 
### A Lonely Man

### Returns to Africa

By

Terry Minett

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Published by Terry Minett at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Terry Minett

Cover design by

Obusa

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### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This ebook must not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded without the written permission of the Author

* * * * *

All characters in this book are fictitious, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Parts of this book contain adult content.

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Index

Chapter 1 \- West Africa

Chapter 2 \- Bamako to the Dogon

Chapter 3 \- Casamance

Chapter 4 \- Border Hop Gambia

Chapter 5 \- Ziguinchor

Chapter 6 \- Doctor I think I have Malaria

Chapter 7 \- Bissau and Back

Chapter 8 - Living in Ziguinchor

Chapter 9 \- Passports to Prosecutor

Chapter 10 \- Madness in Abéné

Chapter 11 \- Another One Ends

Chapter 12 \- East Africa

Chapter 13 \- The Tourist Bit

Chapter 14 \- Too Much Sex

Chapter 15 \- Rwanda Good and Bad

Chapter 16 - Kitoro and Beyond

Chapter 17 \- Fuck England

Chapter 18 \- End

About the Author

~~~~~

Chapter 1

West Africa

I've stayed in England for five years, I need to travel, I need to get out. I have the idea of going back to Africa. Having spent three years in Southern Africa, I thought I would try West Africa.

My Alitalia flight touches down in Dakar, the capital of Senegal. Passport stamped I head for baggage reclaim.

I read that this airline still belongs to the government of Italy. It's in a very bad financial situation. Unions are striking all of the time, so flights get delayed. Well that part hasn't happened, I'm here.

They also have a bad record for losing luggage. When the bus was taking us across the tarmac of Milan Airport to our awaiting plane, I saw a suitcase all on its own; it must have fallen off the trolley taking it to the plane.

Well that hasn't happened to me either, I see my bag on the conveyor.

I've made my way to the outside of the building; it's a beautiful warm evening. I have a taxi to take me to a small hotel I'd pre-booked.

The area I need is called Les Mamelles; it's not a great distance from the airport. I chose this because I was arriving when it was dark, going into a city you don't know is never good at night.

We reach the hotel. Getting out of the taxi I'm met by two Frenchmen, they are the owners.

One comes back into the hotel with me. He explains to the boy on the reception desk that I have a booking, he then bids me goodnight.

The boy takes me to my room, it's tidy, in fact the whole place is well kept.

After a few beers, I tuck myself up in bed. Tomorrow I can have a good look around this place.

My reason for coming here is music, then food. There are some very famous singers and musicians from this part of Africa. The place was a former French colony, so I'm thinking maybe the French have left their mark in the culinary department.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful morning.

The owner gave me lots of information this morning. There's a lighthouse, I saw this last night. You can follow the road to the top, once there he tells me I will get some good views. There are a few beaches nearby, within walking distance.

I decide to walk to the top of the hill where the lighthouse is. The road is tarmac, it spirals around the hill. I notice a lot of people, black Senegalese, running up the hill. They are dressed in shorts, vest and trainers; some are even using stopwatches to time themselves.

I finally reach the top, no easy walk. I see why they want to run up here, it's a good test for the body.

The views are good; I see the beaches, the airport, some island, lots of ocean. The building looks old, built by the French perhaps.

Going down is easy; next stop the beach to relax.

The day was a good one, showered and changed lets see what the evening brings.

Talking to the owner over a beer, I get some more information. He tells me this weekend at one of the stadiums, there's a concert featuring West African musicians.

There are two Frenchmen staying here in the hotel he tells me. They are going to make a film, ask them, they will give you the information.

I'm introduced to the men, what they tell me is interesting. The concert will feature all of the top West African artists. They supply me with a list of names, I'm impressed. The concert is organised by Youssou N'Dour, a very famous Senegalese singer. It's to help in the fight against malaria.

They tell me that if I want to go on Saturday, I can go to the stadium with them.

I can't believe my luck. I came here to listen to some music; I thought I would be looking around for some venues in the city. I'm going to see all of the top artists in one go.

Today I want to go into the city centre, Place de l'Independance. I've been told to go to the main road; there I can stop a taxi. The fare should be 1000 CFA.

Waiting here I see plenty of taxis. The first two I've stopped asked for 2000 CFA, that's the white skin syndrome. Finally I get a driver who agrees to 1000 CFA.

The road follows the coastline; there are beaches, a few nice buildings.

They do like their jogging here, just like I'd seen when I was walking up to the lighthouse, people kitted out in running gear. On one beach are apparatus for keep fit. Men are doing pull ups, others lifting weights, a bit of California.

I notice a few embassy buildings along the route. One interests me, the Malian Embassy. I want to go to Mali in a week or two.

The taxi arrives at the Place de l'Independance, this is pretty central I think.

With the little information I have, I start to explore. The first place I find is Marche Kermel, a fish and vegetable market just off the square. The building is round with several entrances. Once inside you see the colours of the fruit and vegetables, then you get the smell. Everything looks so fresh, almost like it's just been picked from the tree or dug out of the ground.

Walking away from the square, I find myself at the main railway station. This is a good bit of colonial architecture, not sure how many trains run here in Senegal. I was told that there's a train to Bamako, the capital of Mali.

The sun is hot; I need to go back to the square.

I find a good bar on one corner of the square. Why I like it is because there are seats outside. I haven't seen another place here in the square with outside seating. This to me is a little strange, I would have expected bars and cafés to surround this area.

Once seated, I'm asked by a beautiful girl what I would like to drink. My first beers have been Gazelle, this time I will try Flag, it's a stronger beer.

This cute waitress brings me my drink with a smile. It's very cold; it goes down my throat giving me a good feeling. It does taste stronger than Gazelle, looking at the labelling its percentage is higher.

Sitting here I watch the city moving. People are selling everything possible on the street. One man is carrying a carpet on his shoulder, another is carrying pillows, then there are pots and pans, clothes, everything is here.

There's a security man on the terrace, he keeps the hawkers out. The terrace is only three metres square; they just move around and try to deal with you over the fence.

The traffic is a one way system around the square, like any capital city it's busy.

Another thing I've started to notice is the girls, they are very beautiful. They are so slim, real Coca Cola figures. They seem to like wearing tight jeans, so tight you can see the pussy lips. Being a Muslim country, this surprises me.

It's mid-afternoon, I need to get back before rush hour traffic.

Tonight, I want to go to a small restaurant bar near the hotel. Showered I start my walk to the main road. I reach the bar, entering through a doorway into an open area. There's no roof, only over the bar area. Another one of these beautiful Senegalese girls serves me.

Sat drinking my Flag, I notice a short white man. He has very little manners; he's rude to his customers and the girl. He's a little shit; he's five feet tall, long hair to his shoulders with nothing on the top. I think his mother should have drowned him at birth, or taught him some manners.

I find out from the hotel manager that he's Italian. He was a photographer, spending a long time in this part of Africa. He married a Senegalese woman who left him; I wouldn't blame her for that.

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm in the taxi with one of the Frenchmen filming the concert. We arrive at the stadium; he points me in the direction I need to go. Getting to the entrance, I'm told 1000 CFA for a ticket. That's £1 in England, fucking bargain.

There are a few promotional tents selling music. I walk straight past them and into the main stand.

I'm greeted by the sounds of Tinariwen; this is a group from Mali. They are Tuareg people from the desert. I found this group sometime ago; they are a favourite for me. I can't believe my luck, this band I didn't expect to see.

Many more artists appear; they come from many parts of West Africa. The likes of Salif Keita, the albino singer from Mali, the organiser of the concert Youssou N'Dour and Baaba Maal, both from Senegal to name but a few.

The Sunday performance was good also. When I arrived at the gate I was pushed through, they didn't want any money.

Today I'm back in the city, the port area to be exact. Here I'm going to board a ferry to Île de Gorée, Goree Island to the English. This island is a short boat crossing from the city. It's tourist attraction is its history with slavery.

The boat leaves the port, slowly the buildings get smaller and the island gets bigger.

The sounds of the city also start to dissolve, the noise of cars and people, are gone.

The island is now close, you get a good view of the fort, this is round and perched on the edge of the ocean.

The boat turns into its mooring, to one side is a small beach.

Everyone disembarks, first thing I feel is the silence of the place. It's so quiet after the noise of the city.

I head for the fort, its white paint very bright to my eyes. Inside is information boards screwed to the walls. On top of the wall I get some nice photographs, the ocean making a nice backdrop.

I start walking around the island; there is a lot of old colonial architecture. It's a very pretty place, walking is easy, it's a small island.

Finally I'm outside the House of Slaves; this is what everyone comes to see. The slaves were incarcerated here waiting to board the slave ships to Europe and the Americas. They would leave by a back door; I'm going to see if I can get round the back of this building.

I find my way to the back; I can get right up to the door. It's a single door; the slave would have walked from the dark of the inside into the daylight. A short walk to the water, they would have been placed in a small boat and rowed out to the awaiting ship.

The trip to Goree was nice, so peaceful. It was strange coming back, the closer the city buildings became, the noise increased.

During the next week I visited Ngor, nice beach there. Les Almadies, lots of restaurants selling fresh fish dishes. The market of Marche Sandaga, this is not far from Place de l'Independance. It's a huge market selling just about everything. It's total chaos.

I was also a regular to the bar in the square. I would sit there drinking my Flag; if she wasn't busy the pretty waitress would come and chat.

I managed to go to the Malian Embassy, one hour and I was in possession of a visa.

I went to the train station to enquire about the train to Bamako. They told me they sold the ticket on the day. They couldn't tell me when the train would leave.

I took a local man there with me on another occasion, maybe they didn't understand me. He talked in the local language Wolof; he didn't get any joy from these people either.

The train is prone to breakdowns; maybe that's why they can't tell.

Fuck it, I'm getting a flight.

