Livingston – Stories from Guatemala

A Garifuna Muse

Musician, spiritual messenger, and community leader Juan Carlos Sanchez has long promoted Garifuna culture in Labuga, Guatemala, also known as Livingston. In his efforts to increase a general understanding of his community, he has produced an autobiography, Palabra(s) de ounagülei(s), which offers an insider’s perspective on Garifuna life.

Juan Carlos Sanchez, Livingston, July 16, 2021.

Garifuna populations lie along the Caribbean coastline of Central America, from Belize to Nicaragua. Official data puts the total population at about a quarter million, although some scholars believe the number is significantly greater. Many members of the Garifuna community still speak their own language, which originally formed from Arawak centuries ago, and engage in rituals similar to those their ancestors carried out.

Sanchez discussed his music and the challenges facing his community on July 16, 2021, at a restaurant in a prominent hotel, the Villa Caribe. A popular tourist stopover, the hotel sits on a bluff overlooking the Amatique Bay, where the Rio Dulce (Sweet River) flows into the Caribbean Sea.

Sanchez’s education in music started early and broadened over time. He grew up listening to reggae and calypso music, participated in a punta rock band in the 1980s, and eventually began performing spiritual music in Garifuna ceremonies, becoming a conduit for the ancestors. He also revived a musical genre that was dying out locally, paranda, which today is played in both traditional Garifuna settings and popular venues.

I was raised in the heart of the culture, in its beliefs, customs, and language. Through my music, I have traveled to Europe, the United States, and other parts of Central America, but I continue to live here and have done so my entire life.

Years ago, I realized the youth were not playing paranda (locally), and the people who did were dying off. A gentleman here had become the last of the abuelos to play this music; after him, there would be no one else. (Abuelos means grandparents in Spanish, but he uses the term to describe elder residents and forbears.)

When I saw that this man was sick in 2005, I began to explore and master this style. In May 2006, that man died, but I was ready to continue with the music.

I later went to this hotel, met the manager, and told him I had a project to revive and promote paranda. I wanted to play it to guests because I had played it in the United States, where it was unknown, and people had responded enthusiastically to it. Unfortunately, here in Livingston, people often don’t want what is theirs. They want what is someone else’s.

The manager agreed, so I launched into the world of tourism, performing paranda from 2006 until three years ago. I would go to the hotel’s restaurant or the Dugu Bar in front of it and play every night.

People soon began inviting me to perform in various activities around town, and I played without charging and for whatever occasion. So that’s how I went about rescuing the music.

Juan Carlos Sanchez playing paranda: click to hear. (Found on YouTube)

Paranda is generally played solo, although sometimes other musicians will want to join in. They may get a bottle, a piece of metal, a spoon, or whatever, and begin to mark time, like with a maraca. But generally, it’s just you and a guitar.

Since the idea had awakened within the community and the youth were now playing paranda, I felt I had done my part, so I stopped performing and went back to school. I am not active now, but my music is still in the bar on discs, playing for tourists.

The Dugu Bar at the entrance of the hotel Villa Caribe, where Sanchez once performed to revive paranda. (Photo by Ed Menefee)

The beginnings of paranda can be traced to the early 19th century when the Garifuna exodus to the shores of Central America began. Through the decades, many musical styles have affected its development. Sanchez calls the paranda of today a mixture of soca, blues, and calypso. The style evokes feelings of grief and sorrow from life’s misfortunes, and the lyrics offer a glimpse into the challenges people face in the community.

Garifuna musicians, of course, play several genres, many of which can be heard on the streets of Labuga. While strolling through town, it is common to come across residents drumming and dancing in a traditional style.

There are many musical genres here. Today there is Chumba, there is Punta. All of this is part of Garifuna music. The abuelos used wind instruments, and you still hear some guys using the trumpet as well as the guitar in Garifuna music.

We find, though, that much of the music in Garifuna culture is spiritual. For spiritual ceremonies, the music for all Garifunas is Ugúlendu, and it is performed in Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Guatemala. We play it with two or three drums, using one rhythm with two variations.

There is also a place in spiritual settings for a solo singer, who may sing a ballad. Usually, this person is a messenger who does not imitate anyone else but writes his own songs. He sings about what he sees and experiences. These songs can entail a joke, a story, or be about love, but they are mostly words of advice from the ancestors.

