Who is Jane Ford?

Who is Jane Ford? It started a few months ago, after I was transferred from my school, Billy Graham International College to Springfield Southern College Canada.

I had a hard time blending in because the majority of the students were whites. For this reason, I stayed and walked alone for a long time; my best companion was my twitter account where I got to share all the experiences I had thereafter each day.

Every other day, I logged into my twitter account, taking a lot of time before I would start typing.
I thought about a lot of things; about the easiest way to put my thoughts in a tweet.

Then, for example, I would start: “Life in Springfield is not as interesting as it sounds in the books; not as adventurous and poignant as described.

Springfield is a constellation of people in different colors. Today is the sixth month since I left Oraifite and everything seems the same as it was when I arrived in Springfield college.

I had just spoken to Papa last weekend and he kept on saying the same thing he was whispering into my ears before I left for the airport that morning.


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“A man needs a land son, when you get over there and make enough money, send it over so I will find a portion of the earth and write your name on it”
“But, I don’t want a land” I had often responded.
He would persist.
“You should want a land, a piece of earth to call your own, that’s what defines every man in Igbo land..”

Why was I having a hard time blending into this community of people with biased interests?
I took out time to make a list of things I hated, the cold weather, the bad food, long boring lectures with old professors speaking big English.

Sometimes, I could barely write a word down, everyone moved in cliques.
I also made a list of the things I missed in my beautiful town, Oraifite, the food, the smell of fresh palm wine, the rich aroma from the Earth after an afternoon rain.

“You must make sure you work hard and send us money to find you a wife, every man needs a woman to bear children for him,” my father would continue.

The culture and sub-conscious of our fathers, that women were only meant for breeding children and nothing more, was something I had to fight off in my hometown too.

I write for a living now.
Quite a lot has changed and is still going to change about me before the next six years
of my stay here in Springfield.


Meeting Jane
October was coming to an end and exams were almost over. Life in Springfield had really been challenging.
One of the places I loved spending my time alone in, was the library; the quietest place in the school.

It was free from every distraction and other boring activities.
At that time, students didn’t use the library much, since exams were almost over and Halloween was just a few days around the corner.


That Tuesday evening, I had gone to the library, a big Gothic football-field wide structure, sitting on the North-Eastern grounds of the college, and walked down the mid-riff of CS18, through several aisles, to locate a free slot, along with the 20 seaters elongated desk.

I kept my backpack and laptop on a table, beside a dark-haired young lady, face burrowed into a thick textbook. I could tell she didn’t even notice someone had taken a seat beside her.
“Hi, I’m Jonathan, Linguistics” I offered, for no reason in particular.

She turned her face, smiled as she stretched out her right hand towards me
“Jane Ford, Microbiology” I shook her hand.
She promptly turned away and continued studying,
I wandered over to the Contemporary African Literature section, 30 feet away, looking for a book to keep myself occupied.

Fetching two African Book Review Compendiums, I immediately headed back to where she was seated.
I couldn’t find her.

There was no trace that she had ever been there.
“Jane!?” I called out, careful not to be too loud, looking around.

All the other students, about 20 of them, in a 5-foot radius, seemed not to even hear me; each student was looking into his or her book, laptop or note with rapt focus.

I called a couple of times, walking several paces, to the adjacent shelves beyond the series of long tables demarcating the book sections. But there was no response. it was awkward, weird and made me slightly nervous.

But I snapped out of the disquiet, quickly rounded up my studies and was preparing to go before it started raining quite hard.
There was a rare violence to the rain, which I could see through the tall church-like windows of the Library. Quite a few students, intending to leave, had run back inside.

The general mirth from these returned students and others intending to leave congregated around the coffee machines on the corridor nearest the entrance. The smell of coffee was strong, where students decided to stay warm and wait out the rain.
The heavy downpour would continue till nightfall.


After about an hour, I went to the counter and checked out the compendiums, put them in my backpack, and neared the wide entrance of the Library, now closed.

After some indecision, when I couldn’t wait any longer, as I still had 5 books to review for my exams the following morning, I opened the main entrance slide door and went into the rain. I figured 11blocks wasn’t too far away; besides I could get warm real quick as the heating in my dorm was never off.

Besides, I had lots of coffee and could order hot food from the Deli located at my hostel’s ground floor.
I was walking alone since all the other students were avoiding the rain.

After 10minutes, of walking quickly under the mid-tempo windy rain, I came to the entrance of my lodge gate.
That’s when I saw a figure there standing beside the gate under a concrete awning just wide enough to prevent the rain from splashing on the person beneath.

The figure was shadowy; the lodge external lights had not come on yet.
I could not guess whom it was – I knew everyone in my dorm by side-profile – and this was not anyone I could place as being a permanent resident.

I was a little nervous approaching from 10feet away. As I came closer, the figure made it’s way towards me, leaving the protective shade and coming into the ebbing rain.
A couple of tentative steps closer and her face was revealed.


“Jane? What are you doing here?”.
She kept quiet and came closer looking scared and cold.

I took off my jacket and covered her body, and asked again to know what she was doing in front of the building by that time of the night, she looked at me and that was the first time I saw her real face, the rain dried from her black hair down to every part of her body; she was almost same height as me with beautiful brown eyes,

“I’m sorry I was just waiting for the rain to stop so I could get going. I’m allergic to cold…”
I thought about what she said for some moments but thoughts about how pretty she was, filled my head.
She was black.
Just like me.
I couldn’t go inside and watch her stay there, to freeze.

So I offered her to come inside and have a cup of hot Brazilian coffee to warm herself up.
She declined, but after some insistence, from me, she agreed.
I took her inside, up the lifts to my 3rd-floor apartment and switched on the lights.


