let out gleeful hollers that slice the unflinching Mennonite's Bible story.

Nito jumps onto his rickety wooden chair and captures the green bird. Immediately, he stills the trembling feathers and the bird rests in his hands for the remainder of the lesson.

Nito is the oldest at the school and farm for boys, run by German Mennonite missionaries in the Cayo District of Belize. To maintain hierarchy, Nito tries to show off, but his attempts to impress onlookers rarely draw the slightest glance.

Today, his performance has every set of eyes in the chapel straining to see what he has in his hands.

And because his hands are busy holding the bird, Nito can't communicate the pride that fills his chest as he holds up the bird, opening its lemon-lime colored wings for the students and teachers to see. Nito is deaf, and his hands are his only means of communicating.

Up until about a year ago, Nito did not know enough sign language to tell you his own name. He belonged to a hidden culture - a culture pushed aside and locked up in villages marked by close-knittedness, streets hot and heavy with crowds, bars colored by brawls.

Nito, whose mother left him as a baby, ran with violent street gangs and threw temper tantrums that scared people away.

He, along with 21 other deaf boys, has found refuge at the Cayo Deaf Institute, located on a modest plot of land, freckled with worn-down schoolhouses, handmade rabbit pens and neatly kept gardens. Frank and Sara Thiessen, missionaries from the local Mennonite colony of Spanish Lookout, established the institute just over a year ago. They, along with other Mennonite missionaries and teachers, go in search of deaf children in rural villages and cities to bring them to their school.

The institute provides uneducated and often times mistreated deaf children of all ethnicities - Mayan, Mestizo, Creole - with the chance to learn sign language, gain a solid education and develop a trade from which they can eventually earn an income and be self-sufficient.

"The deaf are very much hidden in Belize," Sara says.

A number of factors lead to this. For some children, their culture hinders social progress, Frank and Sara say.

"Many Creole parents are ashamed to have a deaf child. They consider it a punishment and will call their children little demons and lock them up," Sara says.

In small, remote villages, Sara says sign language is foreign, perhaps unheard of, leaving the deaf estranged, even abandoned.

"We had one boy who came here like he was an animal run away. His parents had locked him up," Sara says. "Now he has calmed down so much from being treated equally."

Morning Lesson
"Who is God?" Jon Barr, a visiting American Sign Language teacher, asks aloud and signs to the 21 students.

The boys' faces crinkle in puzzlement. Jon waits for a few seconds, and when no one answers, he brings Eddy Loewen, one of the school's teachers, to the front of the room. The boys laugh and point at blushing Eddy.

"Tell me what Eddy is like," Jon signs. Hands fly up to answer.

"Eee. Eeeeeeeeee. Ooo. Ooooo," the students yell out as they lift themselves as far off their chairs as they can without being reprimanded for standing up.

The boys are called on one at a time to sign their answers.

"Tall."

"Hair of honey."

"Adam's apple."

Jon signs "good work" to the children.

"Who is God?" Jon signs.

Now, the students stretch their arms to be called on.

"Clean."

"Power."

"Beautiful."

Private Classes
Emily Penner, 17, a Mennonite teacher, works with three of the 21 students at the school who are hard of hearing. Jeovanni Hernandez and Rancey Lopez, both 12, and Benjamin "Benji" Trujillo, 13, are taught to speak.

Emily writes a word on the chalkboard and allows each boy to place his hand on her throat, where he can feel the vibrations as she says a word aloud.

"Girl," Emily says loudly and clearly as Benji holds his hand to her throat and copies her mouth movements.

Benji retorts with a quick and forceful "girl."

With Rancey, Emily repeats "girl" 10 times. She refers back to the word on the board and makes slow and exaggerated mouth and tongue movements.

"I have committed to working with the deaf because if I didn't, who would?" Emily says. "I love being among the deaf and seeing God's grace work in their lives."

Rancey
It's noon in the cafeteria. Eddy has already led the boys in signing the lunchtime prayer. The creaky double doors swing open, and a straggler stands at the entrance. Rancey, with date nut eyes and smooth, dark skin strides in, tossing a barroom nod to his friends at the first table.

Rancey was looked after by the streets of Belize City until he came to the deaf institute one year ago. His mother was involved with different street gangs, and although Rancey knew no sign language, he managed to run with the gangs, too.