How the musician plays his songs or the rhythm of it is not that relevant in this context. It is what he says that matters, and the people around him will listen and judge whether the performer is spiritual or not.

They chose me to serve in this capacity in 1989. Before that, I wanted to be a great musician, to go to another country and make magnificent music, but the selection of my ancestors kept me away from all of that. I couldn’t be playing in a spiritual ceremony today and a concert tomorrow before 10,000 people. That didn’t make sense to me. So I agreed to follow that call, to serve.

You don’t make much money performing this music. It is not a commercial matter. It isn’t for a concert. It’s there for the people of the community to hear tales about the Garifuna people.

In the traditional Garifuna belief system, spirits of the dead have the ability to communicate with those still living.

The Garifuna form of spirituality is not a religion like Catholicism. We work in a system that contains a variation of Vodou, and we communicate directly with the ancestors. We are talking about the Vodou from Africa, which was intended to make you healthy and protect you. It’s not a Vodou that harms people because they deserve it. It is not done out of hate or revenge. No, it is practiced to provide a barrier between us and those who might harm us, to safeguard the community.

In many rituals, the spirits speak. There are invocations and possessions of the ancestors, who come and talk, while certain members detect if the spirit is authentic.

The ceremonies are well organized and have their leaders and supreme exponents. Everything is structured, and nothing can be done outside of the context of the observance. I worked on it for many years.

We don’t hold any ceremonies that conflict with Catholic celebrations. On Sunday, for instance, there are no ceremonies. We also don’t do anything during Semana Santa between March and April (the Catholic holy week leading to Easter). We are Catholic and respect Catholic laws.

Because of Covid, there have not been any ceremonies this year, because there are routinely 400 to 500 people in one event. That’s a lot of people.

The community also celebrates the more secular holidays throughout the year, such as Settlement Day, which occurs in November. At this time, Garinagu venerate the ancestors for having established the town in the early 1800s, after British troops removed them from their communities on the Caribbean island of Saint Vincent, over a thousand miles away.

It’s beautiful here, and this location (a promontory overlooking the bay) is strategic because you can see anyone who enters. If they are coming from Belize, you can see them, from Honduras and Guatemala also. The ancestors were very intelligent. They inspire me.

The Rio Dulce near the Amatique Bay, Guatemala.

I am a direct descendent of the gentleman who established this town, Marcos Sanchez Díaz; I represent the sixth generation of this person. I feel a responsibility because of it, not because I want to, but because it is in my head. It’s almost telepathic. My forefathers were leaders here. My grandfather was the mayor in 1954 and led the community. I try to educate myself to continue with the ideals of my grandparents and their grandparents.

When I feel like I no longer have a solution to a problem, a solution of my own, I receive my ancestors’ indications. It is in a dream that they guide me. Yes, there is that connection. It exists.

***

Sanchez grew up just north of the center of Livingston in a village called La Guaira, where he would go with his grandparents up a mountain, plant corn, rice, and yucca, and bring back timber. In his memoir, Sanchez recalled walking along the seashore and seeing canoes gliding toward town carrying produce like plantains, oranges, cassavas, cacao, grapefruit, sugar cane, and bananas. The area’s natural abundance affords opportunities to plant crops, grow fruit trees, and fish, providing residents with sustenance and a distinct cuisine.

Nutrition is central to the traditional Garifuna diet. Foods are often eaten together, like fish and coconut. Bananas were commonly used and still are because you can make different dishes with the banana — be they grated, grilled, fried, or roasted. You can also make a tamale or a type of cake with them.

Drinks in the past were made from various fruits, like lime or lemon, orange, grapefruit, or pineapple. The ancestors also knew how to make their drinks with yucca, sometimes grated, squeezed, or burned, like in a burnt cake. Then they added water with grated sweet potato.

All the Garifuna food that I have seen is to keep you healthy.

More commercially popular foods like spaghetti and fast food are now eaten in addition, but what you eat depends on your health. We are not eating the same thing every day. You have to balance what you eat.

