No Woman No Cry (26 page)

For the past twenty years my focus has been Bob's business and Bob's music, which I'm saying not to take praises but to explain that if someone hadn't been there to see to it, this legacy might have died. In 1984 I suggested to Chris Blackwell, “Let's just continue Bob's work, let's put the Wailers to work, put the I-Three to work. Give them support and we'll go out and we'll campaign Bob Marley music.”

Chris said, “That's not necessary, because Bob is over, and in another two years his music is not going to be sold as much, so there's no need to spend money on a tour.”

I said, “Chris, you're crazy. Not while we're alive. Because we were part of that time; Bob didn't work alone. He had our support and we are still here as his support, and I feel that we should carry on, that we
can
, that we
must
carry on.” And we did set off with the “Legend” tour.

At that point my focus was around maintenance. How do I keep Bob's momentum, keep the respect people have for him, keep his music alive, keep the pathway for his kids to follow—and at the same time not be offensive, not deliberately overexpose myself, my personal feelings, my personal
wants
. Because it was not—ever—about me. I tried, and I think I was able, to turn my career down for a while. Because even though we knew Bob had done a lot of work, there were still things he could achieve, honors that might come to him that were not given while he was alive. And it was our job—and that of his fans—to make sure those were given. Getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, for example, a significant achievement only gained after his passing—we had to make that happen by continuing to keep his legacy working. And it happened through the love of his old fans as well as the new ones who never had a chance to see him alive but were loving his music just the same.

Often it was more of a great task than a happy one, a great overwhelming responsibility. One that by its very public nature frightened Aunty—dear Aunty, who had stood by me all this time—until she was saying things like, “They're gonna kill you” and “Please, don't have a boyfriend.” As if the course of my life was now to be determined by other people. But I said, oh no, I can't let that happen, I can't let other people rule my actions. I saw Bob lose himself to people and learned a lesson, and I'm not giving anyone that privilege. I mustn't forget Rita, because I saw I was in danger of losing Rita. This wasn't about Bob now, this was about other people trying to use me through Bob's channel. And I'm saying, oh, if I give myself to this, I won't have any of
me
left
for
me. I've got to save myself so that I can bring up my children, because these were
my
children now, and still so young—in 1985 Sharon was nineteen, and then like stair steps were Cedella, Ziggy, Stephen, on down to Stephanie, who was eleven—and psychologically they had been through much more than most children their age. (It's not easy sometimes, being the children of a celebrity.) So I had to double up on myself, to stay strong against use and abuse. I had to sometimes remind myself that I'd been to school, that I'd been trained for this. There were things I would excuse Bob for because he didn't get the training, but I knew enough to defend my rights.

Still, I have not been in this alone. I've had good lawyers and accountants, a good staff and supporters, loyal to me as they had been to Bob. I've had friends who have stood by me and helped to make certain decisions. And I've had my faith.

In the year 2000,
Time
magazine awarded the title “Song of the Century” to Bob's song “One Love” and the title “Album of the Century” to our album
Exodus
. These honors, for which Bob worked so hard, were given to him by qualified people who treated his music with the dignity it deserved and ensured him a proper place in musical history.

When I thought about keeping Bob's memory and his work alive, the first thing that came to mind was to do something educational with the property at 56 Hope Road. This resulted in some controversy, because his mother wanted to keep it as a house she could come to and bring friends and family. But, after a meeting, a decision was made that we all agreed to, and the property became the Bob Marley Museum. I just felt he would have depended on me to do that. Then, too, I thought of the millions of people who were sharing his inspiration, which was so special. And I thought they would like to come and see where some of this music history happened.

