Few seemed curious about our unscheduled stop. No one was restless. And we stopped, engine still running. The bus now pointed back towards Chetumal. No words were spoken, yet everyone somehow understood.
Decisions are a function of consensus.
Only the chickens stayed behind. Everyone slowly got off the bus. With a loud creak and groan, punctuated by flourishes of undulating rusted metal, the driver lifted the hinged engine cover. There, gently pulsing, grunting, groaning, moaning, hissing, wheezing, and not seizing, packed in dust, dirt, grime, and oil of the ages, was the engine, apparently sounding fine and dandy. A murmur went round the crowd, hands speaking softly amidst punctuating voices and the occasional knowing laugh.