Hanging out on a dusty, hot New Kingston street corner breathing in taxi exhaust fumes surrounded by street youth juggling dime bags of sinsemilla, isn't exactly listed as an attraction in the Jamaican guidebooks. Yet, Brian and Henry are quickly learning that hanging on the corner is where 90% of Jamaican life take place. its where culture and politics and music and art, joy and pain all collide and creates a terrestrial big bang that gives the streets a life of their own.

Rootsland is produced by Henry K Productions Inc. in association with Voice Boxx Studios in Kingston, Jamaica.

Introduction by: Michelle "Kim" Yamaguchi

Guest Vocals by: Patrick "Curly Loxx" Gaynor Adam "Teacha" Barnes

music production and sound design by Henry K

Support the show:

https://rootsland.captivate.fm/supportor Donate via PayPal

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Slippersmith music One more time inside the program memories.

12 Minutes now past 3 o'.

Clock.

Good afternoon, Mr. Henry.

You come in, it's open.

Hey, Mrs. Blossom.

How you doing today?

Well, you know.

May I take a rough life.

Easy, but giving thanks nonetheless.

Good, good.

Brian will be back any minute.

Why don't you some fresh towel here?

You sure you don't want me help you out with anything else today?

No.

Sit down, relax.

Not even change the sheet?

I'm sure Brian should be right back with the food.

You.

Brian said that you make the bed better than me, though.

Well, he's very good at overselling something, as you know.

Yes man.

True.

Because righteousness govern the world.

Broadcasting live and direct from the rolling red hills on the outskirts of Kingston, Jamaica, from a magical place at the intersection of words, sound and power.

The red light is on, your dial is set.

The frequency in tune to the Roots Land podcast.

Stories that are music to your ears.

In case you haven't guessed already, Ms. Blossom was our housekeeper at the Wyndham.

And after the first week, Brian decided she didn't have to bother cleaning our room.

He told her just a quick vacuum, a fresh set of sheets and towels was fine, and that we'd do the rest.

And by we, you know where this is going.

Ms. B, as we called her, was only about five or 10 years older than us, but she looked older than my mom.

I'm sure it was the wear and tear of raising three kids on her own the past decade.

Working 60 hour weeks at hotels and private homes in the city's corporate area.

Traveling as much as an hour each way from Harborview, a community on the eastern extreme of the Kingston harbor, she was the main breadwinner, the sole provider for her children and mother.

And no matter how late in the day, only after she crossed off the last room on her daily checklist was she allowed to go home.

Brian and I never asked about her children's father.

And she never volunteered much, only to say he was worthless.

So we left it at that.

Like many of Jamaica's single parents, it was a challenge raising children with limited resources and no safety net.

Which left miss Blossom two choices in life.

Either go hungry or adapt.

She chose the latter.

Sought out vocational training, developed the skills and determination needed to survive, to raise her kids, keep them safe in school, all while earning under $40 a week.

She was a superhero.

And her powers were unimaginable.

Then again, one of Brian's superpowers was his ability to find something extraordinary in people that most of us didn't even notice.

People like Ms. Blossom, Brian once said, if you really want to know about someone's life, about their struggle, all you have to do is look at their shoes.

That was coming from someone who spent most of his time barefoot or in a pair of beat up Birkenstocks.

But Miss Blossom's worn out black loafers, they certainly told his story.

Two sizes too small with her little toes poking through the faded leather.

Her bold legs and heavy staggered walk wore the rubber heels right down to the sole.

The years of pushing around an overstuffed sundry cart and clumsy vacuum had taken a toll on Ms. Blossom's body, but could not break her spirit.

She honestly seemed happier than most of the guests staying at the hotel.

A reserved smile would come to life when she would talk about her boys, her entire universe.

They were her motivation for taking the bus at 4am to half Waitri and then cramming in a dollar taxi to New Kingston where she would scrub and wipe and mop while wearing a faded pink uniform with a starched white collar designed to resemble the type of dress that slaves used to wear on plantations.

Mrs. B was one of the invisible soldiers that protected this city, kept it alive, gave it a soul for strangers in a strange land.

Like me and Brian.

They made this city our home.

Hello Brian.

Whoa, lunch smell nice.

Oh hey Miss Blossom.

What's going on today?

You look beautiful as ever.

Listen, I got some stew peas for you and some coconut water.

I love stew peas.

And for Henry, the two beef patties, cocoa bread and some Pepsi.

Oh God, Henry.

What?

What Brian, I have simple taste.

Listen, you are gonna turn into a big belly man faster than you know it.

You're gonna be a big belly man.

Big belly man man.

Big belly man.

I'm a big belly man.

Don't mind him Henry.

Thank you Mrs. B. Alright, there's a woman with taste.

So Brian, Henry, you guys excited about next week?