As I've mentioned, when Bob first began to use the place, Tuff Gong had to contend with the fact of its location. Not only was it a block away from the prime minister's office, it was also near King's House, where the Queen of England stays when she visits. The complaints that started then—“You can't create such a thing on a road like this, and why are you doing it?”—were now directed at me: “Rita Marley is crazy, makin' a shantytown scene in the uptown area!” But now we are able to fly our Rasta flag, and the flag of Jamaica flies also, along with flags from other countries. Bob himself wouldn't have done that, he wouldn't have thought it would be
allowed
. I can hear him saying it: “Rita, how could you do that, it's not
allowed!
You
crazy?
”

But some crucial things have changed in Jamaica, as in the rest of the world, since the 1970s. Back then, you'd never have seen a picture of Bob Marley on a billboard, or people with dreadlocks advertising Coca-Cola. If Bob had not been successful with them, if he hadn't earned victory wearing that crown of the Rastaman, things wouldn't be the same. Though certainly today the whole idea is different—you don't have to read your Bible to wear locks. We had to read a chapter a day, and had to know
why
we were on this pathway. But now you can go to the hairdresser, sit in the chair, and come out looking like—you're locked, you're born this way, you're made this way! Look at that! It seems a long way from the days when I was accused, abused, scorned, disrespected, even spit on. (“Look at she!—all the education her Aunty tried to give her and now look at she!”)

Fifty-six Hope Road remains almost the same structure it was when Chris Blackwell bought it and gave it to Bob. It's an old wooden house that has largely retained its look through our efforts to preserve it; some of the original wood is still around and some has been restored to keep the flavor. The museum is operated by the Bob Marley Foundation, a charitable organization, and hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world have visited. Over the years we've added different features, thanks especially to Neville Garrick, who has given us a lot of inspiration and much of his time to the upkeep of the project. Apart from the historical artifacts, writings, and photographs, there's now an Exhibition Hall and an eighty-seat theater. There are guided tours and videos of Bob's live concert performances. Different clips on Bob's life as well as other features are shown at the end of each tour.

The Marley family members are all part of the place in different ways. It's always amazing when visitors see a member of the family on the grounds and rush to you for autographs, which we always pleasantly give. We have a gift shop and a boutique with African arts and crafts—Stephanie runs that—and recently we've added a little shop called “Bob's Cream,” where we sell ice cream and other natural snacks. The Queen of Sheba Restaurant, which still functions as an integral part of the museum, serves fruit drinks and natural foods. We are able to get our seasonings directly from Ethiopia, and we serve
doro wat
, vegetables, stews, wine made from honey (called
teg
), and other things that you would get in an Ethiopian restaurant. And we burn Ethiopian incense there, so that when you walk in you feel like you're on Ethiopian ground. We try to make it as authentic as possible. Our tables are made from Ethiopian straw, our stools are Ethiopian, and we're trying to speak Amharic—
tenalistilin
means hello!

At Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida, there's now a section called the Bob Marley Tribute to Freedom, where a lot of our history can be seen, artifacts and memorabilia we've given to them. This is also our doing, in order to keep spreading the message and music of Bob Marley, another venture for which Chris Blackwell had to give his approval (Chris still helps with certain decisions about Bob). “Bob doesn't need that, Bob is already high in the sky,” he said. But my position was, whatever can take him higher … Oh, I had a hard time with that one, but I just felt it was something that was going to make Bob even bigger, which is exactly what has happened. We have concerts there every February 6, for his birthday, featuring some of our children, Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers, Kymani, Damian, and Julien Marley, myself, the I-Three. There's a lot of punch still happening, and we have made it so there's no gap. Bob keeps coming in from the cold, and I'm happy to be a part of that, and satisfied that we've done so well in maintaining his work. As he said, “Dem a go tired fe see me face, can't get me out the race …”

As for me, it's not just about being his wife, it's about being a person who is carrying on a legacy that means so much to the world. Because not only do people my age remain interested, but newer generations, a third and fourth generation, all come loving his message and still wearing his T-shirts and singing his songs at concerts.

