Tag Archives: Bob Marley

African Spiritual: Religion and Children’s Books

The UN Declaration of the Rights of the Child does not specifically say that a child has the right to choose his or her religion.  However, it mentions both religion and morality several times.  In Principle 1, it says that “Every child, without any exception whatsoever, shall be entitled to these rights without distinction or discrimination on account of . . . religion”.  Principle 2 argues that “The child shall enjoy special protection . . . to enable him to develop physically, mentally, morally, spiritually and socially”.  Principle 6 says that the child should grow up “in an atmosphere of affection and of moral and material security”.  Principle 7 says that children’s education should develop a “sense of moral and social responsibility”.  And Principle 10 argues that “The child shall be protected from practices which may foster racial, religious and any other form of discrimination.”  But today I am taking as my starting point for a discussion on religion and the UN declaration Principle 9, which states that children “shall not be the subject of traffic, in any form.”

At first glance, this principle does not seem to have anything to do with religion.  But in fact, the historical period when African children were most likely to be trafficked, that is, the period of European enslavement of African people, was the period when Africans were most likely to lose their traditional forms of religion.  During enslavement, some African people were prevented from practicing their religion in a community.  Some were too young to remember or have learned the traditional religious practices of their community.  Some were given incentives to convert (or at least appear to convert) to Christianity.  All of these had an effect on the way that people of African descent in the Americas, the Caribbean and in Europe practiced religion—and these effects can be seen in children’s books right up to today.


Morna Stuart’s story of two boys enslaved in Haiti and in France during the revolution includes reference to Yoruba religious tradition.

Many of the enslaved African people came or were descended from West African tribal groups, including the Yoruba people.  The main religion of the Yoruba was based on multiple deities and spirit guides, or orisha.  When Yoruba people were enslaved and brought to the Americas and the Caribbean, their religion changed.  In West Africa at the time, one of the gods, Ogun, was the deity associated primarily with iron—used for weapons but also agricultural implements and hunting tools, and thus a destroyer and creator god.  John Parker points out that in Haiti, “It was the aggressive, warlike attributes . . . which came to the fore on the Caribbean island, where hunting and smithing were less important than in West Africa” (Journal of Religion in Africa 28.4: 495).  Many of the French-speaking islands had enslaved people who practiced a modified version of the Yoruba religion, one which often mixed in elements of Catholic religious practices and saints; the modified religion is referred to as Vaudou, Voudou, or Voodoo.  This change can be seen in Morna Stuart’s Marassa and Midnight (New Windmills 1969) when one of the main characters calls on “Ogoun . . . the African God of fire and war” (4).  Stuart is unusual in portraying African-based religion as ordinary and acceptable; most writers whether Black or white (Stuart was white Scottish) depict alternative religions as at best anomalies practiced only by outsiders and at worst superstition.


This cover of Benjamin’s Coming to England declares that “Belonging is the most important thing”–but white Christians did not make Benjamin and her family feel welcome in the church, even though the Benjamin family had always been Christian too.

Indeed, by the 20th century, many people of African descent in the Caribbean (and the Americas) were members of a Christian (usually Protestant) religion.  However, their method of worship was often very different from European (and European-descent) Christians, so even when they were practicing the colonizer’s religion, they weren’t always accepted.  Floella Benjamin, in Coming to England (Puffin 1997), discusses her visits to traditional Church of England services when she and her family first arrived in England from Trinidad.  “Inside, the light from the stained glass windows shone on the handful of people taking part in the mild, controlled, unemotional service—not at all like the ones I was used to” (113).  Trying to make herself feel at home, Floella sings the hymns in the manner to which she was accustomed—i.e., loudly and joyfully—only to overhear the white congregation criticize her on the church steps.  Her family eventually switches to a church started by other people from the West Indies, “always full to the brim with people rejoicing out loud” (114).


The cover of Tony Medina’s I and I, illustrated by Jesse Joshua Watson. The phrase “I and I” was not meant to signify rugged individualism, but rather a connection to God and to the community.

Other people of African descent created their own forms of worship.  Probably the most well-known (though not necessarily understood) of these on a global scale is Rastafari.  Rastafari began in the 1930s in Jamaica, and mixed Protestant religious ideas with Pan-African ideals and a mysticism attained through a simple diet and the use of cannabis.  Bob Marley, perhaps the most famous Rastafarian to date, is one of the few who are portrayed entirely positively.  Most Rastafarians are presented as loners, sometimes spiritual but always outsiders.  Tony Medina explains the title of his biography of Marley, I and I (Lee and Low 2009) by saying, “The ‘I and I’ of the title is, like Bob himself, multifaceted.  It is a way of referring to oneself, yet it means more than simply ‘I’.  ‘I and I’ can refer to the unity of God . . . and every human—meaning God is within all of us and we are all one people. . . . It discourages thinking of oneself solely as an individual but instead as part of a community” (n.p.).  But Rastafarians in Britain often faced not only isolation from their community, but trouble from the white police force.  Farrukh Dhondy, in “Go Play Butterfly” (Come to Mecca, Collins 1978) shows his character Jojo “wearing a red, green and gold tam” (119), a symbol of Rastafari, right before he is beaten by the police at carnival.


