Marley and me
I’d always thought that finding a Jamaican who didn’t like reggae would be akin to finding a Northern Territorian who would turn down a cold beer on a 45-degree day. As we roll into Kingston I ask our taxi driver if he counts himself a fan of the nation’s most famous export.
He unleashes a booming laugh and exposes a wall of white teeth. “You be joking mon! What country did you tink you were in?”