Baffu11 2017

BAFFU

MARCH 2017

baffu11 contents

Jazdene Gray - photography Josie Gault - poetry Briheda Haylock - photography Katie Usher - poetry Kyraan Gabourel - poetry Katie Usher - feature writing Shanti Mac - poetry Jemuel Robateau - poetry Kyo D’ Assassin -poetry Briheda Haylock - happening yasser musa - installation Chelsea Johnston - photography Rasheed Palacio - digital illustration yasser musa - article Minita Concha - drawing Karla Giovanna - painting Katie Usher - quilt Briheda Haylock - video Stacy Ann - painting Bianca Isabella - painting yasser musa - article Chelsea Johnston - photography Jose V Guerra Awe - painting and furniture Rony Jobel - painting Jenelle Logan - poetry Sean Taegar - feature writing Dale Tillett - poetry Daniel Velasquez - graphic illustration Tiana Twist - photography Kyo D’ Assassin - poetry Assad Shoman - feature writing Lauren Young - poetry Hannah Cattouse - poetry Stacy Rodriguez - graphic illustration Carlos Quiroz - photography yasser musa - article BAFFU11 (March 2017)

Patrice X Irene - poetry Miriam Longsworth - poetry Maryam Abdul Qawiyy - poetry Michael Gordon - painting Abdulmajeed K. Nunez - poetry Lita Hunter Krohn - feature writing Abdulmajeed K. Nunez - poetry Hannah Cattouse - poetry Abdulmajeed K. Nunez - poetry Jazdene Gray - photography Sara Pongrac - photography Ellen Joseph - poetry Lauren Young - digital drawing Roney Jobel - mixed media Hannah Cattouse - poetry Jorge David Awe - poetry Sean Taegar - feature writing Emani J. Fiasco - poetry Jemuel Robateau - poetry Marika “Delilah” Zuniga - poetry Jenelle Logan - poetry Jorge David Awe - poetry Yvon Noralez - photography Rasheena Anderson - short story Andre Habet - poetry Shanti Mac - poetry Hannah Cattouse - short story Sean Taegar - feature writing Anya Marshalleck - interview Shanti Mac- poetry Jemuel Robateau - poetry Valerie Penner - poetry Briheda Haylock - feature writing Hannah Cattouse - poetry Kyo D’ Assassin - poetry

cover design: Rasheed Palacio | contents page image: Carlos Quiroz

Jazdene Gray

I AM A BADASS WOMAN Josie Gault I AM A BADASS WOMAN NO , NOT BECAUSE I...

TWERK MY ASS, I..

HAVE A FAT ASS OR THAT I...

AM GIVING AWAY ASS I AM ..

INTELLIGENT BADASS. BEAUTIFUL BADASS. STRONG BADASS. INDEPENDENT BADASS. RESPECT MYSELF BADASS. THE LIGHT WITHIN ME SO PERFECT AND PRECIOUS THIS GEM CAN NOT , WILL NOT !

WILL NOT..BE BOUGHT...

NO !

NOT WITH YOUR COMPLIMENTS NOT WITH YOUR CAR NOT WITH YOUR MONEY NO NO , I AIN'T NO HO .

RESPECT IS MY MANTRA FOR MY BODY, MIND AND SOUL .

THIS BADASS WOMAN WONT SWOON AT YOUR ... " SEXINESS !"

"GYAL YOH BODY GOOD OH !", NO. THIS BADASS WOMAN WILL NOT SALIVTE OVER YOUR ...

Briheda Haylock

stop taking my voice away participants who stood up by posting a selfie and expressing their experience

text: Katie Usher

24 February 2017

Briheda Haylock, the artist who organised and conceptualised the event, sent all the instructions from Indonesia, where she is currently studying, invited women to attend through messenger and email.

I ran downstairs and there was the crew, so far Debra Lewis and Renee Wentz. We video chatted with Briheda quickly to tell her we were getting ready.

And at 10 a.m. we were ready, well, almost. Debra and Renee were concerned about making the art action seem like a typical "foreigner initiative" which I completely understand, but it was 10: 02 a.m. and counting, my anxiety can be faulted for most of my quirks but one advantage is surely concern for punctuality and keeping one's word. So I crossed the street alone, mouth taped, with sign "Children Can Not Consent" and my phone in hand, ready to go LIVE on Facebook. Of course as I stood there, I wondered if I would stand there 2 hours alone, if people would finally think, I had lost my shit for real this time. Very soon though Mrs. Kim Simplis Barrow and her staffers from the Special Envoy for Women and Children came, a student from SJCJC, a student from UB and others. Debra and Renee crossed the street and we were 13 or 14. Even Cynthia Williams of the Department of Human Development came.

We stood. The sun shone and scorched and hid behind clouds and still we stood. People passed, some were kind, some were lewd, some looked down, but everyone, everyone looked.

Of course later the media came with media questions, I tried to answer as smartly as I could without falling victim to the emotionality of all this. Well some women are killed by lovers, beaten by husbands, put on Belizean Cheaters by burned exes. Children are raped, unfortunately many children are raped.

And here I was, well here we were with signs and hashtags on social media.

If I can hope for anything it is that we change culturally. Revolutionise our views on gender and youth and what is ok and what isn't.

Briheda Haylock

Loving Katie Usher With hands Outstretched While you search For Yourself Fantasy Building desires for yourself Loving With heart Anxious and heavy Less than 5 words kill sleep Steal rest Your fun My strife Loving with the knowledge That no one can With this Maybe all those other assholes were saints Maybe the problem is me Loving With an anxious heart An over-its-normal-capacity mind It can not even mimic easy What does that look like?

Loving with These vicious thoughts which never end Ever end Meditation, exercise, pills, sleep Timed mute buttons The thoughts, always The thoughts

7 April 2017

Ellen Joseph

Tell Her I Send My Thanks Ellen Joseph When you see his grandmother Tell her... I send my thanks Thanks Not, for simply being the mother of his father But, for her "guidance" and "protection" of him Thanks See if she didn't then I don't know Who Who would have made me this strong?

Who would have made me this woman?

Who would have made me realize What having purpose in life truly is?

Who No one but, her...

If not for her I'd still be a little girl No different from The boy she raised....

Here... suspended in time, just, serving on the hope of a wish Simply being one who gave birth to two Far from whom I am See She did a better job with me Than with any of her own She reminded me that I had wings By amputating my legs And Look at how I soar Embracing the essence Nourishing, molding, celebrating life Awww the beauty.... of no regrets...

So when you see his grandmother Tell her I send my thanks Thanks Because Without her I would be them Trapped in the past with a bucket of hot tar and sharp gravel No shovel Trying to fill never ending dark holes Of what-ifs and should-have-done-s I would be them Fighting the demons that haunt empty memories of time they expected to come I would be them Cleaning the self-inflicted, now infected wounds of spite envy and jealousy I would be them Crying tears that bring nothing but headaches I would be them Stuck in time tapping rewind...

Begging... knees to the floor hands to the sky... for more time between 11-9-03 and 9-11-16 So when you see his grandmother Tell her I send my thanks Because the only thing that takes my sleep

Is how I wish he’d lived So when it was his turn He wouldn’t listen to me and be a man of his own free will And a true father to his kids!!

So when you see his grandmother Tell her I send my thanks Thanks Because, without her I'd be her!!

Without her I’d be him Thanks and sorry, I ruined your plans #msSue #pardonmyemotions #princeDae #stinka #DaeDae

HOME grown

by Katie Usher

wonder WOMAN

r N

In December, when Simone Biles visited Belize, every newspaper, media house and social media platform blew up her christmas vacation. Well here is an Olympian fresh off the medal pedestal in Rio in little Belize. There was even a motorcade, tumblers, a motivational encounter for Belizean youth. Why? Because this star from Team USA has roots in Seine Bight, Stann Creek, Belize.

And it had me immediately thinking about Dickens, and A Tale of Two Cities, because we have our very own homegrown Seine Bight superstar, vacationing home for Christmas break from school, and the silence was deafening. Yes Kaina Martinez, athlete, student, Seine Bight superstar and Belizean hero was here. Thankfully I was able to get her contact information and conduct a short interview via email, before she returned to the hectic student-athlete life.

Surely Kaina had been asked the following question many times, I asked once more: why do you run?

Kaina Martinez: l run to make a difference in my community and society.

I started sports in 1999-2000 when Saint Alphonsus RC took home four national primary school championships. We are considered the only primary school who ever took 4 National Primary School championships in a year's sporting cycle. I was a part of all four events and earned two scholarships. These were never paid for.

I was a girl who lived in books until life drove me to a path where I wanted to indulge myself in something else. That's where sports said "see me here.� For me, sports was a way to positively beat my anger. Later on, I saw how great I was and I wanted to become a proathlete. Unfortunately after hitting many walls, my quest to do so, dimmed. I realized then that growing up in a single mother home it was not only difficult but impossible. Simply because she couldn't afford to send me away to excel and my country has no opportunity and no investment in sports to excel on an international level.

Nevertheless, I continued and built will within myself, which was to make a difference in sports in Belize. Fight to make it a life changer, income earner and a business that can help our nation florish.

So I dropped the other sports and put more focus on track (an individual event) where I can carry myself to make a change no matter what. Track is the cheapest and easiest sport to deal with and invest in.

KU: Where did you grow up?

KM: I grew up in the home of a single parent, in the village of Seine Bight, Stann Creek. Raised by my mother, a woman of few words, not that affectionate but who works hard and supports me the best way she can and knows. Also by my grand aunt who drilled in my head that I can achieve anything and to never depend on anyone, and my grandma who was the opposite of my grand aunt.

KU: Did life in your hometown, contribute to your athleticism?

KM: I would say yes, because sports brought the community together. When we have to go outside to compete the community will assist in every way possible to make it happen. We were a family. We work together, play together and cried together. There was not a day the football field, basketball court or beach was empty. I used to go to each sporting event the village would have for the day. From the court, to the field and from the field to the beach, or on the dusty road to run.

KU: In your opinion, what is the biggest challenge Belizean athletes face?

KM: Athletes constantly being fed with false motivations.

Praising an athlete who has a trace of Belizean lineage and shooting down those (Belizean athletes) who wore Belize on their chest and on their back when involved in any completion and who represent Belize, with little to no coaching. Belizean athletes prove themselves with no investment nor skilled coaches. The most detrimental one of all: no facilities, nor long term programs. No strategic plan to develop sports in Belize. The athletes we see excel are those who mainly want to make a difference. After high school, the opportunity to excel dies. One has to migrate to Belize City to be a part of a national team which does not train together all year around.

Realizing that the Government does not see sports as a source of investment kills drive and holds back Belizean talents from reaching world standard. Plain and simple "natural talent� (which we have a lot of) can not stand up to the world standard on its own. There is need for investment.

KU: The biggest advantage to being a Belizean athlete?

KM: Without being negative my reality is, it's hard to see the advantage of being an athlete. The only advantage is that we have natural talent which makes us look good in the region, despite the fact that we don't have a structure nor investment poured into sports. We have a Ministry of Sports which has no structure nor does it invest in sports which could have created opportunities which would drive each athlete to a higher platform. What I do with the disadvantages though, is make the sacrifice to be more than just the best in Belize. I invest the little I have to reach

Belizean athletes prove themselves with no investment nor skilled coaches. The most detrimental one of all: no facilities, nor long term programs. No strategic plan to develop sports in Belize. my goal to go beyond natural talent and stand for a change.

KU: What would you want every Belizean woman to know about running?

KM: . Running is like journeying. There is a lot more to do than what the eyes can see. To reach a high platform, one needs to understand that your body and mind have to work together. Running requires sufficient rest, nurturing of the body, eating well, and a mind that focuses on reaching the goal.

KU: What advice do you have for young Belizean athletes?

KM: Never give up on your dreams. Do everything possible to make them a reality. Believe in yourself and never make decisions based on others who break you or shatter the path to reaching your dreams. Believe in yourself and invest in yourself. I remember saving every penny I could get a hold of. This was to prepare for the opportunity which I hoped that someone would provide for a hard working and ambitious person like me.

KU: Who or what is your biggest inspiration?

KM: Like many other Belizean kids I was born into and raised in a single parent home but my courage was to go beyond and excel. I felt the need to make my hard working mother, who sacrificed her life, live hers through my success. Being financially crippled, I turned to entrepreneurship to survive because a job would grant me the privilege to train and make the jump to change sports in Belize. I wanted to make a difference. After seeing several passions melt and eventually die as its owners lost hope, turned to drugs and/or got buried in other unfortunate circumstances, I was compelled and highly inspired not to be just another great Belizean athlete but one who makes a difference. Above all, I believed God would provide. He did. At the age of 27, I received my full scholarship to attend Texas A&M University-Kingsville. My biggest inspiration: to stand against shattered talents, for the hope of seeing investment in athletes rather than killing. The drive is to stand for sports in Belize and to reach my optimum.

Reading Kaina’s thoughts and hearing about her background filled me with electricity. She is brilliant. Where is her motorcade? Actually where is the motorcade for any Belizean athlete or team of Belizean athletes who represents us abroad? Why must we always ignore our homegrown athletes’ commitment, devotion and drive? How can any athlete continue to be brilliant in the dimness of our apathy? What keeps the athlete running? Her love of Belize?

This race she runs, is bigger and beyond seconds and the finish line. It is a race against the ignorance Belizean athletes face. They bring back all manner of medals, and we can not even give them a second glance.

The vigourous training, hours of pushing the body to its optimum and beyond and in the glare of our dismissal. We have to honour this. We have to give this gratitude, a motorcade and significant respect!

