Sky People

by Ardy Sixkiller Clarke

  In this chapter, cousin Stephen tells his story.

  Buddy told me about the Garifuna people as we drove to the village of Hopkins. “I am a Red-Carib Indian. My people never married with the African slaves who came to our land. The Yellow Carib didn’t either. But the Garifuna, they are mixed,” he said. “They are a mixture of Carib, Arawak, and West African. The British colonial administration called them the Black Carib, making that distinction over a century ago, and the labels have stuck, just like American Indians where blood is counted. The Yellow and Red Carib are the true Amerindians. The Garifuna are hybrids.” It was in Hopkins that the Garifuna people lived off the sea and the rich swamp soil in the area around their village, as they had done for centuries, and still spoke their native language. We had chosen the “local road” from Belize to Hopkins. This road, which is about ten miles inland and the shortest route, is avoided by tourists, because it is not paved. According to Buddy, there were many days when the road was impassable.

  As we traveled the dirt road, Buddy told me about a cousin of a cousin of a cousin who had witnessed many UFO events. Even more important, he reported that this fifth or sixth cousin had been experiencing contact with space travelers since he first witnessed the UFOs of Belmopan about forty years ago. Despite my previous night’s experience with Buddy, who had taken me from private homes to the hospital to a wedding celebration, all unannounced and unexpected, I decided to throw caution to the wind and allow him to take a detour in search of the elusive cousin whom he had not seen in thirty years.

  According to Buddy, his cousin, at one time, worked with a farmer’s group in Hopkins. He moved there shortly after graduating from the university and remained there, marrying a local Garifuna woman.

  Although Buddy wasn’t sure his cousin was still working with the farmers, he stopped at the local co-op to find out information about his cousin’s whereabouts. We arrived just as the workers were taking their lunch break. Within minutes I saw Buddy walking toward the van with his arm around the shoulder of a man who could have been his twin. I rolled down the window when they approached, and Buddy introduced me to Stephen. “I found him hanging out with the local farmers,” he said, as his cousin climbed into the vehicle. Within minutes we were sitting in Innies Restaurant ordering local food and drinking Coca-Colas.

  After a half hour of the cousins’ reminiscing, I approached the subject of Stephen’s encounters. “Your cousin, Buddy, told me that you have a history of encounters with Sky People,” I said.

  “Yes. I saw my first space men when I was about three. At first I did not know they were from space.”

  “Was there more than one?”

  “Sometimes two came, sometimes four; always in pairs.”

  “Where was your first encounter?” I asked.

  “It was the day after the lights appeared in the sky. My father took me out to watch the lights zip around the sky the night before. The first time I came into contact with the space people was the next day in our garden. I was tending my little garden that my father set aside for me, when white balls of light burst out of the sky and dropped to the ground around me. Out of the balls of light came these little men. From that moment, I remember nothing, only that they brought me back to the garden. There were four of them. Two were holding my hand and telling me that I was now their friend. I did not understand it at the time.”

  “Do you think they abducted you?” I asked.

  “I was young, not much more than a baby. I wouldn’t have understood that concept. I also had a feeling of happiness around these small beings. I remember laughing with them and playing, but I don’t know where we were at the time.”

  “So at what time did you realize they were aliens?” I asked.

  “Probably when I was about nine or ten. Although they came into the garden several times over the years, it was not until I was about nine or ten that I became aware that they were taking me aboard their space ship. As time passed, I had recurring strange experiences with the space travelers. Sometimes I entertained my friends with stories about a boy who traveled into space. They didn’t know they were true. But it wasn’t until I became a teenager that I fully understood my experiences. By then it was too late.”

  “What do you mean, it was too late?” I asked.

  “I had been chosen as a three-year-old to be a part of an experiment. By that time I understood what was happening. They had recorded everything about me. I could not escape them. Maybe when I was three, I could have been saved from this repeated interruption of my life, but I never told anyone. They told me it was our secret.”

  “Are you saying that the Star People told you it was a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “By the time you were a teenager, did you consider your experience negative?”

  “I wouldn’t call it negative. Sometimes annoying. These space men did not consider the feelings of the humans they chose for their study. It does not seem to matter to them that they were interrupting lives. They underestimated or didn’t understand the independent nature of the human spirit. They don’t understand when we rebel or are uncooperative. They expect obedience.”

  “Did you rebel?”

  “A couple of times, but it was futile. They have great powers and with a look they can paralyze you. They can make you forget things. I chose not to fight them. I wanted to remember everything.”

  “You spoke of a human experiment. Can you explain that statement in more detail?” I asked.

  “That’s what they do. They often take young children and continue to abduct them through adulthood. They began their experiment by giving me puzzles to play with, and, though I did not know it at the time, they were observing how I put them together. The strategy I used, the time it took, how I sorted objects. All of it was a part of their study. Every move I made. Every word I spoke.”

  “Can you describe them to me?”

  “There were different types. Some looked human, just like you and me. Some were taller and whiter than me. Others only looked a little like a human. They were not in charge, though. Their heads were big and their eyes were massive and evil. They showed no emotion. Sometimes I thought they were robots, but they had skin. It was a strange skin, very wrinkled and scaly. Do you think they create robots with skin?”

