No Woman No Cry (28 page)

I feel free to embark on this life because the kids are now mature and standing on their own two feet. They know where we're coming from and where we're going today. Going to Africa was part of Bob's philosophy, too—his dream, it wasn't mine alone. So even though he's not here physically, his physical
share
is making sense, filling others' needs because ours have been fulfilled.

M
Y FIRST TRIP
to Africa was with Bob, to celebrate Zimbabwe's independence. Then we went to Gabon, where he met Pascalene. After Bob passed, I traveled to Ethiopia, which for me was very special, a dream come true, like putting a foot in heaven's door. I was even able to leave a piece of his locks there. But when it came time for me to find a place to settle in Africa, where I might have a home and a purpose, Ghana was the country that opened its heart and its arms. Its stable government was attractive, as well as its embrace of development. The Rita Marley Foundation was registered there as a nongovernmental organization in the year 2000. Though having that sanction makes things easier, we had begun giving there some years before. Caring for infants and protecting the aged are our main goals.

I believe that nothing happens by accident. When someone or something is in the right place at the right time, the answers to your questions come alive. My concern for Ghana came about when I went to look at a house that I eventually bought near a village called Konkonuru, in the mountains of Aburi, outside the capital city of Accra. I guess I could have chosen to live anywhere, but I liked the people in that area and those soft mountains, which reminded me of Jamaica. The track that led to this house passed by the village school and reminded me of Trench Town, and as I drove past, I noticed the children sitting on the dirt floor. They had no desks, no seats; the teacher had a chair and a little table. The image stuck in my mind. Years and years ago, trying to follow in Aunty's footsteps, I used to teach in a Sunday school next door to our house in Trench Town, and of course I've always been interested not only in religious instruction from the Bible but in the value of education in general. In Ghana, I went back and forth a few more times to see this house, and each time those children were right in front of me with eyes like angels. Because I didn't
have
to live in that particular location and situation, I realized that my being there must have been for a reason, and now I could see it. After I put down a deposit on the house I got in touch with the headmaster of the school, and the village chief, and the next time I arrived there I had benches for the school with me. Not long afterward, we were pulling down windows and doors from a building in Jamaica and I kept flashing on the school in Konkonuru, which was completely without such amenities. So I found myself calling my secretary to say, “Get me a shipping container, I'm gonna take all that lumber and whatever else is useful from that building to Africa.”

She said, “But Mrs. Marley …”

I said, “No ‘buts,' let's do it!” I just knew that it had to be done. And it was a blessing! Every time I pass by the school it just thrills me to see those doors and windows, because I think, wow, look at that, all this wood was almost burned in Jamaica or thrown away, and here it is keeping out drafts and dew from the classrooms. So this is what we—and when I say “we” I'm talking about my family and friends—are doing. (I remember Dahima pulling down a shack over a hole that was all they had for a toilet; we corrected that.) We don't think there's any “contentment.” Yes, we're living a certain way that we can afford to, we're driving cars, and all that. But there's never a moment that we forget the people who can't. And how we can help, not just by giving but by teaching.

I still love to shop, although I've stopped doing that so much now, because I can't build a big enough closet! Whenever I can't find anything to wear because I have too many clothes, I pack barrels to send to Ghana and Ethiopia. In the village we give away some and put others in a thrift store so people can learn to be self-sufficient. We show them how this can work: You get donations, then sell things and use the money for school lunches. Because our purpose isn't all about giving, it's about achievement and self-sufficiency. Recently I had a letter of thanks from the headmaster of the school, who informed me that the bus we had donated is being used as transport from the village into the city, as a way of earning money so they can take care of their own expenses. It's very satisfying to know that not only money but knowledge is being given. To me that's most important. Because coming from zero and being able to own a thirty-seat bus, something must have happened, and you didn't win the Lotto? Then you must have worked extremely hard and you must have had some kind of ambition. Which is a very good example to provide.

Recently Cedella had a barrel of stuff from her “Catch a Fire” clothing collection after the season changed. When she said, “Mommy, take this to your people in Ghana,” I was thrilled. And then she looked at me and said, “Mommy, don't
sell
them,
give
them away, please.” I guess she knows her Mommy likes to recycle!

I suppose a lot of people wouldn't do all this; maybe they'd just build another house for themselves, or buy another diamond. I've seen people do that. Well, diamonds and pearls are great, but I've never seen myself buying them. Wealth and fame are things that I see as
added
, not given. What is given is life, and for whatever is added, give thanks. If sometimes it seems as if more is added, I give more. And then it seems as if when you give, you get. It's a blessing when you find that you're allowed to make other people happy in whatever way you can. And I have a feeling that just by doing good I've grown to understand the
value
of doing good.

For example, every year since Bob went to rest, when his birthday comes around we do things, organize events in his honor or some such, not only in Jamaica and Ghana but elsewhere if possible. I get excited, and his presence seems everywhere again. I'm very sure why I'm doing this after more than twenty years, because something spectacular invariably happens shortly afterward, like I'll get something in the mail or a phone call that really makes me feel terrific.

Something else we're doing up there in the mountains of Aburi is building a recording studio, which will also house a radio station, where professional engineers will be available to train young people who have the talent and ambition to work in the field of music. (There's a lot of music in Ghana; it feels like a music capital that hasn't been touched.) A studio like this—another of our dreams come true—will provide sound for movies, videos, overdubs, sound effects, and much more, adding to the development Africa so needs. We will also offer accommodations and food from our organic farm, right there in the mountains, where the air is fresh and clean!