Kaina Martinez Position: Sprints Height: 5-3 Class: Graduate Student Hometown: Seine Bight, Stann Creek, Belize Previous School: University of Belize Major: Counseling and Guidance

Career Results Accomplishments: - Placed 1st in the 400m at the 2017 LSC Indoor T/F Championships (56.16s) - Placed 3rd in the 200m at the 2017 LSC Indoor Championships (24.86s) - Placed 3rd in the long jump at the 2017 LSC Indoor Championships (19' 3.50"-5.88m) - Placed 8th in the 60m at the 2017 LSC Indoor Championships (7.92s) - 2017 Indoor LSC All-LSC First Team (400m) - 2017 Indoor LSC All-LSC Third Team (200m, Long Jump) - 2017 Indoor LSC All-Academic Team - 2016 Outdoor All-Lone Star Conference Team - 2016 Indoor LSC All-Academic Team - 2016 Indoor All-Lone Star Conference Team - Placed 8th in the 400m at the 2016 NCAA DII Outdoor Championships (53.89s) - Placed 4th in the 200m at the 2016 NCAA DII Outdoor Championships (23.66s) - Placed 1st in the 4x100m Relay at the 2016 NCAA DII Outdoor Championships (44.60s) - Placed 1st in the 400m at the 2016 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (55.15s) - Placed 1st in the 200m at the 2016 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (23.33s) - Placed 4th in the 4x400m Relay at the 2016 LSC Outdoor T/F Championships (3:52.12) - Placed 1st in the 4x100m Relay at the 2016 LSC Outdoor T/FChampionships (45.59s) - Placed 8th in the 200m at the 2016 NCAA DII Indoor T/F Championships (24.48s) - Placed 2nd in the 200m at the 2016 LSC Indoor Track and Field Championships (24.62s) - Placed 1st in the 400m at the 2016 LSC Indoor Track and Field Championships (55.37s) - Placed 3rd in the 4x400m Relay at the 2016 LSC Indoor T/F Championships (3:53.65) - 2015 USTFCCCA All-Academic Team - 2015 USTFCCCA Outdoor First Team All-American (4x400m Relay) - 2015 USTFCCCA Outdoor Second Team All-American (100m) - 2015 USTFCCCA Outdoor All-South Central Region (100m) - 2015 USTFCCCA Outdoor All-South Central Region (4x400m Relay) - 2015 Outdoor All-Lone Star Conference Team - 2015 Outdoor LSC All-Academic Team - 2015 Indoor All-Lone Star Conference Team - Placed 1st in the 4x400m Relay at the 2015 NCAA DII Outdoor (3:41.22s) - Placed 1st in the 200m at the 2015 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (24.18s) - Placed 1st in the 100m at the 2015 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (11.76s) - Placed 3rd in the 4x100m Relay at the 2015 LSC Outdoor Championships (46.94s) - Placed 1st in the 4x400m Relay at the 2015 LSC Outdoor Championships (3:41.94) - Placed 1st in the 55m at the 2015 LSC Indoor Track and Field Championships (7.06s) - Placed 1st in the 200m at the 2015 LSC Indoor Track and Field Championships (24.38s) - Placed 2nd in the 4x400m Relay at the 2015 LSC Indoor Championships (3:50.01) - 2014 Outdoor All-Lone Star Conference Team - Placed 8th in the 100m at the 2014 NCAA DII Outdoor Championships (12.05s) - Placed 1st in the 100m at the 2014 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (11.50s) - Placed 1st in the 200m at the 2014 LSC Outdoor Track and Field Championships (24.08s) - Placed 2nd in the 4x400m Relay at the 2014 LSC Outdoor Championships (3:47.92)

Transfer: Transferred from the University of Belize where she competed for one year and also played basketball, soccer, softball and volleyball.

National Career: Has represented Belize in international competition since 2001... Twice received Youth In Sport Award... Selected as Outstanding Youth... Placed 2nd in the 100m (12.92), fourth in the 200m (26.84) and sixth in the long jumper (4.89m) at U-20 Central American Junior Championships in 2003... Finished second in the 200m (25.56), third in the 400m (58.28), fourth in the 100m (12.73) and was a member of the fourth place 4x100m and 4x400m relay tams at 2005 Central American Championships... Recorded an eighth place finish in the 200m dash (26.59) at 2006 NACAC U-23 Championships... Third in 100m (12.47), eighth in 400m (1:12.66) and member of fifth place 4x100 relay team at 2007 Central American Championships... Recorded an eight place finish in long jump (1611.15, 5.16m) at NACAC U-23 Championships... Won the 100m (11.98) and placed fourth in 200m at 2009 Central American Championships... Claimed 100m (12.05) and 200m titles (24.89) and was runner-up in long jump (18-0.1, 5.49m) at 2010 Central American Games... Came in first in 100m (12.55) and 200m (25.54), third in long jump (18-0, 5.48m) and member of second place 4x400m (4:27.26) and third place 4x100m (50.75) relay teams at 2010 Central American Championships... Finished 18th in the long jump (16-6.82, 5.05m) and competed in the 100m and 200m dashes in 2010 Commonwealth Games in Delhi, India... Claimed titles in the 100m (11.74), 200m (24.17) and 4x100m (48.50) at 2011 Central American Championships... Finished eight in her heat during the quarterfinals in 100m dash (11.89) at 2012 Summer Olympics in London, England.

High School: Attended Independence High School in Stann Creek, Belize...

Named best female athlete and athlete of the year... Also played basketball, soccer, softball and volleyball... Helped lead Invaders volleyball team to three national championships... Member of four time regional basketball championship squads.

Personal: Daughter of Gregona Arzu Alvarez... Majoring in speech communication.

Related Stories 02/26/17 | Javelinas Succeed in Last Chance Meet 02/22/17 | Greaves Tabbed Outstanding Male Field Athlete of the Year 02/19/17 | LSC Indoor Track and Field Championships; Day Two Recap 02/17/17 | Four Named to LSC Indoor Track and Field All-Academic Team 02/11/17 | Hogs Wrap Up Indoor Track and Field Classic 02/10/17 | Richardson Captures Qualifying Mark and Sets School Record 02/08/17 | Martinez Tabbed LSC Athlete of the Week 02/04/17 | Hogs Conclude the Bayou Bengal with Seven Provisional Marks 06/07/16 | Holcombe, Idziak Named 2015-16 LSC Scholar-Athletes 06/06/16 | Yamoah, Martinez Named LSC Outdoor T&F Athletes of the Year

Bad Nuh Like Ugly Shanti Mac Hood-rat, cockroach, chicken-head Bitch dah no more wah cuss Sweethaat have wifey status Young gial noh want no deesent young man Shut tuck ina pants Wid bible ina hand Deh want di ones Whe half ah dey heel Di dreg aff ah wa lee rusty J's Tattoo ina eye An weed di blaze Hood-rat, cockroach, chicken-head Bitch dah no more wah cuss If you dah side-chick dat dah wa plus Graama dah noh graama no more whe siddong Satideh evening Di brush sanfly wid kiss-kiss dah di backdoor No sah, noh dis yah set ah graama dey tun up ina Elite An yoh betta watch yoh man Kaz dey ole schewing hen Know how fi creep Hood-rat, cockroach, chicken-head Bitch dah no more wah cuss But noh mek wi forget onle Missa Pigin Chest Dey lee nasty ole man Barely even gat pee-pee stan Di act like wile mangoos da Ms Smith Chicken coob Kyahn wait fi di lee gial dey ripe Mek dey cud go aan good Tek dey lass lee bit ah social money Spen it out pah wa shal-eye baby Hood-rat, cockroach, chicken-head Bitch dah no more wah cuss

Como te Extrano Jemuel Robateau si pudiera pasar un día sin respirar si podía pasar un momento sin un latido del corazón, entonces quizás podría vivir sin ti. si pudiera detener mi mente de pensar en ti detener mi boca de hablar de ti entonces tal vez podría sobrevivir sin ti Oh cómo te extraño cuando tu no estas aqui a mi lado, cómo te extraño cuando no te encuentro junto a mí. noventa millas y noventa días ya han pasado y sabes cómo te quiero tanto mi Amor cómo te extraño vino a mojar el gran desierto lavaste a mi alma tan seco tocaste a mi corazón mi ser mis sentimientos por eso quiero verte no se mantenga alejado mi Vida te necesito (Cho) Espero que el día que cuando podemos / viviremos juntos conmigo para siempre como su amor y su marido y cuando llega el día en que me muera Espero morir contigo mi amor, no me dejas tan solo

Mecca Kyo D’Assassin Treading on holy grounds With heels of steel The blade on every tongue A word, a full course meal Prayers turned poems The people’s creed in full force Faith becomes knowledge For the Thomas & the poorest Unison… community No regrets… no pity Actions… responsibility Your purpose… charity Tasks transfigure into flesh Some cursed… some blessed Time running on blood Marathon… no rest The state of Mecca Locked deep within chests Flowers bloom like corn Have to plant it Neglect not your seeds Allow the rain To seek and mind it Paradise blazing on fingertips Heed the voice flowing From inward lips The earth… your canvas With seasons on rations Every flaw and detail Will spring your true passion Mountains stand on oceans Knees sound with submission An empty mind, births a new universe Squaring our hunger, Quenching our thirst What was last, is now first Palm your needs into one verse Your flight is a puzzle; A rubric’s cube of chaos Home of the hatred…

The Mecca for the natives Make it better that it was Than to leave it as it is

yasser musa

Chelsea Johnston

Rasheed Palacio

by yasser musa

Túpac Amaru was the last indigenous leader of South America (Sapa Inca - literally meaning ONLY INCA). He was executed by the Spanish in 1572.

Eyewitness accounts tell us that on the day of his killing he was riding a mule with hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck. There are reports of over 12,000 witnesses present.

His people the “multitude of Indians” deafened the skies with their cries and wailing. His last words were "Ccollanan Pachacamac ricuy auccacunac yahuarniy hichascancuta" translated as Mother Earth, witness how my enemies shed my blood.

Some 424 years later the other Tupac Amaru Shakur, also known by his stage names 2Pac and Makaveli, was killed on the streets of Las Vegas, USA. Shakur was an American rapper who sold over over 75 million records worldwide.

At the intersection of Flamingo Road and Koval Lane at 11:15 p.m. a white, fourdoor, late-model Cadillac pulled up and a rapid fire of gunshots at Shakur caught him four times. One of the bullets went into Shakur's right lung.

While in the intensive-care unit, on the afternoon of Friday, September 13, 1996, Shakur died from internal bleeding.

His 1995 album Me Against the World is a classic end of century rage against social inequality and injustice.

The two TUPACS in the strictest geographic sense are resistance Americans. They lived hundreds of years apart, but their lives make deep connections to the bi-polarity of the greater American experience.

The first Tupac was part of an indigenous Inca empire built up over millennia before the Europeans came. The second Tupac is part of the African American cultural and political space that built up among many things a global culture brand - Hip Hop. On the eve of the coming of Trump I can’t resist the notion that history intersects with itself. Sometimes oppression comes in the form of guns and crosses, sometimes in the form of incarceration and poor public housing, and perhaps even from a gold Tower in downtown Manhattan. This time the announcement is not strange, vague or opaque - it is 140 characters or LESS.

A BURNING VIOLIN by yasser musa

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in – Leonard Cohen

The first show of the Belizean Women’s Art Collective titled RADICAL comes weeks after Donald Trump won the American presidency. We live in a world of absurd contradictions, bizarre distortions and feigning frivolity. So it is urgent that artists rise up and disrupt the social space to offer voices that seriously address the taking charge of our lives.

The concept of a collective is hard to comprehend in an era of extreme individual self-promotion and exposure. These women are fearless foragers inside a shopping mall of digital paradoxes.

Belize is still yet to shed its hyper misogynistic and blatant male dominated cultural entrenchment, so this small band of BWACs offer not just hope in the face of social melting and insanity, but an opportunity to seek some clarity about what our lives are really about, and how we could pursue some tangible concepts of deep revolutionary thinking.

The works in RADICAL are new, freshly made interventions of dramatic force and feeling: Miriam Antoinette’s assemblages speak to personal liberation and transformation created from detritus material. Briheda Haylock offers a new video about the light in our lives asking, is the light real? Minita Concha’s works are graphically razor sharp disruptions delivering coherent symbolism full of deep social charge. Katie Usher’s piece Suffer Not the Childr merges the quiet melancholy of knitting with the stand up for your rights attitude of the strongest public protest lyrics. Stacy Ann delivers a sharp illustrative painting full of energy and power. Bianca Isabella’s work utilizes anime influence to evoke an emotionally elegant sensual engagement. Karla Giovanna features the female form in a kind of paradoxical posture, floating free yet bounded at the wrists.

The group is mentored and inspired by the noted Canadian artist from Cristo Rey, Cayo Winsom Winsom. Her influence is an important harnessing of the incredible energy and enthusiasm of the group.

RADICAL is a breakthrough exhibit because it is independent, it is social, and it is collective. Over the past few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to witness the long threads on their Messenger. What strikes me most is a spirit of reciprocity emerging. Whenever we come together there is risk because our culture forces us everyday unto a reservation of mistrust. The human collective contract is constantly under threat, so it is vital we point to acts of collective support. Art is a precious personal act, but it is done within a social system.

The collective is a celebration of our deepest definition of humanity.

Just saying we are together is a most precious acknowledgement of being artists.

RESPECT to the BWACs!

Miriam Antoinette

Minita Concha

Karla Giovanna

Katie Usher

Briheda Haylock

Stacy Rodriguez

Bianca Isabella

HOW Rhaburn? by yasser musa

RHABURN coming in 2018

a visual and written story about a legendary Belizean musician by yasser musa

In early December 2004 I met up with Gerald Lord Rhaburn outside of Dits restaurant on King Street in Belize City. We had arranged for an encounter of musicians that would perform at his Awards Show. I remember clearly the energy of that space, we all sat down to eat a variety of Belizean dishes and enjoy the company of high octane conversation.

Last Sunday, I sat with Mr Rhaburn, this time as part of our ongoing conversations about his journey as a musician. A few months ago he came to me with a frightening idea, for me to document his story and tell it, the way I want to tell it. “What da fuck!”, was my first thought. So sorry, but that phrase is the most appropriate for the fear and fright that overcame me.

How does one begin to collect, compile, chronicle and curate such a legendary life? The first thing I did was say, “Ok, I’ll do it and have it done by 2018.” I find that the best way to get things done is to put time in charge. Once you have a date then the work builds itself inside the mind and fixes its claws and tentacles into your spirit and that sense of duty, obligation and responsibility sets in.