***

Economic and demographic changes, of course, have had their effect on Garifuna culture. Sánchez believes that an influx of outside groups into Labuga has posed a challenge to the community’s unity and traditions, as has the exodus of its own residents to find work in locations like the Guatemalan capital or the United States.

The decline in the use of the Garifuna language is especially troubling.

There are now many different cultures here: mestizos, indigenous Mayas, Hindu people, some Chinese and Japanese. Because there are so many groups coming in, we have to speak Spanish with them, so we are speaking Garifuna less and less.

About 50 years ago, everything was in Garifuna. Now our language is scarcely spoken in the street. The children instead speak Spanish, which is the language in school, on television, and on the radio. Almost everything is in Spanish. I have friends who don’t speak Garifuna, yet they are Garifuna. Sadly, many people want to imitate others or feel superior to others, so they leave parts of their own culture behind.

When I was a child, at home, if someone mentioned a word in Spanish, we would laugh, as if listening to a clown, because the language was so foreign. You only heard Garifuna. I learned Spanish in school because that is what the teachers understood, so we had to speak it.

The Garifuna language is essential because it reflects and keeps our culture alive. For instance, we use the word “judutu,” which means to cook, but the term we use implies that a lot of preparation and work has gone into the cooking. When we hear “judutu,” we know that it results from a long process.

To give you another example, in Spanish, it is common to say good morning, “Buenos días,” and in Garifuna, we would translate that literally as “Buiti binafi.” But that expression doesn’t exist in our language. We use a different phrase, which is used to see how you are. It’s “Idabiña.” Everybody is asked how they are when greeted. You don’t say to someone, “Hola, buenos días,” and leave. Or “Hola buenos días, adios.” Not in Garifuna. It’s “Idabiña.” And afterwards I stop to listen to you and begin to speak with you to see if you are OK. So, many matters are represented in the language that help our culture maintain its essence, as well as our connection to other Garifuna communities.

***

Sanchez’s perspective on his community has been shaped not only by his role as a musician and spiritual leader but also by his work in social services, which he has carried out for over 25 years.

I currently work for the government, training and consulting on issues of violence, sexual violence, exploitation, and human trafficking. This year the work ended due to the pandemic. Now, I just get small jobs here and there.

Violence is living with us, between us, including in our homes, and it’s difficult to eradicate.

Violence is a type of inheritance that is generated constantly, and there are many forms of it. Violence has existed since the beginning of humanity. Remember that to eat, people had to kill an animal. And still, up until today, to eat “un caldo de pollo,” chicken soup, you have to kill a chicken. Is that violence, or is it not? Yes, it’s violence because you are killing.

Even in mining, to make a hole in the ground, there are stones to break apart, and you have to use a lot of heavy energy to do it, which is violent. Violence is done to the environment. (A nickel mine lies downriver on Lake Izabal, affecting many residents nearby.) I am not against mining, but many people suffer from it and are left without safe water or animals. Some can adapt while others suffer.

So violence takes place not just at home. It’s everywhere.

***

Sanchez sees education, in particular, as vital to dealing with a range of social challenges. In Guatemala, national spending on education is, unfortunately, one of the lowest in the world as a percentage of GDP. Schools in marginalized communities like the Garifuna often lack educational materials, like textbooks, and are beset by deteriorating infrastructure, affecting the supply of water and electricity. The pool of talented educators is also limited due to low teacher pay and Labuga’s lengthy distance from larger, urban areas where most teachers are trained.

Adding to the problem, residents from poorer communities frequently lack the personal funds to keep their children in school. The costs of uniforms, books, supplies, and transportation, none of which the state supplies, often prevent students from continuing their education. Guatemalan children commonly stop their studies at the age of 12, the transition between primary and secondary level schools, hoping instead to work and make money for their families. Ironically, the quest for financial stability tends to limit the value placed on education.

Sanchez himself graduated from high school in Livingston and years later, in 2016, began studying for his bachelor’s degree at a university (Santo Tomás) near Puerto Barrios.

Education is not well promoted in our community. There is very little effort to make people understand that education is important, and the people are not at fault. It is the fault of the government.

Some with influence benefit from keeping others from reading and writing, and a president can say that he wants education for the Garifuna people, but he can’t do anything alone. Others can say no. All 150 deputies in Congress, who are representing various interests, have sway over what the president does.

