Fried Chicken, A Belizean Tradition

"Taiwan? Or China?" Mark, my cab driver asks as we pull out of the airport. Through the thick Creole accent, I sense a tension in his tone but not without confidence as if he has asked the same question day after day.

"Canada, actually." I cautiously reply. Upon seeing his puzzled look I add, "My parents are from China, I grew up in Canada." Somehow that fails to ease his mind.

Before I even see the Welcome to Belize City banner, a handful of Land for Sale signs fly by the window of the '75 LeSabre, dotting the roadside of what is still largely untamed swampland. That alone isn't so surprising except the signs are all in Chinese.

"You see, many people from China and Taiwan come with a lot of money and buy land in Belize," he explains, pointing out the signs while racing down the two-lane newly paved road, the only one connecting the airport with the city. "And now you can find Chinese fried chicken in any town, it's as common as rice and beans."

Then he goes on to tell of a recent event in which a Chinese restaurant was shut down because they were serving cat meat as fried chicken.

"I don't worry about that though because cats are harder to find than chicken," he jokingly quips.

For a country made up largely of Mestizo and Creole cultures, it has seen a steady influx of other peoples mostly due to its history as a British colony. Indian and Chinese workers were brought in as early as the mid 19th century. Mennonites emigrated from Manitoba in the 1950s to escape religious persecution and more recently, Lebanese and Taiwanese looking for business opportunities overseas. Mark is right. It's not easy to find a town without a Chinese restaurant serving fried chicken.

In the western town of San Ignacio (known locally as Cayo) near the Guatemalan border, I fumble through the streets in search of an authentic Belizean meal. I cringe at the thought of coming three thousand kilometres to Belize for Chinese food. The narrow streets, small wooden shops are a constant reminder of its frontier town past. I walk by the bus station, post office and the hardware store that is getting a fresh coat of canary yellow paint on its cement exterior. Then I come to a sudden stop as I hear a familiar tune coming from the variety store.

"We don't get many Chinese visitors here," says the thin man behind the cash register as he turns down his radio playing that familiar Chinese tune.

"I'm from Canada," I explain.

He says the only restaurants in town cater to travelers passing by. If I want good authentic Belizean food, I would have to head east to one of the smaller towns. I try to hide my disappointment.

Dangriga is a town on the Caribbean coast. With a population of ten thousand mostly Garifuna (descendants of African slaves), it's one of the largest towns by the sea. It has a distinctly Caribbean feel to it, tinged with the smell of salt from the ocean breeze and the imposing clouds signaling the arrival of hurricane season. Despite the clouds, the intense sun is punishing, leaving buildings drained of the colours they once possessed.

On a lazy Sunday afternoon like this one, most of the shops in town are closed. The locals hang out at the pier, wading in the water trying to kill the suffocating heat. I take a long stroll around town, stopping at the pier to see what the laughter is all about. The children dive from the pier showing off their version of a fishing pelican. I am tempted to join them but decide to cool myself with a bottle of Coke instead.

Soon it's late afternoon and as usual, I'm looking for a Belizean meal when I hear the familiar sound of mahjong tiles crashing into a frenzy. It turns out Mrs. Lee and her buddies have turned this game into a Sunday afternoon ritual. There's a small but tight-knit Chinese community here in Dangriga and they cherish the chance to reminisce about life in the homeland. While Mrs. Lee entertains her friends on her second level balcony, her husband prepares the restaurant below for their dinner patrons. The sparsely decorated restaurant is a stark indication of how little the Lees have to work with.

"We only had enough money for three tables," he explains.

The Lees came to Belize 4 years ago but only recently moved to Dangriga from Cayo.

"It was very hard to make a living out there." Besides, he prefers the ocean breeze over the humidity of the jungle.

"But the security is not so good here, we are robbed frequently and the police cannot do anything," he speaks with the broken dialect of his mother tongue, struggling to recall words he has come to rely less upon. But even so, he sees a bright future for his two children. "I want them to grow up as part of the Belizean society. They can do so much in this country."

Mr. Lee offers his specialty dish to me. As he serves up the fried chicken, I can see two Garifuna teens savouring Lee's specialty at their table. The music from the radio is mixed with the beat of mahjong tiles, and suddenly I realize that this is the Belizean meal I've been searching for.