Like me?

Yeah, the two of us are really excited.

Wow, what a time to be on the island for this giant event.

But just to find out that the hotel are gonna make some of the staff take Wednesday off.

It should be a national holiday.

Yeah, true.

My means the money.

I want inspiration.

A superhero.

What the man I go through for all these years.

Boy it make me look like me struggle them on nothing compared to what the man go through.

What Mrs. B was talking about was the same thing that was on the mind of everyone in town.

From the staff of the Wyndham to rude boy Texas crew on the corner.

The politicians, businessmen, Bus drivers and musicians.

Well, especially the musicians.

It was the talk of the town.

Jamaica was about to get a very special guest, a man coming to the country to personally honor and thank its people for their support and encouragement.

His visit, seen as a symbolic gesture to the island's stoic reggae community, who played a vital role in not only keeping his name and movement alive for decades, but for sustaining and keeping him alive for decades.

And let's also remember the music that sustained Nelson Mandela and other members of the anti apartheid movement in prison.

Many of them were huge reggae fans.

It was not anything for entertainment.

It became almost like your prayer time, if you like.

That was prayer time.

It was a time where we started remembering why we were where we were at and what lay ahead.

And it was the kind of food that we needed to sustain us during those hard times.

Come on, get up, stand up Stand up for your right.

The Honorable Nelson Mandela knew more than anyone how much reggae music and its artists contributed to smashing down the walls of apartheid and winning his release from captivity from Robin's Island.

His homeland, South Africa, was across the ocean from Jamaica, yet hardly immune from the power and reach of reggae music's eternal cry for equal rights and justice, which since Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer's revolution in the 70s, had advocated for African unification, freedom and self determination.

From the ghettos of Kingston to the slums of Soweto.

And now, with the music's spiritual foundation and infrastructure in place, it had proven that it was a global force to be reckoned with.

Everything the system had attempted to suppress this music, keep it down, blunt, its message had failed and backfired.

So in between stops at the world's mightiest superpowers for high level diplomatic talks and $10,000 a plate fundraisers for his ancient, the Honorable Nelson Mandela was taking time out to stop at the little island nation of Jamaica so he could pay his respects, say his thank yous and assure the Jamaican people that he would not let them down.

We were able to hear your voices raised in demand for our release and for sanctions against the party.

We leave you with the assurance that your faith in us is not misplaced.

Though the road ahead is a difficult one, we will follow its course knowing that this university and the people of Jamaica are with us all the way through.

His release from prison and the end of the apartheid regime in South Africa was not the end of this fight.

It was just the beginning.

Move out of the way, racist.

Lest the rock of freedom that rolls down the mountainside crush you.

Thank You.

You know.

The local newspapers, the Star and Gleaner, carried the stories for the next few days.

They featured Mandela getting his honorary doctorate from the University of the West Indies and front page photos of him posing with politicians, businessmen, professors, and the island's elites.

Buried somewhere in the back pages were the stories about the crowds that waited for hours in the hot sun just to glimpse his passing motorcade.

The significance of this visit was not lost on ordinary Jamaicans like Mrs. B, Brother Nelson, Rudeboy, Tex.

They all gained a sense of pride in their country I hadn't seen before.

It took a man with the stature of Mr. Mandela to show the Jamaican people how important their country was to the world.

Hey, Wagwan Winfred.

What's happening tonight?

Good afternoon, Mr. Henry.

Mr. Hey, Mr. Winfred.

How you doing today?

Do you need me to arrange a taxi?

No, we don't need a taxi today.

Thank you, though.

We're just gonna be chilling out, hanging out.

I know we're on foot today, thank you.

Okay, well, enjoy your day.

Gentlemen, give thanks once again for Half Pint's autograph.

That's my favorite singer.

Ah, yeah, Half Pints are brethren, man.

He's one of our favorite singers, too.

Too bad he's got such a terrible landlord.

Really, Brian.

Terrible joke.

He's up, Mr. Landlord.

Great song.

Bad joke.

By the way, you're looking for an.

Awake for you as usual.

Just outside the kid who, Little Mari.

Oh, yeah, yeah, that's little Mari.

He's our little youth, man.

Just like clockwork.

Make sure no one at the hotel bothers him, please.

Later, Winfrey.

Hey, Mari, what's going on?

What's happening on the streets today?

Today?

Yeah, we're coming over there.

Text we soon come.

We're just gonna finish up.

Yep, we're chilling today.

Yeah, you know what?

Get us some fresh orange juice.

And you can get yourself one too, if you want.

Hey, Henry, Sarah picked up my check and I just wanted to give you, you know, my part of what I owe you here.

So for the room.

Let's see, what else, Brian?

What's it?

What do you mean?

I thought she was supposed to send $300.