It all has to do with the land. The land is what produces, especially primary materials to export. If there are people who don’t know how to read or write, they can be paid very little to work the land, because they don’t know their rights. That’s why their education is not supported adequately in some sectors. If we were autonomous, if we had our own territory, we could probably change that, but we do not have a territory. All we have are individual pieces of land —— and we can’t legislate.

What is needed for autonomy, though, is a lot of brains, and if there are insufficient levels of education among the people, you are not going to be able to have autonomy. It can be given to you but it’s only going to be a failure.

Low levels of education also make it difficult for residents to defend their property from encroachment, which has become common in Garifuna communities. Through improper development, the Garinugas may gradually lose their ability to inhabit their own land along the coast, with its beautiful beaches, warm water, and natural beauty.

In Honduras, where the Garifuna population is largest, community activists have been kidnapped and killed trying to protect local territory. Among those vying for Garifuna land are foreign hotel companies, drug cartels aiming to use the space to transport drugs, and Palm Oil companies hoping to expand their plantations.

Garifuna homeowner (left) enjoying his ocean-front property, Livingston, Guatemala.

While Labuga has avoided the violence seen in Honduras, it could face similar dangers in the future. Lying between two large bodies of water, the town remains attractive to outsiders. The Guatemalan government, for its part, encourages foreign-sponsored development to increase tourism and foreign exchange, but future development could squeeze out residents and jeopardize the private and public spaces members of the community enjoy.

Hotel Villa Caribe, Livingston, Guatemala.

Look at this hotel. Many years ago, we would walk here and no one would say that this land was theirs. But the government knew that this could be a place that could be exploited. They let people live here to clean and prepare the place, but when it was cleared and ready, various interests put up their restaurants and hotels.

It isn’t that the Guatemalan government is bad or worse, and so are doing that. No, this has been done for many years in other countries and cities, and Guatemala has followed that model. That is an old practice.

But now you cannot go through here.

Land along the Labuga coastline, now owned by a hotel and restaurant.

The above narrative, taken from an interview I conducted in Livingston on July 16, 2021, represents my translation and edits. For more on Juan Carlos Sánchez, consult his book, Palabra(s) de ounagülei(s): La espiritualidad garífuna de Livingston, Guatemala, Un texto de Juan Carlos Sánchez, compilado y editado por Augusto Pérez Guarnieri (Guatemala: Flacso Guatemala, 2018).

For an excellent compilation of paranda music, see “Paranda – Africa in Central America,” which features artists Paul Neybor, Jursino Cayetano, Aurelio Martinez, Lugua Centeno, and Andy Palacio. The album can be found on YouTube.

A Garifuna Voyage

Tomas Sanchez, organizer and president of the Garifuna parliament in Guatemala, Livingston, Guatemala, July 15, 2021.

Tomas Sanchez is a community activist in the town of Livingston, Guatemala, which lies at the mouth of the Dulce River and at the edge of the country’s lush Caribbean coast. This area makes for robust fishing, a common occupation among locals, and an astonishing natural beauty marked by a superabundance of migratory and native bird life. It is also home to the Garifuna people of Guatemala, who have maintained a distinct culture and language for centuries.

Garinagu (the plural term for Garifuna) have a remarkable history, yet few scholars have explored it with the attention it deserves, leaving many questions yet to be fully answered. What we do know is that the culture first formed on the Caribbean island of Saint Vincent in the 1600s, some 2,000 miles east of Livingston, when former African captives came to live amongst the area’s native communities. Indigenous settlements had developed years before from an interaction between Carib and Arawak people, who were among the first groups the Spanish encountered when they landed in the Caribbean in the late 1400s. How Africans mixed with these communities and adopted a language based largely on Arawak is a mystery.

Some believe the Garifuna community began when a slave ship went aground on Saint Vincent in 1635 (perhaps followed by another years later), with Africans escaping and living among indigenous settlements, forging their own independent society from that point on. (Their community, it is believed, then became a refuge for future African fugitives.) Others theorize that indigenous raids on European slaveholders resulted in African re-enslavement under indigenous authority. The former scenario, in which captives escaped a slave ship (or two) and then resided among native people, is the one most internalized by people in the Garifuna community, who are proud of their independent heritage.

