A 19-hour bus ride, birthday serendipity, and the night we found ourselves vibing with Stephen Marley on his tour bus.
We stumbled off the Greyhound into the buzz of Philadelphia, bleary-eyed but wide open. After 19 hours on the road, the smell of spring air and exhaust fumes hit us like a second wind. We pushed past the shuffle of travellers gathering their bags and rushed to find a cab — but not before grabbing a bottle to toast the night ahead. This wasn’t just any show — it was my best friend’s birthday. And it was Stephen Marley’s birthday. 04/20. Divine timing.
Philly hit different. Murals stretched across entire buildings like stories told in color. Sculptures on sidewalks caught the sun like magic. There was art everywhere — breathing from the city walls, meeting us at every corner. It felt alive, like the city was just as hyped for the concert as we were.
We rushed to the Westin in Philly’s City Center, buzzing with anticipation. After a 19-hour ride and a wave of emotion, it was go-time. We threw open our suitcases like a scene out of a music video — steam from the shower, edge brushes flying, coconut oil glistening. Hair laid, makeup on point, outfits loud in the best way — vibrant, unapologetic. We were two Black women ready to be seen, heard, and felt. Catching that cab to the venue felt like we were stepping into destiny.
And when Stephen hit the stage? My heart skipped.
The band took their place, and then there he was — center stage, the lion. The lights beamed red, gold and green like lasers slicing through the air, electrifying the crowd. We were front row, our arms pressed against the barricade, riding every beat. When I yelled, “I love you Stephen!” and he gave a shy little grin — that was The moment.
The concert ended in smoke and sweat and song, but we weren’t ready to stop. Everyone was clearing out, but my best friend and I stayed, looking for a way to keep the vibes going. I caught the stage manager’s eye and waved him over.
“We came all the way from Canada. Is there any way we could take a photo with the instruments before we leave?”
He gave a nod to security. We were on stage. Snapping pics. Laughing.
Then — we heard it. Laughter backstage. Our eyes met, and we followed the sound.
Next thing we knew, we were backstage, vibing with the backup singers. Complimenting their voices. Tagging their handles on IG. Telling them how much their music meant to us. The stage manager came back.
“You tryna meet Stephen?” he asked.
“YEAH!” we both said in unison, then turned to each other whispering, “Okay, be chill — not groupies. Be ourselves.”
We waited outside, hearts racing, until it was time to mount the tour bus. That’s when someone on the crew, grinning, joked, “Y’all fight some polar bears to get here or what?” We cracked up — because honestly, it wasn’t that far from the truth.
And that’s when we saw him: Jo Mersa Marley. The late, gifted soul who would soon become a legend. He greeted us like cousins at a cookout. Warm, playful, disarming. He talked with us as we waited to meet his father, joking, laughing — carrying the kind of presence that stuck with you long after the moment ended.
We laughed, grateful for the warmth after the long cold ride.
And then, there he was. Stephen Marley. Sitting quietly inside the dim bus, lit only by the glow of the streetlights. He looked peaceful, mid-meditation. We hesitated, almost feeling bad for interrupting his calm.
“Some fans came to wish you a happy birthday,” the band manager said.
Stephen opened his eyes, smiled, and turned on the lights. Just like that, the energy shifted. It felt like we’d known him forever.
“We came all the way from Canada just to wish you Happy Birthday,” we told him.
He grinned, “I’d love to do a show in Canada.”
“Please do,” we said, probably too fast. “We’ll be front row again!”
We talked, laughed, took photos — the kind you don’t just post, the kind you frame.
Left to Right: My best friend, Stephen Marley
At one point, he invited us to ride with the crew to New York.
We hesitated. Said no. Said we needed to get back. We’re still not sure if that was the right decision.
The moment was surreal. We stepped off the bus dazed, like we’d just walked out of a dream. Did that really happen?
Back at the hotel, adrenaline fading, we realized we hadn’t even eaten. We grabbed our things and headed out — still dressed in our concert fits — to find the most iconic thing Philly had to offer: the cheesesteak.
She ordered beef. I went plant-based.
It was so good, it didn’t even matter we hadn’t slept in 24 hours.
