Okay, let's get it started with the song from which this blog draws its title, shall we?
July 2009. I'm visiting my father's homeland for the first time since I was 8 years old. An obvious tourist trap is the Bob Marley Museum in uptown Kingston. I catch the last guided tour of the day. On my way out, an old Rastaman calls me over to sit with him on the curb in the museum's courtyard. I comply. Predictably, he offers me ganja, which I politely decline. And that's about it. After a sitting next to this old Rasta for a minute, I get up and go on my way.