I
F I GO
back to every page in my life, almost every significant moment was something I hadn't planned for or didn't expect to happen. Because sometimes I ask myself, how did I get into this?
Why
did I get into this? Why
me?
When I analyze it all, I see that events didn't happen for the sake of themselves, or only for the day they happened, but to propel a whole series of events, for a particular time to begin, for more purpose to be added. As for what I did to make this happen—I simply decided to live a certain way. Now, what I appreciate most about the life I chose is that the past hasn't disappeared but is reflected in and flows into the present, and this seems important. Often I say to young people, I didn't know a Rita Marley when I was like you, though sometimes I wish I had. But maybe I was just supposed to be the one to figure certain things out.

Today I see this push toward independence becoming more common. In nearly every household—black, white, whatever—there's one child with an intention to be conscious, to choose change: “Well my parents were that, but
I
am … I have decided to be this, or try that, or do this.”

I guess it goes back to the idea I kept hold of, that Rita meant something, Rita came for a purpose, Rita had a life to live. Plus Rita now has children, and she's living to be here for them. And I'm living to see my grandchildren, too. Thirty-eight so far! Of course I didn't do it alone, there are other mothers. But then
raising
them …

They were always treated as normal children and taught to expect no more or less than their friends and classmates. Still, in school or other public places they were faced with who they were, and so they were admired as the superstar's children and criticized as Rastafarians. Limiting as those definitions might be, the kids dealt with them. When necessary, they fought to be considered on their own merits. The worst for them, I know, was being without Daddy after his passing, because he was the fun father who always loved, always provided. He loved to be there for them, and had been getting ready to do just that.

The Melody Makers took their name from a British rock magazine,
Melody Maker
, after they happened to see a poster for an issue with a cover story about Bob Marley and the Wailers. Their first single, issued in 1979, was
Children Playing in the Streets
. The title comes from the only song Bob lived to write for them. At one point Stephanie and Karen, their little sisters, “managed” the group, when they weren't yet professional, and everybody was still going to school. Though not among the singers and the youngest of them all, they would always be at the rehearsals, always mixed into everything and telling the older ones what to do.

When the Melody Makers finished school and began professional musical careers that included touring, I felt I had to travel with them. They needed my support. Even if they were old enough to perform professionally, I felt I had to be chaperone and manager, to be able to say, when they started out, “Mommy's here.” They were signed to EMI, and then went from EMI to Virgin and then to Electra. Nothing I did for them felt strange or burdensome, although I suppose you could say I went from background vocalist to backstage mother. But I have no regrets. I don't ever think about what I might have missed out on—actually, it doesn't seem like I've missed anything. Because I was able to guide them, they didn't have to go out there and come back saying, “Oh, we had a bad experience.” For me, it was easy to sort out the good and the bad, and to show them this kind of good, that kind of bad. “This is how we do it, this is how Daddy would do it, this is how we'd do it when Daddy was going.” My being there made it all easier for them to understand. And they became winners! Four-time Grammy winners, and in the Top Ten of reggae entertainers. Whatever time and sacrifice on my part were certainly for good reasons, yes! And I still feel that way.

Of course, when I started to ease out and to think about going back to my own career, I would hear: “Mommy, you're not coming on tour? Mommy, you can't do that!” In defense I had people actually trained on the road with them—Addis Gessesse and his brothers from Ethiopia, who are still with us—and then eventually I said, “You know what, I'm gonna leave you, and you'll work next year by yourself.”

Naturally their response was, “We can't manage, they won't listen to us!” But indeed they have managed, and very well. The best thing about these kids is that they're so—what should I call them? Not only obedient, but they're kids without any airs. They don't have attitudes, I guess you might say. They're just open. And friendly. Very natural, down to earth. They don't feel that because their Daddy is so and so, then they must be so. No, they were taught to be themselves. And they were taught at an early age, humility is the first policy. And manners. Those things. We don't have money, but we're going to have good manners. Just that alone—if you say good morning, and thank you, you make a good impression. When they were in that teenage stage, you never found them in some of the situations other kids often get into because of inexperience. Not many problems back then, and now they are grown, with children of their own, and they haven't forgotten what they were taught.