Costa Jill

Sean, Matt, Ruby Kim

Sunset from Jazzy's Riverhouse

Jazzy’s River House 27870310, that’s the place in Dominical, Costa Rica where the locals go for great music, food, art instruction, surf lessons, yoga, massage, theater, and friendship. Ruby Kim and Steve have opened their arms to the community for the last ten years. And they’ve added something new. Pizza.

Ruby Kim is like Old Faithful, bubbling and spouting regularly with creative new ideas. Her latest venture came about when she, Steve and friend Eduardo, who’s worked in many a pizza parlor, started the dream process.

Eduardo. “Hey, we could build one of those pizza ovens.”

Ruby K. “Like a kiln.”

Steve. “Let’s do it.”

And they did. Now it sits under a bamboo rancho all set about with Ruby’s designs: palm weavings, rock paths and driftwood benches on the Rio Baru.

Oven men Eduardo and Steve

The oven is glaring out at Eduardo and Steve in his pizza apron (the next creative adventure story), waiting for a pizza to be slid off the homemade wooden paddle into its fiery mouth. Friends and neighbors have been invited to bring the fixin’s depending on their pantries and capabilities: sauce, veggies, condiments, meat, cheese dough and firewood. We novices get cooking lessons. No, at my age, I’ve never made a pizza from scratch.

Pizza virgin Jill

Pizza virgin Nancy

Ruby, with that great smile of hers, takes one look at my platter of eggplant parmigiana, “It’s too heavy. You can’t put all that eggplant in big chunks on the pizza crust, it’ll fall through.” Then to Nancy, another first timer, “A little oil on top, flour on the paddle.”

Nancy. “The closest I’ve been to making pizza is taking them out of the box and into the oven.”

Steve. “Tell ‘em not to forget the cornmeal.”

Eduardo. “Or they’re gonna stick.”

There’s a barter system going among good friends, but Ruby Kim and Steve bear the expense of the extras and they’re not rich.

Nancy. “Put out a tip jar.”

Jill. “You gotta pay for expenses or make a little money, so we can keep coming to these great parties.”

Bob starts right in creating his pizza. He’s a chef already. Charlie mumbles up to the paddle, slaps a glob of dough down and starts kneading. Ruby has to pressure me to let go and sling my pizza dough above my head. I’ll jump off a cliff, but neither am I brave enough to project my pizza off the paddle into the fire. I let Steve and Eduardo, the oven experts, do that.

Jungle bunnies

Lorena's games

While all this preparation and oven-watching is going on the jungle bred children of all ages are climbing trees and wrestling, laughing, monkeying around on the grass under the easy supervision of smiling Laraina. She only reels them in to color or play quiet games when they become too rowdy.

I get my pizza in the oven first as the test case. The kids are starving by this time. The oven is so hot it takes only two minutes to cook to perfection. And it’s gorgeous toasty, brown and bubbling. Cut up into small pieces we feed the little guys first. My pizza parmigiana is wolfed down by the pack. What a way to get kids to eat eggplant! And they love it. The rest of the varied and wondrous pizzas follow at five minute intervals until everyone is deliciously full of food, drink, camaraderie, sharing, fun and games. Fourteen pizzas in all come out of the oven with the expertise of Eduardo, Steve and Ruby Kim, and at least half of these are made by pizza virgins.

At the next “Sewing Circle” I reminisce, “What a fun, yummy party!”

And Ruby K brainstorms, “This could be Jazzy’s next venture.”

“Right, you could cater pizza dinners.”

“Clients could just enjoy the party, or they could learn how to make pizzas from scratch to dessert.”

“Just figure in your costs and a fair profit. It’s a great idea.”

So, I’m asking all of you Costa Rica Southern Zone tourists and residents alike, do you like this idea? If they build it, will you come???? Please pass this on and comment on my blog costajill.com or Facebook. Look for more Jazzy’s Pizza Party photos in my Facebook album. Please share this blog with your other Costa Rican friends. Or email jazzysriverhouse@hotmail.com.

Pizza virgin Janice

Nicole, Elizabeth, Nicole and kids

Ivey

Liwonde National Park, which has the best game and bird viewing in Malawi lies on the southern end along the Shire River where it enters Lake Malawi, the second biggest lake in Africa. Back on the bus, this time Ivey from the main office of WFP comes with us and brings her two young girls for the adventure. They have never seen big wild animals before and are most excited about elephants and baboons.

We are diverted from the heat, acrid woodfire smoke, and our swollen ankles (almost everyone has them now), by more Malawian tales. We ask so many questions of the staff, yet they never tire of answering, and truly enjoy passing down stories in their oral tradition.

Kelly asks, “Ivey, what was your engagement like?”

In the big cities many of the Malawi traditions have been ‘Westernized’. After dating a short time without family intervention, Ivey and her fiancé decided to follow their families’ old tradition for the engagement. ‘We gathered both families together for an engagement party. I was presented with a hen and my fiance with a cock, which we traded, symbolizing our acceptance of each other in our union. The chickens are then ritually killed, cleaned, cooked and eaten in the midst of great celebration,” Ivey smiles remembering.

The story of Nelson’s engagement and marriage takes an even more exciting twist. He and his wife Vera were brought up in separate Chiksa villages. Nelson remembers, “Both my parents were dead so my guardian uncle was sent to Vera’s village to ask for her hand in marriage to me.” He was summarily turned down for being unknown within the village. But they were too in love to be kept apart. “I took matters into my own hands, and with my uncle’s help we snuck into village in the dead of night, tiptoed into her hut and successfully stole her away, of course with her consent.” For his audacity he was penalized an extra cow for her dowry and they live happily ever after with their two daughters.

