Tales of the Haitian Diaspora

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The sun rose over the City of Cap-Haitien, located on the northern coast of Haiti, and found Alain Edmond already awake. Standing on top of the villa which had been in his family for generations, the young man looked at the metropolis sprawling from the hilltop neighborhood of Bel-Air. This was where he grew up, and he hadn’t seen his home in almost two decades. The view brought a smile to his dark, handsome face.

“Lakay se lakay, home sweet home,” Alain said to himself, and he closed his eyes, thinking about all the twists and turns that his life had taken lately. Twenty years ago, his parents, Francois Luc Edmond and Marianne Jacques-Edmond took him and his sister Annabelle to distant Montreal, Quebec, due to the political unrest pitting the supporters of Haitian President Jean Bertrand Aristide against the paramilitary regime that uprooted him.

Even after the matter was settled and peace returned to the Republic of Haiti, the Edmond family remained in the City of Montreal, Quebec. Now, decades later, Alain had come home at last. Alain had never truly felt at home in the City of Montreal, where they spoke a French altogether different from the one he’d learned at College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours in Cap-Haitien. The world and its linguistics, man…

The City of Montreal, Quebec, had scores of Haitians among its populace, to the point where the French Canadians had virtually conceded the borough of Montreal-Nord to the Haitian immigrant folks. Alain liked being surrounded by his own people, even though he made many friends among the French Canadians, the Lebanese and others. Always be a man of the people, Alain reminded himself. As a newcomer to Montreal in those days, a stranger in a strange land, he knew he would need friends and allies…

Alain always missed his hometown, and had fond memories of it. Hanging out at Labadie beach with his family on Sunday afternoons. Going to get ice cream with his sister at Place Rue Dix Huit, in the park located across the big cathedral and the small campus of Universite Roi Henri Christophe. Hanging out at the family estate in Quartier Morin, a small, storied commune located half an hour from metropolitan Cap-Haitien. Ah, good times indeed.

To the outside world, the Republic of Haiti was a strange place. It seemed that most people on the planet did not know the country existed prior to the earthquake which devastated its capital, Port-Au-Prince, almost a decade ago. The fact that Haiti is the first independent black republic, having repelled the armies of the French, the English and the Spanish, seemed to have escaped the notice of world history.

Most people thought of Alain’s homeland as a poor nation eternally in need of foreign aid, forever at the mercy of the United Nations and its U.S. overlords. My curse upon them all, Alain thought, and his inner Haitian nationalist rose in his chest. Even after he became a Canadian citizen, lost his foreign accent, learned to love the Montreal Canadiens Hockey team, ataşehir escort and embraced the western way of life, he was still a Haitian man at heart.

After graduating from the University of Montreal with his bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice in 2011, Alain enrolled at McGill University where he earned his MBA. Alain looked for work in his field, and couldn’t find any, in spite of his impeccable credentials. He took a bank teller position with the Bank of Montreal, and soon rose to the rank of account manager, then branch manager.

Still, at the age of thirty two, Alain felt quite dissatisfied with his life. He had a nice two-bedroom apartment, a nice car, and twenty eight thousand dollars in his savings account. Still, the brother wanted more out of life. He’d gotten close to getting married once or twice, most recently having been engaged to a Chinese cutie named Natalie Yan. They had irreconcilable differences, and ended their engagement after eighteen months, much to the relief of Natalie’s conservative Chinese immigrant parents.

After his relationship with Natalie Yan ended, Alain wanted to get away from the City of Montreal, and the passive aggressive bullshit of Western society in general. The daily burdens and pitfalls of being a black man in a mostly white society irked him. Against his parents wishes, Alain decided to head to the one place in the world where he longed to be. The island of Haiti, his birthplace and the land of his ancestors. Canada and the West were okay places, but for Alain, there’s really no place like home…

“Alain, retourne au lit, come back to bed,” a sleepy female voice said, and Alain turned around, and saw…her. Jesula Charles, his friend from the old days. A statuesque five-foot-eleven, making her only three inches shorter than Alain’s lofty six-foot-two, Jesula Charles is a vision of beauty. Her long, neatly dreadlocked hair flowed freely on her shoulders, framing her slightly angular yet round face. Full, sensuous lips stretched into a coy smile. Chocolate eyes looked at Alain with wry amusement.

Hands on her hips, still clad in a crimson negligee, Jesula looked hot…and meant business. Alain licked his lips, and then went to her. Gently, he placed his arms around Jesula, who kissed him on the lips. Even after twenty years, it was astonishing how much Alain still loved this lady. Jesula, the feisty tomboy whom Alain remembered playing soccer with him and the other neighborhood lads had grown into a beautiful, curvy and sexy woman. One whom he simply couldn’t get enough of…

“Bonjour mademoiselle,” Alain whispered, and Jesula winked at him, then grabbed his ass and gave it a firm squeeze. Alain, who was only wearing his neon-blue boxer shorts, letting the morning sun caress his muscular, chocolate-hued body, felt the full strength of Jesula’s hands on his bum. Brothers are always checking a sister’s ass, and I got me a woman who likes to grab my ass, Alain thought, wryly amused at his most unique kadıköy escort bayan situation.

