Click here to read the full article. At an empty beach bar in Corozal, a shaggy town of a few thousand people just minutes from where northern Belize meets Mexico’s share of the Yucatan Peninsula, waves crash into a jagged, rocky breakwater. It’s 9 p.m., the kitchenis about to close, and the only people left are some young, very loud, and very sober American missionaries. Another languid Caribbean day is winding down, but my dinner companion, Moses Michael Levi “Shyne” Barrow, has no desire to linger over a meal and conversation. He’s shoveling in his fried fish, rice, and beans...