Where will the next Bob Marley come from ?

A house in Dangriga

In Belize I visited black Indians.

Black Indians? Who are they? It sounds like some sort of a legend. But it is true – there is a tribe of people with black skin and Negroid features who speak an American Indian language. This language belongs to the Caribbean family of languages. Where do these people live? On the shores of the Caribbean, where else? In fact the sea derives its name from the tribe that lives on its shore.

These people used to live on the archipelago of Lesser Antilles which they colonised by paddling ina dugouts from South America. Before Columbus there was communication between North and South America, clearly the Indians considered the dugouts seaworthy. The Indians of the archipelago were the first to encounter the white people and the first to be exposed to diseases for which they had no resistance and as a result the majority of them died out. Not all, though. On the island of St. Vincent there was a tribe that stayed healthy and until the end of 18^th century successfully resisted the British. The British claimed this was their island but the Indians had a different opinion in that matter. They stayed healthy because of a coincidence – ships from Africa passed by this island and sometimes it happened that a ship full of black slaves ran aground. Some black slaves escaped and eventually they joined the tribe. Their descendants had better resistance to the new diseases and better chances to survive the epidemics. These descendants looked like Africans but spoke the language of their mothers, which was an Indian dialect belonging to the Caribbean family. The dialect called Garifuna.

A Grifuna temple in Dangriga

At the end of 18^th century the British finally pacified the island. The chief Joseph Chatoyer resisted the British until 1795, but in the end the Garifunas were beaten. The British didn't want Indians that looked like Africans on an island where black slaves were to work on sugar plantations, therefore the Garifuna were loaded onto ships and taken to Honduras, Spanish at the time. The authorities there let the Garifuna settle on the shores of the Caribbean. Later some Garifuna moved to settle in Belize, British at the time.

Before going to Belize I didn't know much about the Garifuna. I knew that they existed, that they lived in several villages in Belize and that one of those villages was called Dangriga. I hoped I would find some literature on them in Belize City. I knew there were some books published in Belize, I saw the titles on the internet but could not buy them in any internet bookshop. Where else could I find them if not in Belize city? Where indeed! When I start looking for a bookshop, nobody can tell me where to find one. Is there no bookshop in the biggest city in the country? The Anglican lady priest tells me that I should look for books in the supermarket, there is a bookshelf there. I go there and indeed I find a bookshelf with some fifteen titles on it. And some of those titles are about Belize,and some even about the Garifuna. Good.

In the afternoon I get on the bus and go to Dangriga and stop in a little hostel just next to the beach. In the morning heavy clouds come from the sea, it rains, so dangling in a hammock on the verandah I read the newly purchased books. In one of them I read that every Garifuna village has a temple in which rituals to honour the dead ancestors are held. I ask my landlady if there is such a temple in Dangriga.

Inside the Garifuna temple

“Yes, of course, on the other side of the river, by the sea. It looks like a big shed, you'll find it easily. I have never been there. I am a Garifuna myself but I am a Methodist and don't believe in the spirits of ancestors who have to be fed. But the Catholics go there. Most people in Dangriga are Catholics.”

The rain stops, so I go to that place and find the shed. One window is open. I look in. Suddenly somebody runs out of the house next door and asks in an unfriendly tone:

“What are you up to? Who opened that window?”

Not me. I ask if I could see the temple.

“If the buye lets you, but he is not here.”

It seems that I am not welcome here. Later that day I have lunch in a cafe by the river. There is a map of the village by the wall, I can see the temple I have just visited but also another temple at the other side of the village. I have to visit that place as well, then.

In Belize there are many houses on tall posts, they look as if they had the ground floor missing. Sometimes that missing ground floor serves as a yard. Somewhere near the other temple I see a group of people under the house. A woman calls me:

“What are you up to. Man?”

I say there should be a temple here somewhere.

“Come with me, I'll show you. My name is Monica.”

She leads me to a very different house next door. A house of very thin walls and covered with a huge thatched roof. The floor is just hard earth covered with fresh sand. I am told this used to be the traditional Garifuna way of building but in Dangriga there are no mire houses like that. Monica introduces me to a relatively young man named Kelvin.

“Kelvin is the buye here. A buye is the highest priest. If you want to know anything, ask him, he'll know.”

The merry Garifuna drummers

Kelvin shows me around. The interior of the temple is divided into three rooms. One is big, with a fireplace in the middle and a pot hanging over that. The second room is much smaller, the sacred drums are kept there. The third room is the smallest, it is the sanctuary with an altar and a hammock in which the buye lies when the ancestors speak to him. There are three sticks leaning against the alter, one represents the present buye, one his grandfather and the third stands for his distant ancestor, the first buye in history. There are figurines on the alter, all perfectly Catholic saints. The biggest of them sint Michael with some kind of a reptile under his foot.

“Could I make a picture?”

“I don't know. I have to ask my ancestors. You must leave for a minute, though.”

A minute later the buye emerges from the sanctuary saying that the ancestors agree. He splashes some water on the threshold.

Monica says I should listen to some of their music. She leads me to a club where there is going to be some drumming this evening. If I buy a drink for the boys they may even play now. The club opens just because I am there, they roll the drums out. They don't use drumsticks, just the palms of their hands, like in Africa. They sing in the Indian language, though. It sounds good but after a while another bottle appears and the boys get very merry, start talking nonsense. I am beginning to think that they may not be able to play in the evening.

Some people in the village suggest that I should visit the gallery of Pen Cayetano. I came across this name when I was looking for information about the Garifuna. I read that he was a musician born in Dangriga but now lives in Germany. It turned out not to be true, he lived in Germany for some time but now is back in Dangriga together with his German wife. He has a gallery here because he is also a painter. His paintings are somewhat expressionist in style but his subject is life of the Garifuna. He has some CDs, too. He plays some of them. First a group of traditional punta drummers, later his own music based on traditional rhythms but arranged for modern audience.

“Punta rock. Don't you know it? This is Garifuna music.”

I don't know it. His equipment is not the best but the music is. Rhythms of mixed African-Indian origin, Caribbean language. Pen has lots of CDs. It seems that there has been an explosion of music in this part of the world.

Maybe the next Bob Marley will come from somewhere here?

Pen Cayetano with the author