(Reggae historian/archivist, Roger Steffens last year visited New Zealand and New Zealand for the first time and truly experienced the impact of Bob Marley and reggae music. This is the first of a three-part episode which chronicles Steffens' journey.)

In England, there's a saying: "Bob's your uncle." But in New Zealand, it's a fact. "Uncle Bob" Marley is how the Maori and other Kiwis refer to the Reggae King, and each year on February 6, everyone gets the day off.

That's because the anniversary of Bob's birth coincides with New Zealand's own national holiday, Treaty Day, commemorating a document signed by Maori and English colonialists in 1820. Nobody seems to give a hoot about that anymore, and the day is celebrated instead with rousing reggae concerts in Bob's honour, and radio stations playing hours and hours of his music.

For ages, my wife Mary and I have been hearing how New Zealand is ruled by reggae, and we finally had the chance to experience that fact firsthand last November, during a 12-show tour through Australia and NZ with our "Life of Bob Marley" multi-media presentation. In Auckland, our final stop, we stayed just a few yards away from Western Springs, the natural amphitheatre in which Marley played his legendary and only New Zealand show in April of 1979.

"That show changed the course of music forever in our country," said a diminutive man named Tigi, acknowledged as "the most revered elder in the reggae community". His parents came from a tiny coral atoll call Niue, but he was born in New Zealand. A long-time activist for Maori land rights and frequent protester who has been jailed for his human rights activities ("well, the protest kind of turned into a riot," he explained wryly), Tigi (pronounced Ting-gy) has a massive set of thin black dreads reaching his knees, and a full white beard whose centre coalesces into a single white pigtail hanging halfway down his chest.

His venerable reggae band, Unity Pacific, began as Unity in 1992, growing out of previous groups like I Unity and Second Power, a Twelve Tribes group. Their first album did not appear until 2001. Called From Street to Sky, it is a minor masterpiece, speaking eloquently of Polynesian peoples' desire for freedom and unification, and acknowledging the power of Rastafari to bring such visions to reality.

Over lunch one sunny southern hemisphere late Spring afternoon, Tigi told us that "After Bob came, many bands formed, like herbs, some of whose members are still playing today. And we've got Katchafire, too, who play overseas a lot, in Australia and America. We all know his music, and even the straight people call him 'Uncle Bob' here as a matter of respect. My son, Che Fu," he added proudly, "is the leader of a popular group called Fat Freddy's Drop, which combines reggae and hip hop, and they also cover Bob."

I asked about the multi-cultural makeup of his present aggregate. "Our bass player," who stands with his back to the audience in a formidably broad stance similar to Inner Circle's Lewis Brothers, "is from the island of Aitutake in the Cook Islands group. The percussionist, Tala Niko is from Upolu in Western Samoa, a large volcanic island with mountain regions in the interior and lush tropical rain forest and very high humidity. Drummer Daniel Harawira is a Maori, as is his brother Tau who's on keyboards. Our sole European is Robert Halcrow, of Scottish ancestry". Watching them in a club on a bustling Saturday night, the instinctive sensitivities of the bandsmen were readily apparent as they navigated a genre-spanning set.

How especially loved Marley is by the Maori, the original populace, was brought home quite strongly at my noon-time Saturday show at Mainz, a prestigious music school in downtown Auckland, where we had a packed room of folks from all over the Pacific region. Maori people started arriving 90 minutes early. One of the first things I learned was that I've been mispronouncing the word "Maori" all my life as mow-ree. It actually sounds almost like Marley without the "L," and a slight trill on the "R" - MAH-ree.

One of the early birds was a Maori man named Billie, who told me he wanted to do a traditional mihi-mihi greeting with me. "We do it with our noses," he explained. Throwing all reticence to the wind, I quickly rubbed the tip of my nose back and forth across his four times, Eskimo style, only to be met by a blank stare and a frosty "We don't do it like that here." I blushed as he explained that one touches his forehead against the other's, and nose tips come together "to share the breath of life". It's a beautiful gesture, and after the show several people asked to "share breath" with me, and I was deeply moved. "Kiaora," I said, which is a way of saying hello, thank you, good-bye, and good luck all at once. That afternoon, I did the longest show I've ever done, nearly three hours, because people were hanging on every word and grooving on Bob so wholeheartedly. The ultimate moment came at the very end.

As the applause died down, a thin man with two little children at his side stood up and made a minute-long speech in the Maori language. Then, as he began to translate what he had said into English, his voice broke with emotion and, fighting back tears he said, "We welcome you to our land. This is a place that loves Bob Marley and the message he carries, which you have brought to us today, and we thank you for that. When I was young, I had no father, no mother, no sister, no brother - and Bob became my father, as he is a father to our people too." He went on, and by the time he finished, there was hardly a dry eye in the house. During the rest of our stay, as we met people who had been at the show, that was the first thing everyone wanted to talk about, anxious for me to understand how special it was.

Peter Simon's and my Reggae Scrapbook had recently arrived in New Zealand, and we saw it in several shop windows. More than 400 copies were sold in a couple of weeks, thanks in part to a television interview that concentrated on the book and questions of just how much herb did Bob smoke. Another 50 were sold at the Mainz show. We left with an invitation to return this year for a two-month couple-dozen venues tour, which we'll keep you informed about.

Trousers in Denim

Cream of the 'Crop'

Cheeky's World