There are many shards and elements of pure inspiration about the life and work of the music man Lord Rhaburn. How did he come up with the song The Pussy On Fire? How did he bring his first combo together to go to Guatemala to record his first album?

Why did he put his faith in Chi Chi Acosta? How did his school life at Ebenezer School on Barrack Road impact his sense of becoming a musician? How did his growing up in a tenement yard off Victoria street listening to Boom and Chime music affect his identity?

In the 1960s he captivated Belizeans who had migrated to America post-1961 Hurricane Hattie inside spaces like the Manhattan Center in New York City. His collaborative disposition is key to understanding the work. For example he linked up with Compton Fairweather of CES for high quality recordings, and made lasting connections with Henry Young to bring joy inside the Birds Isle, the historic entertainment mecca of Belize City.

How did he gravitate to the Billy Vaughn sound? Rhaburn had a mixtape in his mind, merging North American rhythms with Caribbean sound, like Calypso. Just this past Sunday he reminded me of his top artists Sparrow, Lord Kitchener, Calypso Rose and Lord Melody.

Then there is the important story of his relationship with politics. He yielded to no political party, and his legacy today is that he never bowed or bend, rather he remained true to his art, and to his country.

In the late 1970s Rhaburn became the master of music in the streets, a force of creative credibility - people power.

I will make a scan of the man and put it out there. I will drive it with images so that our youth can get the sense that once upon a time there was a music man from Belize City who dominated the second half of the 20th century with originality and artistic tenacity.

Chelsea Johnston

Jose V Guerra Awe

Jose V Guerra Awe

Rony Jobel

The Insentient Species Jenelle Logan And how can you not see?

All that we could be?

Trapped inside this lonely mind Waiting for others to arise Disappointed by this place Ridden with chains we did create Slaves to masters that don't exist And how could we let it get like this?

Consumption of the very soul Greed and despair in a lovers tryst A constant quest to be powerful But blinding us from what would make us so And how can you not see?

All that we could be?

Masses of denial Hordes of self-delusion The largest collective mental illness Yet even now they buy the illusion Where could the future be in all this disarray?

We're too far gone We've been sick for too long The rots set in We'll never admit we were wrong And even so I still have hope that one by one you'll find the way And how can you not see?

All that we could be?

The west a gluttonous whore Sucking the rest dry There's no space for humanity here anymore For the truth we must strive Leave behind this prison of our making And truly live our lives One day you'll see...

And we'll all be free...

'Poet Down: Dale Tillett Sr.,

A Man of Words'

Friday 13 January 2017 5:48pm Belize City, Belize

Sean Taegar.

My rhymes, they speak of peace But still do nothing to cease The guns from firing The senseless hiring of hit men Yet they try to pretend As if nothing's wrong Shall I sing you a song?

Poet Dale Tillet Sr. lived a life sharing words and potent rhymes in poetry written of the life he saw in the streets and his dream of transforming violence to peace. Dale was a poet who believed in poetry's transformational power. Poetry, the sacred language of life, God talking to God, divine fire. Dale shared his poetry at Spoken Word 501 a poetry night created by poet Margaret Reynolds for poets to share their visions and voices in a space of freedom held on the first and third Fridays of the month at Brick Oven Sports Bar and Grill on King Street in Belize City, Belize. On the night of Friday 2 December 2016 Dale was sharing his poems in freedom. He recited his poetry from memory with strength and life and special joy with his fellow poets cheering his brilliance. He listened to his fellow poets' work with love and respect and happiness. That night Dale was shining with joy and hope for the future.

Early Saturday morning 3 December 2016 Dale was visciously gunned down walking on Hyde's Lane in Belize City bringing pain to his family and shock and sadness to his fellow poets and those he loved and who loved him. In a poem fatally prophetic 'Cutting the Black Man's Life in Half' Dale  speaks of the suspended hope for peace and the decision to continue living:

'That's why these days Everything is gun this and gun that My sister's boyfriend got shot last weekend Where will it end I suspend all thoughts Of a peaceful year And continue to live my life.'

Dale Tillett Sr. and his mother Mrs. Geraldine Tillett

and offers a song to the listener quoting American Singer Edwin Starr's song 'War' 'War! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing.'

Song is the poet's work, to offer a song to life. Dale Tillett Sr. offered his poems as songs to life, his gifts to life, to life in Belize and to those he loved. He contributed his voice and visions to listening ears. He wrote of life without fear and shared his poems with a strength of voice and sight. Known as 'Blinds' to many Dale Tillett Sr. saw life and wrote his vision of it: 'Words of truth I spit From my spirit As I sit My soul sees with mine eye.' From 'Hunger and Frustration' He sang lyrics of love: 'True love never quits It just keeps growing With both partners knowing The true meaning of love Accepting GOD's blessings That come from above.' From 'True Love' And trusted his God to navigate his life: 'They say live right, and in GOD we trust.' From 'On the road through life' And always with family as his focus, his children who were his blessings beautifully written in his poem dedicated to them 'My blessings': 'Then somehow it all becomes clearer This means I am still here Which means that somewhere, somehow There is still hope And nope I won't give up And I know You won't as well.'

A poet sings life and visions. Poet Dale Tillett Sr. sang the truth of his voice in hope and joy. He shared his vision of life and the future. He is always with us. His spirit is with his family in love. His words are a part of Belize's song. Safe journey. God's speed. Walk good, warrior.

'My blessings' Dale Tillett Was still a child when given you Really, truly, didn't know what to do But I knew I was blessed So I stress the importance of a good life One that's twice as nice as mine was Stupid is as stupid does And I was, stupid for the things I did Just a kid along for the ride But my pride And respect for you Brought me through Thinking to myself Oh! Only if I knew, back then What I know now Then somehow it all becomes clearer This means I am still here Which means that somewhere, somehow There is still hope And nope I won't give up And I know You won't as well Dedicated to all my children they are such a blessing to me

'Cutting the black man's life in half' Dale Tillett Things are not always what they seem I saw him living in a world of dreams Fast cars and bright lights Always fly like a kite With clothes that fit right And friends down to fight For the right to say We run this That's why these days Everything is gun this, and gun that My sister's boyfriend got shot last weekend Where will it end I suspend all thoughts Of a peaceful year And continue to live my life, another year in fear That the day may come When I'll be force to ride Put my pride aside While inside, I boil Like oil and water mixed Eyes fixed on the goal Stories told of a life lived Still living, still giving my all At all times My rhymes, they speak of peace But still do nothing to cease The guns from firing The senseless hiring of hit men Yet they try to pretend As if nothing's wrong Shall I sing you a song?

War! What is it good for?

Absolutely nothing When all we end up doing is cutting The black man's life in half.

This poem is dedicated to my sister Janelle Tillett in her time of grief.

R.I.P. Jason Munnings A.K.A. Brambles (True fallen soldier) June Berge G.S.G. 4 life and in Death Dean Tillett O.G. G.S.G Caucus Myers O.G. N.H.B Christopher Galvez R.I.P Dale Tillett Jr. R.I.P

'Hunger and Frustration' Dale Tillett Frustration sets in.

The youths can't find a place to win, There's too much sin In the world Boys and girls born into it Words of truth I spit From my spirit As I sit My soul sees with mine eye.

That the youth under-fed The hungry feeling in his stomach Goes straight to his head And then the lead And the gun And mama's only son Is on the run forever Be smart be clever Don't get caught, no never The only thought In his mind As he ventures into a world Looking to find Answers to questions Clues and suggestions On how to get money Because he can't ask mommy Now this might sound funny But trust me it's not Because the hungrier he gets The more get shot...

This poem is dedicated to the youths of Belize living in frustration caused by hunger.

Daniel Velasquez

Daniel Velasquez

Daniel Velasquez

Tiana Twist

Tiana Twist

Alone Kyo D’Assassin Alone is the moon eating stars 52, whose song too high for response Fischer taking the world by chess boards The Djembe calling back home Atlas embracing his fate The soul cleansing in the seas The mountain goat playing in death’s teeth Alone is the warrior walking the path Today his fate, wagering life with faith Alone… a paper plane destined to the whim of the wind Freedom, an illusion when it holds its breath High, the euphoria singing in the purple rain Hope…expectations Never again Alone… reclusive mine alone The road is a time painted across the string of sky Dharma… a chaotic work Exhuming the essence of a mind Too small for the eye Too big for the mouth Solitary confinement Self-re-aligns Thomas changed after the blender trials Blind Willie Nelson Transcending emotions of humankind Alone… a heart beats in a hole, where dreams grow; fear knows

Why Cuba is a Global Cultural Force

by Assad Shoman

This small Caribbean nation has a strong intellectual, artistic, cultural projection in every corner of the world despite enduring a financial, economic and commercial blockade for over 50 years from the world’s most powerful country just a hundred miles away. What made this possible?

Cuba had a revolution, a profound and all-embracing break with the past whose central purpose was “to emancipate ourselves as human beings and through our own efforts�, as Fidel Castro put it.

Cuba, like so many other countries of the Americas, had been colonized by a European country for centuries, and in order to be free it had to undergo a thorough process of decolonization of the mind.

This had been a subject of debate and discourse among Caribbean intellectuals since the early 20th century, but what made their thinking more than an intellectual exercise in Cuba, what made that country the only one to move decisively to achieve true decolonization, was the Revolution.

First Declaration of Havana, Speech by Fidel Castro, Revolution Square, September 2, 1960.

Castro and other leaders of the Revolution were deeply convinced of the need for people to be cultured in order to be free, but before the revolution some 40% of Cuban people were illiterate.

In his famous defence (“History will absolve me�) at his trial for leading the attack on the Moncada Barracks of the Batista dictatorship in 1953, Fidel condemned the abysmal state of education on the island, especially in rural areas, and made education reform a major plank of the revolution’s program.

Even during the harsh forbidding conditions of the guerrilla war (1956-1958), Che Guevara would teach fighters to read and write, and immediately after the Revolution took power on 1 January 1959 actions began to be taken to improve education and open cultural opportunities to all.

The famous literacy campaign in 1961, where 100,000 student teachers, mostly teenagers, went to the farthest reaches of the island and taught people to read and write, allowed Cuba to be declared the first territory in the Americas of illiterac, and Cuba immediately became a beacon of hope to peoples of poor and underdeveloped countries. What is amazing is that this gigantic task took place in the very year that the US government launched its surrogate invasion of Cuba (Bay of Pigs), along with other acts of murder and sabotage, so that dozens of the young literacy teachers were killed. Significant educational reforms followed, allowing hundreds of thousands to attend school for the first time throughout the island, and free universal education at all levels, from pre-school to university and beyond and including special education, became the order of the day.

This massification of education was accompanied by an equal opening of cultural opportunities to all: apart from making music, dance, plastic arts and other cultural expressions available in all schools, special schools were created for these in every province of the country, and institutions of higher learning such as the prestigious Instituto Superior de Arte were created. Houses of Culture, where people can learn as well as perform several art forms, were opened in every municipality. Importantly, all forms of national media, including newspapers, journals, specialized publications, books, radio and television, are used to provide artistic expression on a massive scale. Living in a world where Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano could rightly comment that censorship was no longer necessary because the price of books was the censor, it is worthy of note that books in Cuba are very cheap, if not free: a book that would cost $10.00 anywhere sells in Cuba for less than 50 cents. Entrance to the movies costs less than 10 cents.

All these gains have in and of themselves made Cuba known and envied throughout the world, including the developed world, but an integral part of revolutionary thinking has also been to share what it has with the world.

And so, for example, to start at the most basic, Cuba’s experience with literacy has been taken to many countries of the world in a Cuban-devised programme using audiovisual aids called “Yo sí Puedo” (Yes I can), which has been taken to 28 countries, from Bolivia to Guinea Bissau, from Guatemala to St Kitts Nevis, and made over 5 million people literate in different languages.

A very special place for Cuba’s cultural projection to the world belongs to the Casa de las Americas, created in April 1959, a mere four months after the triumph, and first led by Haydee Santamaria, heroine of the attack on the Moncada and guerrilla fighter, who believed that “culture is present not only in the marvellous things that are part of it, but also in the human soul, which is the greatest marvel”. The Casa, housed in a majestic building on Havana’s malecón, has established and enhanced links between intellectuals, writers and artists of the hemisphere and disseminated their works, and published not only from Spanish speaking countries but also in Portuguese (Brazil), English and French. The works of many Caribbean authors, from George Lamming to Derick Walcott, from C L R James to Eric Williams, have been published by Casa, and many, including Lamming and Norman Girvan, have called it home. Because of its revolutionary credentials and excellent work, the Casa enjoyed from the beginning the enthusiastic support and collaboration of the most progressive intellectuals, writers and artists of the region and the world. Casa produces books, magazines and audio-visual material, organizes symposia, art shows, theatre festivals, music concerts; it has a program of women studies, and one of the most impressive achievements of this dynamic decolonizing force is the Literary Prizes it has promoted since its inception for works of fiction, theatre, testimony, poetry, children’s literature and other categories—

Havana Book Fair 2016

Havana Book Fair 2016

Eduardo Rivero in the work Duo to Lam

and the winners are published. Casa’s Centro de Estudios del Caribe and its journal Anales del Caribe promote the culture of that region. It has one of the most complete reference libraries on the Americas, studies and promotes visual arts in the region, publishes the digital periodical Arteamérica, and its Dirección de Música promotes the communion of musicians, has a significant music collection and produces records, while its Dirección de Teatro sponsors meetings of dramatists, directors and actors, stages theatre festivals and offers the prestigious drama prize, the Premio el Gallo de La Habana.