  “I’m not sure. How tall were they?” I asked.

  “They did not reach my shoulders, but if they touched you, you have no energy. They were strong. Once I tried to resist, but it was impossible. They had powers that reached into your soul and made you incapable of resisting—power over my body and my mind. After that, I gave up and accepted the situation.”

  “Did you ever learn why you were taken?” I asked.

  “I found out when I was about nine or ten. They introduced me to my double. That was in 1963, long before human scientists were conducting cloning experiments.”

  “What did you do when you met your clone?” I asked.

  “I taught him about life. When I was sixteen, I stayed on board their ship, and my clone went back to Earth. He stayed there two weeks impersonating me, and no one ever knew the difference.”

  “So will your clone one day replace you?” I asked.

  “No. He is the same age as me, but he was made to live on another planet the space travelers were populating. So I have a double out there who lives on another world. He looks like me, talks like me, and has my knowledge.”

  “When was the last time you saw your double?” I asked.

  “The night I graduated from college. They came to me late that night, took me on board their ship, and told me that they were finished with me. Another graduation of sorts. My double had learned what he needed to know. He would be a farmer like me on another planet, and I had taught him all he needed to know. They never thanked me. I think it is a concept they don’t understand. Because they are superior, both physically and intellectually, they have the right to do as they please with humans.”

  “Are you angry about what they did?” I
asked.

  “No. I resented their interference, but I learned so much from them. I have never told anyone this story. I carried it in my heart. At night I tell my children about the boy from the stars who is a duplicate of me and how he lives among the stars. They think I make up stories, but I tell them the truth. When they are older, I will explain it to them. But for the time now, I am content with knowing that there is much more to the universe than just life here on this earth. It gives me hope.”

  “Why does it give you hope?”

  “I look around me and I see poverty and pain. It is comforting to know that there are other worlds with great knowledge. Perhaps someday, humans will become like the star travelers. They will put their efforts into saving people instead of killing them. The Star People do not believe in war, and they have no diseases where they come from. I have hope that it will someday be like that on Earth.”

  “Now that you can look back on those years, what is your overall assessment of your experience?”

  “When I was small, it was an adventure. When I was about nine or ten, I resented their visits. I wanted to be left to my own devices. Then about the time I reached puberty, I looked forward to meeting my double and teaching him things. I felt important and perhaps it was through the influence of the star travelers that I felt the need to go to the university. Who knows? Maybe not, but I think they gave me hope to follow my dreams, too.”

  Just as he finished his story, the waitress arrived with ereba, a cassava bread made from yucca, grated cassava, garlic, and salt, along with a local fish and hudut, a pounded plantain dish. After lunch, we drove Stephen back to the co-op. Several of the female workers came toward the van. They wanted to meet the USA Amerindian. I got out and shook hands and exchanged kisses. They asked me about my home and about the USA. They wanted to know if I drove a car and if it snowed in Montana. They also asked me if I lived in a teepee, an idea they had picked up from television. They wanted to know about my native language. For the next half hour, we traded words; I told them the word for common nouns and they gave me the Garifuna equivalent.

  “You are a very brave woman,” a woman called Sherry said.

  “Brave?” I asked.

  “To travel alone and to follow your dreams.” She embraced me and whispered in heavily accented English, “Go safely. Your dreams give other women hope.”

  As we said goodbyes to Stephen and the Garifuna women of Hopkins, Stephen suggested that we make a stop at the local shaman’s house. “I know he has traveled with the Sky People. I am sure he will talk with you.” Despite spending most of the afternoon in Hopkins looking for the Buyei (the Garifuna name for shaman), we eventually returned to Belmopan.

  The following day I planned to search for the famous stone woman of Belize, or at least someone who saw her. But for the time being, I felt good about my trip to Hopkins. I not only met an Amerindian who related a story of a world inhabited by doubles of human beings, but I had been reminded by a woman, who had never been outside of the village of Hopkins, how important it was to follow your dreams.

  Chapter 3

  A Disk in the Sky

  In the 1800s, Edward Everett Hale wrote a short story, “The Brick Moon,” which was serialized in the Atlantic Monthly, and was the first known fictional description of an artificial floating city in the sky. In his fictional narrative, Hale imagined a brick moon floating above the Earth peopled by individuals of races from throughout the universe who lived and worked together.

  In the 1960s, during the height of the space race between the Russians and Americans, scientists suggested that one day, artificial “Earths” with roads and cities would be built in the sky where people would live and work. Along the same lines, futurists drew bases on the moon where families would build cities and raise families. In 1966 Gene Roddenberry, screenwriter and producer, introduced the American public to Star Trek, a TV series depicting the universe of the future. Although we have never realized these cities in the sky, the international space station, where astronauts from many nations live and work together, is the closest actualization of that dream.

