Earning a Fulbright fellowship for me was comparable to winning a few million dollars or the conception of a child after years of exhausting and expensive medical and rhythmic methods. It’s one of the most prestigious awards than an academic can receive, giving the researcher the financial freedom to dedicate a year in their life to their project without having to work. It’s validation that the research that has consumed your life for many years has earned recognition from the “powers that be”.

 

It’s in the trifecta of academic awards that includes the Nobel Prize and the Rhodes scholarship.  Just last week I heard it mentioned on the TV show “Law & Order”; one of the detectives noted that the perpetrator “…was not a Fulbright scholar after all..” When you apply to compete against thousands of other experts in their fields for this coveted award, not only does the Fulbright committee in the United States review your research proposal, but the U.S. Department of State has to approve it and the U.S. Embassy in the country in which you want to study must determine if your project is worthy. 

 

Additionally, a creditable institution in your target country has to support your research goals and give their stamp of approval in writing.  There are many judges and important decisions involved in this process. 

 

The fact is I had gotten it and it was mine for my research work on the Garífuna.  I first became interested in this subject when I visited Livingston about ten years ago.  Having a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in linguistics, I was disappointed that not even the Garífuna themselves could give me a satisfactory answer about the origins of their language.  I was sure that when I returned to the U.S. I could just walk into bookstore and read about their language and history, but instead I was met with blank stares and shrugged shoulders.  

 

Author Toni Morrison wrote: “If there is a book you want to read and it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” So my dissertation became a chronological linguistic history of the Garífuna ethnic group, that was my book and Guatemala was my journey there.

 

Things were falling, magically, into place. Years of writing, research and teaching had caused me to neglect my appearance but by the time I was ready to leave, I had lost over 100lbs.  I was brimming with self-confidence, buying clothes 12 sizes smaller, professional slacks and pretty tops.  I had been invited to teach a course at the Universidad del Valle de Guatemala and this was going to be my introduction to Guatemalan academic society.

My plan was to spend half of my time in Guatemala City and other half in Livingston. I spent all of my time preparing to teach my class instead of working on my research – my very reason for being in Guatemala.

 

Still, I made time for numerous visits to the National Archives of Central America and make copies of everything remotely related to my project. A few weeks after arriving to Guatemala, I visited Livingston with a representative of the US Embassy so that introductions could be made on my behalf, among other official duties.  Apprehension settled in upon learning that many Garifunas experienced blatant discrimination outside of Livingston. How was I going to survive in the city? As a child of West Indian immigrants, I had always felt like an outsider around Americans – Black or White – but I wasn’t prepared to face racism head on. 

 

I hadn't been to Livingston in over a decade and I was shocked by some of the changes. The back dirt roads were paved, leading an easier path to Quehueche beach, but the most shocking feature was the amount of cars in this tiny village.  Years ago, I saw one or two police pick-ups that would patrol the roads now and again, but this time the streets were teeming with cars, almost all of them taxis.  

 

The cars sat parked in rows at the main pier, waiting to take you to your hotel and there were a few pick-up trucks in case you had very large items. In addition, gone were the many Garifuna businesses I remembered.  In place of the Garifuna museum was a restaurant called Buga Mama.  Instead of the store which sold Garifuna history books and artifacts was a store for every day cleaning items. Thank goodness the Garifuna bakery was still in its rightful place across from the municipal building with fresh bulla and coco-bread every day.  The town seemed to have taken on more of a Caribbean feel, and as a Jamaican descent woman I had no problem with this at all.  I noticed that Garifunas were sporting braids and dreadlocks; something that wasn't so prevalent years before. 

 

In Guatemala City, most people assumed I was from Livingston and I was fortunate to not have been the victim of any crimes or accidents during my stay in a city where one person dies every 90 minutes.  I was invited to speak about Garífuna history at a school in Cabrican, Quetzaltenango, and the teacher  prepared me for  residents who had never seen a person of color.  I was nervous.