Other areas of culture that enjoy study and promotions in Cuba can be given equal or more detailed treatment, but space only allows brief mentions. A few weeks after the triumph, in March 1959, intellectuals committed to decolonize, transform, and forge a new identity created the Instituto Cubano de Arte e Industria Cinematográficos and a wave of new Cuban cinema soon became known worldwide. The Escuela Nacional de Cine y Televisión, founded in 1986 by Nobel Prize winning novelist Gabriel García Márquez and others as a center to develop the creative talents of students from the region, Africa and Asia, has hosted thousands of professionals and students from over 50 countries. Every year some 300 specialists, active professionals from different countries, share their knowledge, and it is recognized as one of the most important of its kind in the world, regularly hosting visitors of the caliber of Robert Redford & the Sundance team, Oliver Stone, Werner Herzog and Francis Ford Copolla. The yearly Festival Internacional del Nuevo Cine Latinoamericano, or the Havana Film festival, is the most famous in the region; in 2016 it featured 440 films. The Caribbean Itinerant Film Festival has a home in Havana under the direction of Cuban filmmaker Rigoberto López; it is a regional, non-profit forum to promote works by local Caribbean producers and directors. Belizeans have benefitted from both the school and the itinerant festival.

Cuban Dance, whether classical ballet, contemporary, folk, dance hall and cabaret, is famous worldwide.

The National Ballet of Cuba, directed for over half a century by Alicia Alonzo, along with the school associated with it, has spawned hugely popular international stars, the most recently famous being Carlos Acosta, who went from being a poor kid who was trained at the school, performed in the Company, and then became a fixture at the Royal Ballet in London for several years, performing parts never before allocated to a black man. He recently returned to Cuba and started a school and a company of contemporary dance, Acosta Danza. He was so revered in England that he was granted a CBE, strange fruit for a Cuban of the Revolution. Belizeans fondly recall Professor Eduardo Rivera, of the world famous Caribbean Dance Company of Santiago de Cuba, who founded the Belize Dance Company in 1991 and helped it develop for many years after.

Of Cuban music little need be said, it being the most famous Cuban cultural expression in the world. International music festivals from Jazz to Salsa, from European classical to Rap, are staged regularly. Again, the basis of this is the mass availability of music education free of charge to the population, resulting in thousands of top musicians all over the island, only a few of which become known internationally. Again, an important feature is making opportunities for music education available to other countries, especially of the region and of the other Tricontinental countries (the Americas, Africa and Asia) that the Cuban revolution has always privileged.

In terms of major international festivals, the plastic arts are served by the Habana Biennial, which despite its name is held every three years, and which principally promotes Latin American and Caribbean artists, although artists from all over the world submit works. Apart from exhibitions for painting, sculpture, installations and performances in several sites around the city, the Biennial offers conferences, workshops, master classes, documentaries and video screenings. During the festival, artists transform the city into a showcase of contemporary art, using several urban spaces and municipal galleries; sometimes their art is left to grace the urban landscape for years. Belizean artists participated in the Biennial in 2003 and 2006. The yearly International Book Fair, starting in Havana and travelling all over the country, has become the most important in the region. This year features the attendance of 162 authors from a dozen countries, and 86 publishers from abroad, although the fair is essentially of Cuban publishers, authors, and readers. The special invited country this year is Canada, and its most famous living author, Margaret Attwood, will be present. Along with the book launches and sales, professional programs are organized for editors, writers, academics, translators, and designers, in addition to a literary program and ceremonies to present National Prizes for Literature, Criticism, Social Sciences, and Editing-Design.

Culture, as I hope I have made clear, is a privileged entity in Cuba. As the Final Declaration of

Pedagogy 2017 Conference in Havana states, “There cannot be freedom nor development without quality education and culture available to all”. The critical features we have identified in Cuba’s cultural revolution are: the massification of culture in schools and elsewhere, the establishment of special educational institutions, the massive promotion of culture at subsidized prices, and the sharing with other countries and peoples, in keeping with the Revolution’s profound commitment to solidarity and internationalism.

NOT A THING TO SAY Lauren Young Take my hand and lead me as you may Wrap your arms around me as we lay With your lips place a kiss Let's enjoy a moment of carnal bliss No need to speak only to sigh No need to plea only to cry Take the lead and I will follow Take my pleasure and replace your sorrow Be the master and I the Slave Punish me as I misbehave Give the command without a word Only sighs of pleasure to fill the void Let's get lost in the heat of it all Skin slick, dripping wet on the sheetsthe essence of your pleasure fall Slipping, sliding, bumping and grinding Wrapped up in the rapture but I keep falling Mouth moving but not a sound coming out No words necessary to know what we're about Round one, round two, round three, round four Take me and give me your all and more Fill me; please mein fact let me please you Let me fulfill your fantasies and make your dreams come true I'll tell you a story with no word play The look in your eyes tells me there's not a thing to say

O BLACK CHILD Lauren Young O Black Child where have you gone Mama callin' please come home Why did you have to go so far I have station's at your empty chair O Black Child why did you go Papa is here no mo' It'll be just me and you So now you will have your own bed too O Black Child I am alone No one with me in this empty home I sit here in this rocker alone and ole' O but how it's gotten so cole' O Black Child please forgive me I was busy. Please forgive me O Black Child I should have known O Black Child please come home

Parallel Existence Hannah Cattouse You don't have to be perfect Or recite poetry No need for muscles Or even sing to me Just be a man of your word Never leave me in doubt Be the best version of u And that'll be enough Struggle to improve everyday Fight your demons Make your way And I will fight beside you Our life Doesn’t have to be a fairy-tale I'm ok with boring and pale But let's live a life Although with strife That will breathe life into me Inspire me To keep doing the same

Stacy Rodriguez

Carlos Quiroz

Carlos Quiroz

Carlos Quiroz

Emiliano and Beyoncé by yasser musa

Last year for a Super Bowl performance, with a TV viewership of 115 million, the Texas artist Beyonce Knowles-Carter wore a gold X across her body. In the time of the Mexican Revolution which started in 1910 one of the key leaders Emiliano Zapata would often be photographed wearing a trademark bandoleer, a pocketed belt built to hold bullets.

For me it is significant when thinking and reading about history to try and fit into context the power of symbols and the messages they convey.

Beyoncé who was born just weeks before Belize gained independence in 1981 is one of the most popular global music stars, but her super bowl intervention was rich in black power symbolism. She entered the stadium to the song Formation, a tribute to the 50th Anniversary of the Black Panther Party, a salute to the American Black Lives Matter movement and a sign of respect to Malcolm X, who added the X as a symbol of the unknown and stolen African identity a consequence of the horror of the trans Atlantic slave system, devised and carried out by Europe.

Emiliano’s role in history does not stop with the Mexican revolution, but carries forward today for being an inspirational component of the Zapatista peoples’ movement which started in 1994 in the state of Chiapas.

The X and the bandoleer are loaded symbols. Both traverse time and space, above and below the Rio Grande. I am always reminded of the duty and responsibility that artists, poets, and writers inherit - to grow the space of thinking and creating.

A Collection Of Thoughts Patrice X Irene

Ready for Rapture Your father has been sober for years Yet every time he comes home late You must brace yourself For your father’s yelling For doors being slammed For glass being shattered For walls being punched For a gun being cocked For your mother’s screams You begin to cry You must be ready for the rapture.

A Haiku for My Moon Big ears, crooked smile Heavy smoker, always drunk But I still love him.

My Dreams for The Caribbean

I dream that we will no longer be exploited Overworked and used our people mislead our resources abused.

No more foreign resorts, Less imports, and more exports No more tourists I sit on my front porch so clueless Cool winds keeping time as to what the Caribbean is By beating against my bare skin we are not savages in leaves Soca music spilling through the speakers of my swinging from trees iPad for your entertainment We are Caribbean As I suck flesh off a mango seed The strong children It’s sweet nectar dribbling off my face of the slaves who toiled through And seeping into my dress fields of sugar cane This is who I am And who I’ve always been in bright sun hot, in pouring rain And as mango juice drips off my hands and my And now our government wants us to do the same disguising the same old chains face I am taken to a place under a new name Tourism.

Where I was no more And I’m sick of it.

Than four years of age Sitting on a veranda So I dream of a Jamaica where tourist won’t flock to because they wanna Nibbling on a mango While making a mess get a puff of the good high grade marijuana And I dream of a Haiti Of my favorite pink dress While innocently singing along the way she used to be To a Byron Lee song rich and stronger And now I see that nothing has changed and no longer From 4 to 19 the poster child for Caribbean poverty.

This is me And I dream of a Belize Just me and my porch and my soca a land of the free And my mango seed. no more captivity from making deals with foreign entities looking for quick money.

Mango Seed

I dream of a Caribbean that does not allow tourists in cruise ships to gallivant through our waters corrupting or sons and daughters into thinking that tourism is the only way I dream of a Caribbean United by our cultures fighting off these vultures who fill us with lies and seek to Americanize our beautiful Caribbean Sea, but they’ll see someday we will fight back some day we will be free.

And maybe it won’t ever happen but at least a girl can dream.

Belizean Girl Born of salt and sun Molded from lime stone The sea sighs in each breath You take And all the heat of an August eve Rages through your veins Yours eyes command respect And every word you exhale Is laced with the music of birds Toucans and Storks crying out their passion At sunny blue skies You are a paradise Lost to the ages You are the jewel that they seek The secret that mother nature keeps Fruit of the earth You are tough as sugar cane Sweet like smooth molasses, Thick and viscous, Toxic like rum Inebriating and dangerous The sound of Baymen’s cannons Making thunder in past ages And African slaves Singing in their cages Are your voice And the rise and fall of tides at shallow shores Are your song Your lips will forever speak the old secrets

And your bosom will carry the weight of their pride You are a Belizean girl Born of callaloo And spice You are destiny and adventure The curve of your hips beckon Like the horizon to Columbus You draw all things to yourself And breathe life into clay with your hands You are goddess, Belizean girl With your playful smile And your nappy hair You are love, Belizean girl With your dark skin And heavy breath You are home, Belizean girl With your bruised hands And calloused feet You will raise a nation And your blood will make them kin African slave European knave Carib child Maya, mestizo, Mennonite Fiery hot, or meek and mild Your blood will make them kin Your hands will wash them clean.

(Adapted from Island Girl By AirXaymaca)

Rebirth Maryam Abdul Qawiyy A return to the Divine Light within.

A return to the Sacred Sanctuary of silence, where all of me rises to the surface.

And with it, a new beginning dawns.

One of self-care.

Love, compassion and gratitude.

One of candor, truth, blessings, and miracles.

One of laughter, loving-kindness, and magical delight.

Radiating from my miraculous core of eternal, infinite and universal existence is this body temple-A woman.

An earthly image of the Divine.

My crown adorned with stars, decorate the bushes of my wild hair.

My third eye consciousness knows beyond seeing, and awakens every dream.

My voice floats into space, its sound, a sweet song.

My heart steady, drumming a beat.

Through my veins it pulses.

My core housing my palace, a city of jewels; sparkling.

My hips, her curves, twists and shimmys; A swaying crescent moon.

My thighs, tall pillars, securly supporting the space, between where divinity resides; Sacred.

Sublime.

Supreme.

And my feet, kissing the earth bare rooted in place.

Connecting to energy in dance, as I rise in spirit...like the wind; swift and twirling.

I am a universe within a universe.

This is my rebirth, this is my return, to me.

Michael Gordon

CASTE WAR OF THE YUCATAN

an educational project organized and curated by Yasser Musa, Carlos Quiroz and Vianney Novelo

5 May 2017

Michele Perdomo Gallery, St. John’s College, Belize

Economic Castration Abdulmajeed K. Nunez Economic castration Plaguing the nation Started when blacks we given emancipation Void of empowerment ill-equipped with land Females headed houses for three generation Is it the men fault they suffer economic castration When financial literacy was never part of their education All they learnt was ideology, in the church state institution Leaving their villages chasing the dream or urbanization Hard face nigger walking around town Eh belly dih growl so he walk with a frown Regretting, that he vex with heself Because he never get he Maths and English down Masking himself with this machismo gown That’s why blacks di shoot one another down Can’t get a job so he buy a pound But because he never get he Maths and English down His juggling business could not get off the ground Can’t keep a relationship so he sleeps around Run he neighbourhood hot, police dih chase ah round Word get round that he has a pound Can’t get a license so he keeps an unlicensed weapon Competition try jack ah so he shoot them down Police always meet ah and rub ah down On more than one occasion they confiscate he pound Then turn round and have someone sell it on the next side of town Word gets round, police can’t catch ah so they lock ah down So he walks around connecting with criminal elements inna lock down Forming a partnership with the underground New Year’s come so he try turn he life around Link up with a girl when he meet eena lock down She tell him about a stash on the other side of town Just as he was about to turn his life around Applying for job after job, but they turn ah down So he rekindles his relationship with the underground Setting up shop backa town Police find out that he deh back in the town Word gets around Knowing they could never gonna catch ah so they tried to lock ah down He resisted to exist so they shoot ah down This is happening all around the town Because black man noh get their reading and mathematics down.

Growing up

with Fidel….

by Lita Hunter Krohn

My small family consisted of Alexander Albert Hunter or “Sandy”, my dad, my mom, Araceli and me, Lita Hunter. We lived in a comfortable, wooden house at 47 Eve Street, next door to the old Belize City Hospital.

We rented from the Melhado family. Our neighbors down the alley also rented from the Melhado family.

These neighbors included the Meighan family, the Jonch family, a Rev. Sherman of the National Assembly of God and the Cobbs. All the children played in the alley and gathered for birthdays and other festivities. This was my Eve Street of the 1950s-1960s. Of course Hurricane Hattie came in 1961 and broke up the neighbourhood destroying most houses. Our house survived along with the vat and we were able to supply water to the Belize City Hospital. Our house also served as a temporary base for 14 Jamaican doctors sent to aid hurricane Hattie victims in the Belize District as well as in the Stann Creek district. With some families moving or migrating to the USA some new ones took their place.

One such family was the Bofil Family which moved onto Craig Street around the corner. There was Mr. Guillermo Bofil, his wife, Nur and their two daughters, Saide and Evy. Mr. Bofil worked at a lumber yard up the Northern Highway just before the Stanleyfield Airport, now the Philip Goldson International Airport. I believe that the Bofils or at least Nur was related to Mr.Eugene Maestre and Mr. Mike Maestre families of Belize City.

Our families met very often sharing meals with the children playing in the yard. Sometimes the

adults would get together in our living room and that is where my fascination with Fidel started.

