inspired to fulfill your potential? Have you ever faced someone for the first time and known, with absolutely certainly, that you would be with them for the rest of your life? Now, I’ve never felt that way about another person, but that was exactly how I felt the day I figured out what anthropology was. I felt as if the entire discipline was constructed around things that I find awesome- human evolution, social justice, foreign and ancient cultures, humanism, cultural understanding, and, of course, Indiana Jones. Anthropology gave me the language to foster a deeper understanding of the arts, medicine, language, religion, economics, and every other facet of human existence that I found captivating. Now, almost exactly five years later, I find myself doing original anthropological research for the first time and I’m unfortunately realizing that there is a dastardly large chasm between my academic/intellectual love for the premise/purpose/possibility of this field and the concrete skill set and personality it takes to pursue it.
During his speech at Northwestern for the GlobeMed summit, Paul Farmer said, “Anthropology is pretty much the only thing you can get a doctorate in by just hanging around.” While this quote obviously over-simplifies the more taxing and tedious aspects of doing anthropological research and preparing a study, at it’s core, ethnographic research really is about just hanging around, talking to, and learning from your study participants. This methodology is an assertion that people, regardless of circumstance or position, are a site of infinite knowledge and should be celebrated for the unique insight they have to share. Intellectually, I completely stand behind this idea. I think that nothing of worth can be achieved without a focus on the staggering capability of humanity and I am constantly excited by the compassion, empathy, and strength of the people around me. Academically, I am completely aligned with the spirit of anthropology that views people, human interactions, and experiential knowledge as the most fascinating area of study and the world’s most precious natural resource.
But let’s face it, when I put all of my academic ideas aside, I am just not a people person.
I’m not quite sure where it comes from because my parents are two of the most genuinely friendly and kind people alive, but I’ve always had a natural tendency to keep to myself and meeting new people has always made me noticeably uncomfortable. More than that, I have an unnatural hatred of talking on the phone (regardless of my affection for the person on the other end,) I constantly wear large headphones as I walk to and from places on campus to avoid talking to people, my personal sanity is entirely dependent upon spending a few hours completely alone each day, and, without a doubt, my worst nightmare is being trapped in a room full of people with those “Free Hugs” signs. If at this point, you’re reading this post and thinking that I am a terrible person, you may be right. My Catholic sense guilt of has been in over-drive about this my whole life. I wish I could write off these behaviors as just being shy, and sometimes, that is the case, but really I’m just an introverted person who is very happy staying introverted.
While it’s debatable whether or not this makes me a bad person, it most certainly makes me a bad anthropologist. How am I supposed to get the most out this experience when I’d rather seek solace in my own head than discover knowledge in others? When I “put on my anthro game face,” right before meeting potential study participants or conducting an interview, I do a pretty ok job of pulling myself together, but it is a constant struggle for me to put out that kind of energy. In other words, my picture-perfect romance with anthropology has hit some road bumps. I love the analysis with every fiber of my being- transcribing interviews and combing for subtext and meaning give me a borderline obscene rush. However, recruiting participants and conducting the interviews… fear upon fears. I don’t think this necessarily means anthropology and I need to break up, but my experience doing research in Belize has called attention to the fact that an introvert does not a good anthropologist make. I will continue to push myself and hope to collect as much knowledge as I can from the people around me. I’m not gonna let my curmudgeonly tendencies keep me from the love of my life.
I’m writing this post while sitting on a Mayan ruin and I’m definitely having an “oh man, my life is awesome” moment. Granted, I won’t be posting this while I’m still sitting here- the ruins don’t have wireless quite yet…
Today, I decided to walk to Cahal Pech, a Mayan site about a 15 minute walk outside of San Ignacio (my walk ended up taking more like 30 minutes because it’s hot as blazes here and, in my typical sweet tooth fashion, I got distracted by an ice cream stand along the way.) It feels weird that I’m able to walk to something as majestic as this. As a fan of Indiana Jones, part of me feels like the price of admission to see something like this should be the pursuit of a top-secret mission with Nazis hot on your trail and thorough knowledge of how to use a bull-whip, instead of just five bucks and a promise not to graffiti.
