Dispatches from the Field & Project Summaries
Belize Expedition: Day 13
January 20, 2011
With one last interview, a walk through the bamboo groves, and a breakfast of sweet papaya, we’re packed and jostling along to Belize City, racing to make our flights. We are bug-bite ridden (Chris’s legs look like he picked up a rare tropical disease in the rainforest), unshowered and unkempt (my jeans are so dirty they could walk themselves home), but, I think, thrilled with the success of our trip. It was a whirlwind of two weeks. We saw organic vegetable farms and burning corn fields; we swam in phosphorescent algae and climbed the pyramids of Tikal; interviewed a woman surrounded by her two body guards and a tall Belizean with a booming laugh; drank Gallo and Belikin, ate fresh tortillas and stale ham sandwiches, and learned a few phrases of Creole (Weh yu nayhn?). I’ve been so inspired by all the people we’ve met, by their projects and attempts to change, and I’m excited to see how they develop and grow.
Belize Expedition: Day 13
January 17, 2011
Spanish Creek Rainforest Reserve: Rancho Dolores
Raymond Reneau walks through the forest like a hunter. “You smell that?” he asks. “A jaguar was here, must’a killed something. You smell ‘da rotting carcass?”
But, now and again, he pauses along the path to point out medicinal plants and trees—he seems to know the name and properties of every leaf and hanging vine. Though he used to hunt this forest, Raymond’s now a licensed tour guide for Spanish Creek Rainforest Reserve, guiding tourists through the ins-and-outs of his backyard. We’re walking along an old logging road looping through the forest, under second-growth mahogany and logwood trees—the lucrative hardwoods that first brought British settlers (pirates) to Belize. We stop at a tree marked Billyweb. “It’s named after guy named Billy,” says Raymond. “He had, what’s it called, he had athlete’s foot, so he put ‘da leaves on his feet to cure it. His friends say, ‘Billy, now you got a web on yo’ feet!’”
Marc’s 75-acre bamboo plantation and organic farm are surrounded by a 1,900-acre expanse of forest. Marc intends to keep this forest intact and untouched, each complementing the other—the “forestry” part of “agro-forestry.” The land borders the Spanish Creek Wildlife Reserve, a 5,900-acre community-run forest preserve initiated and organized by the 250-person town of Rancho Dolores. In 1998, when hunters and loggers coming from outside towns began taking over the forest, the community realized its backyard—and livelihood—would soon be gone. They worked with the government of Belize to put this land under conservation, earning the access to protected lands funding. “We got funding, and we got to change our way of life,” says Raymond—to displace hunting with something not only more sustainable, but more stable. Raymond got trained as a tour guide; others got jobs as rangers, Bed & Breakfast hosts, and arts and crafts producers.
Together, the Spanish Creek Wildlife Reserve and the Spanish Creek Wildlife Sanctuary form a key connection in the Mesoamerica Biological Corridor—a key migratory corridor for all the birds we’ve seen, as well as large game like jaguars—that passes through Belize, Guatemala, and Mexico. And, you’ve got locals like Raymond picking at jaguar scat for the amusement of tourists rather than for tracking.
Belize Expedition: Day 12
January 16, 2011
Spanish Creek Wildlife Reserve: Rancho Delores
So… what are they going to do with all this bamboo? Though they’re still in the very early stages of development, Marc’s got a vision: handcrafted furniture, baskets to window shades, maybe even paper. Each species of bamboo grows differently, producing a diverse array of materials to choose from. The bamboo on the plantation ranges from bold black shoots, smooth and rich, to bamboo so pale and strong that it’s mistaken for ivory. This diversity is essential for creating the artisan furniture Marc plans to export to the U.S.
Today, after a breakfast of eggs snatched from the chicken coup and vegetables from the garden, we toured around the farm. Four years after planting the bamboo cuttings in neat rows in this rich soil, the shoots now rise a hundred of feet overhead, forming a dense canopy spindly branches and bushy leaves. And, four years later, they’re already making furniture. We stopped by the workshop on the farm, where Tony was building his third ever piece of furniture from bamboo—a four-story shelving unit for the palapas. The unit’s made entirely of dowel rods that Tony whittled and shaped to fit together, sans screws or glue. Bamboo is so strong because of its “nodes”—essentially the joints of the bamboo. While the rest of the shoot is hallow, a thick diaphragm fills the space at each node—usually spaced a few inches apart—reinforcing the shoot on its rapid growth. These nodes lend character to the bamboo, creating its characteristic rings and texture.