As a very young girl between the ages of 8 and 12, I vividly recall numerous heated and passionate discussions taking place in our living room. My dad and Memo, as he was fondly called, talked about the revolution in Cuba, Batista, the need to overthrow him and arms supplies for Cuba. The men talked about commitment to the revolution as a just cause and toppling Bautista, as a solution. Little did I know at that time that Memo and others, a Mr. Vinat, I believe, were smuggling arms to the young band of Cuban revolutionaries who had left Mexico on board The Granma heading towards southeastern Cuba to La Sierra Maestra where Fidel Castro would form base camp for The Cuban Revolution. Little did I know then that those arms headed for the Cuban rebels were hidden on Belizean islands.

Sometime later, the British colonial government of British Honduras got wind of these Fidel supporters in BH who smuggled arms to

Cuba and within 24 to 48 hours the Bofil family was torn away from their quiet existence on Craig Street, where the BSI/ASR sugar offices now stand.

The Bofils were deported to Mexico. That such a drastic measure could be taken against this family by the British really shocked me. From an early age I was aware of the power and control the British had over Belize. Of course my dad was already committed to Belizean Independence as were the others in The People’s United Party.

Saide Bofil and I communicated by letters for many years, first from Cuba and later from Spain where the family lived for a while.

It was from that early age that I became fascinated with the life and career of Fidel Castro.

As a sophomore at St. Catherine’s Academy, I like so many others were aware of the dangers of nuclear war. We had no television but we were exposed to US movies and The Voice of America radio station.

What was different about this nuclear threat was that it was in our Caribbean Sea, not some faraway, foreign land. This was the Missile Crisis of 1962 in our backyard. I could swear that from the third floor of St. Catherine’s I could see those menacing missile-loaded ships in front of SCA.

In 1962 US intelligence had discovered that the Soviet Union was developing missile bases less than 100 miles from the United States of America in Cuba. Before that in 1961, the CIA/Central Intelligence Agency had trained Cuban exiles to instigate a counter revolutionary assault on The Bay of Pigs in Cuba. These enemies of Cuba had trained in Guatemala with the support of the USA and Israel. These were anxious times known as The Cold War when the US and The Soviet Union were in an arms race. Actually the US had missiles in Turkey pointed at The Soviet Union. The missiles in Cuba were dismantled and the Bay of Pigs invasion crushed.

Later on in the eighties, when there was a dedicated team at The Society for the Promotion of Education and Research (SPEAR) as a member, I frequented symposiums and sometimes hosted or transported visiting Cubans that others shunned perhaps worried to be called evil Communists?

During our 1981 Independence celebrations, Cuba, one of Belize’s first supporters of independence, sent a high-level delegation led by Ricardo Alarcon Quesada, a long-time ally of Fidel Castro. Mr. Alarcon had been the Permanent Representative at the United Nations for Cuba for 30 years. He

had also served as Minister of Foreign Affairs. It was Lois Young, Rosalie Staines and I, to some degree, who made sure that those distinguished guests were treated with respect. Later on when Ambassador Amalia Mai was in Belize, Mr. Alarcon visited and we had the privilege to accompany him to Xunantunich.

In 1986, myself and fellow teacher, Javier Reyes, visited Havana, Cuba. We did the touristy things before tourism was in full swing and officially condoned. We stayed at El Hotel Vedado. This was once an exclusive area in Havana where the wealthy had their homes. If you were black you were not allowed. It was in this area that Fidel Castro set up his office at La Havana Libre, formerly Havana Hilton. Javier and I visited Parque Lenin, el Museo de Historia, La Casa Natal de Jose Marti where the historian there showed us evidence that José Martí and his father had sought employment in the canefields of British Honduras. We did fun things like line up for helados at La Coppelia, watched Doña Flor y sus dos Esposos at the Yara cinema, walked up and down La Rampa and strolled El Malecon, that popular seawall looking out to sea.

From El Malecon you could see El Castillo del Moro and from there enter into Havana Vieja. What a treasure that is. Architecture from the sixteenth century, La Cathedral, La Bodeguita y La Floridita two elegant bars.

In 1999, I managed to squeeze into a highlevel delegation of Belizeans travelling to Cuba to present Fidel Castro with The Order of Belize. He would be the first non-Belizean to receive such an award. The delegation was led by Prime Minister Said Musa. The delegation included:

Cordel Hyde, Mark Espat, Dickie Bradley, Ralph Fonseca, Godfrey Smith, Assad Shoman, Barry Bowen, Michael Ashcroft, Patty Arceo and I. We were greeted by the newly appointed Ambasador to Cuba, Amalia Mai.

Each member of the delegation was given certain responsibilities. Mine was culture. I was taken to visit a couple casas de cultura/ houses of culture in and around Havana. It was from that trip that many of us saw first hand how these culture centers worked. Later on in the year two Cuban women, one from Santa Clara and one from La Habana visited Belize and we laid the ground work for Houses of Culture Belizean style. First we converted the seat of British colonialism, the Governor's House into a people’s space, now the

House of Culture, Belize City. We held a tribute to Bob Marley, a photo and painting exhibit as well as a concert in his memory. There were Full Moon Concerts under the stars, jazz concerts, Belizean fashion shows featuring cultural garb, many, many art exhibits, historical exhibits like The 200th anniversary of The Haitian Revolution.

In Benque Viejo we converted a tiny old police station into The Benque House of Culture.

In Benque there was already a culture base with CACHE (Community of Artists for Cultural and Historical Endeavors), led by author, David Ruiz.

Next in the formation of houses of culture was the conversion of an old market which was not being used but in a great location, Banquitas. Banquitas was a spot where lovers would go and sit on benches, "banquitas," by the River and smooch. It was thanks to Gilvano Swasey and Yasser Musa that much of the curation and collecting of historical items took place.

It was Said Musa and Assad Shoman who arranged to bring the most distinguished choreographer from Santiago, Cuba to access and revitalize dance in Belize. Professor Eduardo Rivero Walker was warmly embraced by Althea Sealey and Rosita Balthazar. Today Denise Enriquez continues the labor of love for dance. Just before he died, Profe was awarded one of the most prestigious awards for culture in Cuba by Fidel Castro. My favorite and most moving of all of Professor’s choreographies is: Agreement highlighting that close bond between Belize and Cuba. And there is a very special bond between our two nations Cuba and Belize that continues today. And today more that ever I am committed to the true values of a leadership that respects ALL people regardless of their color or status in life. I was privileged to have grown up with those values from my father in that living room on Eve Street assimilating the passion and love of country exhibited by Fidel Castro that I am sure Sandy felt. That passion is expressed via the development of health, education, culture and the dignified undertaking of any type of honest work which good leadership provides for its people.

YO SOY FIDEL…HASTA LA MUERTE.

Poverty Abdulmajeed K. Nunez Poverty is an European terminology Indexes they have set for developing countries After doing the academic researches They have exploited strategies Creating yard sticks for enhance their riches Exploiting the resources of smaller countries Who don’t have the technologies?

To compete with developed countries so they create these indexes Poverty is in the mind Black people you are sublime This is your time Get off your lorries and stop whine The Mennonites did it in fifty years time The Japanese did it in twenty years time Belizeans can do it in half the time Our men have to stop drinking booze and wine And use though things to turn turbines Poverty is in the mind You have 400 miles of coastline Everyone is looking for an oil find The PM promised to make oil refined Yet a simple Guyanese was confined When he built a small oil refinery in Belmopan out of his mind Equipment is sitting there and it is a gold mine Europeans came to Belize and had a marble find The equipment is being overgrown by the vegetation at this time Belize Bank has the equipment in receivership Why haven’t a cadre of our children been given scholarships To master marble making craftsmanship?

Why hasn’t the government mastered that shit And explore putting marble products on the market?

It’s a money making venture that is legit Europeans have made millions in Dubai Via our marble deposit Limestone is another industry Belize needs to explore this with science and technology We have to bypass ideology This one way of thinking is keeping us in poverty We haven’t explored our local markets adequately Because we have allowed others to come and define we Belize is a mixed market economy Because of our inability to operate machinery This has crippled our economy Belize needs leaders that are visionaries.

Raptured Rupture Hannah Cattouse No other way To slow my heart beat But an answer to my body's call... ...for you... ...so I thought... ...how I felt..

Aching for you Amazing how this denial Hurts my hearts so And I'm MAD At you And I hate you 'Cause you're slumbering During my passion's Thundering mumbling And I'm mad I wish I just wish I could fall asleep Like you are And rest my tired body Like you are But restless heart...

My restless heart Beats and beats Increases its beat And beats Deny my eyes of sleep And I breathe and breathe And breathe Try and calm her down But there's no solace From anything In anything But you Then I look at you How I adore Your sleeping face A picture No camera can capture ...

Places me in a rapture Of you

Terrorism Abdulmajeed K. Nunez Ministers should be sent to prison For treasonous acts against Belizean citizens After the eleven days strike, government never learn ih lesson Attempting to withhold the teachers’ salaries was an act of terrorism Belize has a terrorism act, But most Belizeans are ignorant of this fact Hence the reason they are reluctant to act As the government sets on the unions back Belizeans we can do better than that I make an appeal to teachers not to yield Parents don’t make government use your children as shields They, the managing authority and secret deals Teachers’ fight is our fight for real If we do not take a stand our faith is sealed Teachers were not consulted when managers and government made their deal Teachers should seek an injunction for real Over fifty percent open vote workers is employment terrorism So too is interfering in police investigations in the death of Mr. Dawson Pakeman still ain’t gone to prison So too showing Noble favoritism That is political terrorism Government using children as pawn is terrorism When will citizens demand ministers be arrested for terrorism Sabotaging the citrus industry is industrial terrorism Hijacking BTL is business terrorism The lie about owning BTL is technological terrorism Appointing Net Vasquez without an accounting license To the Integrity Commission is political terrorism Murderers walking due to nuli-pros is judicial terrorism So is dangling judges contracts for political reason Paying gangsters to hold it down is urban terrorism Providing gangs with guns is terrorism So is allowing Guatemalans to annex Sarstoon This country is being run by a bunch of buffoons Hoodwinking us with the ICJ referendum is terrorism Passing the Compremi without consultation is terrorism This government aint learn ih lesson Parents on the ninth school children should continue their lesson Anything else by government is terrorism.

Jazdene Gray

Sara Pongrac

An Ode to Nabi Kyo D’Assassin Paul Nabor… strumming away on the sands of Barranco One with the earth’s breath Music… its flow that vibrates through the bones of the ground’s soul No pain or sorrow I’m moving on… to the highest peaks towering over an ocean of snow A foreign land… its feelings resonating with my truth My story woven into the hearts of Belizeans where hope glows in a black hole The Jewel under the sun are the dreams of the Sahara Vast… mysterious… endless Paul Nabor…

Lauren Young

Rony Jobel

Dear Me Hannah Cattouse Story lines in movies Are taken from life There's the theme The setting The characters The Plot Its beginning, conflict, climax and ending Of every chapter When things get rough In our story Don’t dwell on sad history Or someone else’s seemingly “Happy” tale Unbeknownst to you They have problems too You just can’t see it Or know it Maybe not even understand it Each story is unique To the individual And each person in the same story Has a different prose My dear self When the storm clouds roll in And the mood changes Don’t think you have a sad end Perhaps your happiness lies In the next chapter Remember your theme Pick up your paper and pen Think of the changes you want And start writing again As long as there is breath and life The possibilities are endless Keep moving forward Write yourself into happiness

Entries from my diary, titled: Chasing God Jorge David Awe Entry 1: From dawn till dusk I chase after a presence I constantly sense. Reminiscent of stitching on a piece of fabric, it appears then disappears. Deep, personal stirrings serve as evidence of its footprints. I believe I catch a glimpse, for example, when I stare at a red rose. Its magnetic beauty pulls with such profundity I feel the very core of my being drawn, like water down a drain, along the cupped edges of its petals right into the heart of its velvety redness! I hear it in the relentless rhythm of waves whose timeless song seems to originate as much from the depths of my chest as it does the ocean bottom. Is this presence a natural extension of me? A separate entity? What, or who, keeps shifting my heart, mind, and soul with myriad minute revelations?

Entry 11: Is existence simply the space between you and me? Is the reason I try to fill this void, with a life worth living, an attempt to bridge the gap? Does it stem from this yearning I have to return to a place I can only vaguely sense? Is existence the midpoint between this life and another?

Entry 14: Why do your footsteps keep showing up all over my thoughts? Who’s pursuing who? I’m not entirely clueless, I see what the sun does to a rosebush. But I can’t quite make out what you’re doing to me. Why must you meddle from the shadows? Why hide, for example, behind the cries of a wayward seagull? How is it you sing this most beautiful song of Life, from so far away, I can’t even begin to fathom?

Entry 21: If I had a single wish it would be this: I’d ask for every living person to go through life without ever having to hear, or mention, your name. I’d wish for people to take one look inside each other’s eyes and come to know...You. Entry 32: Why spar, my immortal, with a man whose speck of a brain cannot begin to comprehend the extent of you? As such, is it wrong, when I become frustrated, to say that I sometimes feel like I don’t quite know you? Many things have been attributed to you, many people say, by proof of your very own words (in the Bible). But my gut suggests caution whenever others wave what you may or may not have said as the end-all and be-all. Every time I contemplate possibly converting to a particular way of thought, you appear riding atop one of those moments where you yank on the reins so that my eyes end up resting in a different direction: away from conventional wisdom.

Food as Culture

and Mrs. Jenny from Boom: A Light of Love

Mrs. Jenny Pinkard

from Boom in the Belize River Valley off the the Philip Goldson Highway starts her day at 4am with a prayer of thanks to her God for the breath of life, the gift of love and the guidance and strength of the Holy Spirit.

