I know a guy.
My guy is Luis, the Belizean man that I met on my morning walks. He is becoming one of my sister’s guys as well. I don’t really need a guy in Belize. My sister needs things done around her home since she has property here. One of the things she wanted was a raised flower bed area along the side of her house. She wanted a wooden stake fence created that elevates the level of the ground to protect the plants from salt water during storm flooding. My guy, Luis, was able to do that for my sister.
Now, my sister has another guy that has been her guy for years. Valentine takes care of her house and yard all year round, whether my sister is in Belize and especially when she is not. My sister bought some bamboo plants from another guy who came by her home selling things. She always supports these people. Her guy, Valentine, said she bought poorly. The bamboo was too large and so the roots were cut when the plants were potted. Smaller plants do better because the roots are not disturbed. Who knew? Certainly not me or my sister. But, her guy knew.
The next morning, when Valentine was not in sight, my sister covered over those tires with sand and potting soil. It took a couple of wheel barrows full of sand to accomplish the style correction. But, it was worth the effort.
My sister and her husband also know a gal. If you want a massage around San Pedro, you contact Mel. She comes to your home prepared with her table and all the other goodies she needs to do the job right. At least, my sister and her husband enjoy what she does. That isn’t on my bucket list of things I want done to me. I don’t think it will ever happen. My last massage was in a Moroccan hammam and I never want another. (That guy took great pleasure in pulling, stretching, rubbing raw and cleansing the only American who ever visited that place. Never again.)
One day, when Mel finished her massage work, my sister walked her out to the front porch. They passed by me as I worked with my laptop at the kitchen table. It’s my adopted office while in Belize. Mel graciously greeted me on her way, but when she got outside, she looked at my sister and said, “There’s a white man in your house!” Not pink. Not sunburned. Not a little bronzed from my daily walks every morning. I was a white man and Mel was shocked. She was even more shocked when my sister said, “That’s my brother.”
“It can’t be! How is that possible?”
My sister has been in Belize all winter. She is the darkest I have ever seen her. It’s happened without her even trying. But, she is dark. Mel believed that my sister probably had some Indian blood in her to be as dark as she was. Nobody ever wonders about me. Wherever I go and whenever I’m wherever, I always look lily white. I may not look pure as the driven snow, but fortunately, there is none of that in Belize to worry about.