Finally, my lady comes home. I've been waiting for her. In case you're wondering who this is, my name is Guillaume LeConte. I'm a young Black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, province of Ontario. I recently came back to the Capital of Canada from a long trip to the island of Haiti, where I was born. I missed my family terribly and just had to go see them. From December 19, 2012 until January 5, 2013, I was in my hometown of Cap-Haitien, in northern Haiti, basking in the love of my adoring family. My parents, Andre and Marianne LeConte still live over there, as does my grandmother, Granny Lily. They come to visit me in Canada sometimes, especially in the summer. Gone are the days when we all lived under one roof. That's life for you.
I've been missing my family and life on the beautiful isles of the Caribbean, but fortunately I know exactly what it takes to take my mind off them. A very special person. Her name is Maryam Suleiman. The over-six-foot-tall, busty and big-bottomed young Lebanese Canadian woman enters the apartment we share in the Vanier neighborhood of eastern Ottawa. Maryam turns on the light, and gasps when she sees me. I have prepared her favorite meal, omelet with onions, along with Haitian-inspired rice and beans, plus goat meat. Yeah, I know, that sounds like an odd assortment of dishes, to say the least. What can I say? My woman is definitely an eater and at six feet two inches tall and over two hundred and fifty pounds, she's quite a lot of lady but that's okay. I like big girls and I cannot lie. Maryam smiles and shakes her head.
I get up from my chair in the kitchen and walk up to her. I hug her and give her a big kiss on the lips. Her full, succulent lips feel cold. Maryam is still wearing her Securitas Canada uniform. She's a mobile supervisor with the company. I help her take off her security jacket, and she kicks off her Timberland boots. I pull the chair for her and she plops down in it, before wolfing down what I cooked for her. I smile and watch Maryam eat. She's eating like she's never eaten before. It takes her ten minutes to wolf it all down, then she burps. I roll my eyes and tell her that she's a classy lady. Maryam shrugs and says that at least she didn't fart. I laugh and shrug, remembering one incident at the food court of the nearby Saint Laurent Mall. We were eating some Chinese food purchased from Bourbon Street when Maryam just let one rip, man. The chick farted in the middle of a crowded food court. I think everyone heard it. Damn. I looked around, and noticed people staring at us. Maryam just kept on eating, completely ignoring everyone, because that's the kind of woman she is. She's odd for sure but I still love her!
How Maryam and I met is a funny story. Let's see, it happened eight months ago. I was walking around Vanier, looking for this Haitian restaurant that's supposed to be really good. It had snowed that day and since I'd only been in Canada for six months and didn't know much about snow and slipping, I tripped on a patch of ice and fell on my ass. As I lay there, feeling a bit dizzy because my head hit something hard, this tall, simply massive lady reached out and pulled me to my feet. I should mention that I'm five-foot-nine and a half and weigh one hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet. I'm a scrawny Black guy with thick nerdy glasses. I go to Carleton University and major in computer science. I was lucky enough to win an international scholarship to one of the best schools in Canada's capital region. I'm that rare Black guy who sucks at sports but can fix anything mechanical or electronic because I've got the magic touch. You dig? Cool.
Maryam pulled me to my feet, and I stared at her because I had never seen an Arab woman who was that big and tall. Maryam asked me if I was okay and I nodded. I thanked her for her help, and introduced myself. She smiled and shook my hand. I noticed that she had a warm, friendly smile. What do you know? I just ran into a friendly, gentle giant. Or should I say giantess? As it turns out, Maryam Suleiman was heading to The Island Sun restaurant, one of the best Caribbean restaurants in all of metropolitan Ottawa in terms of delicious food but also one of the worst in terms of customer service. You could call them thirty minutes ahead to place your order and they'd still make you wait a while, in line, while they went to get your food. That's Haitians for you. I love my people but still. You know?