Colin Williams’ illustration of Dhondy’s “Go Play Butterfly,” on the cover of a later edition, does not include the Rastafarian character being beaten up by the police.

It’s enough to make a person of African descent want to give up on any religion connected to European traditions in any way, and return to the religion of their ancestors.  This is, after a fashion, what Tomi Adeyemi does in her debut novel, Children of Blood and Bone (Macmillan 2018).  The novel is a fantasy, but it uses Yoruba-based gods and goddesses (including Ogun) and their traditionally-allocated spheres of influence.  Adeyemi, who is Nigerian-American, uses Nigerian understandings of these spheres; thus, Ògún is the deity with influence over iron and earth; fire belongs to Sangó and war to humans.  The novel itself depicts what happens when a child is ripped away first from her mother and then from her religion (although it is called “magic” in the novel, it functions as a religion).  When Zélie realizes she has lost her magic, “The realization reopens a gaping hole inside of me” (456) and notes that “It’s like losing Mama all over again” (456).  Adeyemi’s novel serves as a powerful (and possibly unconscious) metaphor for what happened to Africans who were taken from their mother country and then had their religion taken from them as well, often by brutal force.  Children have a right not to be trafficked—in no small part because doing so can take away or alter their ability to believe in, or reject, the faith into which they were born.


The cover illustration by Rich Deas for Tomi Adeyemi’s Children of Blood and Bone, which blends a fantasy world with traditional Nigerian religion.Mo


Reggae Man, Rasta Man: Bob Marley in Children’s Books

Try searching for “Reggae and children’s books” and you won’t find much. Try searching for “Rastafarianism and children’s books” and you’ll find even less. Even though reggae music and the Rastafarian religion are two aspects of a uniquely Jamaican culture, they are seldom written about in books published by mainstream publishers for children. Even nonfiction texts (the kind you find in libraries when looking for sources for your school report) about Jamaica give little attention to either.

With regard to religion, all of the nonfiction books I looked at begin with a phrase like the following, from Globetrotters Club: Jamaica by Michael Capek (Carolrhoda Books, 1999): “The British and Spanish colonists brought Christianity to Jamaica, where many African slaves began to practice the religion. These days, most Jamaicans are Christians”. While this may be true, it obscures the connection between colonialism and Christianity, and normalizes the Christian faith. African slaves in many cases “practiced” the religion because they had no choice. Today there are many sects of Christianity, some of which are more radical than others, but the photos in these texts that accompany a discussion of Christianity focus on well-dressed and orderly people. Only after establishing the dominance of the (apparently unified) Christian faith do they go on to discuss other religions, which range from Animism to Obeahism to Rastafarianism—which is usually listed last. The books for children seem to hesitate about how to discuss Rastafarianism, usually mentioning Haile Selassie and Africa, and commenting on the dreadlocks that Rastafarians wear. One of the commonly-known (though not necessarily understood) aspects of Rastafarianism, that of smoking marijuana, is treated gingerly if at all. One book, Sean Sheehan’s Cultures of the World: Jamaica, minimizes and criticizes the practice, suggesting that it is only a single sect of Rastafarianism involved with marijuana and “This sect is looked down on . . . because of its willingness to engage in the commercial distribution of marijuana” (79). Another of these books—Jamaica in Pictures, part of the Visual Geography series produced by Lerner Publications in the late 1980s, briefly mentions marijuana in connection with Rastafarianism, explaining somewhat obliquely that “Rastas share the belief that ganja (marijuana) is the biblical herb and the means of communication with God or of gaining insight or wisdom” (46).

Christians, well-dressed and orderly, on their way to church in Capek's book.  Rastafarians neither dress "properly"--nor go to church.

Christians, well-dressed and orderly, on their way to church in Capek’s book. Rastafarians neither dress “properly”–nor go to church.

