Gaudy Patter

After several minutes, a young man with a melancholy face returns with cans of Raid. Spray cans in hand, the costumed crew walks in small circles, each member saturating an assigned zone with poison. Leiba smiles with satisfaction as the ants start twitching in their tracks.

As the last of the pests are hosed away, a sunny cruise director promenades a throng of North Americans into the performance area. Drummers exchange nods before commencing a routine that compels three young women in flowered skirts to shake and roll their hips like God’s own maracas. A twentyish fellow under a headdress and blowing into a conch shell looks up at the palm roof of the palapa as he puffs out his cheeks.

The sight of the women gyrating freely to the jankanu and punta music is compelling. One cruiser in her sixties covers a nervous smile with her brochure while a man wearing a matching windbreaker flushes from pasty to ruddy in the space between drumbeats. “Reminds me of ah, some tribes I’ve seen in Nigeria and West Africa,” comments the cruise director woodenly.

After several minutes, visitors file past cooking and crafts demonstrations before inspecting the gift shop and reboarding their air-conditioned caravan for a tour of Punta Gorda. An unscientific survey indicates that only one in five is brave enough to try the fresh, crispy cassava bread.

As the first group leaves, another shiny van pulls up outside. Looking younger than his 40 years, Leiba folds his arms and leans against a stout support pole, relaxing for the first time this morning. The Yubu center is a partnership between expat entrepreneurs and local residents, and nearly 300 tourists will pass through today to sample unique aspects of Garifuna culture. It’s Leiba’s job to make sure things run smoothly; insect control is but one brushstroke in the Big Picture.

Leiba, like most of the 2,000 residents of Punta Gorda, is descended from Afro-Caribbeans stranded on Roatan by British colonialists. Also known as Garifuna, this group traces back to captive Africans who swam ashore after a shipwreck near St. Vincent and assimilated with local Arawak Indians. In short order, these kalipuna, or “cassava eaters,” grew to dominate the region. In 1793, Leiba’s forebears were the first indigenous group in the Caribbean to compel the British to sign a treaty recognizing their sovereignty. This uneasy peace endured until 1795.

“They could not keep us under control,” Leiba says with a bright smile. “Garifuna had their own language, and the British could not understand what we were saying and thinking.” After killing leader Joseph Chatoyer, the British rounded up approximately 5,000 of the darkest-skinned “Black Caribs” and put them aboard ships bound for Roatan, a few hundred miles west. Only 2,000 survived the voyage.

Food shortages and poor living conditions made island life hard, leading many Garifuna to petition Spanish authorities for permission to sail to the Honduran mainland. In need of cheap labor, the Honduran governor was only too happy to approve. Even today, Garifuna leave Roatan to make a living. Says Leiba, “we have people that live off of fishing, there are people that work in an office, and then guys that go to sea – a lot of captains, mates and officers work overseas. That’s how we maintain – people that live in other countries helping the community.”

“The Garifuna people have never been slaves,” Leiba attests. “Never. They’ve been warriors, and peaceful at the same time. We’ve been united together and we’re going to fight together.” Today, their battle is for a slice of Roatan’s development pie. Roatan is in the early phase of a boom that is reshaping the island.

In fewer than 10 years, tourism has replaced fishing as the main source of revenue. Bearing this in mind, Leiba seeks to keep his community intact as canny speculators comb Roatan in search of bargains. Local wags say advance teams from the Hyatt and Wyndam hotel chains are already scouting choice parcels for future resorts.

Forty miles north of mainland Honduras, independent travelers and retirees discovered Roatan in the mid-nineties. Four miles wide and forty miles long, this lush, tropical strip of the third world is transforming itself for well-heeled tourists from North America. First came cruise ships and airlines, followed by crews from “Temptation Island,” MTV and HGTV. Now, signs for Century 21, RE/MAX and other real estate firms are nearly as ubiquitous as palm trees.

Roatan’s call is hard to resist. The local economy is thriving, U.S. dollars and English conversation are freely exchanged, and its barrier reef (“second largest in the world!” chimes Leiba) is a magnet for snorkelers and divers. The new arrivals have deep pockets, but Leiba says his village has “a lot of work to do to bring tourism into the community. We’re not getting any benefit, but we’re looking forward.”

The island’s growth will depend largely on the federal and local government’s ability to make significant infrastructure improvements. Winding, two-lane roads traverse the length of the island. Outside the tourist zones, electric, water, sanitation and sewage utilities are all in need of serious upgrades. If Leiba has his way, the rising tide of development will lift more than a few boats in Punta Gorda, too.

On a rainy afternoon in his village, Leiba pauses under a tarp to adjust his Yankees cap. Adults with umbrellas and puddle-stomping children greet him by name as he walks down a rutted, narrow beach road fringed by small, squat dwellings. In one yard, a bantam rooster squawks over the indignity of sharing the small, fenced space with several mature rabbits. Like a master planner, the novice politician reshapes his town with a sweep of his hand. “In the past, our houses were made out of coconut leaf and mud, and hardly do you see those kinds of houses in the community now. Most people build with wood and concrete – it lasts longer.”

When surveyors and realtors arrive in Punta Gorda is solely a matter of time, not faith, says Leiba. “Down at the west end, they getting full and crowded, so people are now looking up to the east.” All of the upscale shops, hotels, businesses and beaches lie at the west end of the island, and the nascent boom has Leiba convinced that opportunities now lie closer to home. Identifying the right partners will make it easier to manage the challenges that accompany development, believes Leiba. “The people that can help us to get jobs, respect us, and let us live in peace -- those folks are absolutely welcome.”

A Garifuna entrepreneur who recently returned from the U.S. is completing construction of a supermarket/office complex in town, and Leiba has plans to renovate Punta Gorda’s city hall. Two Americans recently purchased the village’s sole hotel and expect to begin renovation work in Spring 2006. Whether it’s through shrewd politicking or sheer force of will, things seem to be breaking Leiba’s way.

It’s impossible to ignore the poverty on Roatan’s east end, but Leiba makes it easy to envision the opportunities that lie ahead. Walking around his village, his infectious enthusiasm transforms an uneven, potholed road into an asphalt ribbon; a pebbled shoreline becomes a gleaming white beach.

So far, the improvements exist only in his mind’s eye, but the new mayor can’t imagine living anywhere else. “I love the peace and the sea and the beach,” says Leiba. “And when it gets hot, we have a lot of wind, so we can come down to the beach and relax. I talk to friends of mine, and they wish they had what we have here.”