As you roll into Nine Mile, you are immediately hounded by peddlers. These peddlers are not selling trinkets and souvenirs, nor are they begging. They have huge quantities of weed. Spliffs the size of newspapers. The driver warned you to roll…Read More

As you roll into Nine Mile, you are immediately hounded by peddlers. These peddlers are not selling trinkets and souvenirs, nor are they begging. They have huge quantities of weed. Spliffs the size of newspapers. The driver warned you to roll up the windows on the car, and now he waves the peddlers away with a profane colloquialism. Nine Mile is at the top of a mountain, and the view is amazing. You can see the sea, and the expansive jungle between you and it. There is a huge concrete slab off to the left that covers the entire hill side. The slab, it's explained, is the rain water collection source. Before, when Bob was a kid, they had to travel down the mountain every day for water or subsist on private cisterns.
The enormous gate on the right opens after the driver gives what seems like a secret horn blow. Two men inside the gate are straining to open it. A third, older man is shooing the peddlers away so the car can enter and the gate can close immediately behind it. They do this every time a car honks outside which turns out to be very often.

This is it. Bob Marley's birthplace. A short walk up the hill leads to a waiting room/bar. There is a video playing on a TV. It's really loud and everybody is trying to talk over it. The small space becomes packed over about 20 minutes. It all seems contrived and a bit commercial at first. It promises to be a let down.

The video ends, and the 20 or so people are greeted by Benji, the guide. He ushers everyone out of the bar onto a deck with the same gorgeous view as before. Benji is dreadlock rasta. He has some beard growth, but well trimmed. He has a captivating smile, and a ridiculously fake laugh. He starts in with some silly trivia about Bob interspersed with song lyrics. It's almost as if he might just stop speaking anything other than song lyrics. Then he sings a couple of bars. His voice changes when he sings. It doesn't seem to be his any more. He is channeling Bob Marley, and Benji seems to be exhausted (physically, not mentally) by the exercise which he will endure for the group a number of times before the tour ends.

Everyone is urged to finish up any alcohol on the spot, it is not allowed past that point. The group exits and ascends the hill to another large gate. There is a fence to the right where children are peeking in through the vines and shrubs, begging. The first building is a small shack with one bedroom. There are paintings of Bob on the walls, but the paint on the walls is peeling. Little has been done to maintain the structure. This is where he was born. There is a place outside for cooking. It's poor, and humble, but noble.

Outside, on the hillside, there is a large rock where it's said that Bob taught himself to play guitar. He would practice, pray, and puff on that rock. He would sometimes fall asleep there under the stars and moon. "And a rock was my pillow, too" sings Benji. "Ha haaaaa" he laughs that rehearsed laugh again, but it's tinged with sorrow this time.

People take turns sitting on the rock, taking pictures, etc. From there, farther up the hill is the mausoleum that holds Bob's body. It is extravagant for the surroundings, but humble by some standards. Everyone is silent.



I removed my hat, and my baby daughter's, too, before entering. "Remove the crown to receive the blessing," said Benji (or something to that effect). I'm not sure if he meant me or the baby, but at that point I began to cry. I stepped into the mausoleum where a shrine of gifts had been left at Bob's feet. There are spliffs, jewelry, pictures and the like. I have nothing to offer, but I received the blessing fully. The baby reaches out to feel the marble wall of the tomb. At first I want to pull her back, but then I reach out too. It's cool. I now need more than just my finger to wipe my tears, and some fall to the marble floor. For the first time, as my tears go splat, IClose