A L U M N I M A G A Z I N E - Colby-Sawyer College

With members of the Sho family (l to r: German,
Placido, Antonio, the author, Hilario, Geraldo, and
Thomas) after harvesting our lunch, which was the
heart of a cohune palm tree from the jungle outside
their thatched dwelling in Na Luum Ca, Belize.
a locale more perfectly named, for this family—Antonio and
Eugenia Sho and their ten children (some of whom are married
with their own kids)—lives as close as possible to their
environment which, quite literally, provides almost everything
they require for their daily subsistence. Most of what they eat is
found in their backyard, which just happens to be a rainforest
jungle. This includes the free-range chickens which run all over
their land and which they cook in myriad delicious ways. It
also includes the sugar which sweetens their tea, the rice which
accompanied every meal, the corn which they grind to make
fresh tortillas (the best I’ve ever had), and the vegetation—like
the jipy japa plant and the heart of a cohune tree—which is
harvested from plants growing wild in the jungle that surrounds
their thatched dwellings. The dwellings are constructed exclusively
from materials gathered in the jungle, from the posts
which support the rafters, to the
strips of bark which bind them
together, to the palm fronds from
the cohune tree which provide
the roofing material.
In addition to their food and
shelter, Na Luum Ca supplies the
natural medicines they need to
stay healthy, as I discovered on hikes both on the periphery of
their property and deep into the rainforest. As we walked along,
Antonio (the Sho paterfamilias) would point out plants used to
treat everything from heart disease, headaches and arthritis to
insect bites, stomach aches and high blood pressure, which was
cured in Benito, one of the sons, when conventional medicines
didn’t work.
Antonio Sho was clearly the most traditional member of the
family, living on land where his ancestors dwelled for as long
as anyone could recall. He was a repository of oral history and
traditions which he graciously shared with us one evening. It
was a happy coincidence that the other guest staying with the
Shos while I was there, an Irishman named Finton O’Brien, had
with him some very sophisticated recording equipment as he
was in Belize to capture bird and jungle sounds for the CDs he
produces. Knowing of my interest in Maya culture, he offered
to record Antonio telling stories one night after dinner. Since
Antonio knows no English, he recounted the tales in his native
Mopan language which his son Geraldo translated sentence-by-
36 COLBY-SAWYER ALUMNI MAGAZINE
Enjoying a quiet moment with one of the dozens
of llamas who roam freely among the Inca ruins
of Machu Picchu, much as they did more than
500 years ago.
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Being instructed in the fine art of Maya basketmaking
by Andola Sho inside their thatched dwelling.
sentence. “On this ground,” he began, “we find the things we
eat,” a statement which was proven at every meal I had there,
though he went on to caution us about how fragile their traditional
way of life is: “Today everything, like these traditions, is
getting lost; no one is doing these things anymore.”
Antonio might have been thinking, in part at least, about
his own sons who are far more assimilated than he and his
wife and daughters are. Unlike their father, mother and sisters,
the young men of the family all speak English fluently, typically
wear imported sneakers, jeans and T-shirts with American
logos, and exude gregarious, outgoing personalities which
suggest their more frequent contact with the “outside” world.
When we were in the small town of Punta Gorda, an hour and
a half drive from Nu Luum Ca, they headed for an electronics
store which sold CDs and DVDs. One evening, when they
could get their generator going,
they introduced me to the reggae
sounds of the late African musician
Lucky Dube, which they
played on an impressive sound
system, the only thing they had
that was powered by electricity.
In spite of these influences
from mainstream cultures worldwide, I found that each of the
sons knew a great deal about their Mayan heritage and traditional
way of life. The men are all masters of the machete, a
remarkably versatile tool which Geraldo used to clear the jungle
paths, cut open a cocoa pod so I could taste the soggy substance
inside—definitely not chocolaty—slice a coconut in two so I
could drink the very refreshing water inside, snip a sprig from
the jipy japa plant which I ate and washed down with another
drink of water, this time from a grapefruit vine which he effortlessly
sliced open with a quick stroke of his machete.
Like Geraldo, all of the Shos were eager to share with me
their Mayan way of life. While the males demonstrated their
knowledge of the outdoors, the women, who seemed to leave
the house only to wash the dishes or do the laundry at the creek
(my outdoor bathtub), instructed me in what they knew best:
cooking and craft-making. I tried my hand at making tortillas
(which never came out as perfectly round as those made by the
daughters Felicita, Melinia or Andola), weaving the bottom of
a basket (using dried jipy japa plant fibers), making a few awk-