The site is magical. I don’t mean to sound overly corny, but I hadn’t seen a single butterfly in Belize until today’s excursion and as soon as the ruins came into view, they were flying everywhere around me. There were so many that I was tempted to think parts of the site had been coated in nectar to create a little Disney magic…
It’s overwhelming to be completely surrounded by a structure whose ancestry dates back far beyond anything I have ever known. It has been here through any tangible date I can think of in my mind. That kind of permanence and continuity is staggering. It’s part of the human record, but reaches beyond it at the same time. It reminds me of this line from Gilmore Girls (don’t judge) right after Lorelei purchased the Dragonfly Inn and says, “Here I was thinking that it was part of our lives, but really, for a little while, we get to be part of its.”
I have now eaten Chinese food on three different continents, none of which are Asia.
During my first week, I really tried to eat at only traditional Belizean restaurants in order to get a better sense of the typical culinary experience. The usual meal here involves varied preparations of rice and beans, usually served with fried plantains, coleslaw, and potentially chicken (for the non vegetarians.) I have been thoroughly enjoying this type of food, but the simpering smells of deep-fried deliciousness wafting from the local Chinese restaurants have finally over-powered my desire to experience traditional Belizean food.
I think it’s really interesting to see how a type of food remains true to its roots, while adapting to the local culture. Displaced Chinese restaurants are serving up giant metaphors about cultural adaptation. Case and point, my new favorite food: conch fried rice. This is a dish unique unto Chinese and Belize food and is consequently once of the most delicious and unique things I have ever tasted. The combination of fresh, local conch and excellently prepared fried rice created something greater than the sum of their parts.
And really, it was naïve of me to think that the Chinese food was not as much a part of the local experience as the “traditional” restaurants. There are three Chinese restaurants on the street where I live, at least 4 more located in the surrounding area, and these places are always serving a full crowd. Belizeans love their Chinese food. These restaurants, and all of the other vast contributions of the Chinese immigrants, are just as valid in the shaping of Belize’s culture.
We paint this idea of “traditional” and act like these practices sprang up from “pure” roots, removed from the influence of outsiders, but nothing could be farther from the truth. No traditions are stagnate. There is no such thing as a “pure” culture. We’re constantly interacting, exchanging, and adapting. Your can call it the natural way of things, you can call it globalization, you can call it cultural pollution, but it doesn’t change the realities of its existence or the genuine lifestyles it has created.
One world. One Life.
I have only been in this strange, little country for 36 hours, but I already love it.
It bears all of the traditional markings of a Central American country, but there are so many things that make it an anomaly. For one, Belize is the only English speaking country in Central America. It was a former British colony, so there are still remnants of that culture, which are mainly the language and a deep love of tea. However, many ethnic groups speak an additional language.
It is country almost entirely made of immigrants and there are a number of distinct ethnic groups. Among these groups are modern Mayan descents, Garifuna people (who are the descendants of escaped slaves from nearby countries,) a very sizable Lebanese population, and a very large number of Mennonite farmers who are mostly of German background. Most of the Mennonite people living in Belize speak German, which is why I found myself dusting off my German while taking a bus from the airport to the town. It felt so odd, riding across Belize in the humid Central American weather, speaking about farming in German to a traditionally dressed Mennonite couple while reggae music blasted in the background. The “scenester” part of me was freaking out about the layers of irony in this situation. Part of me wished Wes Anderson was there to witness it.
These diverse groups of people all fit into the Belizean landscape in a strangely cohesive way. My whole experience here has felt so multi-cultural. In addition to my traveling experience, the market I shopped at last night was owned by a Chinese family and I ate dinner at a Sri Lankan restaurant. There is no way to describe the average Belizean; they’re incredibly different, but they all belong here. I’m interested in learning more about how a Belizean identity is cultivated among the presence of all these different groups.
There are 7 days, 17 hours and 5 minutes until I leave for Belize… and I don’t think it has fully registered what I’m about to do.