Rancey has not been back to Belize City since he came to the farm. He spends Christmas and other holidays at different Mennonite homes in the neighboring colony.

"When I was in Belize City, my mother was drunk, but when I came to CDI, I became happy," Rancey signs. "I had few family members before and now I have many, and we sit together at the same table to eat every night."

Sandra
Sandra Perez, 20, is not a Mennonite or a student. But she has adopted the Mennonite way of life to replace the chaos of her own. Sandra, a deaf Mestizo, came to the institute at 19, after missionaries found her on the streets, abandoned, having been passed around in prostitution rings and sexually abused.

"Because she had been treated so badly, Sandra acted very wild when she came here. It is only as of recently that she has calmed down," Frank says.

Sandra has learned to sign, and also to read and write. Housed and fed in exchange for her work, she helps the rosy-cheeked cook, Eva, prepare meals and also does most of the laundry for the boys.

Sandra peers out from behind the crisp, clean clothes dancing in the afternoon wind on the clothesline. The boys' brightly-colored tee shirts stand out like paint splatters against the starched, white underclothes. Sandra's head covering falls back on her head of kettle-black hair as she takes the clothes down from the line, one article at a time.

"God likes for us to cover our heads, so we must continue to do that and obey Him," Sandra signs like a true Mennonite.

Manuel
It's late afternoon and the sun pours down on the students as they work at their chores, pulling shining cucumbers from the soil, pushing 1970s-model lawnmowers and feeding the farm's few but prized animals.

Manuel Shol, a 15-year-old Mayan student with mesquite skin tones and high, prominent cheekbones, looks like an ancient Maize farmer. He pours the feed for the bustling chickens and ducks that socialize in one corner of the farm.

With a plump rabbit in one hand, he uses the other hand to gather his classmates around the coop and announce the recent appearance of a speckled duck egg.

Noticing some speculation about the missing mother duck, Manuel assures them she will be back shortly to sit on her nest.

Back home in Punta Gorda, Manuel wouldn't have been able to tell anyone about duck nests, let alone his name or where he lived. Found by the missionaries when he was 14, Manuel had been mistreated by his stepfather, who would explode in angry rages because he couldn't communicate with him.

This year, instead of returning home, Manuel spent summer vacation with Frank and Sara at the farm.

"I was at first anxious about coming to CDI, but [the teachers] hug me and I know I am loved here," Manuel signs.

Trips with the school to the river are some of Manuel's favorite days. He loves swimming with his friends and riding bicycles, but says he is most happy when he is working at the farm.

Manuel's horticulture teacher, Andrew Simser, trains the boys to grow a variety of vegetables and raise animals for food.

"They love farming because they are working with their hands, and that is all they know."

Signing Off
At the end of the day, Frank signs to Nito to lead the farm's proud and only horse to his nighttime post, and Nito, honored to be put in charge, complies.

The same hands that calmed the trembling bird in morning chapel sign "goodnight." And thoughts of a rescued bird enveloped in special hands travel to images of stern yet loving missionaries teaching young farmers how to find their voice.

As the moon's light twinkles over the tucked-away farm, a new kind of silence surrounds the children for a peaceful night's sleep.

About the Cayo Deaf Institute
The Cayo Deaf Institute, which houses and teaches 21 deaf boys in the Cayo District of Belize, was established just over a year ago by Mennonite missionaries, Frank and Sara Thiessen. Frank obtained permission from the government of Belize in 1999 to use the land. The school is run entirely on donations from individuals, churches and the neighboring Mennonite colony. The Belizean government supports a federal deaf institute in Belize City.

The institute states that its mission is to develop godly character, teach academics in a primary school setting and help students learn a trade that involves working with their hands.

Frank, who learned American Sign Language from intensive two-week courses at the Bill Rice Ranch in Murfreesburo, Tennessee, says they use a variety of methods to teach the children total communication: sign language, finger spelling, lip reading and oral communication.

Frank and Sara are continually praying for financial needs to be met, in order to afford items such as hearing aides for the hard-of-hearing students and improved school supplies.

Donations are welcomed and can be made to: Cayo Deaf Institute, Baking Pot, Central Farm, P.O. Box 427, Belize City, Belize, Central America, or call 501-8-38078 or fax 501-9-12101.