Sex Mate or Soul Mate...Love Resuscitated

By Lufa Prud

This is dedicated to Valentine...with love.

This true to life drama recounts the challenges and obstacles faced by Jenny.

She grew up in the inner city of Jamaica before she was given the opportunity to travel to England.

This is where she had to adapt to a different way of life.

 

In her many trysts, Jenny longed for real love which seemed elusive.

Jenny wore her heart on her sleeve, what you see is what you get.

 

Unlucky in love until...

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lufa Prud
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201155308

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

WITH GLEE, I COLLECTED the tickets enclosed in the traditional big brown envelope from Clear Sky Travel Service situated in Downtown Kingston. I reread the itinerary for the umpteen times.

Date set in ink, I await in anticipation, after all I was now bound for ‘big foreign’.

I bought new outfits and packed several gifts which included the unmissable Wray and Nephew over proof white rum. I was padded like a camel whose back was stuffed with hump.

I was anxious and suffered temporary insomnia. The flight was long haul, nine and half hours as scheduled and documented.

After what seems to be a long wait finally came.

It was on a cool Monday night on the twenty seventh of July 2001, I was about to board Air Jamaica flight number JM05 from Norman Manley International airport to the United Kingdom, my first journey.

Following regular flights to Curacao and Panama, it was now my intention to visit GREAT BRITAIN.

AFTER SEVERAL CONTACTS with my auntie Dorothy who lived in England for over fifty years, I was finally given an invitation to travel.

I chartered my friend Edward, who works at the local taxi firm in advance and instructed him to come at an earlier time. He has the propensity to show up later than the time specified to a job.

He would then justify his tardiness by saying:

Yu dun know it’s de culture. Yet the cost of the fare remains the same.

I said my goodbye to Edward then slowly strolled into Norman Manley International airport, dragging my luggage along to the next available clerk.

Can I have your... the man’s voice trailed off.

I’m sorry, what did you say? I enquired. Too excited, I can hardly hear.

Ma’am, I said can I have your passport and boarding pass?

The gentleman behind the counter with long grey beard and thick frame glasses repeated, as if he was exasperated.

I quickly rummaged through my handbag as if I was somehow on a timer then handed the documents over.

After carefully scrutinizing the paperwork and passport thoroughly, then comparing features, he finally returned the documents.

Place your luggage here he ordered. Pointing to the commercial scales to his right. As requested, I obeyed, shuffling and lifting each heavy luggage.

Did you pack both luggage yourself? he interrogated closely.

Yes, including the jackass corn recipe, I thought sarcastically.

Instead, I smile and said:

I sure did!

22.8kg and 21.5kg he announced.

That’s the weight of each piece he concluded.

He tagged them individually, then propelled them into the chute.

We will be boarding within the next hour

Enjoy your flight! he said wryly

Thank you I replied.

THE DEPARTURE LOUNGE was buzzing. Communications were difficult to conduct above decibel levels.

The scene was extraordinary, with people of all walks of life mingling, chatting with each other. Others were hugging and crying while bidding their farewells. The different accents were melodious to hear as I eavesdrop.

Passengers for Air Jamaica flight JM05 to Heathrow is now boarding at Gate 11... an announcement was heard over the tannoy.

Buoyantly, I got up then proceeded to Gate 11.

At the entrance of the huge aircraft were two fully clad flight attendants, standing opposite ends and mimicking each other. They appeared professional while smiling and greeting passengers.

Welcome to Air Jamaica the younger of the two declared while extending her hand to re-check my boarding pass.

Your seat number is C32 just along the right of the aircraft she directed.

Thank you I returned. Documents gladly retrieved.

I went forward, eagerly searching for my designated seat. I found the seat number by the window then put away my overhead case.

FEW MINUTES LATER, we were welcome onto the flight by the pilot, who announced the unofficial time we were expected to arrival at our destination.

For the prevention of deep vein thrombosis, the flight attendants had the passengers exercised in their seats while we sang Jamaican folklores.

Following the exercises, I heard my tummy began making funny noises. I was ready to be served my inflight traditional dish of ackee and salt fish or rice and peas with a refreshing beverage. I was famished indeed.

Later into the flight, we were served a second meal which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Ethnic Fatigue Syndrome soon stepped in as I drifted into deep rapid eye movement sleep. At one point, I woke up hearing the pilot apologising for the bumpy ride.

I must have slept for several hours when I was awakened by the passengers in simply gesture, applauding the pilots in appreciation and gratitude for a safe landing.

In true bravura, the captain reciprocated and announced:

You have reached your destination

Thank you for such a lovely flight

STILL GROGGY, I GATHERED my belongings from the overhead and headed towards the lengthy queue ahead.

As the number of passengers waiting to disembark, I pushed my way to the collection area.

We waited patiently for more than half an hour to collect our luggage from the rotating conveyer belt.

Finally, I retrieved both luggage and with all my strength, I dragged them through ‘nothing to declare’ section and to the waiting area.

CHAPTER TWO

"J enny...Jenny over here...over here!"

I HEARD THE VOICE ECHOED above the tannoy speaker. Looking in the direction while dragging the overweight luggage behind, I saw a rather short, elderly woman who resembled auntie. She was waving her hands frantically in the air, trying to capture my attention.

Slowly, I walked towards her and with outstretched arms she embraced me tightly and planted an unexpected sloppy kiss on my cheek. Her happiness on full display!

I’m so glad to see you! auntie said with a rather posh English accent and a big broad smile displaying her pearly dentures.

"Likewise!" I replied, pretending to be shy.

I haven’t seen auntie since she came to my cousin Deloris’ wedding in Jamaica. That was before the country was indebted to the International Monetary Fund.

That was indeed a long time ago.

Auntie looked different, then she was fresh faced, younger and vibrant perhaps the British weather has taken its toll I thought.

She was dressed in a green skirt and with black top and a small green handbag and a coloured wide rim hat.

Auntie was soft spoken at times and very petite in comparison to her photographs. She offered to take one of the luggage and I did not object.

She ushered me towards a waiting white Hyundai five door car, where a stocky gentleman took the luggage and placed them in the boot.

This is my niece Jenny auntie said.

And without taking a breath she continued,

"And Jenny, this is George, our driver."

HELLO MR GEORGE I said in a thick cheerful Jamaican accent.

GEORGE WAS RATHER PLUMP with protruding stomach. He was dressed in grey trousers with suspenders and black flap hat.

And he was kind enough to take me to the airport auntie said, stating the obvious.

GEORGE WAS ALSO A MEMBER of the local church. He was retired but did odd jobs in order to keep himself active, auntie reliable informed me.

"Welcome to England mon!" he said imitating my accent.

George was down to earth and friendly. We laughed at his poor imitation then headed on our journey.

Even though I was jet lagged, I was aware that the roads were not like some roads in Jamaica. They were tarmac and well surfaced. It reminded me of travelling without experiencing much turbulence.

I slouched myself against the door, relaxed in the back seat then pierced through the window and began to people watch.

Women from different backgrounds and cultures dressed in burqa to cover their entire body. A long piece of black material covered the top of their heads extending to the ground and with niqab concealing their faces.

This type of attire was new to me. I began to stare until they were out of sight. They were pushing children in prams and pushchairs loaded with shopping.

At bus stops, people wrapped themselves in thick layered jackets and coats to insulate themselves. While those on foot, walked