Putting aside social tensions, politics and conflict, I decided to venture inside the lives of the native Costa Rican Ngöbe tribe to see life from their perspective.

The dusty road ahead seemed to never end, twisting and turning amidst the lush forests of Costa Rica’s southern region –for me, a new country altogether. The sun was up directly above us, shining with unforeseen intensity; the warm air wrapped around my skin, a thin layer of moisture covered my face, seats rattled all around me, the blunt sound of metal crashing against metal echoed throughout and pierced my ears and none of it mattered; it meant nothing. It would be the culmination of months of organization, the search for the origins of Jirondai.

The journey, however, would not be brief or simple. Easily six hours away from San José our destination, Limoncito, can only be accessed during the dry months, when the heavy, unforgiving rains take a break. Guided by the mighty Terraba, one takes up the long, winding road towards Rey Curré and turns left, crossing the imposing river and deepening farther into the green, irregular terrains of the south. The struggling diesel engine spewed smoked as it rumbled up the hill, the vast space to my left dominated by the La Amistad National Park and to my right, hidden between yellow oak trees, my quest’s humble end.

First, though, our stop was San Vito after indulging in the traditional Juego de los Diablitos, a representation of the battle against the conquering Spaniards. Locals dressed in colorful masks and took turns in fighting the invaders, simply another local with a heavy, cumbersome bull costume, with energetic body slams, shouts and taunts. Their bodies are fueled by cups brimming with Chicha and the memory of brutal times of the past.

After the ceremony ended, our excitement turned entirely on reaching what the next morning would bring: the native Ngöbe community in Limoncito, just a few miles from San Vito. Yielding to fatigue, the sun’s never ending onslaught and a few too many Chichas, I crashed right into my bed in the humble and respectable Rino hotel in the heart of San Vito. Strangely I couldn’t close my eyes.

What is there to expect when your expectations themselves are so high? The fear of disappointment, in them or in us, was far too great. A question roamed in my mind: would their reality justify their beautiful music? Perhaps their every day struggles are far too much for all of us to cope with.

Our bus slowed down to a halt next to a river. I had to pause for a moment; the dangling bridge moving from side to side with the whispers of the wind sent chills up my spine. Rusted wires, cracked wood and a thirty-foot fall added to the excitement, to the risks worth taking in life. Children below, cooling off in the banks of the river, screamed with joyous tones, innocent and playful, warning me of the possible fall. A familiar voice, one I had gotten to know earlier, reminds me of the four that had fallen in that bridge. What great news!

It is Alexis “Unchi” Rodriguez: a proud Ngöbe. His walk is confident; his smile is radiant, contrasting with his chocolate skin and pitch-black hair. Though not a tall man, his presence can be felt from a distance. He is the creator of Jirondai, a man of vision, of determination and unseen creativity. Finally, I have arrived. It was time to know and understand how simple can be the origins of art.

Confidently, he overtook our group and walked with a brisk pace across the bridge, rendering most of us embarrassed with his dexterity and comfort, then led us across a rugged path to a house, not his, but the source of his inspiration. Ngöbes are proud of their culture, their goal is to preserve their history through teaching but still Alexis takes his endeavor as one of learning and not commercial, which is why a visit by outlanders is handled with care. For Ngöbes, it is more important to highlight the political struggles they have endured in order for their people to be recognized as autonomous. Determined to get his message across, he led us up a steep hill where the ninety-eight year old Cacique, Pedro Bejarano, awaited for us.

The house around him was basic, if we redefine the word. Corrugated metal covers him and his family in summer but it’s not a safe bet during winter; the weakened wooden frames sometimes creak to rhythm of powerful gusts of wind, the dusty soil below is the only floor they have known, it has become one with their bare feet, no bathrooms nearby, no water nearby, they take from nature and they give back to nature, the circle of life in these forsaken regions. I looked around and only found silence.

No one wanted to believe this is where Jirondai originated. But it is.

Before Pedro began to tell us his story, he showed us his room, where he looks for inspiration: four basic walls, a space no bigger than a king-size bed, a single light bulb illuminating the entire structure, ragged blankets cover him at night, the warmth of human contact more effective as they all sleep together.

Blind but his eyes are still passionate. Weakened by the brutal onslaught of time, but still his stance will be proud to end of his days. He, aided by his walking stick, stood in front of us and told us his story. His raspy voice resembled the serene howling of the wind and the imposing, feared growl of the jaguar; it was passion, it was inspiring alas it was all too real.

From him, and all around, is where Unchi has found the determination to carry on, until the day he and his tribe are recognized as who they are, Ngöbes, Costa Ricans, the same as you and I, different as every single person on this planet.
Jirondai is not just music: it is history guarded in every track.

“Indios are brothers of nature, are brothers of everyone, we are brothers of the snake, brothers of the birds, we are brothers of Mother Earth.”
P. Bejarano.

Unchi’s creation translates the Ngöbe reality into something we can all understand, into the music that can haunt us for hours, that makes us wonder: where did all of this come from? The mesmerizing vocals, combined with a fusion of talented musicians from around the globe, the crude, authentic origins of their lyrics and, last but not least, the reality that surrounds them, created one of the greatest musical projects in Costa Rica.

The six hours on a noisy, uncomfortable bus, the heat, the dehydration, the slight tremble in my hands as I clinched to the wobbly bridge, the humbling trip into reality, hidden amidst trees, rivers and weakened houses, it was all worth it. This is Jirondai.