humility from Jamaica
I had a gig once in Kingston, Jamaica. Now, if you’ve ever been to Jamaica you might be thinking “score, rad gig brah.”
You’d be wrong. Kingston is a hell hole, violent, overrun with gangs and poverty. The little strip I was on was called the financial district, and it was one street that wasn’t too bad.
While I was there I met a homeless man named Rappa. He and I would talk for hours. There were many dangerous people in the neighborhood, and he pointed them out for me. He helped me avoid trouble, taught me about Kingston life, and never asked for a cent.
One day I bought him a new t-shirt and some sandwiches. He was shocked, and cried as he rolled up the sandwiches in the t-shirt and went to hide them (he said he’d be attacked if others knew).
It moved me so much that…
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