My father’s eyes glistened now as he watched me singing, so I sang louder. I didn’t know when I would come home again, or what future would ever be possible for us. But trilling under the crackle of the resort’s night air, I wanted him to know I had been listening all this time. I might have left Rastafari behind, but I always carried with me the indelible fire of its rebellion. And when I returned to America, I would walk taller. Babylon would never frighten a daughter like me.
