Devil Dog

You can feel the seasons change in Belize. An energy surges in the wind that sweeps through, smelling of sweet rain and awakening senses within that were previously hidden from the heat. For a moment, as I stand on the balcony of my home, I hear only the breeze rushing past my face and lifting my hair. Then Devil Dog begins her incessant bark.
Devil Dog is one of the many dogs on my block. She is the oddest looking dog I’ve ever seen, and the mother of what is most likely hundreds of strange looking offspring. Short and stubby, her legs move furiously underneath her podgy body as she explores her territory. For a while, whenever I road my bike past her house she would trail behind me, barking and snapping at my heels, wheezing from her longish snout. I would curse and lift my legs from the bike peddles and glide into my driveway, safely entering my own territory. Devil Dog would stand in the road looking quizzically, and rather evilly, in my direction, give one final bark and trot away. For Devil Dog and I, this became somewhat of an annoying game.
One determined day I went to the fridge and retrieved a piece of salami, walked outside and threw it in Devil Dogs direction. She leaped upon the meat, devoured it and looked back wanting more. I raised my hands and walked away. After that, Devil Dog never barked at me again. My salami peace offering must have ironed out the kinks in our relationship. This won’t change the fact that Devil Dog likes to stir shit up in the neighborhood, but at least we have our reckoning. Now, I can only shake my head as I watch Devil Dog race several times past other dogs locked behind fences, parading her freedom and sending them mad with frustration.
I have almost become used to the barking in Belize. Dylan and Anna barely recognize it anymore. It reminds me of how normal ambulance and police sirens became when I lived in Chicago. They are those things that become home, become oddly comforting. But, just as the normality of a siren wail in Chicago speaks for a larger problem, so does the bark of a Belizean dog.
There are just too many dogs here. They wander through the streets, stick thin and sickly. They become warped souls desperately looking for their next meal, so engrossed in salvaging that they seem unaware of the speeding cars that come devastatingly close. I once saw a brick of a dog bounce of the side of a car with a TUNK yelp and run away.
Most have recognized these dogs as a problem. They have visions in their heads of dogcatchers, taking all the strays away straight to a pound.
But, when they have voiced their concerns, their complaints fall upon frustrated ears.
“Dogs?!?” They say. “Dogs? You want us do to something about the dogs when we are still working on getting potable water to each citizen? Dogs! When we get more complaints ABOUT our Ombudsman than TO him? When our roads are broken and our government is corrupt. When our girls are pregnant at 15 and our boys in gangs. Dogs… when our constitution needs reworking, our people need more jobs, and we cringe at the thought of natural disaster – knowing it will rip at our economy is several ways? and you want to talk about dogs…”
That’s when a stiff finger points you toward the door.
The truth is raw. There are just too many other things to be done. Too much else to worry about, too much else to fix. So, the barking becomes ordinary and life ekes on.
When I flip open a Belizean newspaper, there is no question to the depth and girth of the country’s problems. The papers, written rather like American editorial pieces, are blunt. In the media there are two sides to each issue, which goes by the support of either the People’s United Party (PUP) or United Democratic Party (UDP). Depending on which party the paper supports, the content stories will full out bastardize their opposition. Currently the news stories are especially seething, as Said Musa, leader of PUP and current Prime Minister, gears up for elections and Dean Barrow, leader of the opposition UDP, struggles under the weight of the ugly history of his party and tries to gain steam.
While debates rage some are soothed by a Christmas ham or housing, others stand behind the hope of new fresh minds in power pulling the economy out of a rut and others wonder what difference it will make because both are corrupt.
It’s hard to organize priorities. Where do we start? I think about the puppy, dead on the road that I’ve passed several times this week. Swelling and rotting in the rain, guts halfway out and deteriorating into the road with each passing car. The overwhelming complexity of problems can swell up inside of you until you are ready to burst. You can feel them pushing up like a scream. And perhaps most frustrating is that at the point of bursting, they disperse - filling you up and then suddenly leaving you empty.
But then you can choose. You can choose to walk hollowed out and vacant or you can begin to fill the holes with determination. A favorite music artist of mine, Brother Ali, talks about facing hardships and sings about the advice someone once gave to him.
“She didn’t tell me to take it, she told me to use it”.
So, if frustrations fuel determination, I know there are many tenacious Belizeans out there.
When I was out one day I was about four blocks from the street I live on. To my left I heard the uproar of barking and howling. As I glanced at the crazed dogs jumping against a fence I caught the cause of commotion out of the corner of my eye. Devil Dog. Ears flopping and crossing the street in a zig-zag celebration dance. There she was, determined to claim her domain as far as her stub legs could manage. In a way I admire Devil Dog. Though she at the root of my barking annoyances, she is always out there with a cause of her own.