I quickly made two cups of hot coffee and offered her one.
She took it and gulped it gradually and effortlessly.
We kept a deep silence, the two of us, that seemed natural.
There seemed no need for words.
The rain spoke for us.

We stayed in my room till 11.55pm and the rain, inexplicably quickened it’s pace and rhythm like it had never started.
“Quite a weather, huh?“ I asked, to break the long silence between us.
She smiled.

I told her she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen in Springfield since I arrived; It wasn’t about her being black, there was something different about her.
I also pointed out to her, that she didn’t talk much; she listened and had this attractive way of looking at me that sent shivers across me.

“I think I should go now, it seems the rain won’t stop.” she got up and removed my jacket, from the rack, by the door and placed it in the chair and turned to leave.

It was hard to understand what she wanted to do, and I couldn’t let her go, not after she told me about her health condition.
I rushed to the door, which she had opened, with her hand on the knob.
My hand slammed it back shut.


“I can’t let you go, it’s not about the rain, it’s late, what if something happens to you out there – it’s dangerous Jane”
She turned and looked into my eyes, we were so close to each other now, she kept her eyes fixed into mine like she was casting a witch spell on me.
I didn’t know what to do or say, she came closer to me and ran her hands on my chest, and started kissing the area.

I couldn’t understand what was happening.
Normally it’s supposed to be a date and a couple of hangouts then sex – that’s if it was ever gonna happen.

She pulled me close to her and I felt my body against hers.
For a guy who hadn’t touched a woman for six months, it was everything to me.
She unzipped my trousers and dropped them to the floor, and got me out of my shirt and undershirt.
Then she stripped herself.
She dropped her dress and jacket to the floor beside mine.
I could now see her clearly, her ass was a sight to behold, and she had on a black string which stuck deep into her ass and a black lacy bra too.


She sucked in my nipples and placed her hand inside my boxers and grabbed my already hard cock from its roots and squeezed it.
It felt so good.
Soft moans eluded my mouth each time she sucked on my nipples.

She continued and then looked into my eyes again and kissed me hard on surprised lips.
Then, she turned around gesturing me to unhook her bra which I did obediently.
The two obstinate Melon-sized boobs sprouted out of their cotton-cuff cages.
Then, she took my hand from behind and placed them on her boobs, and made me squeeze them together.

Each time I pressed her erect nipples, her hips would shift, and her pubic region would shift make frissons of contact with my throbbing cock.

I couldn’t wait to bury my dick in all that ass.
I pressed her harder from behind more and more, she removed her panties by herself and guided my cock inside her wet swollen vulva, I could feel my own body vibrate hard and my veins spike up deep-rooted blood as my cock made its way into her pussy chocolate pink hole. She had started dripping wet.

She moaned with liquefying pleasure and with her hands still on the doorknob, she pushed back effortlessly making my cock go deeper inside her, she held my hand against her boobs and pushed harder, I coveted the splash sounds her wet cunt made each time I thrust, the milky rain continued falling harder and I kept on thrusting harder. It was a moment filled with magic. I couldn’t let it slide from me.


She turned and my cock sprang out of her pussy, she pushed me to the bed and climbed on top of me and placed my cock inside again, she looked into my eyes and ground me with passion, making sure I enjoyed every part of the moves she made.

She looked into my eyes and kissed my ear and whispered.
“Nobody can save us – say it, baby…” I didn’t understand what she meant but took it as a sexual commercial and repeated after her.
“Nobody will save us…” she made me say it a lot of times and then I turned her over and climbed on top of her and started going around in circles, I saw her juices dripping in between her asshole to the bed sheets

I made sure my dick scratched every button inside her pussy wall and I could tell she felt it from the way she screamed and held onto me. She rolled me over again and started riding deeper this time.

I could feel myself climax, I wanted to pull out but she was in control and rode me so good that I didn’t have a choice than to pour inside her, she smiled and kissed me.

She fell beside me and we slept with our bodies wrapped around each other.

In the morning I woke up and couldn’t find her.
Not even a trace.
No note.
How can I even describe her?


Weeks passed and yet no sign of her. I went to the library there was nothing and began asking around about her. I went to the counter, to make inquiries, from the deputy librarian about her.

Mrs. Fordham was a stern woman in her late sixties, with eyeglasses perpetually resting on her nostrils; with this air of condescension, whenever addressing presumptive students.

“You said her name is Jane Ford, microbiology?”
I nodded in agreement and explained she came along to study here sometimes

The woman looked terrified and looked at me again which got me wondering and nervous.
“Any problem ma’am? Do you have any idea how I can find her? it’s important…”

The woman asked me to follow her and I did.
We went into her office, she closed the door behind me and brought out a photo album.
She swiped through it, her demeanor thoughtful until she came to a particular picture and stopped.
“Is she the one you are talking about?”
I looked into the specified picture, for a few moments, and then hesitantly nodded.
“Yes, that’s her…Jane,“

The woman looked terrified again.
By that moment I knew I was into something bigger than myself.
“She died six years ago. Her body was found in this library with an inscription on her palm.
It said ‘no one can save us…’”

I could feel the hormones in my body shrink and my head swell and become heavy, the library divided itself into three compartments before my eyes. I struggled to believe the Librarian. Yet I knew she was telling me the truth.


I walked in a deep daze all the way back to my dorm.
I entered my room and switched on the light, laid on my bed and thought about what was going to happen.

Then I heard soft footsteps out in the hall – I knew somehow they were coming to my door.
They stopped and I heard a knock.
I ignored the knock and turned out the light.
The knock came again.
And again.
They continued for an hour.

Finally, I stood up, walked to the door and held the doorknob.


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