 

Instead  my presence was celebrated – an indigenous family invited me to stay with them for a week; after ten days I had to explain to them that I really had to return.  In Guatemala City I was teaching “Introducción a las Culturas Afro-Descendientes del Caribe y Centroamerica” to a group of anthropology students and the faculty and staff were welcoming.  

 

After a couple months, I was settling in and managed to study from a great deal of books about Garífuna history as well as African slavery in Guatemala, resources that were not available to me in the United States. By the time I was ready to leave the capital for Livingston, I had fulfilled my goal of important historical research, made a lot of friends and even learned to take the city bus by myself – not an easy feat for a foreigner in Guatemala.  

 

I moved to Livingston in the midst of what I thought was the worst heat wave imaginable. To make things absolutely worse, I had appalling experiences in finding a place to live.  For the first time since arriving in Guatemala, I was dealing with racism on a level that was quite strange and potentially devastating, not from the Garifunas but from non-Garífuna hotel owners who wanted nothing to do with me.

 

I had arrived with a girlfriend who had reservations in a nearby hotel down the river.  The hotel owners had come to Puerto Barrios to take her and her little dog in their boat to the hotel and happily agreed to drop me off in Livingston.  However, upon seeing me in person, their demeanor changed and I was immediately informed that they had no time to stop in Livingston on their way down the river.  The dog was accommodated better than I was.  

 

Once in Livingston, one hotel proprietor, after having spoken with me on the phone and promised me a wonderful room with a view of the coast, had changed her mind and offered me the storage room instead.  My back-up plan, another hotel with whom I had also made arrangements, offered me a room with no windows and no facilities instead of the furnished bungalow about which we had previously discussed.   I reminded myself that I was in Guatemala temporarily to do research and not to be comfortable, so a friend helped me hit the pavement in the blazing sun, scouring the tiny village for a place to live for a few months.  Luckily, I found the perfect Garífuna-owned establishment whose owners made me feel like part of the family and treated me well.  I was home!

 

My duty in Livingston entailed interviewing Garifunas to find out their personal views and opinions on the survival of Garífuna language and culture.  I also observed which language was spoken in church, on the street, buying food, celebrations, informal gatherings, and work situations.

 

The Garifunas welcomed me into their home as if I were a long-lost daughter or sister.  Each interview was supposed to last only a few minutes but sometimes one lasted up to two hours.  The more I learned about them was the more I learned about myself.  I lamented at the fact that I was going to have to restructure my entire dissertation but at the same time I was excited that I had to restructure my entire dissertation!  I was confident that my finished product would be well-read and widely distributed.   

 

During my stay, it was very clear to me that the other ethnic groups in the community were capitalizing on Garífuna fame.  Livingston has gained world-wide recognition for its Garífuna population yet the principal business owners were not only non-Garifunas, but some refuse to hire Garifunas to work for them.  One hotel even refused to house a local Garífuna although he was the guest of a tourist who had paid for his room. Some Garifunas are very bitter that they are treated so poorly and some absolutely refuse to go to the city because they say that people have come up to them to rub their fingers on their arm to see if the color came off.  

 

I heard this time and time again. While few Garifunas  can deal with this treatment, others have learned to deal with racism and to remain passionate about their group’s cultural survival.  I made close friends with a group of Garifunas who are trying to bring back the institution of farming for the Garifunas, as not to depend on the very high price of food in this community. When I started taking language lessons, word of my classes had spread around town and Garifunas on the street helped me practice every time they saw me.  I ate in the Garífuna restaurants, a strikingly wonderful sensory explosion of multi-layered flavor and full-bodied taste.  I was truly in paradise among the Garifunas.

 

Over the following weeks I was very happy with how my research was going but nothing would prepare me for the next life-changing even that would come to me.  As I was interviewing a Garífuna artist from Honduras who owns what may be the only Garífuna crafts stand in the center of town, a man came up to speak to him. We smiled at each other briefly and when he left, I said to the Garífuna man: “I have just met the man that I will marry.” 