Past the bamboo trees and along the edge of the forest, we arrived to Brooks’ palapa. Brooks McGowin, the manager of the Spanish Creek farm, came to Belize as a WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) volunteer with her boyfriend, Justin. They fell in love with the area, decided to stay, and built themselves the dream palapa. Tucked into a jackfruit grove, it’s entirely off the grid (three solar panels charge a 12V battery outside the house); after two years of hard work to transform this cabana-on-stilts into a home, they’ve created an amazing example of an alternative life. While Justin kept his job in the states, working remotely, Brooks manages the farm at Spanish Creek, a task that ranges from cultivating avocados to feeding lambs and roosting chickens, to managing the seven-or-so WWOOF volunteers that filter in and out of the farm.
Belize Expedition: Day 11
January 16, 2011
Spanish Creek Rainforest Reserve: Rancho Dolores
The sun set in Bermuda Landing, and we headed seven miles up the road, west to Rancho Dolores Village. After a few wrong turns—and an escort from a friendly Belizean—we finally found the entrance to the Spanish Creek Rainforest Reserve. Rocking along the narrow road, under a dark canopy of vaulted bamboo shoots leaning over the car, it seemed like we had arrived to another world.
The road opened, and we arrived to fresh chicken tamales boiled in broad banana leaves, kerosene-lit palapas with vaulted thatched roofs, and cold Belikin beer: just what we needed to get energized for our last project. Started and run by Miami-based Marc Ellenby, Spanish Creek is an amalgamation of many things—organic farming, volunteer training, sustainable tour operator—but at its core are agro-forestry—the integration of forest and agriculture—and, above all, bamboo. Marc has farmed citrus and bamboo in Florida for decades, venturing down into Belize in 2004 to begin his dream farm.
His 50-acres of bamboo make up the largest and most diverse bamboo plantation in Belize, and he expects to be the only exporter in Belize. Eighteen different species of bamboo spread out over the 50 acres. Interspersed are jackfruit, avocado, and banana trees; there’s a chicken coup, wandering lambs, and one big-balled ram.
Bamboo is one of the fastest growing tress in the world, not to the mention the strongest. In the right conditions, shoots can grow up to two feet a day—Marc says he’s measured his growing a foot a day. Mature shoots can grow hundreds of feet and they’re strong enough that, in many countries, bamboo replaces rebar as a concrete reinforcement. And, because these bamboo shoots grow in clumps, emerging from a single cutting planted under the soil, felling a shoot doesn’t kill the plant—another simply emerges from the source. It’s the ultimate sustainable tree.
Belize Expedition: Day 11
January 15, 2011
Community Baboon Sanctuary: Bermuda Landing
There isn’t a single restaurant in any of the seven towns in the river valley, a problem when you depend on tourists for income. So, CBS and the women’s group organized a group of women and formed a network of caterers. These twelve women are like cooks on demand—whenever a group comes in, they either invite them into their homes or bring meals to a community center or hotel.
Sharon Robinson, for example, got the right to cater for tourists because her father was a CBS landowner, and hosted us for lunch at her home. In the front yard sat a grounded schoolbus, sinking into the mud, rust and vines inching up its sides. “Hey, it’s Into the Wild,” I joked. I walked around its periphery, peeked inside, and found a bed and a messy pile of clothes stacked on a hammock in the front cab—someone’s home. It was a startling and humbling reminder of the poverty that continues to haunt much of Belize, especially in these rural areas.
Why, in the face of such poverty would these sustenance farmers be willing to give up parcels of their land for something so abstract as habitat preservation? Because, as former hunter, current tour guide, Robert Pantin said: “You can make more money looking at da wildlife than killing it.”
“I used my gun to make a living,” he said, rattling off a list of twenty animals he used to hunt. But, he realized, “if you can show a white tail deer, for example, to a new group of people every day, you have a living—you can do it for a lifetime, and so can anyone else.”
Though the preservation of howler monkey populations has been impressive, CBS most notable success is their focus on integrating wildlife conservation with human development. Tourism is the most direct way locals benefit from the sanctuary, but they do so in a myriad of ways. Some make arts and crafts; some host guests in their homes; some work as tour guides, or taxi drivers, or cook for tourists. Reuben Rhaburn committed part of his land to Community Baboon Sanctuary back in 1985, when it was first beginning.
“It was easy for me to get involved,” he said, shrugging. “I like the environment, and well, they came by and asked me to pledge.” And, he recognizes it’s about more than the monkeys. “Trees help us in many other ways. They help our health,” he said. “When a hurricane comes, trees help protect us from the wind, from erosion. They’re not just protecting the wildlife, they’re protecting us, too.”