“Bonjour, mon ange,” Jesula replied, and as she spoke, Alain realized how much her accent had changed, along with the rest of her. They hadn’t seen each other in twenty years. After graduating from Soeurs Saint Joseph De Cluny, the local all-female Catholic institution that served as the counterpart to the all-male College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours, Jesula and her parents, Louis and Nicolette Charles left Haiti for Marseille, France. Eventually, Jesula and her family became naturalized French citizens.

Jesula graduated with an economics degree from the University of Paris famed Sorbonne campus, and these days, she worked as a plant manager for Oberthur Technologies, a French tech company involved in the manufacturing of credit cards. Along the way, Jesula had married a French national named Guillaume Picard, and divorced him three and a half years later. It was pure chance that when Jesula chose to revisit Haiti after a twenty-year absence, she ran into her old pal Alain Edmond at Cap-Haitien International Airport…

“Hmm, sexy lady, fancy an encore?” Alain said, and Jesula pressed her curvaceous body against his, and he gently caressed her lovely face, then gave her big round ass a firm squeeze. The two of them looked into each other’s eyes, and then, hand in hand, they returned to the master bedroom. Once there, for the second time in twenty four hours, the passionate couple made up for two decades worth of longing…

“Hmm, leche mon cul, kiss my ass,” Jesula said as she got on all fours, and shook her big round ass at Alain. The brother stood there, with his dick in his hands, watching Jesula do her thing. The tall, curvaceous Haitian gal had a voluptuous body that was simply to die for. Big tits, curves everywhere, wide hips, thick legs and a big round ass that simply wouldn’t quit. Hot damn, what more could a brother want?

“J’adore ton derriere, my dear,” Alain replied, and he knelt behind Jesula, and eagerly caressed her thick bum. Jesula giggled as Alain kissed her derriere, and then went to work on her. Spreading Jesula’s ass cheeks, Alain slid his tongue into her butt hole and began fingering her wet, hairy pussy. Alain worked two fingers into Jesula’s pussy, and twisted his tongue inside her ass, causing her to moan and cry out his name…

“Hmm, don’t stop, mange bonda mwen, eat my ass,” Jesula murmured, and Alain playfully smacked her big bum before he resumed tonguing her asshole. To really shine Alain on, Jesula sat on his face, smothering him with her big bum. The brother stroked his long, thick and juicily dark dick while he ate her ass in this most wonderful position. Alain hadn’t tasted Haitian female booty in ages, and Jesula was more than happy to help a brother out…

Jesula and Alain continued with their fun, and somehow went from the bedroom to the living room. Alain found himself flat on the carpeted floor, escort maltepe looking at the ceiling as Jesula grabbed his dick and sucked on it like a lollipop. After getting Alain real hard, Jesula climbed on top of him, straddling him without quite letting his hard dick into her pussy. Instead, like a damn tease, Jesula rubbed Alain’s dick against her pussy, causing the frustrated brother to look at her, a sour expression on his face.

“Kite mwen antre, let me in,” Alain said, licking his lips suggestively, and Jesula grinned, and then nodded. Alain bucked his hips, thrusting upward as he did so. Jesula sighed and closed her eyes as Alain buried his dick inside of her. She hadn’t had any in a while, not since her divorce from a certain Frenchman. Resting her hands on Alain’s broad shoulders, Jesula began riding him, enjoying the feel of a long, hard dick embedded deep inside her pussy. Oh yeah, let the good times roll…

“Hmm, yeah, fuck me hard, bat bonda mwen,” Jesula squealed, as Alain took her on all fours, face down and big ass up. Alain pulled Jesula’s long dreads and yanked her head back, whispering sweet nastiness into her ear as he slammed his dick into her pussy. He hammered away at her, as if he wanted to make her big beautiful black ass pay for being so damn tempting. Living in Montreal, Alain had seen big-bottomed women of all races, from the African immigrant women to the French women, the Arab gals and others, but a big-bottomed Haitian woman like Jesula was still a wondrous treasure…one which he savored aplenty.

“Ferme ta bouche et donne moi ton cul, shut up and give me that ass,” Alain growled into Jesula’s ear as he fucked her roughly. Jesula responded in kind, grinding her big ass against Alain’s groin, even as her pussy swallowed his long, hard dick. They fucked and sucked away the remainder of the morning, until they lay exhausted on the carpet, their lusts purged…for the moment.

“Welcome home Alain Edmond,” Jesula Charles said to Alain as she got up and headed to take a shower. Wrapping a towel around her curvaceous body, her dark skin glistening in the late morning sun, Jesula headed downstairs, into the courtyard. There was a well hidden among the queneppe trees, what English folks called Spanish lime trees. Like a true Haitian woman, Jesula began drawing water from the well with a basket fixed to a long rope, and filled a bucket with its contents.

“It’s good to be home,” Alain said to Jesula as he joined her and they washed each other’s bodies amid the trees, shielded from unwanted gazes by the high walls and trees surrounding the interior of the Edmond family villa. The two friends-turned-lovers embraced, holding each other tenderly. There aren’t a lot of perfect moments in this life, but for Alain, this was as close as he got to any of them…

With the lovely Jesula in his arms, Alain Edmond felt happy as can be. The ambitious and at times taciturn brother couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. He didn’t think about his old life in the City of Montreal, the emptiness of going to work, the dullness of his relationships and connections. Nope, he was back in his homeland, with the gal he’d always loved. For the first time in his thirty two years, Alain Edmond had everything he wanted…

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