Two Mennonites and an East Indian walk into the Lands Department in Orange Walk.

It all started with a trip to Shipyard for some maintenance on my pickup. I’d converted it to butane two years earlier, and it was time for a check-up. The drive from Toledo was routine, if long – I set out early to make an 8 a.m. appointment. The highways of Belize are breathtaking in the early morning light. I took a brief detour through Orange Walk Town, then followed the San Antonio Road toward Shipyard, passing through Yo Creek, San Lazaro, Trinidad, and August Pine Ridge. By 7:30 a.m., the landscape was glowing: rolling green pastures soaked in golden sun.

As much as I didn’t want the scenery to end, I eventually pulled into Shipyard. The place is unique – a sprawling Mennonite community where old-world and modern life collide. The roads are unpaved, but brand-spanking new vehicles share them with horse-drawn carts.

I arrived at the mechanic’s, popped the hood, and then – a plot twist. Bright green radiator fluid was leaking onto the ground. Ouch. I work in technology – this is the equivalent of the blue screen of death. Questions rushed in: How long during the journey had it been leaking? Had the engine suffered any damage? A quick check of the overflow tank showed there was still fluid, thank goodness.

Still, I couldn’t risk driving it all the way back to PG like this. Buying a new radiator in Orange Walk Town seemed like an option – an expensive one – and I wasn’t even sure the truck would make it there and back with that leak. The mechanic got to work checking the butane system, while I tried to figure out a plan.

“Is there anywhere around here that can fix a radiator?” I asked.

He gave the leak a look. “You could try MetalFab,” he said. “Looks like it needs aluminum welding.”

That was something. A ray of hope.

“The butane system looks good,” he added, after changing a couple of filters and running diagnostics.

“Thanks,” I said, and paid him. “Let me take it for a test run and see if I can get that radiator fixed.”

He nodded and closed the hood.

If you’ve been to Shipyard, you’ll know it’s divided into ‘Camps’ instead of streets. Thankfully, Google Maps worked well enough. I found MetalFab and talked to a couple of the guys there. They took one look at the radiator and shook their heads.

“We don’t do that kind of fine aluminum welding,” one of them said. “But check with Reimer. He might be able to help.”

I thanked them, pulled up Reimer’s location, and drove over. I explained the situation. The team there was kind and understanding.

“We could probably do it,” one said, “but we’re busy today. Gotta check with the boss.”

As luck would have it, the boss had just left with a salesman. The guys kept examining the radiator, and soon another man arrived – apparently the second boss, who rarely showed up, but decided to show up today. They conferred quickly in Spanish.

“We can’t do it either,” they told me apologetically, “but the guy across the street might.”

I thanked them, and I headed across the road. A teenage Mennonite boy – couldn’t have been more than 14 or 15 – met me first. He looked at me with curiosity until an older man came out. I explained the problem again.

“I can fix it,” he said, after taking a look. Relief washed over me.

“But not today. I have to go into Orange Walk.”

That’s when an idea struck – inspired by a book I’d been reading, that talked about doing things that ground you and help you connect with yourself.

I decided to try something the old me would’ve done. What I found out just that morning was that because many people in Shipyard use traditional horse and carts, they typically have to charter a vehicle to go long distances. They are master mechanics, but they don’t use vehicles themselves.

“If you fix it for me, I’ll take you to Orange Walk,” I offered.

His young companion looked at me as if he didn’t believe me. The older man scratched his head as he thought it over, clearly skeptical too. But, I could tell he knew by now that I really needed this fixed badly – badly enough to offer.

“Alright,” he said after a pause. “Pull up here.”

They got to work immediately. Hood up, fluid drained, radiator out. They worked fast and with confidence.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

“It’s okay,” they replied, still focused. At one point, they did need help, and I obliged. Then they went for lunch.

“We’ll test it when we’re back,” they said.

While they were gone, I napped in the truck. When they returned, they tested the radiator – no leaks. Success.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked.

He gave me a fair price, and I paid.

“Still need to go to Orange Walk?” I followed up.

His companion stopped what he was doing and looked at me. The guy scratched his head while he thought.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I have a friend who will take me.”

“No,” I said. “We had a deal – I said if you fixed it, I would take you.”

He thought some more, and then said, “Okay, let me make a phone call.”

A few minutes later, he was in my truck, and we took off. I expressed my thanks once again.

“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked.

“Not much,” I replied, in my best Spanish.

“I don’t speak much English,” he said ruefully.

Between my Spanish and his English, we chatted – about the weather, the size of Shipyard, Toledo, little things. Our first stop in Orange Walk was the police station to meet a friend of his. I thought maybe his friend was in trouble. Turns out, his friend had hit a buffalo the night before and was filing a report so the owner would cover the damages. When he finished, he joined us in the truck.

“Back to Shipyard?” I asked.

“Nope – need to check out a vehicle,” his friend replied.

We went to a small dealership. While they test-drove a vehicle, the dealer came over to my window. He had been looking at me curiously.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“PG,” I replied.

“What are you doing with those guys?” he asked.

I tried to ignore the prejudice in his voice.

“I came to Shipyard to fix my truck. They helped me out. I’m just giving them a ride.”

“Just to help them, huh?” he asked. I nodded. He looked intrigued, then started asking about my truck, possibly interested in buying. I declined, and wandered around the lot while I waited. The guys soon returned.

“Shipyard now?” I asked.

“No – we need to stop by the Lands Department.”

Cue the start of this story.

Did anything interesting happen at the Lands Department? Not at all. I’m not even sure why they stopped there. I waited outside, enjoying the views of Orange Walk. This kind of spontaneity was something I used to do – leaning into the moment, flowing with what came. Some of my best ideas came from giving in to the moment. It’s not something I can do often now. I could tell my friend thought his companion was being a bit needy, but I understood. He’d just lost his vehicle – I’d been in that spot once, when I broke down near Kendall and my vehicle was out of commission for a month. It felt like losing a limb. He just needed a bit of care.

When they came back out, they said, “Now we need to stop at the Town Council.”

I made that stop too. It turned out to be the last one.

On the way back to Shipyard, I had an idea. Earlier, the radiator had been refilled with plain water since I didn’t have coolant on hand.

“If I pick up some coolant,” I asked, “can you help refill it?”

“Sure,” my friend said.

We made a quick stop to buy three gallons of coolant, then headed back. We dropped his companion off at another dealer in Shipyard and returned to the garage.

Thirty minutes later, the radiator was drained and properly refilled.

“How much do I owe you for the ride?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied. “We had a deal. I was happy to help. How much do I owe you for the coolant refill?”

“Nothing,” he said. His helper stopped what he was doing and looked at us, once again. We didn’t speak each other’s language very well, but there was a language that we both understood – kindness.

We shared a look of respect and appreciation, and a handshake, and I began the journey back to PG.

Belize has stunning natural views – but this is the true beauty of Belize: the people, and the grace of everyday human connection. Next time I’m in Shipyard, maybe I’ll bring him some cohune cabbage. I wonder if he’s ever tried that.