This would be my third trip to Jamaica and the one that that confirmed my belief in the saying 'Third times the Charm'. Jamaica was my fantasy destination. The ocean rivaled that of my favorite turquoise necklace and the music that filled the air was the heartbeat of an island known for it's reggae music. Everywhere I went I could hear the soundtrack of Jamaica's
struggling past. This was my third trip and this trip I was on a mission to pay respect to one of my heroes, Bob Marley. I arranged for a trip to his mausoleum at 56 Hope Rd in Nine Miles. Nestled high in the Blue Mountains rested a legend so many know of but know very little about. I arranged for a taxi to guide me to the place that I have heard about for so long. The place where Bob Marley grew from a child into a man and the place that inspired a revolution in music, a country that was taught politics through music.
The ride to Nine Miles was an adventure as you wind through the mountains on a narrow well traveled road. Always careful not to hit the passing school kids dressed in uniform or the goats wandering the streets. Nine Miles is hidden in the mountain tops with a clear view of the horizon below. Nine Miles keeps an eye on the village and land that scapes it's surroundings. After a couple hours in the car we arrive to the top of the road. There nestled at the top of the mountains was a white structure painted White, Red, Yellow and Green painted around the property and a Jamaican flag flapping freely each time the wind blew.
The taxi driver remained in the car as I made my way to the front of the property. My heart began to pound as I walked through the tall iron gates welcoming me in, reminding me of the beginning of my favorite reggae song. Within a few minutes I was approached by a slender Rasta man with dreadlocks hanging past his hips. He greeted me with a smile and the most peculiar laugh I have ever heard.
"Irie! Welcome to the home of Mr. Bob Marley. I will show you around and then you can take your Irie time getting to see da place on your own." I followed him as he pointed out the large rock on the ground as the inspiration to the song 'Rock was my Pillow', herbal plants that were planted by Bob himself, and a soccer ball Bob used to play with. I could hardly understand him with his thick Patio accent and outrageous laugh between sentences. He then advised me to take off my shoes and follow him into a tiny white cement building covered in vines and tropical brush. I walked in and saw a single bed laying against the back wall with an old cover and pillow on it. There were tourist posters promoting Jamaica on the walls and the room was considerably cooler than outside. The guide told me this was Bob's bed that he slept on and walked out, leaving me to take it in. I sat on the bed and then laid down, resting my head on the pillow. It smelled of an earthly scent, of wood and water. I laid staring at the blank wall feeling a connection to what Bob must have felt here. Laying here in this modest structure dreaming about the world that is beyond these walls.
This is me in front Bobs childhood home at 56 Hope Rd.
I couldn't help wonder at what point did he realize the impact he would have on a nation and the world.I then made my way outside and was told to enter the larger building next to his home. This was a newer white washed cement building as well with a narrow arched door and 3 tall stained glass windows peeking from above. "My friend, this is the mausoleum. This is where Bob's body rest in peace." He waited outside as a I entered. My eyes focused on the center of the room where a mighty marble box standing 7 feet tall was exposed. I stared at the structure with tears in my eyes knowing Bob's body was a mere inches away. I placed my hand on the cold marble and suddenly heard the sound of thunder rumble outside. It felt as though it were coming from beneath my feet being so high in the mountains. The sound of a soft rain began to sound on the roof as tears began to stream my face. This was a spiritual experience for me there's no doubt . I had finally made it to Nine Miles, to pay respect to my spiritual hero Bob Marley and the heavens were letting me know it was taking place.
The rain stopped after 20 minutes and I decided to walk outside to catch my breath, I realized I had been holding it the whole time. I walked off to the side of the property where a balcony hung over the hillside and looked around at the homeland of a legend. Trying to imagine the sights he saw and sounds he heard to inspire such a soul was a poetic journey in itself. My eyes soon focused on a woman sitting below me under a sun hat, something about her seemed familiar. After a minute or two she noticed me and looked up. "Hello der. The rain about to pass ya know." She says. I stared at her face trying to figure out where I have seen her before. "Looks like it is. It's beautiful here." I call out to her and she lets out a chuckle, "Always Irie." At that instant I knew exactly who she was, "Mama B! Is that you?" I asked? She gave me another look, surprised I knew her name. "Yeah girl. My first time here in 2 years and don't have much time but had to see my Bob." I couldn't believe my luck! I had just met Bob Marley's mother. I didn't want to bother her but stood still for a while leaning over the railing while listening to the birds sing, crickets chirp and the recent rain fall effortlessly off the leaves of the trees unto it's next stage in life. Even here with no man made music playing I could hear a collection of sounds worthy of an album.
I made my way back to the taxi thankful for the experience I just had. Here I was, I came to pay respects to my hero for the end of his life and found myself making contact with the woman who gave him life. I am blessed for this journey and hold it dear to my heart. I'm not going to lie, I feel as if Bob were there that day looking over his mother who misses him greatly and letting me know that he also believes that third times the charm.
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