Little Africa In The Midwest Pt 01

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. In the setting of this story, black African men are irresistible to American women. None of it carries a political message and one would be ill-inspired to let this work direct their understanding of real world situation. I believe in the cathartic power of fiction and if this story had any aim - and it hasn't - it would be that and no other. Thank you.

Disclaimer 2: This is going to be mostly exposition. Check out Part 2 for erotica;

Franklin, Missouri, was a midsize city of little consequence. It had known a semi-prosperous industrial golden age, but few things had happened in the last three decades and the total history of the town might have occupied a dozen pages, provided it were written in a rather large script. In the last two years, however, there had been developments which might be of some interest to historians of Western Civilization.

Around pandemic time, a local business owner made a significant contribution to the history books. He was a struggling printing-mill owner named Brown, and though he was a man of no particular abilities, he left his mark on the town forever for it was he who sponsored the arrival of the first African men into Franklin.

They were only a dozen in numbers and he set them to work alongside his standing workforce. Finding them more diligently inclined to long hours and low pay than the former he polled them to see if perhaps they knew of any other willing hands and they answered that they most surely did and would send news of his offer back home.

From those humble beginnings, little happened in the immediate but in the last two years the name of Franklin must have travelled far through the home country and 15.000 men arrived in those twenty-four months all owing some family relation through one another to that initial dozen men. They had showed up at some port of entry or another and of English they spoke little. Only the sentence "Brown Co., Franklin, Missouri" they knew well.

Their arrival initially made near no echo except perhaps among the usually very idle hotel keepers of the town who woke up one morning to find all their rooms requisitioned by city, state and federal government paid up-front for the next twelve months twice renewable.

On some unknown cue NGO and Charity workers flocked in colorful camper vans and dispersed themselves among the locations and besieged mayor Johnson into his office so that normal business had to be pushed back and the poor man spent all his wake hours in that room tending to the matters which the NGO-workers brought upon him. He himself seldom did any legwork, weighing more than 300 lbs, and soon petitioned the workers to be his eyes and ears wherever the migrants would end up.

The NGO workers were all young American women of college age and pleasing physique and they insisted to lodge among their proteges -- a tradition they claimed went back to Jane Adams - though they seldom requested rooms for themselves.

Their general demeanor was so polite about it however, always smiling generously to the innkeepers of the town, that it did raise a few eyebrows but much fewer questions. Their beauty was great and their act very innocent and when one asked them where they came from or who paid them, they oscillated between evasive and confusingly detailed answers so that insistent curiosity was often rewarded with a headache and never repeated.

The hotels however were just a temporary solution, mere revolving doors before a job and a more definitive accommodation could be found. Quite a bit of real-estate had been released into the market by decades of decline in that town and soon Spanish-speaking construction workers hired by companies they did not know and did not care to know got to work on those. When they were done rehabilitating them not half a day elapsed before the first Africans were dropped off keys in hands to take ownership of the property.

The perplexed neighbors would have complained but seldom knew how or to whom. They generally got along with the impressive display of logistics until tenant arrived and if the patrons of the bars in town heard much about it, little actually reached up the ladder to the ever busy city hall until it was too late. Soon a few once white working-class neighborhoods of the city competed for the title of little Africa.

One corps who did take notice and action however was the ever-vigilant flock of small business owners who recruited among the newly immigrant population many of their day-laborers and soon longer-term workers and before long few of the still running mills around the city were not operated in majority with an African workforce.

When college kids returned home later that year they expressed surprise at how much all had changed since they left: on Sundays many neighborhoods they had known were now hosts to countless lawn gatherings of all kinds where percussions were played and meat grilled and all attendants were African men except for the NGO workers and the white working class girls who made great display of the popularity they were finding with their new neighbors.

Many of them had grown obese and disillusioned with life in America and NGO workers often befriended them and talked to them of the beauty of integration. They would escort them to social gatherings with the new residents of the town and that attention was difficult to resist for girls who had so often felt unwanted and they would be seen riding on the laps of black men on the front lawns of the houses except for when they would disappear inside to come out grinning a few hours later.

It soon became a common sight in that city that groups of black men would sit for hours, drinking beer, talking and taking in the sun and fondle their white girlfriends and those girls would often rise from the embrace of one to sit down into another's, and followed them around town in little walking harems and soon their bellies would inflate with the fruits of their newfound relationships.