She sets her beans on the 'fayah heart' (fire hearth) a traditional oak wood fire that gives all her food a complex, smoky flavor for which her food is known and to which her customers flock to buy their daily lunch. She cooks all her food this way taught and encouraged into business by her mother-in-law Mrs. Lally Kingston. She sees culture as an open book where all can find a place and joy and wants to make her customers happy by cooking a wide range of dishes from the national staple rice-and-beans-chicken-and-salad, beef with okra, pork, oxtail, cowfoot, pigtail with stew beans and white rice, boil-up to a rich variety of game meats from the forest: warrie, armadillo, gibnut, deer, and bokotora as well as fresh catch from the sea: fish, lobster, conch all available seasonally and beautifully seasoned and cooked with love. Pumpkin, callalloo, plantain, ducunu also grace this food carnival, this feast for the tongue and belly.

She hits the road at 10:30am driving from Boom to Belize City arriving at 11am with her delicious bounty to the corner of North Front Street and Queen Street where she unloads and sets up her stand with cast iron pots of food fresh and hot from the fire heart under a tent on the site that was formerly occupied by the Paslow Building which housed the Post Office and which burned down in a fire now famously referred to locally as 'Ground Zero'.

Her food draws people. Her smile ignites the space.

Sean Taegar

Ms. Jenny is buoyant with joy. She wants to make people happy and make people know the love of God for them in their lives and the guiding force of the Holy Spirit.

She treats her customers as family sharing the love of her heart, wisdom and advice and encouragement for life, always listening to their stories with her genuine love. She is a lighthouse for those coming to fill their bellies and talk about life while they are buying their food and find respite from the rush of work. Ms. Jenny's oasis is the love she shares. The warm feeling of being in her presence and eating her delicious food. This is the work of her life, her way of making life a little better for the past twenty eight years.

And there are many others who from humble, home-grown businesses also prepare a wide variety of dishes each day to feed the workers and people of Belize.

Food is a unifying force of culture. Food is needed for physiological survival but food also gives pleasure and opens space, a space where people gather to find community and love and joy. Food brings the circle of community closer by its necessity for life but also because of those who prepare it from memory and the sacred process of creation from love and knowledge in an act of imagination.

Food is culture. Culture is what we create from life and living it. Eating and sharing food unites people for that time in a space of remembering, of sharing stories, of creating life. The sharing creates a circle, a circle of memory and relation. The circle sings with life. This simple thing that blossoms complexity.

This necessity of love.

Mrs. Jenny and all the people who prepare and  sell food in Belize as a living feed the body and nourish the space of remembering from their creations, the memory from which imagination is born, the body that navigates the world and creates stories to find meaning, to illuminate life. The love of God that Mrs. Jenny so generously shares as the Holy Spirit guides her and gives her the strength to continue sharing love. The love that gives life and lives in every human being.

Thursday 9 February 2017 12:23pm Revised Saturday 11 February 2017 4:45

The new Wildfire Artzmosphere had a soft opening on January 28th, Chinese New Year for the inauguration of a monthly event called, Done Seh It!: Spoken Fusion from 7pm to 10pm at 1 Wyatt Embarcadero Plaza in San Ignacio. Performers are expected to use another element [character, music, costume, dance film etc] in their work. art by any means necessary.

A curated monthly spoken word event for artists who perform with music, costume, dance, film...

Wildfire Artzmosphere Lucy Grace

Jacklyn Burns

Jaren Serano

Stephanie, Natalie Williams, & Virginia Hampton

Emani Fiasco

Land of the Free Emani J. Fiasco Land of the free, by the Carib Sea. Why can't you see what you've done to me?

Sick Political parties fuxk the country, Now it’s full of disease, Impregnating young minds with hate & folly Land of the free, by the Carib Sea Why can't you see what you've done to me?

Satan with a gavel took my father, threw him in jail while the devil on the pulpit, told me go on your knees -pray- the humble shall prevail.

How can I be humble?

With a target on my back, How can I be humble!?

I’m a target ‘cause I'm black.

Land of the free, by the Carib Sea Why can't you see what you've done to me?

Excellent grades on my CXC's, graduated with honors from JC, Still no jobs are guaranteed for a ghetto youth like me.

My mother is still crying, my father was the only one working, Hey look, now we're living in the streets.

Look to the sky & ask God for the reason why You created me from dust, maybe that's why now I do dirt, In these times, even LOVE can hurt.

Land of the free, by the Carib sea, You have taken all hope from me Now I got to get a gun, protect myself, ‘Cause it's a jungle, and you're prey if you're weak.

The blood of the innocent, stain the soil, GSU, police, politicians, drug dealers roam free, wreaking turmoil.

The government is only there when it's time to punish young G's, I guess that's why old folks still say "sweet Belize" Land of the free, by the Carib Sea Take a look, at what you've done to me.

The seeds of hate that were planted has bloomed, Karma’s come back around, & the grave goes deeper, the further we go down.

Life after Love Jemuel Robateau I’m anticipating your release Not if, but or maybe Not even saying please T’was so bleakly Such dire prognosis until it was announced Upon a broken promise this one has died I'm pulling away from your gravity No more basking in your presence Leaving the force of your influence behind Erasing the ambience remaining until it no longer exists Purging myself from this infection what I need is a strong dose of her to make it over so You are hereby relinquished for lack of want and need /I hereby relinquish you for lack of want and need Tell me How much longer should my life be filled with your anecdotes?

Notes of what I must or mustn’t do that suits you When will you die so I can experience some closure?

Take a parting shot if you will I shall live to love again Tomorrow...

Light Pieces ~Marika “Delilah” Zuniga

I saw the image of a 25 year old girl Eyes swollen shut, Cuts to the face bone deep.

I saw the bruises Deep purple… almost black She looked like someone had taken her soul.

I’m saddened!

Today I saw this girl This innocent child of God Raise her dress to reveal her inner thighs, The force with which he held her down Created tracks, cuts from where his Nasty fingernails dredged out pieces of skin I’m heartbroken…

Today just as yesterday I saw the Man who assaulted me…

The evil that took away my power to fight.

I wanted with all my might to face That demon and curse it!

I needed to strangle the ogre That took away my voice and suffocated my dreams.

In preparing for tomorrow I paged through the mental pictures of today And I remembered the pain from the fractured chest I sustained…

In an attempt to feed his need to be in control And prove powerful He deposited a bug A bug that ate away at my core; A virus that tampered with the balance of my fundamental nature.

I was fearful!

Paranoia and obsession became my best friends.

Why me?

Today I… Today I walked past the mirror in the hallway, And the mirrored image revealed a stranger It was my body and the person seemed familiar But it was broken…

I was broken!

I was damaged!

I was DIFFERENT! There was a stench that radiated It was the smell of death!

What he took from me Could never be replaced…

What he stole from me was a one of a kind GEM… My person-hood!

My essence My ME! Today I sought comfort in DENIAL! I try not to recollect But recollection is the inevitable!

Today I am haunted of my thoughts of dying…

My thoughts of asking God to “Please let me go quickly!”

My bubble of depression has been engulfed with deep grey clouds.

When will I be okay dear God? When will my sanity be restored?

Today like a scratch record I cried and cried And yelled and sobbed…

I’m TIRED! I’m beat!

Frustrated by self And disgusted by my frustration It’s all crippling!

Today I picked at my emotional scab again…

It’s a sore that refuses to heal!

Each day I live is more horrific than the ordeal itself.

When will I make my transition from victim to victorious?

So today just like an ole Pataki I emptied the contents of my heart Unto the oh so familiar bed of Travesty.

As I carefully selected my ingredients Shedding a tear for each, I stirred my concoction It’s Painful!

Today I lined the insides Of a casket heart with silk and velvet Today tears become comfort.

As I sit evaluating the rummage I can’t help but agree with my heart that the path ahead seems forbidden.

Oh how I wish Mr. Moon, That you could light up my pit of darkness As you do the night.

‘Cause I’m Confused!

Today, after thinking about yesterday The fighter in me has taken charge STILL… When the lights are off And my tears stream down to create a puddle in my pillow I long for God’s arms of comfort to take the pain away.

When fighting tears becomes the inevitable My badge of weakness becomes visible.

Broken down like shattered glass With no hopes of being rebuilt.

I pray that someone sweeps me under the magic carpet.

Do you know what it’s like?

Do they not know of broken beauty?

Do they not know of stifled screams and tearful letters to the moon?

Obviously they don’t know about being a victim of cruelty!

Today I refuse to be a slave to the cruelties of such a taboo Today warm tears are victorious tears Today I mentor victims into become triumphant Today my story, My Experience, My pit of darkness is no longer my burden.

Today they all become “Light Pieces.”

Stolen Jenelle Logan I feel like a piece of me is missing This is not who I'd have been But what I've become.

Until I can no longer tell unto myself what is a symptom and what is really me.

You took more than one thing that day When you stole my innocence away.

And now I feast on sin To smother the cries from within Yet nothing soothes this pain And nothing rids of this hideous stain Since you took me you've never let go I feel your iron grasp clenching my life And I wonder if I'll ever be free I'm consumed by desire to hurt you like you hurt me Make you writhe and scream To satiate this growing beast within Always so confused inside this head So crippled with fury I'd rather be dead Than forever haunted by you.

Love’s Shadow Jorge David Awe From behind the curtains, I, a sentinel for misplaced emotions and all things unsaid, would spy on you at the end of the school-day as you glided past the living room window, your shoulder-length curls kept to the sides of your face with two shiny, red barrettes I wished were my hands. I was a shadow. But you…you were a vision on the cusp of wondrous womanhood!

After you disappeared around the corner I would retire to my bedroom and gaze at the water stains ‒circles within circles‒ on the ceiling. My mind, itself becoming a kind of circle, would turn into a rolodex of snapshots of your escalating beauty.

At the end of my reverie, I’d find myself in a familiar spot: afflicted by the type of inertia that grounds one’s courage. As desperately as I wanted to, I could never look you in the eyes, for fear that mine would have readily betrayed the faint flicker of hope that burned inside. Why couldn’t I scream the heartfelt declaration I desired so badly for you to hear? How does anyone bury something before it is even given life?

Yvon Noralez

Blood, Tears, and Sacrifice Rasheena Anderson

Life was calm and simple for me. Nothing ever changed, from work to home, to church and back home. I could tell you exactly what mother is doing at 8:25 on a Tuesday night- sipping her cup of tea while re-reading the newspaper. I could even tell you what mischief the twins have cooked up on a Friday afternoon- stealing mom’s freshly baked cookies. My life had become so predictable, like I was living for someone else and not for me. Mr. Nabid, my past psychology teacher, had told me once that I was merely existing and not living. Of course, at the time I just thought he was a nasty old pervert that only wanted to get into to my pretty little panties. However, I later realized what he meant and it’s sad to say I agreed with him. What am I doing in my life? I’m a plain and simple girl living in a cruel and complicated world yet, nothing interesting has ever happened to me. I have never even wooed a nice bachelor for myself. I often wondered, when will my life begin?

My life somehow took a turn from boring to horror film quicker than I anticipated. It started one August night. I woke up to a chill in my room. I forgot to close the window again. The clock displayed 3:00 a.m. I could feel the pale moonlight shining onto my long dangly legs. As I turned over I noticed something. Unbelievably I’ve lived in the same house all my life, and for twenty-three years I had never noticed a small crevice on my ceiling. A moth somehow got its wing stuck up there.

It desperately fluttered around trying to break free, but all its efforts were to no avail. His wing only slipped deeper into the crevice and its fluttering slowly died down. Its stillness provoked something in me that made goose bumps appear over my entire body. It wasn’t the chill coming in from the window this time. Popping out of my little bubble, I quickly got up to close the window. That’s when I noticed movement downstairs. Finally, someone was moving into that old wooden house next door.

It had been a while since Gale Valley had any new comers. So I paid keen attention to try and catch any familiar faces. At first I saw a small dark figure taking nothing but a silver container in its hands. Then out came a bigger figure, carrying boxes and a pile of other stuff. I stared closer, squinting my eyes a little to get a clearer look. The night was dark and eerie, nevertheless he appeared like god send. The most beautiful man I had ever seen. His hair was dark against his slightly tanned skin with beaming muscles that looked like I could play drums on them. His forehead was lined with beads of sweat. When he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat away, he left his abs visible to the world. As I peered out from behind the curtains, I could see his perfectly chiseled body. His pants were slightly sagging, just enough to expose his v-shaped lower abdomen. It’s like this man was glowing beneath the moonlight. He caught a glimpse of me staring, and feeling guilty I quickly jumped into my bed and went fast asleep.

Waking up that Saturday morning felt exciting. I baked a cake and cookies of which I wanted to formally introduce the new neighbors with. Trish and Trina started arguing over who would lick out the bowl, and in that instance I just didn’t care. Their squabbles didn’t bother me anymore. For some reason I just couldn’t get that guy out of my mind. I rushed over to their house, but caught them too late, their car had already disappeared down the street. I stood there breathless and disappointed all my hard work of burning a few batches went in vain. As I turned around to head back home, oof! HE bumped right into me. Up went the cake and down came chocolate frosting splattering all over us.

“I’m so sorry, didn’t see you there. A-Are you okay?”

Giggling uncontrollably, I foolishly replied, “You got chocolate on your nose.”

Prince charming displayed his set of pearly whites and said, “Ha, yeah, and so do you. Let’s get inside and clean up, shall we? I’m still so very sorry for running into you like that, Miss??”

“Oh, I’m Lauren De’Leon, and it’s okay, I fall over all the time”.

“Nice to meet you Lauren, that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I’m Trenton Musgrave, but you can call me Trent”.

That line had to be one of the cheapest used often by guys his age, yet, I was intrigued.

What was it about this guy that enchanted me so? As we cleaned up, we talked and talked about all sorts of things. For the first time I wasn’t being awkward, the conversation flowed effortlessly. I

couldn’t help looking into his hazel eyes, they were so deep, like they could tell a thousand stories of pain and hurt. I felt as though I understood what he’s been through. He leaned in closer to me and whispered in my ear, “I saw you watching me that night; those curtains couldn’t hide that fiery red hair. You looked so pretty in the moonlight”.

My heart melted at his words. There was something about this guy that plucked at my heart strings. His warm eyes and tender heart called to me. To add to my worries, he licked the bit of chocolate that remained on my slightly chapped lips. I shuddered. I closed my eyes tightly and waited to feel his touch. Trent gently placed a kiss on my forehead and offered to walk me home. As happy as ever, I more than welcomed that offer. When we reached to my front door, he told me how he hopes to see me again and how much he loved talking to me. With bright red cheeks, I assured him of plenty more where that came from, and so he walked away. I simply danced in the aroma of his sweet cologne and imagined it was him dancing with me on the porch.

