Banjo

Place: Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, February 2006
Setting: An open-air bar on ten foot stilts that overlooks the ocean. Nighttime. I was in the bar with eight other people. Four of them were Rastafarian musicians playing a set. Congas, banjo, harmonica, and one of them was playing a "bass" fashioned out of a bucket, a mop handle, and some kind of thick string I couldn't identify.

I had acquired a banjo just before leaving for Costa Rica but had not learned how to play it. These guys didn't really know how to play either. The performance was more rhythm than melody, although it had a loose harmonic consistency to it.

I sat in the near empty bar, enjoying the music as the waves from the beach provided white noise in the background. The latin/Jamaican rhythm was infectious. Before long I was smiling, then nodding along, and finally grinning from ear to ear. I kept my eyes glued to the hand movements of the banjo player.

After about thirty minutes, the four musicians took a break. The conga player came to where I was sitting, pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. He produced a joint from some hidden space on his person and lit it with care. Finally, he looked me in the eye.

A deep, thickly accented Jamaican voice: "You play." It wasn't a question.

I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that. "uh... the banjo?"

"Yes, I saw you. I saw you watch. You have music, you have it here." He thumped his index finger twice against his chest.

I missed what he was saying to me. "I don't play yet, I'm about to start learning. You guys are awesome."

He regarded me, taking a drag off his joint and exhaling slowly. He never broke eye contact. "When we play again, tonight, you play with us."

I was nervous. I wish I had answered differently. "No, no, I couldn't. Let me learn, I'll come back. Maybe a year, maybe two, but I'll come back and play with you guys."

"Good."

He paused and took another hit off the joint. His deep Jamaican voice rumbled slightly as he exhaled the smoke.

"I will be on the beach."

He looked at the beach.

"I will wait with faith."

I went back last year but I couldn't find these guys. I'll try again next time. I still don't play the banjo, but now I realize I didn't have to. They just wanted to make music.

Me too.