Culture General

Jamaica’s Spy Rob

Herein follows my report on my assignment: Discover Jamaica

Posing as a vacationer, I jumped on one of the cheap fares from New York ($285) and made my way to the tropic isle. Flying that foreign airline, AA I was scheduled for a stop over in Montego Bay before my destination Kingston. This was a big mistake, first, after landing in Montego Bay they (airline personnel) decided to clean the plane. Clean meaning vacuum and wipe down not a “wash up” while the passengers were still sitting in the their seats. I am sure AirJamaica would not do this.

Second, the plane developed hydraulic problems and we had to sit on the ground for over 2 1/2 hrs. No air-condition, no food, no drink. We could not leave the airplane otherwise we would have to go through customs. So we sat and sat and sat in the boiling hot plane while the crew called Tulsa (as in Oklahoma) to fix the darn plane. Was this a plot to thwart my mission, an evil scheme by Dr. No to prevent me from discovering the dynamics that play in the Jamaican society, where was the beautiful girl who will use her feminine wiles on me before trying to kill me. Yes I saw her, sitting four rows ahead of me. Wait, I know her, I mean I have seen her some place before. Bingo, she is April O’Neil, a famous Jamaican model, but was she only a model? I had to find out, I accosted her in the isle while she was on her way to the bathroom, demanding to know her agenda, what was her assignment. Hesitant at first she was even evasive but after about fifteen minutes of intense interrogation, (unfortunately no strip searches were conducted) I ascertained that she was legitimate and was on her way to a fashion show.

Alighting from the plane I resolved to throw myself into the culture walk like the native that I once was. Training at spy school didn’t prepare me for this. I was unsuccessful in convincing the Jamaican public that I hadn’t been contaminated by the Yankee ideology. I gave myself away when ever I talked the twang could not be hidden and I was captured by the natives. Yes I was captured, but it was only a ploy to have the natives take me into their confidence.

I was forced to subject myself to the delights of Cactus. Cactus, that oasis in the desert of Portmore. Its neon lights were like a beacon, calling to that rebel that is in my soul. Saying ” It was under the sycamore tree …that I first saw the light….” The sounds of the rhythm drove the monster within that I was only too glad to release. My captors that brought me to this seance, were really kind of heart and mellow of sprit.. One of the natives in the group is what I would term a BIG girl -use your imagination to conjure up everything the term denotes…amazon….- she was BIG and HEALTHY!!!…just what a Jamaican man would order.

Big girl wore a crown of curls she purchased form the “Chine” shop and a summer dress she made herself. Either she ran out of material or she put on 15 more pounds since making the dress but it was short (I estimate it stopped two inches below her buttucks – no lie!). To top it off Big girl decided that the dress was too long so in went two splits up the side. When she walked you saw those “I have been eating yam and banana-roast breadfruit – saltfish and cornmeal dumpling – all my life-country-girl thighs”. Can we say JUICY. Images of Africa, sounds of tribal drums washed across my …….sorry I digress ..back to Cactus. Nothing in all my years at spy school prepared me for the girls of Cactus. Big girl was only a sample, they came in all sizes and shapes, dressed to thrill. The dancehall style: hair color to match shorts color. If the shorts was blue matching accessory was a blue wig.

Unfortunately I have to cut my report short at this time, I have been reassigned to New York but my next report will include my Carnival experience . SpyRob

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