  Cities in the sky are not new to many indigenous people who tell stories of cities and places where they have been taken in the sky. In many cases, women were abducted by men from the stars, never to be seen again. In some narratives, the women escaped and returned, some with a child who had enormous and unusual powers. A story that circulated when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon came from Navajo country, where an elder reportedly suggested that Armstrong tell everyone hello because he had been there earlier.

  In this chapter, you will meet Raul Manuel, an elder who lived in a small Belizean village, who told the story of repeated visits to a place in the sky where people from Earth worked alongside Sky People and other aliens from throughout the galaxy.

  I heard about Raul Manuel from my driver, Buddy. “When I was a boy, there was a man in my grandfather’s village who claimed that he had traveled on a UFO to a place in the sky that floated above the Earth. He said that at this place, people of all races lived in peace and no one was better or superior to any one else.” I was fascinated by his story and encouraged him to elaborate. “I remember his stories from the time I was maybe four or five. At night we would gather around him, and he would tell us about his trips to the stars. We loved it.”

  “Is Raul still alive?” I asked.

  “He was alive a month ago. He is elderly, but he still entertains children with his stories of a floating city in the sky and how he travels there.”

  “Was the floating place in the sky a planet?”

  “I don’t think so. He called it a floating disk in the sky. Hundreds of people lived there and they were all different. Different colors, different races, and different kinds of people.”

  “Do you think he would talk to me?”

  “I’m sure he will. He loves to tell his stories. In fact, he claims he still goes to this floating disk. Strange thing, sometimes he disappears from the village and no one knows where he is. When he returns, he says he has been with his friends in the sky. I remember last year he disappeared for two weeks. His family was upset and rallied the village to search for him. They thought he had wandered off and had fallen and could not get back home. All of the villagers searched for him but did not find him. One night, about midnight, he returned home. Several people saw a bright light that turned the whole village from night to day. They believe a UFO brought him home.”

  “How can we get in touch with him?” I asked.

  “We will go see him now. It is nearby. My grandfather lives in the same village. I will check to see if he is well and able to visit with you. He has a daughter who lives in Belmopan, and I know she wants him to come live with her now that he is getting older. She worries about his disappearances.”

  An hour after leaving Hopkins, we entered the small village, which was spread out on both sides of the highway. Shacks made of tin and plywood dotted the landscape with an occasional stone home. Dogs lazily moved from the road as the car approached. Chickens fled and small children rushed for their houses. Villagers who were outside visiting with neighbors stopped and stared in our direction. When they recognized Buddy, some waved. A few braver children approached the van, and Buddy slowed and handed them coins. One boy, who was about nine, hung onto the side of the window and refused to let go. He rode with us to Raul Manuel’s small house. When we parked, the door opened and an elderly man waved to us. He greeted Buddy with a warm handshake, and after a short conversation Buddy walked to the van and opened the door.

  “He is happy to talk with you and honored that you have come so far. He tires easily due to his age, so if I give you a nod, it is time to leave.” Following introductions, the elder invited us to sit in the backyard under the shade of a coconut tree. The young boy joined us and sat at the foot of the elderly man.

  “I planted this tree when I was a boy,” Raul explained. “It is as old as me. This young man, Miguel, is like me. He loves trees and p
lants them all over the village.”

  “Did you plant the other trees?” I asked.

  “Yes. I planted all of them. I love trees and flowers. When I was a boy, I would go into the jungle looking for small trees. Fruit trees. Coconut trees. I planted them in people’s yards so they would have food. I am related to most of the people in the village. A lot of the original people have moved away like Bud.” He reached out and patted Buddy on the back affectionately. “But they always come home. Bud’s grandfather still lives here. He always comes home to see his grandfather. He is a good boy. A gentleman. He makes our village proud.”

  Buddy kept his head bowed as the elder heaped praise upon him, but I knew it was out of humility. “You must stop by and see your grandfather before you leave,” Raul said. Buddy respectfully looked at his hands and nodded. Then, the elder turned his attention to me. “But tell me about the trees in Montana. Bud said you are a famous doctor and teacher in Montana and that you are Amerindian and that you teach at a university. I didn’t know Indios could teach at universities.”

  “Yes. I teach at Montana State University. This is our Christmas break.”

  “I’m so honored to meet you. Look at this woman, Miguel. You need to go to school and become a scientist. Learn about trees and flowers. Protect them. That is what we need in Belize. People who are knowledgeable about trees, don’t you agree, Doctor?”

  “I agree. You could study botany.” Miguel smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. It was obvious that he enjoyed being the center of attention.

  “Do you hear that, Miguel? Botany. And I plan to live long enough that I will go to your graduation.” As I watched the interchange between Miguel and Raul Manuel, I realized that Raul was far more than an elder in this community; he was the heart of the community. As we sat in the shade of the tree that Raul had planted, a young woman entered the backyard carrying a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “For you and your guests, Grandfather,” the young woman said. She wore a long purple skirt decorated with white ribbon and a white blouse with embroidery around the top. Her long black hair fell down to her waist and her bronze skin was flawless. She kept her eyes downcast as she methodically served each of us in glasses that were unmatched but of fine crystal.