"No Woman, No Cry" by Bob Marley & The Wailers

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.

Now, being herded from one exhibit to the next with a tour group of 15 Germans at the museum didn't quite do it for me, so I decide I need to see Trenchtown. These are the government housing projects where Marley and many of Jamaica's great artists grew up, the slums plagued for decades by chronic politically-fueled gang violence, a real ghetto held together with scrap metal and desperation. I'm warned not to go, but I'm glad I don't listen, because this turns out to be an incredible experience.

My taxi driver, Whyte, takes me to the Trenchtown Culture Yard, an old government yard transformed into a colourful, understated tribute to the community's rich artistic heritage. My guide here is Sophia, from the Trench Town Development Association, who begins by showing me around the yard.  I notice such objects as Marley's first guitar and his single bed. Then Sophia leads me, this nervous white-skinned tourist, out of the safety of the compound and into the streets of Trenchtown. Murals. Children playing. Tiny wooden shops selling snacks. Sophia's own modest cement home. Togetherness. Hope. Hidden beauty. And from these humble third-world surroundings emerged in the 1960s and 70s the phenomenon of reggae culture, known and loved around the world, whose undeniable impact can still be seen and heard in pop culture today.

Back at the yard, Whyte and Sophia are sitting in the shade of a tree talking and smoking some herb. Conversation turns to the overpriced Marley museum uptown. Apparently, an old friend of Bob's named Georgie still lives at the museum, where they take care of him. This is the very same Georgie mentionned in Marley's 1974 hit "No Woman, No Cry." What's more, this is the old Rasta who tried to sell me ganja yesterday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptuwl6_QqBw