Location: Benin (Voodoo heartland).

The chicken gave a final jolt as his neck was cranked back and his throat slit with the razor blade. His blood poured into the mouth of the Vodun divinity,  a dark spirit imprisoned in stone. The feathers were plucked and cast upon on the sacred ground below, while the men of the forest whispered words unknown. To complete the ritual, the worshipers doused the shrine in a fiery brew - delicious West African hot sauce!

We were very lucky to bear witness to such a ceremony. To the very few travelers who do find themselves on the shores of Lake Aheme, the Voodoo practices of the locals remain shrouded in mystery.

They say one should make a sacrifice to the divinity if one has received good fortune, to give thanks. Those who don’t, are cursed.

This makes an appropriate preface to what happened me last night. I rolled the dice once to often, I took too much. Perhaps my Karmic balance was a little off kelter; I got some bad juju. Either way, I took too many chances, and eventually my cheeky antics landed me in some seriously deep shit. Literally…

Last night in the capital, Cotonou…

4AM – KNOCK KNOCK!

I awake from my slumber. The hottie beside me wraps her naked bronze body in a towel and gets up to answer the door. It’s her room mate – and she’s not happy. Outside the two start talking. It’s hard to make out the pidgin French, but I hear money mentioned. I start putting on my clothes, sensing something fishy.

My girls comes into the bathroom. “Give me some money.”. She demands.

Context- I exchanged numbers with this girl outside a club one night. This girl had been texting me love messages for three days. She knew I didn’t P4P. We went out, shared a bottle of wine and ended up at her place. I only had taxi fare in my pocket.

It was a set up.

I brought the girl outside the front door to discuss the issue. She told me her room mate wanted money for the room. She fed me so much BS my head was spinning. When I told her NO … I was informed her room mate and the guys in the building were going to “make problem” for me now. I thought fast.

Me: “OK, I don’t want problem”.

I completely change the subject, start patting down my trousers and look alarmed.

Me: “Hey, where’s my bandanna?”

Her: “It must be in the room..” (it was actually in my back pocket.)

Me: “Do you mind getting it for me?”

She turns and enters the room.

I tip top backward, turn around and F*#KING LEG IT!!!

My ill-fated escape is best described in poetry form…

Bad Juju
I turn at the chance, and I run, run run…
I dash and I dart through the labyrinth slum.
The Voodoo dolls screeched and the moto men grunted,
The chase had begun and I was the hunted.
In the darkness I flea, I scramble in vain,
I round random corners, I take random lanes.
I climb a dirt mound, then soon disappear..
as I fall from the edge, and plunge to Lake Merde.

(aka – a third world sewege pit)

SPLASH!

Deep in the sludge, grizzle and grit,
every last inch of me covered in shit.
I wade in the waste and flounder in feces,
seething with insects and sickening species.
I slunk on the shore, but time I had none,
So I take to the streets and I run, run, run…

 

The Siege of Abidjan was the finest so far in West Africa…

The streets of Cote d’Ivoire’s capital are shellshocked. And so began the night of the resurrection; the first time the bars and clubs had opened their doors in three months. The troops assemble and march to the bass drum. The air is hormonal. Everybody had been hibernating and now it was mating season.

In the high end venues, the ratio of girls in the nightclub is around 80% and standards are through the roof. Competition is fierce. All of a sudden, the bar is raided by Mexican Pirates! ARGHH!!! (pics coming).

They plunder their African booty with little effort.

As for me… I exchange a few numbers, keeping my options open for who’s cooking the next night. On a side trip to the bathroom, I briefly makeout with a serious little hottie wearing a french maid corset. After that, a bootylicious babe approaches me and tells me to wait outside. She wants to be pillaged immediately. I exit with the girl at my tale, only to find the hottie from the bathroom standing outside. Turns out – both girls are sisters!

Forced to make a choice, the bathroom beauty was too hot to put down (but easy to pickup at just 35 kilos!). I had my way with her while her sister tried to sleep in the same bed – a bizarre scenario, even for me! I saw her watching occasionally. She looked quite envious of her dainty little sister, who was clearly enjoying being railed. The sis I had chosen strangely caught off on the whole thing. She didn’t hold back on the volume and wouldn’t let me stop until the sun came up. At one stage in the night, her big sister even asked if she could have me when she was finished!!! Unfortunately, my girl was in no mood for sharing… but I’m not complaining too much, she was a little stunner!

Showing up just after a civil war is prime time for a cheeky Seige. Good times.

 

We scramble frantically through the Liberian jungle. Time is short. The forest grows ever more sinister now, the atmosphere becomes tense. An eerie quiet pervades the wilderness as mist sets upon our path. The jungle is thick and brooding. We pass small villages and refugee camps. Along the dusty roadside, villagers stare at us as we pass, baffled by our presence. There is only one place in the world you could be going…. Cote d’Ivoire. We arrive at the border of the minutes before it closes, every inch of us covered in red dust. We are the only people around.

