Belize Special Economic Zone, daytime.
At the port, cranes like steel giants tirelessly load and unload containers, emitting a deep rumble.
You can see people of various races.
If you want an economy, sometimes you have to let go of many things.
Isn't the "men's paradise" just like this?
(Can't say it, can't say too much.)
Several kilometers from the core of the zone, at the border checkpoint adjacent to the northern part of Guatemala.
A dusty, battered long-distance bus huffs as it waits to cross.
The faded letters on the bus body still indicate it belongs to some remote Guatemalan transport company.
Through the windows, there are tired, numb faces, mostly women with children, their eyes a mix of uncertainty about the future and a faint glimmer of hope.
They are here seeking job opportunities in the zone or joining family members who came ahead.
Border police wear crisp new uniforms, but their facial expressions vary greatly.