Regardless of how the community formed originally, documentation shows that the Garifuna by the 1700s were an independent people who, after years of warring with the English on Saint Vincent island, were forced to relocate to Central America’s Caribbean shore around 1802. Garinagu then spread out through the coastal areas of Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua and Belize. Today, the Garifuna make up a trans-national community whose language is spoken by 100,000 inhabitants in Honduras, 21,000 in Belize, 2,500 in Nicaragua, and about 23,000 in Guatemala, mostly in Livingston but also in nearby Puerto Barrios across the Amatique Bay. The community as a whole, including those living abroad, is believed to number about a million people.

Sanchez, a powerful defender of Garifuna rights, grew up in two different Garifuna locales, one in Belize and the other in Livingston (called Labuga in Garifuna). His reflections offer a glimpse into the aspirations of the Garifuna people as well as his own quest to understand himself and his identity.

I grew up with my grandmother and her companion, who was the father figure of my life. In my early years, until I was about seven, times were hard, harder than now — my children are not going through the same thing that I went through. Extreme poverty would be another way to put it. But it was also one of the most intriguing periods of my life because we were able to get by and live in a very wholesome way, without money. We didn’t have any whatsoever. I was raised with what we grew around the house.

At the age of seven and a half I was first exposed to formal education, in Dangriga, Belize, which was then called Stan Creek. I went to school there from 1969 to 1976. (Dangriga, home to a large Garifuna population, lies along the Caribbean coastline about a 120 miles north of Livingston.)

You could travel from the port right here in Livingston to Dangriga every Friday. I’m talking over forty years ago. We took a small little canoe with a small engine, like 15 horsepower, a very risky trip between here and Punta Gorda (a town in Belize on the way to Dangriga), especially near the mouth of the Sarstoon River when it’s bubbling a little bit. During those days it would take an hour and a half. Now, it’s a 45-minute trip.

Going south on Main Street toward the port, Livingston, Guatemala, July 15, 2021.

I went there with my grandparents, the people who raised me, because, at that time, Garifuna hands from Livingston were hired to work in the citrus orchards in Belize, specifically in Dangriga. My grandfather first started as a reaper of oranges but also worked with other produce like grapefruits, tangerines and what have you. Later on he was employed lifting boxes of oranges onto the trucks to take to the citrus company.

On vacations, we would go back to Livingston from Dangriga, so then I would hang out with friends in my neighborhood in Livingston. This was the first 15 years of my life. Half of that was here in Livingston and half of that was in Belize, where I graduated from the only formal education I have had.

The foundation of my education was in Belize, but I came back here permanently to Livingston when I was 15 or 16. When I was a teenager, I got involved in so many things. We are talking about 1976 to about 1980. I was very aware of the civil war activities here in Guatemala, but I was really a rebel without a cause.

Sanchez never joined the guerrillas, remaining neutral during Guatemala’s civil conflict. He did, however, act to protect the local Garifuna community from abuses by military personnel.

We were approaching 1980 then. We put our lives on the line by literally taking away guns from soldiers who were patrolling our town. They would drink and get stupid on the streets of Livingston and just intimidate people with their guns, and I didn’t go for that. I started organizing; I would talk with friends and we would agree to go on a rampage and take away weapons, to send a message to the others.

I came with a rebellious spirit and something would tell me the soldier was against what was going on, and I would just follow that voice. But first, we would investigate; if he’s on duty and not drinking, we would respect that, but if he was on duty and drinking, and after a couple of drinks he started intimidating people with his guns, then we would move in. I was never armed, but I would instigate a fight just to take his guns away.

Sometimes a soldier would be on the streets and be going into a bar, bobbing and weaving, so I would just go and wait in a dark spot and knock him down and take away his gun. I would make sure he didn’t wake up until I was gone. I would just choke him to the point where he couldn’t breathe any more, to knock him out.