Just as he takes me by the waist to hoist me, my little fantasy was destroyed by the twins stepping on my toes. That was the first day of many others.

Trent had become like a dream come true, in just a few months’ time he was able to sweepwell, knock me off my feet, literally. It only got sweeter from there as November drew closer and the days got wetter. We quickly ran inside where I could smell nothing but iron with a tinge of blood. I was soaked from head to toe; my hair went from fire to bricks in an instant. Trent offered his bathroom for me to get cleaned up. On my way there something caught my eye. Through his bedroom window I could see the crimson sky reflecting off the pool in his backyard like a sea of blood; its beauty was mesmerizing as it was complimented by the sweet smell of raindrops on daisies. I couldn’t stop staring, as I pressed against the cold glass window and inhaled. Suddenly, the sounds of whispers from behind the walls broke my moment of silence. As interested as I was, I walked slowly into the kitchen and heard Trent asking why they can’t find someone else, and the other person yelling back that he has ran out of time. I tried to get a closer look at the little figure but he heard me coming.

All he said was, “Tonight! Trent!” and sprinted out of there.

As confused as I was, I tried to ask Trent what was that all about, but he ignored my curiosity and gave me soft kisses instead; he can shut me up that way any day. His hands caressed me as goose bumps trickled all over my back. He picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist and carried me into a dark room. How could I tell him that I’m not exactly the sexiest girl out there?

What should I do, should I kiss him, should I take off my top or my bottom first? Oh, silly me, I’m wearing a dress. The thoughts kept rummaging through my head. Finally he kissed me and took my clothes off all so gently. His cold body pressed against mine and made me weak. I felt his grip sink into my sink, he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I wanted his kisses to last forever, but he wanted more.

“Uh, Trent?”

“Yes Lauren?

“Can we slow down?”

“You wanna stop?”

“No. It’s just that I’ve never done this before”.

“Never done what?”

“This Trent, I’ve never been with a guy before”.

“Oh, so you were a lesbian? That’s cool, I don’t judge”.

“No, silly I meant, I haven’t been with either a girl or boy ever in my life. I’m still a virgin”.

As quick as I said so, Trenton hopped off me and told me to put my clothes back on. I was extremely disappointed, me and my big mouth. So I got dressed and rushed out the room.

Later that night I took a long shower to try and forget what had happened earlier. Unfortunately, not even a nice cold shower helped. When I got out of the shower I put on a little white dress and laid down. The moment I closed my eyes all I could see was his face. With those dashing good looks, those dimples, and how he made me laugh. Suddenly, the window flew open and the cold air traveled up my body giving me goose bumps all over again. Somehow I liked the

cool air so I laid there and closed my eyes. That’s when I felt like someone was watching me, so I jumped up and saw Trent standing by the window. He came up to me and kissed me like he never wants to lose me. All he said was to forgive him, as he ripped my clothes off like an animal. Right then he took away my innocence and just like the wind he disappeared into the night. I couldn’t understand what he meant, why he wanted me to forgive him, to me that was the best night of my life. It wasn’t long after that my bubble was burst as a little figure appeared in my room and before I knew it I fell unconscious.

When I opened my eyes I was in a dark room, surrounded by men dressed in dark brown coats with hoodies that covered their face. The room was lit only by the dim light of candles.

Beneath my feet was a star drawn within a circle on the ground. All these men began chanting as I heard a sinister cackle echoing from amidst them. Soon appeared the little figure again, he was the same person I saw when Trent had just moved in. I started shouting for Trent; the man’s laughter only grew louder and ominous. When I tried to run I was jerked by the hooks they pierced into the skin on my back. The pain was excruciating, for every time they pulled on the chains its electrifying shock caused blood to spurt out. To these people, my shrilling cries deserved no mercy. I screamed until my throat went dry and lost my voice. I had no more tears left to cry. I then understood that this was an occult practice, and that Trenton had betrayed me, right then the tears started falling again, falling onto my wounds and I screamed once again as it burnt through my exposed flesh. Just then the chanting stopped and out rolled another table with Trent tied to it.

“Trent! Trent! What’s happening?!”

“Just relax okay!”

The Demon revealed his repulsive face, with skin sagging off of its bones, and bugs crawling in and out of the holes on his face. He took the silver container filled with my crimson blood, lifted it up to his nose and sniffed it. He then screamed at Trent. He said he needed a pure blood to extend his life.

“What have you done Trent!? You took her away from me?? You knew the plan, she was mine! You fool, my life is wasting away; I needed a pure blooded mortal! And you Lauren, you whore!! You belonged to me!!”

He slapped me, and just as he was about to snatch my neck, Trent shouted at him.

“Leave her alone! Take me! Just take me, I forfeit my inheritance as the next in line for the throne, I’ll give it all to you!”

“Oh really? You would do that for this scrawny little girl? How pathetic! Very well then, release the girl she’s of no use to me anyway. Take her away”.

They released me from the chains that bind me, and threw me outside. As weak as I was, all I could do was lay there hoping someone would see me and help me. Strange enough, while lying on the soft, freshly cut green grass I noticed a moth fluttering by with a crooked wing. I smiled.

Closing my eyes under that rainbow of a sky, all I could think of was Trent. How could I leave him there? He’s about to sacrifice himself for me, a plain simple girl with nothing interesting about her.

Several months after the incident, I sat in my room enduring that humid July air. As I gazed through the window, it’s as if I could feel he’s watching me, even though the entire house disappeared. Trenton Musgrave brought excitement to my life, he brought laughter and love, he even brought pain and sadness; nevertheless he made my life unpredictable for just a short time.

For once I felt that I’ve actually lived. Regardless of the pain I had to withstand, my love is undying.

That demon might have stolen my happy, but I have something he wants but can never have. What that demon failed to realize, is that Trent gave up his rights to him, however, should Trent have planted his lineage then automatically his reign passes down to his first born. I only wished that Trent was here to feel the way he kicks when I call his name. It saddens me that Trent won’t be here to experience this brand new day. Just then, the window flew open and in came the chill that caused goose bumps to trickle all across my back like tiny kisses on my wounds, even junior began jumping inside. I slowly walked toward the window- his smile meant the world to me.

Mamá Is Sexist Andre Habet Mamá switched from red to black beans, I had preferred Tia’s, Once a week she got the pot stewing after sorting los frijoles on the counter, banishing the shriveled to the compost out back The pot simmered while she wrote out prescriptions and sutured lacerations, lid filling with condensation, the pot later emitting a gasp as Mamá turned it once more and tasted added salt in free fall Mamá never asks me to tend the beans when I visit her, turning from our breakfast conversation towards my younger sisters, one at random for the sorting, stewing, and blending My sisters say Mamá is sexist that I am her special boy, I think you’re right, my response every time Mamá does not see my wickedness for I hide it well between mattress and box spring, when I make beans in my own home I start from a can, turning the pot with my arm, penance in bubbling rotations

Urban Beautification Andre Habet Government hands out wind chimes pickney collect them for an orchestra arranged on clotheslines, prey for hurricanes, crescendo before the eye

GENERATION CURSE Shanti Mac “Yo da jus like yo pupa, wa be nuttin ina life” Johnny cyanh stap yer eh ma scaanful words As e dreg eh barefoot down di street Pants haaf aff eh backside not even wa go da school Cause e neva have nuttin fi eat Cathryn siddog pa eh back step Cyanh believe eh get di scholarship Di bawl out eh eye di ask faada Gaad why But pencil and book days done fi she Time fi laan fi shake out napkin Eh ma so obsessed wit e yankee man Joe He flip she two ten dallaz she neem notice Cathryn belly di grow Rong di caana gun shot di ring Wa lee 13 yea ole get like agen Wa bright lee young man jus gone da SJC Neva troublesome coh fra good family Gone pa ball court ina eh fresh Jordan tennis Wen red eye Jimbo decide he want it Fra I di com up nuttin noh change Di same ting paa news everyday Thiefing and corruption ina government No justice fa police and wos in parliament And while di uppa class di sip pa red wine Man di work haad and not even get pay fi dey But who fi blame but wi own mentality?

While school di teach pikney fi use dey head Mumma di tell data”dat noh full table wit bread Find wa nice man one fra good brood Whe wa tek care ah yo and treat yo good” Daadi neem de rong fi teach son fi be man He raise up pa street til eh tun rong jain gang But my pa mi tell me lang befo eh dead Sleep wit yo own eye data use yohead Noh mek no man tek yo fi kunumunu Set wa aim ina life and mek shur dad at yo do Dat all dey one whe di look fi si yo fall Haftu look up caz you di stan tall But noh be to proud and skin up yo noise Work haad fi come out ah dis ya GENERATION CURSE

Jabari the Jaguar (educational short story for kids) Hannah Cattouse 2 year old Jabari was a big boy now. He has never gone out to look for food alone before so he was afraid. But he remembers many of the things mommy taught him. After many tries, he found something to eat.

The next day, he went for a swim. Oh how he loved the water!

"Aaaaaaaah!" he heard a scream. He hurried out of the water to see who was in trouble. It was his friend Jeena the Jaguar. A mean jaguar was chasing her.

Jabari was nervous, but he ran to help her.

"Two of us can stop him", said Jabari, "we just have to work together and he'll go back home" "But how?" Jeena asked.

"Let's roar at him", he suggested.

"Rooooaaar!!!!" shouted Jabari and Jeena.

The mean Jaguar heard a big roar and saw two of them. He stopped quickly and ran away back home.

"Thanks for your help Jabari" said Jeena and she continued on her way into the jungle.

Note: Educational story written to teach kids about animals in Belize and hopefully encourage parents to start reading with their kids.

Special things about Jaguars: 1. Strong jaw 2. Protects territory 3. Protects females in its territory 4. Loves to swim 5. Solitary hunter 6. Young stay with mother until 1.5yrs 7. 3rd largest roaring cat in world, largest native to Americas

The Meaning of Culture: Sean Taegar

Evan X Hyde Honored by Pen Cayetano

'Fellowship asserts the spirit's freedom,the seal of its divinity.'

Jay Wright ' The Opening of the Ceremony/the Coming Out of Komo [Four Secondary Signs/The Initiate's Movement From Ruins to Beauty]: SÁRÁMÁ (Florence) from TRANSFIGURATUONS: Collected Poems page 405 (Louisiana State University Press, Baton Rouge)

photo: Rowland Parks

On Sunday 5 February 2017 at 3pm artist Pen Cayetano honored writer Evan

X Hyde and his work at his Studio Gallery at 3 Aranda Crescent in Dangriga, Stann Creek, Belize with a ceremony of deep meaning, knowledge and love. (Please see an article about the event by poet and journalist Rowland Parks at the following link at Amandala online: http://amandala.com.bz/news/black-history-month-artist-pen-cayetano-honors-kremandalas-evanhyde/).

Evan X Hyde born 30 April 1947 is a writer whose consciousness has travelled the development of the nation of Belize, the history of the world and whose brilliant erudition has illuminated the Belizean consciousness to the truths of its history in the local and global contexts, its African and Mayan roots, the machinations of power and the creation of freedom through words and actions. In poetry, plays, and over forty years of essays in Amandala Editorials and his 'From The Publisher' column, Mr. Evan X Hyde speaks truth to power. From his early exposure to knowledge of his African origins by his mother to his great great grandmother Elizabeth "Betsy" Kingston described to him as a 'coal black woman from Africa' to reading the Autobiography of Malcolm X in university in the United States at Dartmouth which transformed his consciousness and his return to his native Belize where he founded the United Black Association for Development (UBAD) and later Amandala newspaper and KREM radio and KREM television to open the space in the national psyche to knowledge of its African and Indigenous Mayan origins and write the history of Belize's lived reality from the roots with a fearless pen and a mind that experiences the music of words to the formation of the UBAD Educational Foundation and its Library of African and Indian Studies which works to share knowledge of African and Mayan history with the community. Mr. Hyde is a force of the Spirit of Belize, a warrior of fire in pursuit of freedom, unity and love, a native son of the soil whose life and work has liberated the consciousness of many Belizeans searching for meaning in life and freedom to create life and happiness.

That artist Pen Cayetano, a musician and painter of extraordinary range and gifts who as a child was inspired by Mr. Hyde listening to his message 'black is beautiful and human' which made him see himself for the first time as black and beautiful and worthy, chose to honor Mr. Hyde in this beautiful way is an act of cultural unity of deep meaning and harmony.

This is what builds the nation. This is the meaning of culture. The coming together of forces that build community, that liberate the mind and open the space for the creation of new ways of being. The culture that unifies, that inspires the human mind to build new things, dream new dreams and come to the fullness of the Godhead, the 'isness' of the divine within. God bless Pen Cayetano. God bless Evan X Hyde. Divine spirits of God.

Anya’s Art Baffu Magazine interview with an emerging artist Anya Marshalleck

BAFFU QUESTION: What is your earliest memory of making Art? Anya Marshalleck: Some of my earliest memories of making art are of trying to draw the characters I used to see in the cartoons I watched and the books I read. Even then I was inspired by my interests I guess.

BAFFU QUESTION: What are some of the ideas and concepts you feel motivate you to make art?

Anya Marshalleck: There are so many things but I think the biggest thing that motivates me is feeding off of the ingenuity in other creations. I’ve found it in poems, songs, paintings, even a random techniques and sounds I find around me. I get motivated and inspired by all kinds of things, the limit is endless.

BAFFU QUESTION: What is an art work you've made recently and why did you choose such a topic or subject?

Anya Marshalleck: Recently I drew the drummer from one of my favourite bands because their music is important to me and inspires me to extents I can’t even explain. Oh, I also drew a cat just because I really like cats. It turned into a really detailed and time consuming project though. It was a lot of fun to do.

BAFFU QUESTION: How do you imagine yourself in the context of a creative life?