An estimated 165,000 Ivorians fled their country since the turmoil, with most escaping to Liberia. Although Gbagbo has just been captured, people have been killed in the country the day before we arrived. It seems however, the humanitarian crisis has clearly been deflated. The wooden bridge that separates the two countries no longer hosts a torrent of desperate souls. The time we arrived, it only knew the footsteps on two wandering Irishmen, dawning sombreros and a our pet Monrovian chicken – Captain ‘Francais’ Cluck. Forgot to mention, we bought a pet chicken in Liberia. He became an honorary cluckineer for the trip! (great at disarming corrupt officials and border guards btw!)

Anyway, back to the border. A group of Ivorian soldiers beckon us as we cross no man’s land. They take our passports. After a lot of investigating it started. “Donne 10,000 CFA! ($20)” It wasn’t happening. He dropped the bribe to 1000. We were in no mood. It took a lot of persistence to get out passports back without handing over cash. Unfortunately the guy at immigration was even more stubborn. He refused to give us an entry stamp without paying 1000 CFA. We bite our tongues and forked it over. The sun was starting to set and the rains were on their way. We needed to get to the next town before the dark. We hoped on a moto and started our journey into the Ivorian jungle. We knew we would face problems…

Although the distance to the town was short, there was no road. We snaked through the bush on a bumpy mud track, taking us through large stretches of stagnant water and makeshift wooden bridges. Only a kilometer down the trail, our first checkpoint. Bribe. Another few kilometers, same story. Bribe again. It was getting dark. Traveling the path at night was unwise at best, reckless at worst. It was not safe.

After one hour, Gary’s tire burst. Nightmare. We were not going anywhere. The driver attempted a repair and time wore on. The horizon grew dim and darkness swept across the land. Then, a little drizzle persisted. I had not felt rain on my skin in several weeks and I welcomed each drop. Lightning ignited the sky. The jungle was roaring with life; a open air concert of cacophonous inserts, birds and strange sounding creatures. In the darkness, I became mystified as the air became alight with fire flies dancing to the fiery sky.  A spectacle seen be few. But this was no magic moment…

Gary’s driver soon revealed his inner tube was destroyed. We were in the middle of nowhere, stranded in the Ivorian jungle in a lawless place. Blood still ran down the many small rivers we passed. It was a dangerous excursion. Faced with little choice – Gary, his luggage and Captain cluck climbed on my moto. We began the slow trek through the African wilderness, lightning at our back and darkness in out path.

It was almost inevitable that only a few kilometers later, we should run out of gas…

How do I tell this story?

I have managed (yet again) to leave fire in my wake, this time in Freetown, Sierra Leone.

This is a tale of death threats, arrests, virgins, exile and chicken. Revenge is a dish best served cold…

Ingredients

• 1 freshly prepared chicken with rice
• 1 fish dish with West African plantain
• A spicy blue-eyed chick (1/2 Saudi, 1/2 Liberian mixture)
• A delicious bite-sized Blasian virgin, matured 16 years (1/2 Chinese, 1/2 Sierra Leonian mixture)
• An angry mother hen (virgin’s mother)
• 100% premium Irish Beef (aka myself)

Appetizers

Step 1

Allow the Saudi to prepare chicken dinner. After enjoying food, insert penis. After all, she deserves it after slaving in the kitchen.

Step 2

The following night, allow Blasian virgin to prepare fish dinner before bringing it to your place (aka the slaughterhouse). Be warned, mother hen is lurking in the shadows, wary of her young offspring playing by  the slaughterhouse.

Step 3

Time the meal with the Blasian precisely at the moment the Saudi from the night before walks right by your door.

Step 4

Place Blasian inside to avoid Saudi attack. Mix remaining ingredients. Unleash hell.

Results

The Saudi spice overpowers the Irish beef and everything gets ruined. The heat rises and shit turns nasty. Irish beef becomes mince meat. To compensate, add angry mother hen to counteract the Saudi spice. A violence reaction occurs, the street turns into a warzone with twenty people trying to kill each other. The police become involved and assault charges are filed against the mother hen for her vicious attack on the Saudi. Irish beef escapes with a few bruises, consoles the Saudi and once again inserts penis.

Main Course

Step 1

Allow thing to cool down for one day. After which, attempt fish again with ultra-cute Blasian virgin.

Step 2

Spend amazing night with Blasian. Glaze with honey, sweeten with sugar and leave over night. By morning, the sweet 16yo should be de-virgined after being stuffed with Irish beef. Make sure to use oil and cook with love. Add reggae music to make ‘the belly full’.

Step 3

The Blasian beef combo already make a delicious dish. The aftertaste is to die for. To enrich flavour, appease mother hen. This is done by ringing up the Saudi and threatening to file your own assault charges unless the charges against the mother are withdrawn.

Results

The Saudi explodes. The mother hen is arrested anyway and a death threat is issued. The Irish beef is fast approaching it’s expiry date. With corrupt police being allies of the Saudi this is likely to be very soon. Saudi hires beach boys to do the washing up. Go to the Irish consulate and follow his recommendations.

Dessert

There is no dessert for you, just leave to country as soon as fucking possible. Let’s see what Liberia has on the menu…

What have we learned?

Avoid stuffing your face with chicks who live close your slaughterhouse. Hazards include death, mad cow disease and diarrhea.