Reggae in nonfiction books about Jamaica is generally given a paragraph or less. Some books argue that it is in the tradition of the mento, or work song, because both used “music as a medium of protest and social commentary” (Jamaica in Pictures 49). Cultures of the World: Jamaica mentions reggae a lot more than other books, but this is because it connects it first with gangsters (38), urban ghettos (65), and Rastafarianism (78) before ever discussing its musical qualities. In fact, most books connect Rastafarianism and reggae together, even though Rastafarianism has been around since the 1930s and reggae only appeared in the late 1960s. (A clear example of the way these two have been connected in the public imagination is in the children’s picture book and animated series, Rastamouse, which has a reggae-playing, crime-fighting mouse band. I’ll discuss these books and the series in a later blog.) This connection comes largely from one man, Bob Marley, and nonfiction books almost never discussed either Rastafarianism or reggae until his death.

Despite Bob Marley’s importance to Jamaica, as well as to Rastafarianism and reggae music, and despite being well-known internationally, it is only relatively recently that picture book biographies of the singer have begun to appear. (I have found one, published by Hamish Hamilton and written by Chris May, from 1985, but this is for older readers.) I was curious about how much these picture books would address either Rastafarianism or reggae music, if they did so at all. I’ll focus here on two of these biographies, one written by Marley’s eldest daughter Cedella Marley and Gerald Hausman from 2002, and the more recent I and I: Bob Marley (2009) by Tony Medina.

Blackheart men are not so scary after all!  Illustration by Mariah Fox from The Boy from Nine Miles

Blackheart men are not so scary after all! Illustration by Mariah Fox from The Boy from Nine Miles

The Boy from Nine Miles by Marley and Hausman focuses on Marley’s very early years (the story ends when Bob Marley is seven); however, it does dwell on Marley’s musical beginnings and his connection to Rastafarianism. Like many of the nonfiction books about Jamaica, this book suggests that Marley’s singing career began with the folk tradition. The young boy would often go to Kingston Market and the market-sellers, or higglers, “did not only sell their things, they sang about them” (23), which later inspired Bob to do the same. In this same paragraph, the young Marley comes across a “blackheart man” who initially inspires fear, but who turns out to be “soft-spoken and nice”. By looking at the book’s glossary, a child reader can find that blackheart man was “An old way of saying Rastafarian” (48). The story’s text uses neither of the terms reggae nor Rastafarianism, but the inference is of a singer, connected to the working people’s song tradition, who sees Rasta men early on as nice rather than threatening. This image is repeated in Medina’s I and I, with its gorgeous illustrations by Jesse Joshua Watson, where the young Marley is in the Kingston Market, this time being served by a singing Rasta haggler.

Now the Blackheart Man becomes the singer as well; Watson's illustration for I and I unites reggae and Rastafarianism.

Now the Blackheart Man becomes the singer as well; Watson’s illustration for I and I unites reggae and Rastafarianism

The book goes further in Marley’s life, and so both Rastafarianism and reggae are specifically mentioned. Medina’s biography is written as a series of poems, and “I am a Rasta Man” makes the connection between Rastafarianism and reggae explicit. The poem, written in Marley’s voice, proclaims, “A troubadour for the common man/ Singing what a Rasta sings/ Reggae music from/ My guitar strings” (n.p.). Medina goes on to describe Rastafarianism in the poem, connecting it with Africa and Haile Selassie as the nonfiction books do, but also adding it is a religion of peace and love. Reggae music embraces that message, but also adds a political dimension; in the poem “Reggae,” Bob and Rita Marley are dancing in a club to reggae music—seemingly an apolitical activity—but in the midst of the “sweet” beats, “We sufferers we shufflers/ Party to the music/ Of our hopes and dreams/ Chantin’ down Babylon/ All night long” (n.p.). While still sticking to the more socially acceptable aspects of both reggae and Rastafarianism (with nary a word about marijuana or gangs, for example), Medina’s book allows for Bob Marley to be both a Rasta Man and a Reggae Man—and present these things as something that child readers can admire.

Cowboys of the Caribbean

Disney recently announced that it is looking for two “ethnic” pirates to star in its fifth installment of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” series.  According to a casting call, Pirates 1 and 2 must be of “Hispanic, Asian, or African descent”, be able to speak with a British accent (http://www.examiner.com/article/pirates-of-the-caribbean-casting-call-seeking-ethnic-pirates), and be ready to head to Queensland, Australia, as early as next week.  It is just possible that the Disney Corporation is responding to accusations that its “Pirates” movies are racist by trying to increase the diversity of the films; whether or not these new “ethnic” pirates will help remains to be seen (other “ethnic” characters in the films have previously been portrayed as cannibals, among other things—not exactly a positive role model for today’s youth).  But, to give Disney credit, pirate stories and pirate movies are not particularly known for their positive non-white characters.  This is because the majority of the pirate stories concern neither “natives” nor “ethnic” characters, but Europeans.  Niall Ferguson pointed out in his book on Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World (2003) that Britain’s empire “was a transition from piracy to political power that would change the world forever” (12), a British theft of Spanish gold and territory.  “Ethnic” people such as natives were at best peripheral to this piratical world expansion.  Children’s literature about pirates endorses this view of pirates as Europeans interested in the Caribbean only as financial resource and base for their true interests in Europe; Long John Silver, from Stevenson’s Treasure Island, is probably the most famous example of this fantasy of Europe-in-the-Caribbean

Not a native to be seen.