Usually, though, the soldier would be sitting at a bar and would put his gun down somewhere nearby. We would sit watching him as he was drinking there, understanding that the first thing I would go for was his gun, so I’m gonna’ spot where it is. I would sit next to him and ask him what he was doing, knowing that could provoke a reaction. At this point I already had a few guys around me — I wasn’t going to go by myself. I knew that if I could hit him in the head with a bottle before he reached for the gun I could dominate the game, which is what I would do. That was my way of fighting back with my group.

Ok, I was stupid (laughing).

I had to migrate to the United States because if I had been caught and doing all of this, I wouldn’t be here today telling you any of it. My mom was living in California and heard about what I was doing, so she accumulated four hundred dollars, sent it to me, and that’s what I used to leave Livingston to go to California. I literally left on the second of February, 1980, and got there on the 18th of February, so I arrived in two weeks and two days, traveling by bus and by train. I was able to catch a bus to Guatemala City, and from there you could go easily to Mexico City, and then on to the United States.

You get to meet a lot of people going north, thinking about the same dream that people still have today, that the United States is a land of milk and honey, a promised land where dreams are met or can be achieved, where people have a white picket fence, a white house and a dog called Spot.

Part of my way of thinking was formed in the United States, not really here in Livingston. It’s during my time in the US that I became aware of my identify, as being from a culture that is unique in so many ways. We’re still in the making, we’re not done yet as Garifuna. We’re approaching a time, shall I say, for us to start sharing our story, to start writing, telling people what it’s like from the eyes of the Garifuna.

Main Street, northward, a short walk to the Amatique Bay and the Caribbean Sea, Livingston, July 15, 2021.

I came back from the United States here to Livingston the 23rd of January, 2001, so I have been residing here for the past 20 years. I’ve gotten myself involved in the community from the bottom, from the base. I’m a community activist now. I don’t fight any more. I don’t look for the soldiers. I’m an indigenous leader who was once a part of this mess (The Guatemalan Civil Conflict), but along with others is now talking about building a new route where we can all travel together towards justice and peace.

In December of 1996, following 35 years of armed conflict, the government of Guatemala and the revolutionary command (URNG) signed a peace accord under the auspices of the United Nations. This agreement incorporated previous commitments to improve Guatemalan society and outlined a strategy for a longstanding peace.

The treaty was renowned for recognizing the identity and rights of indigenous peoples, among them the Garifuna, and declaring them essential in the building of a multi-ethnic, multicultural and multilingual country of national unity. It also gave those uprooted by war the right to return and live freely in Guatemala.

You have to remember that there were 36 years of war in Guatemala and many of our people became scattered throughout the world, and some of them are coming back. These are groups that have been part of our history, some of them have been in Peru, some of them in Mexico, I don’t know where, but they had to leave their land and run away or they would be killed. Politically, we were caught in the middle. If you didn’t obey what the government was saying, you were a Communist, you were killed, just because you had the guts to speak against the government. I couldn’t speak then the way I do now.

In the 80s, there were at least 19 settlements in the name of the Garifuna people, on each side of the Amatique Bay (in particular, Livingston and Puerto Barrios.) The military came at the time, wanting to buy their land, but only symbolically, because they weren’t giving them shit, and if you did not accept their symbolic gift then you and your family could end up floating in the ocean, in the Caribbean Sea.

Corruption still exists and is in the spirit of our politics, and in other countries where we live. As we speak, our brothers and sisters in Honduras are fighting to preserve their land from the government and tourist companies, particularly from Canada, that would like to make Cancuns out of the areas that belong to the Garifuna people. They also want to convert Livingston into one of these touristic areas. That’s a double edged sword.

As an indigenous group, our land should be sacred to us. It’s our territory. That’s where we find the wild animals and trees to make the drums with. We need the ocean for the turtle shells. The Garifuna is a civilization.

We also want to be part of the modern civilization but with everything that comes with autonomy. We want to call the shots.

The peace treaty was signed the 29th of December, 1996, but there is nothing tangible in the hands of the Garifuna people from the state of Guatemala. Most of the time we are just used as pawns. What sells the most is the folkloric representations, like Garifuna dancing, the shaking of the ass. But there is nothing that we have that is tangible.

Under the peace agreement, public funds were to be channeled to social investment and to broaden opportunities for indigenous groups held back by discrimination, specifically the Maya, Xinca, and Garifuna. The treaty also promised an economic policy that would optimize growth, prevent processes of economic exclusion, and attack unemployment and impoverishment.

