Yesterday was a good day however. It started with Johnny and I catching a bus bound for Belmopan at 3:30 am. We arrived in Belmopan, the capitol around 7 am, and spent an hour or so exploring the market area. The market in Belmopan is significantly larger, and has a much greater variety of products than the ones in Corozal or Orange Walk towns. We found and purchased a bag of purple corn for a dollar.
The office where we needed to conduct our business opened at 8:30, but we got there at around 8 and began what was likely to be an all day wait. Restless and anxious, I did what I often do when there is nothing else to do, I began to watch and notice the people around me. Now, I had made this trip, and been to this office once before, and with luck will do so again shortly. I saw a man yesterday, who I believe was there the last time I was there. Perhaps it was for this reason that he became the focus of my hopefully unobtrusive attention.
He was a small man, shorter than me. Perhaps somewhat older than me as well, but not by much. From the circumstances, I know that he was not Belizean, from his appearance, I would guess Honduranian. He had what looked like a gentle kind face, but he seemed wracked with concern and anxiousness. He had arrived before us, so his mind had perhaps plenty of time to go over how critical this day was for him. In his hands he held a small receipt. I did not need to see it well to know that it was a receipt for documents submitted previously. Soon the door of the office opened and a lady popped out with a stack of cards. She handed these out to the people waiting to determine the order in which they would be able to conduct their business with the office. A card with the number four joined the receipt for documents in this mans hands. For various reasons, primarily the knowledge that he was there before us, I made sure to get a higher number.
The card I received had the number six on it. Johnny, his own mind probably bored and restless asked me the numerological significance of our card. I pointed out that thinking that numbers have some deep significance to some underlying structure was just superstition, and there was no point in wasting our thoughts on such things. A moment later, I noticed Johnny looked as if he had been slighted and also looked as if he did not find my statement to be credible. So I added that had we gotten an eight on our card, we might discuss the numerological significance, however since six seemed inauspicious to me, it simply made a great deal more sense to consider such discussion as inappropriate superstition. We can pick and choose when and which superstitions to believe.
So again with the waiting, and again with the watching. This man sat patiently, he looked like he was good at sitting patiently, but I could almost read his thoughts. He was concerned, this process he was working through was taking a long time, and it was so very important to him. Whatever his past, his future, or so he believed was intimately tied to the two little pieces of paper that he held in his hands. One a receipt for other papers, and the other his place in the queue.
There is a psychological phenomenon called projection. This is the mental act of projecting ones own internal state onto others. It is when perhaps we are angry, and by some trick of the mind, believe that others are angry as well. It is normally considered to be a delusion. However as I waited, it occurred to me that it is perhaps not always delusional. Perhaps in some cases, a congruence of circumstances, a correspondence of behavior, the numerological sum of the four on his card and the six on my card, or perhaps just the fact that he and I both held cards with numbers on them, may lend validity to conclusions of another's internal state based on projection. And so I concluded that it was actually possible that I had some insight into this mans thoughts.
Still with the waiting, and suspecting there would be nothing new flashing across this mans face, nor lighting his eyes, I began to pray for him. I asked that any force for good, any possible shifting of random events, any little thing that would assist this man in his efforts today. I wanted that his business be conducted in a way that was satisfactory to him, and toward his benefit. I wanted very much for this man to be lucky and have a good day. Perhaps disingenuously, I may have softly added, "and all those like him".
But such prayers are so frequently interrupted, and it was just this way yesterday, for the door opened and people with cards one through six were to come and queue inside. As we, one through six, sat on a bench inside, I thought how anxious those still outside must have felt. Apparently our group sat closer together than typical and after a glance the lady invited number seven in to sit with us. Now my attention shifted to the bustle of the office workers. Very rapidly they were calling and moving through one through seven in tag team form.
I lost track of the Honduran man at this point. My business required that I leave and race to the bank. I caught a taxi, I was expecting to pay $10, willing to pay double, but the charge was half. I asked the taxi man if he thought there would be taxis to take me back from the bank, and he said he might wait for me. Returning to the office, I did not see the man I had been watching and did not think to look for him. My affairs went smoothly and suddenly, I was done. Johnny and I walked away from the building at around 10:30 am, wondering what we should do with this unexpected free time. With thoughts of the long bus ride home, we decided to get the trip over with and leave Belmopan. As we arrived at the bus station, I saw the bus we wanted already departing. But I knew there would not be a long wait for the next.
As it turned out, there was an express bus to Belize City still at the station and for $5 we could take that. Johnny remarked that the seats were more comfortable than the seats of the airplane he rode two years ago. I pointed out that the bus was air conditioned, and probably the nicest bus either of us had ever been on. Arriving soon in Belize City, we again managed to catch an express bus to Corozal. It would have a ten minute stop in Orange Walk Town, and it was there that the chance events of life, the randomness, was to be balanced out.
In Orange Walk, there was a vendor selling very pretty and very exotic cashew fruits. He noticed my gaze and asked if I had ever tried them. I hadn't but only had a $50 bill in my pocket and thought that he couldn't change that and it could be a cause for embarrassment. He offered them for a dollar a bag, and I said I couldn't as I only had two shillings. He thought briefly and said since I had never tried them, that would be enough. I thanked him and when he asked for a cigarette, I gave him the rest of my pack as I wouldn't be smoking on the bus anyway, and the next stop was home. So he got 50 cents and a dollars worth of cigarettes and I got four ripe cashew fruits.
Arriving at home, tired and somewhat thoughtless, I gobbled down the first of the cashew fruits. They taste very strange. A little sweet, but really the flavor of hot peppers. Not the hotness, just the flavor, along with a strong flavor of cashew. Finishing the fruit, I decided to crack open the pit and eat the cashew nut. Here is where the foolishness comes to play. I had previously known that some parts of the cashew are toxic and dangerous. But I had forgotten which. As I cracked open the seed and saw the cashew nut inside I tried to suck out some of the nut. Instead I got a taste of bitter, soapy, oil and it was at this point that I remembered that the oil in the seed coat is toxic. I spat it out, but already my tongue was both burning and feeling numb at the same time. I also noticed that the fingerprints on my fingers that had touched the oil were turning white.
Johnny and Rebecca got on the internet to find out just which part of the cashew is poisonous and how poisonous it is. We listened a pod cast from Sharon Matola of the Belize Zoo about cashews. You can hear it here:
http://media.libsyn.com/media/belize/cashew.mp3
It's from a very interesting site called Wild Belize: http://belize.libsyn.com/
Johnny, who has informally learned a great deal about chemistry, asked if the poison was an acid or a base. Knowing that most plant toxins are alkaloids, and hoping very much that meant they were bases, I quickly found a jar of pineapple wine which is fairly acidic. I swished this around in my mouth and spat it out and rinsed my fingers off with this several times. Johnny was about to look up on the internet if the poison was basic or acidic, but I said not to, as we were just going to pretend real hard that we had just counteracted the poison. As the sweat dripped into my eyes, I contented myself with concentrating very hard not to touch my eyes with my contaminated fingers, and reviewed what we needed to do to get to the hospital in a hurry.
After several hours passed without a worsening of any symptoms, we all put it behind us. Today, there is no apparent effect except the tip of my tongue is still a little numb and my lower lip seems to have peeled as if it was sunburned.
Despite all this, yesterday was a very good day.
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