No Problem

Alright, first the introduction, then story time.

I’m Viv. I spend far too much time thinking about hair, TV shows, and my ipod which has become a fifth limb. Most say I’m sarcastic, but I don’t really know where they get that from, perhaps from my generally elitist air. I enjoy clothes and “pretty” things in general. Not surprisingly, I have an addictive personality that makes me do crazy and irrational things like watching two seasons of Digimon within a couple weeks in a pathetic attempt to relive my childhood. I have a dog named Olive, and she IS the cutest dog in the world, no contest.

The Nine Mile Tour in Jamaica started with our tour guide introducing himself as “Captain Crazy”. For those who don’t know, the Nine Mile Tour is a Bob Marley tour, and even includes a visit to his grave (I don’t know why it’s named that, but I’m pretty sure that’s because I wasn’t paying attention). Captain Crazy has dreads about two feet long and is constantly laughing, issuing a sound that is slightly reminiscent of a donkey’s bray.

So Captain Crazy leads us to Marley’s birthplace, and we actually get to take a picture next to his bed (which was actually really cool). We then take a “break” were everyone who is so inclined has the opportunity to receives free pot. I tell my mom to go get us some, but she just laughs. Our deranged captain, on the other hand, takes full advantage of the joint intermission before heading off into the church where Marley’s grave is contained.

When we enter the church, our guide offers to field some of our questions. My mother asks about the basic beliefs of the Rastafarian movement and after a while I realize that not only is our guide not staying on topic, but that he has not stopped talking for several minuets. I’m now listening to the story of a poor girl who was overcharged for a patty that I’m sure would’ve been touching if I could have fully understood it. He tells us that Marley was murdered, contradicting the account of him dying due to cancer he’d told us minuets earlier.

He starts to become somewhat bitter as he talks about the new manager, saying that he’s worked here over twenty-five years while the manager’s only been here six. He tells us in muddled sentences that he too could fix his hair up nice and where a clean white shirt and greet the guests just like the manager does (here he gives us an extensive sample of the greeting) but tells us that “they” just don’t hire local people.

Here I stand torn between trying to keep myself from laughing at the ganja-induced stupor and feeling sorry for this man and the things he’ll never be. I even wonder what’s going to happen to Jamaica, as the laid back culture and "one lane two-way roads" give way to modernization and the fast-paced progress they’ll need to survive. But on the way out I feel a sudden sense of relief and contentment. Captain Crazy is smiling once again, and he lets out a solid bray.

-Viv