Anya Marshalleck: In the context of a creative life, I’d like live more in depth with the idea that nothing is wholly original.

What actually makes something original, is being inspired by something you’ve seen and then making it your own. Right now, I base my creative life on this statement a lot.

BAFFU QUESTION: What kinds of art do you admire?

Anya Marshalleck: When it comes to art, there really isn’t anything that I don’t admire. Somebody sat down for hours, days or even weeks and sometimes a lifetime to create something that didn’t exist before, and wouldn’t have ever existed if they hadn’t sacrificed that time. Then, on top of that there are factors such as what motivated the person to create and the meaning behind this creation as well as the workings of their mind. It’s all there in the art waiting to be seen. What’s not to admire really?

BAFFU QUESTION: How does art fit into all your tasks of school life?

Anya Marshalleck: At this point in my life, I’ve realised that art is a pretty fundamental part of who I am, and it can oftentimes show up during the most random tasks even when I don’t mean it to. I find that this aspect of me will show up wherever and whenever it can. In science for instance, it’s not always so straightforward, and requires some creative thinking to get the answer. Where art shows up the most though is in subjects such as literature, whereby you are quite literally delving into the minds of other creatives. That can be really exciting.

BAFFU QUESTION: How has the art program at St. John’s College (SJC) helped you in terms of support and fostering a deeper appreciation for the Arts?

Anya Marshalleck: Since joining the art program at SJC I know for a fact that I have grown as a creative. It’s taught me fundamental skills I wouldn’t have learned if I had continued on my path of self-teaching, and seeing so many other talented people has motivated me in so many ways. It’s also showed me that I can build a life and a future out of this, and now that’s what I want to do, so I have a really huge thank you to say to the SJC art program. Without it and the help of my teachers, I wouldn’t be typing this paragraph right now.

The Narcissist Shanti Mac Beauty is in the eye of the beholder She is ever before my eyes Each mirror, window, stream or Glass of water that forms A reflection Captures my attention Amazed with such beauty Lush curls fall encircling A perfect face decorated With dark gems that glistens When she smiles A proud nose upturned With disgust or wrinkled with The seduction of laughter A pair of kissers forms an enchanting smile A lover’s conqueror or his sweetest gain The rise of her breast and her feminine curves The sway of her hips A bewitching rhythm of left and right Her stance the likeness of a goddess Her silhouette not featured in Vogue But she holds majesty of her own No mirror can ever reflect The entirety of her Does it offend you?

The way I’m in love with myself?

The way I embrace my imperfect perfect self?

How I adore thee majesty of my body?

And blush each time I see myself?

The Power of One Jemuel Robateau Not a few or many no millions just you‌ my one and only Empress divine what is the force you possess?

What magic is this that the warmth of a hug could melt this half frozen heart returning it to a normal state beating black woman, my lady with you I yearn to unite in peace, love and harmony to stand together ready to face the world All it took was one touch and my hands remember every sweet detail, every curve and contour of your sensual beautiful body and soul.

My eyes fall on clothing and my mind sees you perfectly in and out of them.

It took one kiss for my tongue to savor and long for the taste of your lips again.

In one moment you’ve stolen my heart forever.

Give it back won't you?

Still I can't fight you reeling me in and pulling me close As my queen you refuse to let go as I knew you would.

Yet, why should I want it any other way?

You and I have died giving birth to we and us a new shift in focus just like a bass snook hooked down river we're caught on each other's lines kind words and gestures for these I love you that's no lie and it all started one day, when You said hello and I said hi

Unentitled Valerie Penner I look at the little orange pills, So harmlessly sitting in my hand.

My anxiety increases as I wonder what to do.

To take them is my downfall Not to take them would be a shame.

My consciousness wants no wakefulness.

My pillows have no rest from my head. I long for normalcy A need to live without these little orange pills.

Already I have changed almost beyond recognition, Sitting here alone, I feel drenched in hopeless, I feel depressed and very tired Although I have no real need to sleep.

My emotions contort my mental capacitator Into bent up metal and discord.

I want to break the shell of isolation But nothing is helping. Where do I begin?

Where do I begin on the path to wakefulness?

Briheda Haylock

Many might wonder why the fuck am I in Indonesia and make the assumption that I am continuing my studies in Fine Arts. NO, I am here on a one-year scholarship learning about the traditional textile and fashion of Indonesia. This is far from my forte, but I must say it has opened my mind to a different way of thinking. It is a new language, there is more structure, discipline, and a different level of patience than what I am acquainted with it. I am not used to this language of design and the artist skills which I assume one naturally has in this field.

In textile design, duplication is a constant theme that I have learned to appreciate. My studies for the first semester were Indonesian Bahasa, Techno-textile, Batik and Kebaya.

I added performance art. As a student in a new culture, I am often left frustrated because there is a presumption that I do not really care to be in the class, and that I will not do anything with the knowledge shared because of the type scholarship. I get the tip of the iceberg information; we often get the impression that our presence at Telkom University is an imposition. When I ask questions, these are regarded as more of an annoyance, as the culture I am in does not cater too much for questions.

However, because you are a foreigner they comply by answering. Think about when you were a child and your mother told you, “Because I said so,” and the thought of rebutting is stupid, this is what asking questions feels like.

Learning a new language is never easy; worse a language that is nowhere similar to English. I struggle a lot. When I first came here, everyone sounded like they were uttering just one word, but my language classes helped to break it apart. Can I speak to someone after 5 months? no. What I can do is count, buy things and say “premise” and “makasi”. What is frustrating about being in my language

class is that my teacher does not write on the board, no matter how many times I ask, it never occurred to her what visual learning means. What is even more confusing is that everyone here speaks different languages.

Bahasa Indonesia is like the English to our creole (patois). As everyone here is talking a patois, the language that I’m learning isn’t that helpful because everyone is speaking in slang of the many languages spoken in Indonesia.

They gave us a second class and all the new teacher did was ask us about our lives for more than half the class, not much learning.

In my Batik class, I learnt a little about how much history lies behind the prints of Batik designs. Batik is an art form of drawing with hot wax and followed by a unique dying process, whereby you color one by one and then boil the fabric in hot water to remove the wax.

Batik textiles were first reserved for the Royal family but as years passed, everyone was allowed to use them.

It is fascinating that there is a batik design for almost everything. They have batik symbolism for happiness, sadness, death, social status, even forbidden designs.

My eyes and views on cultural preservation have been awaken as I think about Belize a lot, and how our culture is slowly dying, and the few who are willing to fight for it. It amazes me how they preserve their culture in textile design by modernizing fashion, designs and the artistic approach.

Each province of Indonesia has their own version of Batik. Batik is hard.

Drawing with a chanting tool and wax may look easy but it is not. My first piece is abstract. It is dedicated to the boy who wanted his Friday Milkshake.

Just before class, I had watched the interview of Shakira pouring her heart out and forgiving her son’s murderer.

My thought was, we no longer only have to think about the youths, but babies too.

Kebaya and techno textile did not move me that much. For two months, we endured the painful verbatim speech about a top that is reflective of your status in society. How it had evolved, types of designer influences,

wedding things and "you will truly feel like a woman” (wtf does that even mean) blah, blah blah… We were informed that we would be making our own but, what turned me off was the tone of the "you have to” sew on beads ; no questions asked. We were allowed to design our own kebaya, but were not going to sew it. I hate beads, and sewing them on under a dictator's tone is not motivating. I just did what I had to do. It was meditative.

Techno textile was interesting. It is about innovative fashion, but I am not moved by innovation in fashion nor care for fashion. This class was painful, but I quite like my teacher.

That was about it.

The only class I liked was performance art. I wanted to get guidance in this field as I am now exploring this medium and I want to come out of my shell and perform for a bigger audience. This class really helped me to cope with my new environment; I was allowed to express myself freely.

It opened my eyes to political art and its importance. The people I started to associate with were very political thinkers and showed me how to express it. My instructor is a political art activist; he shared his work with me and blew my mind. I am still not motivated to become a registered voter, but this is opening my mind to expressing my anger about politics in Belize. Only time will tell if I act on it. I have already drafted some ideas, but we will see if I bring these to life.

At first, everything felt strange because of the time they took to explain the Indonesian atmosphere, the do’s and don’ts. Every time they did this a part of me died inside. The one thing that was clearest is that it is a culture of submission. A dress code was given. We were informed of the family oriented atmosphere, a high level of closeness which I am not use to, nor do I want to get accustomed to. I was terrified that they implied that Indonesians smiled a lot and the level of friendliness they possessed. The fact that platonic hugs are socially not accepted, killed me. The concepts of personal space and privacy seemed like alien ideas, and this made me

want to leave. I felt like I just entered a jail, willingly. I had to check in every time I went somewhere. We were warned about being stared at and the request for pictures. The concept of sitting in a café in peace seems like a dream. You can be drifting off into your own world and you see the person next to you with their phone snapping a photo of you discreetly. I had never felt so violated in my life.

If I am in a less irritated mood about the situation, I am willing to be a sport. Every day I felt judged by the stares. People look and treat you like an alien from another world. The first three months on campus, I wanted to scream and yell at every single person who just stared. I wanted to walk around campus nude with the question “is your cunt on my face” as it is mostly women who stare. It is still not easy to deal with, some days are better than others.

As I am being introduced to a new way of life. I experienced culture shock the morning after I arrived to my first destination Jakarta. They eat rice and noodles for breakfast. I later realized that they eat the same thing all day. Indonesians are obsessed with rice. If there is no rice present it is not a meal, you are having a snack. I live in a Muslim community and every day at 5 am, the daily Quran greets me. Microphones everywhere, no way to avoid the prayer of the day, this happens 5 times a day, every day, everywhere, it’s like waking up to ramblings of strangers fighting on the street. I am learning more about Islam. What is heartbreaking in this culture, is that it is not acceptable to date or even marry someone outside their religion. I made a friend who told me not say anything about her boyfriend being a Christian. What is new about being in such a strongly religious country is the respect given to a person when they have to pray.

Many times when I am with friends, they inform me that they need to do their daily prayers before we can go about our activity. At first I laughed inside, I had never had a friend express, "wait five minutes I need to pray." I truly find it hard to accept

their sign of respect for elders. In a very traditional home, the younger persons need to take the hand of elders present and bow. It feels very degrading and submissive. I respect the very traditional homes and do it if I have to, but I am not driven to do so all the time.

I am in a culture that values different things from me, and I am yet to understand it fully. They have this philosophy of togetherness, family, teamwork, but at the same time, you feel as if they are against each other. I admire their sense of teamwork; they never fail to work well together. They have no problem embracing attention; I admire this from an artist's point of view, as I wish that myself and other artists I know would just embrace our talents and not be so scared. They are so encouraging, you feel like you can never fail, so much optimism.

There is this belief that you can do anything but there is also a lot of limitations. I find this to be a problem seeing that you can only grow from failure. I never know if I did a good job or not. Everyone just smiles and cheers you on. They are confused with negative comments and do not know how to respond. They do not see the positive of negativity. I cannot tell what sincerity is anymore.

I am in a culture that is so laid back I can only compare it to chilling out with your friends smoking a joint. In this case, no one is high, only high on the delusion of pretending. They pride themselves in being helpful and that is the foundation of their cultural philosophy, but you can sense the inconvenience you have caused them all the time. I am indirectly encouraged to make that adjustment to being emotionally repressive, but I cannot lie to myself.

It is a hard transitioning, as I am used to a fast paced lifestyle. With this lifestyle the concept of time does not exist nor organization. If they are late or unprepared, the response is "it is our culture and you cannot dispute it." If you are late or unprepared being a foreigner you are labeled quickly as arrogant and irresponsible. They feel entitled to ask you a million questions,

but when you do the same they answer with such resentment that you would dare to ask questions. There is so much judgment and I sometimes pick up resentment towards foreigners in this institution. I question why we were given a workshop about cultural integration and compromise when we are the only ones compromising. No one really cares to see things from our point of view. We are forced to quickly change to their way of life and mentality without knowing exactly, what it is they are about. I refuse to compromise to a lifestyle of delusion. I feel paranoid in this community, and it calms me to know that I am not alone. Our sad reality as international students is that there is nothing you can do. Literally, you cannot do anything, because they do not give two fucks about you and your suggestions. They are superior to you, you are a mere fly they have to deal with and gossip about. I came here excited to learn, but I am left everyday questioning why the fuck am I here? I was doing better things with my life in Belize. Seeing and experiencing new things is not as fulfilling and I feel as though I am not learning anything. I came here hoping to heal, but I am just adding on more scars. I now experience anxiety attacks because I cannot deal with this misleading atmosphere anymore, Motivation for new art I guess.

What's in the Mirror Hannah Cattouse Undecided I confided My inner thoughts Deepest feelings You meditated Never hesitated To paint word pictures Of me Framed them all Hung on your wall Put on display To be read My tortured soul They behold Naked heart So fragile

Waterfalls Kyo D’Assassin We live, we suffer, we learn In the end, our stories are none but our own Thoughts in frames Our blood drenched in gain Weakness is pain Withering away Heart... hungry Soul... thirsty All that we feel is temporary But our minds are never empty As we stare at the sun Truth warms our tongue Sweet its sound Mischievous its pun From light we never run Fear’s will... undone

thanks for

your

support

BAFFUeditorialTEAM

Kyraan Gabourel

aka Kyo D’Assasin b. 20|6|1991 Belize City spokenword artist, writer & entrepreneur

Briheda Haylock

b. 28|12|1990 Belize City multimedia artist promoting social awareness

Sean Taegar

b. 18|12|1980 Belize City, Belize Belizean Poet, spirit of the Spirit

yasser musa

b. 17|7|70 Belize City artist, teacher

Katie Usher

b.16|8|1986 San Ignacio, Cayo art activist, thinker

Rasheed Palacio b. 31|10|1994 Belmopan City artist

BAFFU11

posted 12 March 2017 baffu is an open publication for arts, culture and ideas published from belize. all works are submitted by the individual artists and writers and used in this publication with their permission. copyright belongs to the individual artists and writers 91 North Front Street, Belize City, Belize, Central America www.imagefactorybelize.com email: baffubelize@gmail.com