Connections and Memories

Every Friday Rosita comes to clean the house. She begins with the dishes, and takes pride in putting things in the “correct” spot. When we return, our beds are changed and made and everything is gently put into place – at times, if you are observant, down to the finest details. Last time she was here, I returned to my room to find a missing sock placed nicely on my dresser drawer. How she knew it was mine eludes me. But, there is more to this weekly cleaning, a deeper story. Dylan and Anna are precisely the people who would NOT have a maid to look after them, so of course, there has to be an explanation. That explanation is Kail Alamilla.
Kail is a child who spent just a short amount of time in this world. He spent 4 years changing lives of those who knew him, and even those who knew of him. Kail was the energetic, smiling son of Lisel. He was said to have a light about him, even in his weakest moments. Sadly, Kail was fated. A tumor was discovered in his brain when he was only 2, and after multiple surgeries and expensive flights to the States, the positive results were only temporary. As life mysteriously chooses, Kail wasn’t given much of a chance. To everyone’s dismay, Kail’s tumor returned. Burying itself deep in a place no doctor could cure.
Even with this evil gripping onto his tiny brain, Kail lived each day with what seemed to be extreme gratefulness. He threw his small brown body into every activity he could manage. Like children with severe illnesses often do, he accepted his sickness as normality. Kail was known to bounce off beds onto hard tiled floors laughing the whole way down, and scaring the living daylights out of his mom. With tubes attached and glasses on, Kail was still the cutest kid around. It was that light, that bright light that he exuded.
Everyone that knew him recognized this difference. He wasn’t a normal kid from the beginning. He leaked happiness into those around him, more so than any wide eyed child could.
Dylan said there was a game he used to play called Monster. He had a phase where he greeted friends with a rumbling growl. Hands up in claw position, face scrunched for maximum scariness. When Kail was approaching his final days in Chicago, Dylan walked into the room filled with the heavy scent of despair. Dylan saw the small boy, looking frail, asleep in the bed hooked up to a complicated system of wires and tubes. Kail slowly woke in the room where he would take his last breaths. Though the tumor had taken and damaged some precious tissues of his little brain, his eyes lit at the sight of his friend. Mustering all the strength he possibly could, he raised his hands in claw position and gave a pitiful, but satisfactory growl. Kail died soon after.
The light had left, and Lisel lived for a while in darkness, trying to see in a now dim world. Slowly she came back, with the support of family and friends and endless love - the strength of her family bonds unbreakable and sturdy. I think that she slowly discovered that Kail’s light wasn’t completely gone, just hidden. Of course his old clothes, stickers and drawings are still around (divided up and given to close friends and family), but he also continues on through stories and memories. His presence is strong and persistent. Since I’ve been here, I’ve heard innumerable stories and been taken on numerous memory trips. I felt that light, the warmness that Kail gave to so many. His story touched me. I can only look at pictures of a mocha child, with a toothy smile and bright eyes. He is caught forever in a laughing pose and you can almost hear the child-like giggle rise up from the colourful paper. It’s no wonder that his favorite color was red, a warm passionate color. It was the color that splashed his funeral, which was not a funeral at all, but instead a Celebration of Life.
Rosita, she was there, by Kail’s side through it all. She helped Lisel when he was at his sickest moments. When Kail passed, she not only lost that little light, but a job too. Now, you see, Belize has this web, this system. It is a system of people who know people who know people. It is an intricate pattern that most don’t even understand. This elaborate web also does something else amazing. It catches you if you fall, embracing you in its surprising stickiness. When Rosita, who has four children of her own, began to slip, this web caught her quickly. Soon, everyone around who was affected by Kail and beyond offered her jobs. Jobs like cleaning the house, which isn’t necessary, but helpful. This Belizean web, if you’re lucky to sew in your own strings, will not fail you.
So Rosita comes each Friday and methodically begins her work. Life continues on and the web increases in its complexity. I can only hope to find and build my own design in this web during my stay. I’ve already tugged on the red colored strings that brought Kail’s story to me, and I can’t help but feel connections at the tips of my fingers.
I went to lunch with Lisel the other day. She just announced that she would be married to her new found soul mate, Rob. He is kind, understanding, able to take her crazy headstrong ways, and can cook! As she gushed in her pre-wed glow (her happiness is so strong its contagious!) the date of her wedding sunk in deep. She chose the second anniversary of Kail’s death, January 1st. She explained that nothing can stop this day from being a celebration – a celebration of the life of the beautiful boy as well as the celebration of the light that brought Rob and her together. The wedding will be at sunrise. As the attendants watch the sun rise over the sea minds will be in several places. The drum music will play and the warm red of the sun will soak and saturate the guests. And Kail will continue to live in memories.

In memory of Kail Alamilla (2002-2006)