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is known as “dancehall.” A dance “hall” could actually happen anywhere, indoors or out. Sometimes a crowd got together in a building, but just as often the place would be a yard or a field or a parking lot. There was either live music or a DJ playing records, with the music booming out over a sound system through huge speakers. DJs might talk over the music, like American radio disc jockeys, to crank up the energy and keep people moving. Sometimes two sound systems played against each other at the same dancehall, to see who would attract the larger audience, just as in the States, in New Orleans, jazz bands would have “cutting contests” in the street and try to drown each other out.
    Although I had always listened to records and to the radio, because of having been brought up so strictly I hadn’t seen much, so I was new to all this excitement. I’d never actually gone to a dancehall until Bob took me. By then the Wailers were one of the top male groups in Jamaica, and their recordings were being played at the dances as well as on the radio. Since their presence at any location always had an impact and could promote record sales, it was recommended that on Friday and Saturday nights the group go to one of the dancehalls. At first Bob didn’t even want to take me. He’d say things like, “You know there’s a dance tomorrow, but I don’t think I should take you because there might break a fight.” And I’m saying, “No, I wanna see the fight!”
    But apart from the fighting, those first dancehall experiences were to me—whew, astonishing! Watching everybody bumping and grinding—to me that was all new. And of course, just as Bob had predicted, a fight would break out during the dance—that happened regularly in those days. It was the normal thing! We didn’t have gun shooting then, but a guy would break a bottle, or would pull out his ratchet knife, and put it to another guy’s throat, and say, “I’ll kill you if you dance with my girlfriend one more time!”
    There were times Bob had to take my hand and pull me out of a crowded area, just to escape the bottle throwing. So he was always saying, “I told you!” at the end of the night. But the scene didn’t bother me, because I found it all so exciting—this was the “real world,” the world I hadn’t been in until I met him.
    People have asked me since then whether there were times I had to choose between being with Sharon and being with Bob, something that can happen when you’re developing a new relationship and already have a child to be responsible for. But I didn’t really have to make that choice. We both became parents for Sharon, and I seldom left her behind for long, because Bob was not that type of a daddy. He would make sure to remind me! “Whatever you’re doing, hurry up because you have to go home to the baby.” Or “You think Aunty can manage until we finish the session?” He was very conscientious, and this was something that impressed me greatly—his sharing, his caring for my baby, and really allowing me to show more responsibility. To him I was not just the ordinary girl running around with nothing to do but play and hang out. He’d even chastise me: “You have a baby to look after, now don’t stay here and waste time!” Or if the session was running too long he’d say, “Rita, you sure you can stay longer than this? Your baby don’t want titty? You don’t want to go home and feed the baby and come back?” So he was always there, attentively reminding me, hey, you have a baby …
    I was now growing up to be what was called then a nice young lady. The young man I still knew as Robbie had other girls in his life, girls with whom he had intimate relationships; I knew that he was not a saint. But he kept them away from me out of respect.
    The first time we kissed,