Children’s literature from the Caribbean tends to present different kinds of fantasy, however.  It is rare to read about pirates in Caribbean children’s literature, except occasionally in time travel fiction.  In the 1950s and 1960s, when publishing for children in the Caribbean began in earnest, it was cowboys and not pirates that predominated.  Cowboy westerns from Hollywood were shown throughout the Caribbean during this time period, indicating the global reach of American culture.  The influence of the western can be seen in both educational and trade children’s literature from the Caribbean of this time.  Longmans Blue Water Readers from 1961, for example, include a story where the main boy protagonist receives a parcel from his Aunt Mary.  It contains a book about cowboys and “Red Indians” with which the boy and his sister are delighted.

In terms of trade fiction, Andrew Salkey’s Hurricane (1964) shows the clearest influence of cowboy culture.  Salkey’s protagonist in this story, Joe Brown, lives for Saturdays when he can go down to the Carib Theatre and see a cowboy film with his friends.  The boys play at cowboy adventures; the Kingston Race Course is “like a real fabulous prairie” (24) where shoot-outs can be re-enacted.  When they watch cowboy movies, they “help out the soundtrack” (27) by providing extra shooting and background music.  When a hurricane is predicted, it is the cowboy film that leads Joe out of the safety of his home to the Race Course to play sheriff; after the hurricane has passed, the Carib Theatre is one of the few things left standing.  Joe is nearly swept up in the hurricane because of his desire to be like the American cowboys, but after the hurricane is past, the simulacra of the Hollywood cowboy remains unscathed.

Salkey's Hurricane.  Illustration by William Papas.

Salkey’s Hurricane. Illustration by William Papas.

The Caribbean children who grew up under the influence of American westerns would go on to incorporate cowboy themes into their creative work.  Probably the two most familiar examples of this are Perry Henzell’s 1972 film, The Harder they Come, and Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” (1973) and “Buffalo Soldier” (written 1980; not released until 1983). None of these works are cowboy stories, but they all incorporate the theme of a lone gunman facing insupportable odds.  The conclusions of both Marley songs and Henzell’s film suggest, as Salkey’s novel also did, that the seductive fantasy of the American cowboy was a dangerous delusion for the Caribbean subject.

Henzell’s film contains an early scene of the main character Ivan watching Django (1966), a violent spaghetti western about a drifter who carries a coffin around everywhere he goes.  Like Joe Brown in Salkey’s Hurricane, Ivan imagines himself as a lone gunman in a western when he is in a shootout with police at the end of the film.  Both Ivan and Joe Brown realize their cowboy fantasy can put them in danger; Joe has to race to escape the hurricane when his imagination gets the better of him, and Ivan is killed by the police.

The connection between the cowboy theme and gun battles with the police can also be seen in Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” which appeared on his Burnin’ album a year after the release of The Harder they Come.  The song is not specifically connected to cowboys, but it mirrors the plot of countless western films from “The Fighting Deputy” (1937) to any of the Hollywood versions of the shootout at the OK Corral.  (As an aside, Michael Jackson sung the song on his variety show in 1977 dressed in a fringed western shirt and cowboy hat. Very bizarre.)  Unlike Henzell’s film, Marley’s song is open-ended; despite admitting to shooting the sheriff, he says only, “If I am guilty, I will pay.”  The sheriff is gone, but the deputy still lurks to enact “justice.”

Here comes the deputy . . .

Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” is not about the fantasy version of “cowboys and Indians” but about the historical 10th Cavalry Division of the US Army who were made up of African-American soldiers after the Civil War.  Although they were soldiers and not cowboys, they fought in the Indian Wars (against the Native Americans), and also in the Spanish-American War. In short, they looked like cowboys, they fought Indians, but they were tools of an empire that cared little for their rights.  Buffalo soldiers are forced to act out an American desire to expand the west, just as those “stolen from Africa” (as Marley puts it) were forced to act in the Caribbean in the interest of British expansion.  Marley, like Salkey and Henzell, were raised on the Empire next door; and though they were attracted to the image of themselves as Cowboys of the Caribbean, they knew that Americans were really just pirates in disguise.