The capital of Belmopan was a long ride from back-a-bush, yet Minister Moran didn't even have the courtesy to look at the young people. He continued to hold the newspaper in front of his face while he spoke."So you want to buy a piece of land?" he said. "Tell me, what interest do you really have in Belize? Americans come here for only two reasons – either you want to grow marijuana, or you're land speculators."
"With all due respect, we don't have any interest in either one,” said Max. “We just want to live here and have a little place to call our own."
The Minister put down the paper and leaned across the table, looking at them for the first time.
"I don't believe that for one red-hot minute. Let me tell you something. I'm not like these local buffoons in Public Offices. People don't come to Belize just to eat mangoes. So, here's your answer. I haven't decided yet. Maybe I will give you the land permit, and maybe I won't. Just remember that we Belizeans can do whatever we want here. You cannot."
"I assure you–" Alexis began.
"You may go now," he interrupted. "Come back in ten days. I'll give you my answer at that time." Max could barely wait to get out of earshot to make his comment.
"What an officious asshole," he said, as they walked back to the truck. "This is our third trip to Belmopan and they're still giving us a hard time."
Alexis agreed emphatically. "We've done everything they've told us to do: fingerprints, police records, putting up a bond, green card, work permit, Belizean sponsor, and the five-year development plan. What more do they want? Every time, it's ‘come back next week.’"
"If the stupid phones worked in this country maybe we could just call the jerk to see if he's made up his mind yet. This Alien Landholding Act stuff is pure crap."
On the way home, Alexis had a brainstorm.
"Max, you know what? I’m going to write a song and sing it for that idiotic minister. I'll write about our attempt to buy the land and I'll sing it in Creole. Either this guy will think we're crazy and kick us out, or he'll think we're crazy and we fit right in. Either way, at least it will be over and we'll be able to get on with our lives."
At first Max was skeptical, but the more he thought about it, the more he supported her idea. No time like the present, she thought, pulling out a pen and paper. She began to write, pausing from time to time to ask him a question or two. "When we went south and checked out Punta Gorda, didn't we hear people calling it by its initials?”
“Yeah, they just call it P.G.," Max replied.
"Good. Okay. And what's the prime minister's name?"
"George Price." By the time they were home, Alexis’ song was complete.
Ten days later they made what they hoped would be the final trip to the capital. True to her word, she took along Max's old guitar."You're going to play a song for me?" Minister Moran asked, looking uncomfortable.
"Yes, I am," Alexis answered, “and it's in Creole too."
"Yu know fu talk Creole? Well you're going to have to play it for Mr. Archibald. I will get him for you. I have to...uh...get a drink of water." Quickly, he ushered Alexis into the office next door.
"Neville! Come here. I want you to listen to the lady's song."
Out in the hall, Max sat on the bench, shaking his head in amazement. Meanwhile many officials became curious. Even Minister Moran returned after his supposed trip to the drinking fountain, and sat inside his office. He was clearly not comfortable. Meanwhile, Neville Archibald was loving the spectacle. Alexis had drawn quite a crowd.
Oh Belmopan, Belmopan,
Seems like yu no help us, but we know yu can.
We just lookin fu, one small helpin' hand,
We just wan to buy, one lee piece of land.
We look in El Cayo, we look in P.G.
Border de Guatemala to de edge of de sea.
No mind steep or rocky, or full lone high trees,
We just wan to buy one lee piece of Belize.
Do farmin in de daytime, play music all night,
We won do anything now, that yu wouldn like.
And only yu can help to rescue us from our plight,
We wan peace and love, mon, we don wan to fight.
And then if we get it, it will be so nice...
We'll say thank yu, Mr. Moran, thank yu, Mr. Price.
Without exception, everyone in the hallway broke into a round of applause and Alexis bowed graciously. She beamed at the minister until even he had to laugh. Ten minutes later Minister Moran presented the couple with the permit to buy the land, and two days later they purchased the property from Renaldo Harrison for twenty-seven hundred BZ. Max named it Emoyeni, Zulu for “place of the wind.”