We arrive at the notorious Hippo View Lodge, a sprawling concrete complex rife with gaudily painted sculptures of hippos and birds. We’re so glad to get out of the city we love it. The gorgeous mature plantings are flowering in mass profusion.

We have enough time that afternoon to take a spin through the park which is a bit disappointing for Cindi and I because of previous extraordinary safari, but as dusk sets in we see herds of elephants and bands of baboons, which we haven’t seen before, in a totally different tropical setting of tall palm trees swaying through the mist on the river shore.

That night after a scrumptious dinner of fresh chambo, a succulent fresh water fish, and local favorites, pumpkin greens with nsima, something similar to grits but better, we hear, “Hippo! Hippo on the grounds!” I get my flashlight, follow one of the waiters and almost jump out of my skin when my bright LED light flashes on the huge hippo, jaws calmly masticating the flowers, grass and bushes on the lawn, and he’s only ten feet away. The staff tells us not to worry, “This is their evening ritual.” Once we return to the safety of the bar, the bartender disagrees with his cohorts. “Even though these big boys are somewhat tame, hippos are one of the most dangerous and aggressive animals around. Thank God you didn’t disturb them,” he laughs and shrugs.

In the morning we take a boat trip on the Shire amidst the fishermen throwing their nets from quaint dug out fishing canoes and skiffs. All around us the hippos emerge spouting loudly, sucking in air, pink iridescent ears flapping gaily, then quickly submerging.

All that’s left is reminiscing on the way back to Blantyre to start the 24-hour trip back home. Traveling with a group is a new experience for me. I’ve always shied away from tours, but this was different. We were thrown together for the common good of helping one of the most destitute countries and its people receive the basic essentials of life. We were united in that goal and became very close watching the bravery and optimism displayed especially by the women as they struggled to feed and care for their sick hungry children. There was no room for petty arguments, complaints, not so perfect accommodations. We were living like kings in comparison, coming home every evening disease free, to a toilet, hot shower, good food.

We leave each other with email addresses, phone numbers and promises to keep in touch. I resolve to check into joining WFP in Nicaragua, right next to my second home in Costa Rica. They have finished the initial stages of surveying and needs assessment and desperately need bilingual volunteers.

And that’s the end of Jill and Cindi’s Excellent African Adventure. Thank you for your comments. Watch for Chapter Two – Nicaragua. In the meantime, check in on more Slices and Crumbs of my life. Keep  in touch.

Jill and Cindi

Blantyre is the largest city in this small country bordered by Lake Malawi on its east side. The people from the surrounding villages have swarmed into the city in the last few years because of an ongoing drought. With the rivers and meager waterholes drying up subsistence farming no longer works. In the outlying villages there is still a semblance of order and community. There is little trash because everything is used and plastic (except for water containers) doesn’t get this far, but life in the peri-urban areas (a nice name for the slums) is poles apart.

Minister John Bande

We start our last day at the Blantyre District Water Board meeting. While we wait for the Minister of the district, John Bande (not related to the despot), a Christian member says a long prayer. Not being a head-bower, I study the motley group. I’m drawn to the evil-eyed stare of a proud Muslim (obviously not a head-bower either) in traditional robes and turban. No other woman would dare look him straight in the eyes. Hope I don’t run into him alone somewhere. The few women in attendance sit in the back and wear traditional wraps and headdresses in astonishingly bright designs and colors. The men are in drab Western apparel.

I realize that patience is not a virtue, but a necessity in these third-world countries. When the minister finally arrives with a guard in tow, we are introduced and go through the formalities of greeting and thanking us without the music and dancing. We leave en masse with the guard to walk through the sprawling peri-urban area outside the city center to see the water kiosks – the next step up from a hand-pump well. These are brick booths over a well with a series of faucets on the outside. Each water-bearer must pay a small fee for the clean uncontaminated water. The water manager of each area collects the fees and educates the people in care and self patrol of their kiosk to eliminate vandalism. The goal is to have at least one water kiosk every 500 meters, but they’ve got a long way to go. We walk through the tightly packed mud shacks, jumping streams of raw sewage running in gutters clogged with garbage. We see deep black water holes screaming contamination, each with a slimy rope attached to a filthier bucket for drawing water. We watch brightly colored wash flapping in the breeze, skewered raw meat black with flies, women grinding corn. It’s life in its basic form.

Elias (WFP) at Kiosk

Kiosk

A group of aggressive boys huddled together yell at me for taking their photo. This is not like the villages. I’m close to meltdown, The sun’s too hot, the stench too strong, my ankles too swollen. I opt out of the final latrine tour. I’ve had it. Too much pain, dirt, and sickness to bear.

One by one, a crowd of little children gather around the bus to stare, giggle and point at the lone white woman. I feel like a monkey in the zoo. Things get out of hand as a gang of older boys saunters by chanting, “Azungu, Azungu, Azungu!” and I become frightened. Nelson appears and shoos them away translating, “They’re saying Whitey, Whitey.”  Now I understand being a minority, being the oppressor not the savior.

Tomorrow we’re off to L’lwonde National Park, spending our last day and night being tourists. We all need a break.