I've become obsessed with Mennonites. Specifically, Mennonites living in tropical jungles. More specifically, Mennonites living in the tropical jungles of Belize. They've been here for fifty years now, refugees of Mexican and Paraguayan and American and Canadian and Russian and Prussian and German and Dutch meddling with their affairs. All they ask is to be left alone, as everyone's favorite Confederate president said, and Belize is glad to comply. They better be glad; these straw-hatted workaholics produce most of the country's produce and furniture. You can't have Belizean rice/bean/chicken masala without a very white bearded man tending the coops.
They congregate in Orange Walk, a small town in the country's northern district. (Belize is all villages and small towns, except Belize City, which is like a shitty small American city. But shittier.) There they sit, lounging next to Creoles and Mexicans, speaking a Low German that was passé in 1700. They're a beacon to idealistic Luddites everywhere, especially the extremely conservative ones with sweet-baby horse and buggies. I feel a strange that-could-be-me rush whenever I see one--and I see them everywhere. A lot of people here wear similar straw hats, disappointing me when I realize that no, they don't really believe in adult baptism.