Belize Expedition: Day 10
January 15, 2011
Community Baboon Sanctuary: Bermuda Landing
Adults in Belize are referred to directly and indirectly as Mister or Misses, even by other adults—Ms. Jesse, Mr. Rhaburn. At Community Baboon Sanctuary, it’s the Misses who are running the show. Community Baboon Sanctuary is controlled and managed entirely by women through the Community Baboon Sanctuary Women’s Conservation Group. “When a woman can do it, a woman get it done,” said Ms. Dorla, one of the seven women, one from each community, who lead the group. They took over in 1998 when “the men weren’t getting it done,” and have since built a community education center in Bermuda Landing, which now hosts a bi-weekly youth group.
Because in this case, the two are inextricable, Community Baboon Sanctuary and the women’s group don’t only take care of the monkeys—they take care of the community. With only one full time employee—Diana Ruiz, the lovely young woman who moved to Bermudian Landing to manage the project—CBS depends on the passion of the women of the women’s group—all volunteers—to initiate change in their communities. “We’re looking to find a way to protect the habitat, but also for people to earn a living, so they’ll stick with it,” said Conway Young, the son of local founder, Faley Young. People can get together to write project proposals, and CBS will help find grants and funding to realize these projects. Though many are peripheral to the monkeys, all are geared towards finding sustainable ways the community can support itself, and spreading the benefits of the sanctuary over the entire community.
Last year, Ms. Dorla, who was part of the women’s group that helped start CBS, got a group of women together, wrote a proposal, and now runs one of the only processing mils in the country for cohune oil. The cohune nut is found all over Belize; it looks like a golf ball-sized coconut, and it’s a cultural staple—you can eat the fruit, or use its oil for cooking or “for making the hair nice and smooth.” But, cracking open the nut and extracting oil are labor intensive. Ms. Dorla realized the potential market for cohune oil, and decided to start a little operation. With a grant procured by CBS, that little operation is now a self-sustaining business with the infrastructure–three machines and a four-room processing plant–to process oil from all over the country. The income generated from cohune oil provides yet another incentive to preserve the forests. The nuts are collected after they drop from the trees, so it’s a completely sustainable use of the forest, and everyone can get involved in the collection and processing—kids, women, and men.
Belize Expedition: Day 10
January 15, 2011
Community Baboon Sanctuary: Bermuda Landing
It’s called the Community Baboon Sanctuary, but don’t let that mislead you: this community land trust actually protects the habitats of the Black Howler Monkey. Black Howler Monkeys—or “baboons” in the local Creole—are found only in Mexico, Guatemala and Belize; as more and more forests are destroyed, their range decreases to smaller islands. In 1985, when the Community Baboon Sanctuary began, the monkey population in the Belize River Valley had dipped to less than 800.
That is, until 12 local landowners voluntarily signed pledges to preserve parts of their land as habitat for the Black Howler Monkey and other wildlife. This initial sanctuary spanned three square miles—enough space for the monkeys to survive, and eventually thrive as the sanctuary gained more land. Today, more than 200 landowners over seven villages have voluntarily committed to preserve forested land along the river and in key habitat corridors along and within property boundaries. The sanctuary now spreads over 20 square miles, and a recent census estimated the monkey population has hit 6,000—with a total population of 4,000 people in the seven villages combined, the valley can now boast more monkeys than people.
The first in the world of its kind, the sanctuary demonstrates an innovative model of conservation—all land is donated voluntarily, and all development projects are initiated and managed by the community, giving a real sense of collective purpose to the endeavor. After seeing the strict line drawn between preserved areas at Cockscomb Sanctuary, where no human activity was permitted in the jaguar territory, it’s interesting to see this opposite approach—integrating wildlife with people (though, monkeys probably make friendlier neighbors than the carnivores). Although the monkeys we saw lounging in trees seemed more docile than those roaming in uninterrupted forest, that’s part of the compromise of living together. The people depend on the monkeys to bring tourists to the area, generating income and jobs, and the monkeys depend on the people to leave them—and their habitats—alone.
Belize Expedition: Day 9
January 14, 2011
Belize Audubon Society: St. Herman’s Blue Hole National Park
Belizeans have a wicked sense of humor. “Hey, put yo chicken bones in hereh,” said Israel Senior, holding out a separate trash bag after we licked our fingers clean from a barbecue chicken lunch. “What are you keeping them for?” asked Drew. “I got to revive da chicken, mon,” he said, straight-faced.
Though it’s clear the park rangers we talked to understand the importance of conservation, they’re passionate with an ease that doesn’t seem imposed. The wildlife and attractions people come from all over the world to see are part of their daily lives, and they’re excited to learn about all of it—from “horse ball” fruits (named for obvious reasons) to red-bellied woodpeckers.
