A Small Hope

If you have read my previous blogs then you may assume that I like Bob Marley and his music. Some may wonder where this all began, my love for the music. If asked that question I would have to credit my uncle Steve for introducing me to Marley.
I guess I should probably give you some background on Steve. He is the epitome of human rights and love for his fellow man. It could be said that he fits into the hippie category. Steve, like I said, loves to help anyone and everyone, no matter how hard the labor may be. Before I was born he had visited nearly 20 countries around the world, aiding, building, and rebuilding. He has truly been a great humanitarian, once he was held against his will by Colombian rebels, but that’s a another story for another day.
I have always admired my uncle for the things he has done, for people he doesn’t even know. He has risked life and limb to help those in need, and has never asked for anything in return. Steve has always been my hero of sorts; but one late summer evening, several years ago, he locked his spot as number one.
The day I was introduced to Bob Marley is one not soon to be forgotten; not the actual Bob Marley, but his music rather. Steve had been away for about 6 months, in a place called Small Hope, Barbados, helping rebuild after a hurricane had completely devastated the small town. I had gotten word that he was back in town so I decided to go pay him a visit; he always had great stories to tell from his travels
As I approached the home of my uncle I could hear music, but it wasn’t familiar to me. Climbing the stairs to the front porch I could feel heavy bass vibrations coursing through the wooden steps. I knocked on the front door only to get no reply. Knocking again I noticed that door wasn’t locked, so being that it was my uncle’s house I let myself in. I could hear the music coming from the basement. Making my way to the basement door I smelt something I had not smelled before, it was almost… skunky.
When I got to the basement my uncle was sitting on a couch in a halo of smoke, with a big smile on his face. He got up and gave me a big hug and started telling me about his time in Small Hope, but I couldn’t keep my thoughts focused. The music kept drawing my attention, I finally asked him who it was. After that all I remember was the guitar riffs playing over my brain like a wave of sound and the bass groove pounding as they coursed through my veins. A new me emerged from that basement, with an open mind and clear thoughts.