The document’s high hopes and dreams have not been realized.

We want equal decision-making, and we want financing from the resources of our territory. I don’t know how many yachts and fancy boats go in to this bay every day, but are they using anything from that activity to educate the Garifuna people? Let’s get back something from our resources and let’s put that into education, let’s put that into health.

We also need to work together to form our own institutions. We are beginning to talk about establishing an institution for the Garifuna people of Guatemala that would have a headquarters, a base to address any issue that regards the well-being and future of the Garifuna people.

We are also beginning to talk about an academy for the language of the Garifuna people in Guatemala. We didn’t speak Spanish in my day. I learned Spanish along the way.

When I was in Belize, people felt shame in speaking Garifuna, and when I came back to Livingston at 15 my identity had been torn completely into pieces. Some of us still have our language intact, but I think we are the last generation that is holding on. That’s why it’s so important for me to go out there and spread the word.

My third son was born a couple of houses from where I was born but he was not raised with the language. Being an activist, I lost track and didn’t teach him Garifuna at home. I want to be part of the team that is creating this new road where we have to leave it so clear that the language will be understood.

Children playing outside their homes on the Caribbean side of town, Livingston, Guatemala, July 15, 2021.

Sanchez’ quest to revive the language, especially among the younger generation, is part of a greater effort to illuminate the richness of Garifuna culture and history. Considerd the community’s first blogger, Sanchez has exposed readers to much of Garifuna society, its spiritual side as well as its daily reality. What emerges from Sanchez’s writing is a belief that the Garifuna are on an historical journey, one in which the mission of past generations is carried on by those of the present and future.

I can speak on behalf of what the dreams of my ancestors were. They were the ones who paved the way, and I am just a conduit. In 1802, Marcos Sánchez Díaz came; he is the spiritual guide and founder of Livingston. There are articles on my blog where I state that Marcos Sánchez Díaz held my hand. He held my hands tight when I would blog. I haven’t blogged since the 14th of August, 2019, and I don’t know if I will pick it back up. It depends on what he tells me, and what the spirits say.

When I was growing up, everything was spiritual at home, but I did not understand then what I do now. We have a mixture of different beliefs. We have beliefs about our ancestors from Africa, their connection with water or their connection with land, their connection with stars, connection with the dead. In our culture the dead can manifest themselves through the body of a living person, and they can come to you in dreams. They can come to you in different ways that you might not understand in the moment, but later you put the pieces together.

I’m just part of this journey that began more than 224 years ago. The fact remains that the Garifuna were here from 1802, and today we are still crying out against discrimination, injustice. We want to create a route towards justice and peace for the Garifuna people.

We don’t want to shed any more blood for land. Over two hundred years ago they took our land and killed our people. We were on the verge of genocide. They did this in Saint Vincent, and that’s why we came here. There were Garifuna people fighting for their land, and the ones who didn’t succumb landed here.

Our ancestors used to have knowledge so profound that they could travel these waters day and night just by looking at the stars. They were feared and revered people in canoes. We, whom you see today, are the current generation of these people.

Tomás Sanchez, speaking in front of the Amatique Bay, July 15, 2021, Livingston, Guatemala.

This narrative evolved from an interview I conducted with Sanchez on July 15, 2021.

For background on Garifuna history and culture, the following works are extremely enlightening: Christopher Taylor, The Black Carib Wars: Freedom, Survival, and the Making of the Garifuna (Jackson: Univ. Press of Mississippi, 2012); Michelle Ann Forbes, “Garifuna: The Birth and Rise of an Identity through Contact Language and Contact Culture” (PhD diss., Univ. of Missouri, 2011); Élmer Mauricio Enríquez Bermúdez and others, Discriminaciones (El Salvador: Fundación Heinrich Böll, 2020). Also noteworthy is a first-hand account of Livingston in the 19th century by Alfred de Valois, Mexique, Havane et Guatemala. Notes voyages (Paris, 1861), re-published in Spanish as México, Habana y Guatemala: Notas de Viaje (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2015).

Sanchez’s blog can be found at: http://garifunareality.blogspot.com