All these ideas about giving to Africa simply follow what we have been doing in Jamaica. Bob set the pace, because giving was his style. But then he would give money, mainly, and we realized, no, that's not the best sometimes; you give money and it's done and the same person comes back to you as if you've never given to them. So the Bob Marley Foundation in Jamaica went after other things: We've helped families to start businesses, for example, small enterprises such as cold supper shops like the one Aunty ran for a while in Trench Town. We've adopted orphans. We also give equipment and medicines, donated by other charities, to the Children's Hospital; we help support the Maxfield Park Children's Home; and we've brought doctors into Jamaica just to check on sick people. We found doctors who volunteered their services; Ziggy brought them in through the Melody Makers' organization URGE.

The Melody Makers also have a foundation. Adidas sometimes supports their tour and gives them boxes of shoes and sports gear, which they give away. Sometimes I see things I like, that I would wear, but it's hard for me to get even a pair of sneakers! “Oh, no, Mommy, just tell us, we'll buy you some because these are for the needy!” They give every one away!

In Jamaica, however, when you give too much you become a threat to the system, which is something I've experienced. Maybe that really motivated my turning toward Africa, because once you're a giver, you're always going to want to give, even when you find that what you're giving can be held against you, and that you have to be careful how you give and who you give to.

It's a concern, and you always have to have it in the back of your mind—although given my history, I have to put it up front. I'm forced to keep my guard up, to keep my grit up, spiritually and physically. Be prepared. It's important, especially as a black woman. As Bob said in one of his songs—and he said this years ago!—“You give your more to receive your less/now think about that.” I remember saying to him, “Why do you say that?” What I'm realizing as life and time reveal themselves is that Bob Marley's words fall into place. I often find myself saying, “Oh, that's what he felt (or meant),” or “Oh, that's what he saw coming.” Because of his advanced political sense, and his being able to sing about what he couldn't even talk about, a lot of people think of him as a prophet. Of course some people dismiss the idea—“Oh a prophet!” They're thinking of an Old Testament god with long white hair and flowing robes. But Bob was just tuned into the reality of the system, and how it needed to change to strengthen the weak. He was simply prophetic—he didn't have to wear a robe. Anyway, all he ever wanted to wear was his old blue work shirt, his jeans, and the boots he loved.

Sometimes you're pulled into your past, and you want to go back to the streets you ran as a child. Every once in a while I drive over to Greenwich Park Road and reminisce. When I was a child, a local madman would often write on the part of the cemetery wall facing our house. One day he wrote “Black Police Brutality,” and those words are still there! To find where my house was—because the houses and fences are different, in fact the whole landscape is different now—I just look for that graffiti, and when I see it I know I'm in the right place. But my plum tree is gone from the yard where we used to sing and tell stories, and so are a lot of people we grew up with and worked with in Trench Town. As Bob sings, “Good friends we've had/good friends we've lost/along the way.” Tata's kitchen, on Second Street, where Bob used to sleep, is being restored so that it can be used as an exhibition center; the Jamaica Tourist Board has invested money in it to try to capture the moment of Bob Marley's time in Trench Town. (I like to go there to visit the spot where Bob and I first made love.) But I was told recently that visitors have been discouraged from going there because of the violence.

Still, each time I want to remember—or make sure I never forget—I go and stand next to the wall that says Black Police Brutality. Back then, young men sitting on the sidewalk would have to get up and run when they saw a police car coming, whether they were thieves or not. We didn't see white people being hit by batons and being threatened: “Get out, get out, get out of the road!” And it wasn't white but black police who were brutalizing black people. You can imagine the madman picking up on all this and just putting it on the wall. I first saw it when I was ten, I'm fifty-six now and it's still there. And what it says is still going on. If anything, there's even more brutality than ever within the area.

Can anything good come out of Trench Town? That was always the big question. Of course I did, as did many more like me. But one recent morning I heard a Jamaican politician on the radio, speaking about how the people in power must realize that Trench Town is still there and still in trouble. Though the standard of living has risen, and people there are better off these days than we were in the fifties, with nicer houses, cars, and clothing, the reality is that living in certain areas you're still in trouble after all these years, still targeted by the police, and still in a place where brutality exists, just as it did when Bob wrote “Concrete Jungle” and “Them Belly Full (But We Hungry).” Jamaican society remains set up as it was.

Everyone knows that education is the key to a peaceful, productive society, yet a family still must pay to educate its children beyond the primary grades, after about age twelve, unless each child gets a full scholarship. Even with the benefit of a half scholarship, as I was given, my brother had to leave college so that I could go to high school. You have to be in high school by thirteen or you're looked down upon, which means there's no question of “saving up” for school. You have to be clean, your shoes have to shine, and you still have to buy your books and your lunch and your uniforms. Suppose you can't afford these things? Where do you turn? People come to the Bob Marley Foundation with long lists of books their children need. We run a program that lends books: We get them and give them to students and when they finish with them we collect them and give them to others. We see this as a duty to help support families and students; still, there are many more people who remain not only out of our reach but out of the reach of others who could help.

In my opinion, women leaders are what a country like Jamaica needs. That's the only change that might make any difference. Over the years it seems each time elections come around, the political situation explodes into violence, and poor people start killing off one another in the rural and city ghetto areas. It doesn't change; you never hear of them killing one of the ministers for not living up to his obligations, but they will go and kill their brother or sister to get a vote or prevent a vote.

There are already qualified women serving in our government—Babsy Grange is a strong JLP member; Beverly Manley is another powerful force who I believe worked well with Michael Manley when he was prime minister, and that's the PNP side. There's also Portia Simpson, who could be the next prime minister, because she's very strong. Each time I see her, I say, “Sister Portia, please be the one to ease the pain!” People still look for the good woman behind every strong man. We need to bring that good woman forward, especially in Jamaica, where we have been so far behind. Women do have a very strong authority that is not being used. They're meant to be leaders also; government is not just a man's job. It's important for us to move that good woman from behind to beside—and sometimes in front!