We have all been told stories of what it was like in the old days of the Wild West. Here in Belize many of the old ways prevail.  It is a strange mix of old and new.  Here is a slice of Belizean life.

A couple of weeks ago I received a visit from Olga – my landlady and friend who has involved me in community work. Clara Santini’s husband had died the day before, and Olga was looking for donations for a funeral wreath.  Clara is the secretary for one of the volunteer groups, and a very special person.

I found out later that most of the wreaths are made of paper flowers.  We do not have a local florist. This was really a surprise to me because we have so many flowers that grow wild.  Olga explained that when someone dies, they are usually buried the next day; time is short; too short for real flowers. 

The funeral was the next day, but they had a wake at the house that night.  A tent, tables and chairs were rented and set up in the middle of the street in front of the house. No one was upset about the street being blocked -- they just went around.  Friends and family brought food and drink, and stayed with the widow and children all night long.  The open coffin was set up in the living room of the house so that everyone could say their good-byes. 

Olga thought the funeral was at 10, and so she and I went to the Church – in the center of town – at nine, when the body was supposed to arrive.  We were an hour early, so we walked over to Clara’s home.  Clara has two children, a boy age 11 and a daughter age 17 who is in her last year of school. We found a lot of people at the house and did manage to say a few words to Clara before the procession to the church got underway. Her husband Carlos worked for the Water Department and was well liked by all. He had been suffering with stomach pains for several days, but he thought he just had the flu. On Sunday morning he went to early Mass and tried to eat something when he returned home.  The pain got really bad and they took him to the hospital.  He had ruptured his appendix and his blood pressure sky rocketed.  They decided to take him to a hospital in Mérida – ‘way up at the north end of the Yucatan Peninsula.  They had the flight for life but he had some sort of seizure during the flight and didn’t make it.  They tried to revive him at the Mérida hospital but with no success.  He was only 42 years old. Fortunately, Clara has a good job and will be able to manage.

The local undertaker has a pick-up truck that he has set up to do service as a hearse.  Across the bed of the truck he had built a platform and covered it with purple fabric. We watched as the pall bearers carried the coffin from the house.  They had to negotiate a small porch and steps as well as avoid the puddles left by the rain during the night. (It was nerve wracking to watch as I was waited for them to drop the coffin!) They placed the coffin upon the platform and surrounded it with many of the wreaths. Since Carlos was so popular they had more wreaths than would fit so  the rest were carried by friends. Then everyone began walking to the church. The procession has a particular order that is always followed.  Everyone walks behind the hearse with an exception being made for Carlos’ Mother who is elderly .  The immediate family (usually large) plus the car for Mom goes first, then the men and then the women.  The order of sexes is dependent on the sex of the deceased. The sun was shinning and it was a beautiful day, and because wearing black is not customary, the procession was very colorful and bright. We had to walk about 8 blocks and traffic was stopped for the procession.  The Water Department (part of the federal government) had chartered a bus from Belize City for the co-workers and they arrived in time to join the procession. As we walked along the streets, I recalled the old horse-drawn hearses from a century before, with the mourners walking behind.  The only thing missing was a marching band.

The church was filled to overflowing, with many people standing along the back wall.  The service was in Spanish, but the Padre is a young American, and I was able to understand a lot of what he said.  Several friends spoke (in English) telling about the things that Carlos had done and how much they would miss him. He had gone to night school in order to advance in his job. He was very involved with his children’s education and in sports activities.  After the lovely service the procession formed again to go to the cemetery.  The children’s classmates arrived to join in this part of the ceremony as well. They were all wearing their school uniforms and followed behind the women.

Belizeans remember their loved ones.  On the anniversary of their death, they publish a picture and a short write up in the newspapers.  The cemetery is well kept and it is obvious that families spend time taking care of the graves, walks and shrubs.  I feel very privileged to have been asked to attend, since I was the only Gringo in attendance.

Copyright, CASELab, 1999. All rights reserved