How much is this?

This is Brian.

That's right.

She took some out for some.

Some of the bills we had back home.

And also I had a little bit set aside for some of the investments that I wanted.

You know, things I wanted to take care of down here.

What do you mean?

What do you mean invest, Brian?

What kind of investments you make?

Don't worry.

Listen, I'M gonna give it back to you.

How are you gonna get it back to me?

What, are you gonna start slinging weed for Tex?

That's what Tex wants to talk to us about.

He found a really great place for us to rent and bigger and better things, you know?

Come on, we have.

We have a long trip.

Moving on up, you know?

Come on, Brian.

To the sky.

Okay, let's see.

Let's see what he found.

And let's see how easy it is to make it happen, you know?

Hanging out on a dusty, hot new Kingston street corner, breathing in exhaust fumes, surrounded by street youth, juggling dimebags of sensimilia isn't exactly listed as an attraction in the Jamaican guidebooks.

Yet hanging out on the Corner is where 90% of Jamaican life takes place.

It's where culture and politics, music and art, joy and pain all collide and create a terrestrial big bang that gives the streets a life of their own.

The streets know how politicians and businessmen spend their bribe money.

They know where the pastor goes after church on Sunday and who his neglected wife turns to for comfort and passion.

The streets know where the clean get dirty because they have to come back here to wash off.

Yet these same streets are honest enough, righteous enough, to keep these truths hidden, keep them in the shadows so we don't have to think about them.

We don't have to know where all the dirt ends up.

Rude boys like Tex are the guardians of these secrets.

And as the street knows, everyone has secrets.

Which is why Texas Corner was both the safest and the most dangerous spot in town.

Yo, Brian.

Henry Wataguan, come forward.

On any given day, the rude boy could be found holding court under the shade of a wild ackee tree on his corner, never more than an arm's length away from a street vendor named Sticky, whose cart was well stocked with Red Stripe and Craven.

A cigarettes and text seemed as if he rotated chairs, weakly seated on something that always felt completely out of place on a grimy Kingston street corner, like a leather swivel recliner or a metallic bar stool.

Without having to utter a word and no visible tells, Tex's crew had the telepathic sense to instantly scatter when they saw us coming.

One of the soldiers handed Tex a copy of the Sunday Gleaner before vanishing into the new Kingston foot traffic.

Yo, Henry, did Brian tell you I found the perfect house?

Farono.

Yo, Texas.

Texas sounds great up in the hills.

But up in Amor Heights, pure rich people live there.

Pure white people.

So it's safe.

You can fit right in Texas sounds great, but what do you think?

They're just gonna let two guys from another country come down here, move into a beautiful house with no jobs, no rent history or references?

I mean, come on.

My last paycheck was from the New York State unemployment Agency.

And Brian.

Well, we all know Brian's work history.

Oh, come on, man.

Don't go there.

What, are we dissing each other now?

No, no disrespect.

I was joking about the beef patties.

Don't get all life.

Life just doesn't work like that, Tex.

What are you gonna do?

Are you gonna write us a reference letter?

Don't patronize me, Henry.

You think I don't know how the world work?

You think I don't know how my country work?

Brethren, you don't need no rossclart reference letter.

You don't know.

You have the best reference letter in Jamaica already.

Oh, yeah?

What letter is that?

W for white Virgin.

Really?

You better go back to the hotel and call the people quick before someone rent it.

Yeah, yeah, you heard the man, Henry.

Go make the call.

Oh, don't kiss up.

Hey, Henry, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Before you head up, I want you to.

I want you to hear a little piece of this tune I've been working on.

It's about text and, like, you know.

Okay, it's about time you're working on something.

All right?

You know, Panda, you're not just wasting.

Time on the corner.

You're actually.

Actually doing something here.

All right, let's see what you got.

This one special dedication, live and direct,.

Going out to the man called Texpondicana.

Straight up from the man called Brian Wheel.

All right, get to it already.

Please run the rhythm, brethren.

Now this one dedicated a man called Jackson.

Watch this.

Dump on a corner Come here now.

Dump on a corner where they rub wise flex Dump on the corner with the bad boy Texa Lord have his mercy Dump on the corner with the rude boys flex Dump on the corner with the bad boy Tex Lord,.

Where.

The rude boys play.

With the bad boy Text.

With the rude white text lot oh, yeah, oh, yeah Some of them are up and loop on you Some of them are pieces every day Come on and play Long time, we chat a long time I say dump on the street Dump on the corner A rude voice on the area Some of them.

Oh, yeah, yeah yes with the rude boys flex Dump on the corner with the rude white text.

Roots Land Podcast is produced by Henry Kane, association with Vicebox Studios.

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So join the Roots gang on Roots Land.

Yes, Rasta.

Henry K Production Productions.