Sure, I have been buying the supplies, deciding what to pack, and reading up a storm on Belize and Mayan medicine, but mainly my days have been filled with watching the Home and Garden channel while making arts and crafts and compiling a play-list of songs that I can substitute the word “Belize” for “believe” to make singing in the car and the shower fun with puns.
Here’s the play-list so far: “Do you BELIZE in life after love” –Cher, “I’ll BELIZE in Anything” –Wolf Parade , “Don’t stop BELIZIN” –Journey, “Do you BELIZE in magic.” -The Lovin’ Spoonful (also listening to the cover by The Format,) “I BELIZE in Miracles” –The Ramones, “I BELIZE in a Thing Called Love” –The Darkness, “Do You BELIZE” –The Cardigans, “I BELIZE in Music” –Gallery , “I BELIZE (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)” –Stevie Wonder, “I BELIZE I Can Fly” –R. Kelly (this one is admittedly my favorite to sing along with…)
This word play is hardly preparing me to spend two months abroad, but honestly, I don’t know if there’s anything that really can prepare me. We talk about “mentally preparing” to go abroad like it’s some tangible process with an end goal in sight, but the only preparation you can really have is an open mind. Nothing is ever what you expect it to be, so the prep work can only do so much good. At this point in the post my mom is probably stressing out because she doesn’t think I am adequately preparing for the threat of rabies and mosquito-borne diseases. So yes, Mom, I assure you that I will wear my insect repellent, take my malaria pills, and make every effort to avoid rabid dogs, monkeys, and bats.
So with a life-time supply of insect repellent and an open mind, I come a little closer to my time in Belize!
At a recent lecture, one of my professors pointed out that “independence is a complete illusion.” This was meant to illustrate how Americans, more so than any other nationality, fail to recognize the interdependence of our economy on others. But of course, I immediately applied this concept to the personal level. For me, college has been one giant experiment on suspension of belief in independence. We’re on our own, but never truly. It’s this bizarre time in our lives when we are constantly trading bits of dependence with independence, in the hopes of discovering how we want to lives our lives when we finally graduate.
I think what I am the most nervous/anxious/excited about in regards to my summer in Belize is that, this will be the closest I have ever been to independence. I researched and developed my own project, received funding from the Undergraduate Research Grant office, bought tickets to go to Belize for 8 weeks without a program or any acquaintances, and have relative freedom over my daily schedule. Sure, I need to meet certain goals and accomplish certain things with my research, but this is certainly the least structured experience I have ever had in my life. I don’t really consider myself a person that requires a lot structure to subsist, but I, like so many other Northwestern students, have felt a fairly constant pressure to stay busy and accomplish new goals. I’ve never given myself the chance to “off-road” it, proverbially speaking, and I’m not quite sure how I’m going to handle it.
I’m excited to be able to share this new experience with 195.com readers. I can’t wait to get started, but I will be in the Sates until I leave for Belize on July 5. Until then!
The following series of facts sets the tone for my entire existence: my last name is Smiley, my Dad is a dentist, my sister went to Colgate University, and my childhood dog was named Flossie.
That being said, taking my self seriously was never really an option. I’m 21 years old, I play with plastic dinosaur figurines, I read comic books, I love spelunking, I have every intention on joining a Big Foot expedition at some point, and as I write this bio, I’m drinking orange juice of out a Little Mermaid sippy cup- complete with crazy straw. So, I’m a little silly, but the things I would like to accomplish in this world certainly are not. I am a passionate advocate of social justice, particularly as it concerns access to adequate healthcare, both here and abroad. I consider it my goal in life to learn how to accomplish serious things without ever taking myself too seriously. I refuse to allow the daunting task of creating sustainable change make me any less of a silly-heart.
I’m still not sure how to translate my social justice agenda to a career. When I came to Northwestern, I was 95% sure that I was going to be an opera singer… now, well, I’m 87% sure that I have no idea. That remaining 13% thinks I’d like to be an anthropologist and use ethnographic research to develop more culturally competent health care in resource-scare areas; so I’m giving that a try this summer.