When we had to interview Dirk—Belize Audubon’s publicity director and the biggest jokester of the bunch—he got serious. “At Cockscomb Basin, the research showed we need to protect the Jaguars, to make a sanctuary—but in order to do that, we had to move the community out of there. Now, we’re working to educate the community in the importance of this conservation. We’re helping communities to take advantage of sanctuaries to help alleviate poverty.”
Belize already has the resources—hundreds of jaguars; a bright blue sinkhole; a mile-long network of caves, complete with a meandering underground river you can navigate with an inner tube and an headlamp; and enough birds to occupy anyone with a set of binoculars for a week. The challenge is getting communities to buy into the opportunity of tourism as the way to preserve these unique places and wildlife while also finding ways to support themselves from them.
Belize Expedition: Day 9
January 14, 2011
Belize Audubon Society: St. Herman’s Blue Hole National Park
St. Herman’s Blue Hole National Park is small—just 575 acres—but jammed packed. 280 species of birds have been documented within its boundaries; it contains an expansive network of caves and a bright blue sinkhole famous with divers; and hosts about 10,000 schoolchildren a year.
This last number, the number of students visiting the park, is central to Belize Audubon Society’s mission: educating Belizeans about the importance of conservation, what’s worth protecting in Belize, and how it directly impacts their lives. By focusing on young people, Belize Audubon Society is trying to change the culture around conservation, to get kids—and their parents—excited about what’s in their backyard. Culturally, people believe that wildlife and nature are there for their use. “They say, we’re poor, we don’t have anything to eat,’ so they use the land to provide for themselves. We have to show them that it’s not always going to be there,” said Junior, a park ranger at St. Herman’s Blue Hole. And, “many Belizeans don’t even know the value of what we have here,” he said. Junior works side-by-side with his dad, Israel Manzanero, or Senior, another ranger in the park.
Because St. Herman’s Blue Hole is the most accessible of all the National Parks, students come from Belmopan and Belize City, a valuable experience for students who otherwise might not interact with nature. Kids come to see the park, see a cool animal for the first time, and learn that they must be part of the effort to ensure that animal keeps living. After school at 3:30, kids used to go outside to shoot birds with slingshots, said Junior. It was a game—killing the birds. Now, they’re excited to see a Toucan, to watch the birds, and they take this excitement home to their parents.
Belize Expedition: Day 8
January 14, 2011
Belize Audubon Society: Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary
Matt and I definitely got the best assignment on Wednesday—a hike through a chirping jungle, up to a sprawling vista of the Cockscomb Basin, and a swim in an aquamarine pool under a 75-foot waterfall. Belize seems to have a beautiful attraction for each dozen citizens, many of which are in protected areas like wildlife sanctuaries and National Parks. When Belize gained independence in 1981, some of the first laws they passed were geared towards conservation. Though Belize Audubon Society manages government-owned lands in these protected areas, they’re a non-profit also focusing on community development and education in the “buffer zone” towns near reserves.
Just like in Guatemala, designating an area as a protected area contains certain challenges and compromises, especially for the human populations. While it may be ecologically important to protect certain regions, many indigenous communities have lived off land in these areas for generations. Cockscomb Basin was designated a wildlife sanctuary in 1981, partly to ensure the survival of the 80 odd jaguars in this habitat, a Mayan community of about 100 families was forced to relocate outside of the sanctuary. Suddenly, habits and customs central to their way of life—hunting, fishing, harvesting crops—were prohibited.
Ernesto Saqui was a village leader when his community was forced to move out of the reserve, moving to the town now known as Maya Center. Initially, it was hard, he said. The community felt a great deal of animosity towards the sanctuary—after all, they had been kicked off their lands with no consultation or explanation, and their source of livelihood–living off the land–vanished. “When you’re dealing with a park, you also have your people. How can you build your park and not have your people?” he said. But, Ernesto realized that the village and sanctuary would have to work together so that they both could survive; that there must be some good in preservation.
Ernesto helped begin the Mayan Women’s Cooperative, a small store at the entrance to the park where the Mayan women sell their handicrafts. After they were relocated, the community had no way to earn a living; children would stand by the roadside selling their mother’s handicrafts and arts—at the expense of attending school. But, when the co-op opened, initially a thatched hut on the road into the sanctuary, women could send their handicrafts there and their kids to school. By working with the sanctuary, and lobbying for the community’s rights, Ernesto got them to move the entrance gate of the park to the co-op, where tourists would pay their entry fee—and hopefully the community’s handicrafts.
It worked. After 5 years, the co-op had earned $150,000 between 18 women. Now, more than 50 women are members, and they train similar groups all over the country. “In this community, the women are driving the force,” said Ernesto. And, most importantly, the community has found a way to live sustainably—recognizing the importance of the sanctuary, not only for conservation but for their livelihoods.