 

He whistled for the man to return and introductions were made. We spoke and we laughed on that morning of my birthday. I was already deciding our future children’s names.  From that day on we were inseparable.  As a Catholic, I was shamefully absent from the Church for many years, but now I was going to church a few times a week to give Him praise for putting this magnificent man in my path.  We saw each other daily for months, growing to love each other with a passion that was entirely new for me.  My family flew in to Guatemala to meet him and through a translator my father welcomed him into our family.  For the rest of my life, I know I will never be as happy as I was during that time. 

 

The Garífuna religion does not accommodate for weddings so it was a true coincidence that the Garífuna spiritual leader Fermin Arzu had been meeting with the Catholic priest so see about incorporating this sacrament into the Garífuna tradition.  The day I asked about Garífuna weddings, Fermin just happened to be walking down the beach towards me and we met and spoke for the very first time.  Preparations were made for the first ever Garífuna traditional wedding and it took place in Fermin’s temple not far from the Siete Altares waterfalls just a few days before I was to leave Guatemala. 

 

The day I left Livingston I cried terribly and a stranger at the bus station in Puerto Barrios embraced me.  "Whatever the problem is, God is with you.”

I was comforted by the fact that the man of my dreams would be with me in a few short months.  When I started my doctoral program I had purposely avoided serious relationships because they always seemed to get in the way of intense research. But this man was different; he was also over 30 and unmarried, as if we had been waiting especially for each other all of our lives.  He respected my research and gave me the space to work without interfering or complaining.

 

Since our Garífuna wedding was not officially recognized by the US, we went through the process of a “Fiancé Visa” which entailed a lot of money, medical exams, document gathering, getting to know each other better and separation anxiety.  I had given my husband my laptop computer so we could keep in touch via Skype and at night we talked about being together and starting a family.  

 

On the day of the interview, I did not hear from him all day.  Finally that night he called me with the horrifying news: he was not only denied his Visa but he was also handed over to the Guatemalan police.   

 

A few days later, still in a stupor, I heard from the U.S. Embassy via a phone call.  They told me that my fiancé, although he had his passport, birth certificate, cedula and they had spoken to his mother by phone from Puerto Barrios, was probably not who he said he was. ‘Who is he then?’, I asked the person on the phone line. The official said she/he? did not know but informed me my husband had been accused of crimes.

 

”What crimes?” I asked in panic. They said they had no evidence to offer. 

Speaking to my husband, he said they had made him remove his shirt and upon seeing his decorative tattoos, it was assumed he was involved in criminal activity.  He presented the same personal documents to the Guatemalan officials and after deeming these papers to be authentic and official, he was released.  I wrote letters to the Embassy beseeching them to reconsider. I was told their decision was final.  

 

My world came to a crashing halt.  I gained weight, my health was failing for the first time – new conditions caused by severe depression including high blood pressure, kidney problems and severe nerve damage to my spine which prevents me from sitting comfortably for more than 30 minutes. The lawyer I had hired to help with the Visa process was useless.  I put on sunglasses and tied my hair in a scarf to visit people to meet with people who’s job it was to bring people across the border with a coyote.  The lowest price I was quoted was $3,000 with no guarantee whatsoever and so things seemed increasingly out of reach.

 

The good news is that my research continues. My dissertation has recently been recognized by the president of my university and he has bestowed me with another fellowship with the financial freedom engage in writing and thinking without having to work.  

 

I am meeting with a website designer to produce a site that presents my research as well as bring awareness to the Garífuna reality and struggle in Livingston to the world. I helped Tomas Sanchez, a Garífuna leader and great friend, start the first Garífuna blog out of Livingston.  I still keep in contact with my husband although our relationship has suffered knowing that we may never see each other again.  Many people have suggested that I move to be with him, but I don’t think that my years of working towards a PhD will afford me the type of career in Guatemala for which I have prepared. 

 

I continue to pray that everything will work out.