~~~~~

Chapter 2

Bamako to the Dogon

I'm on a flight to Bamako, the capital city of Mali. The captain tells us we will be landing in ten minutes.

A nice smooth decent and we touch down on the runway of Senou International Airport.

It's mid morning as I descend the stairs from the aircraft, the sun is very strong.

It's a short walk to the terminal building. Before I'm allowed to enter, I have to produce my Yellow Fever Vaccination Card to an oversize lady official. She's sat on a chair that's straining to hold her gigantic body.

Passport control finished, baggage claimed, I find myself outside the terminal. The taxis have a set fee, no haggling required.

The driver takes me to my requested hotel drop, right in the centre of Old Bamako. The room is fine; it's clean, not cheap though.

I start to walk around this city, it's dirty, it's noisy, there seems to be too many people and cars.

After a few hours walking I need a beer, the temperature must be in the thirties.

I find a nice place to sit; it's near some museum or cultural centre. The lady serves me with a beer, it's very cold. I notice she's giving me a lot of eye contact. When she's not busy, she comes and sits with me. Her English is very good, very clear. She's thirty eight, pretty woman, and good body. She asks where I'm staying. I give her the name of my hotel.

"I will come there tonight",

she tells me.

I tell her that's fine; we can have a drink somewhere.

The evening is here; I'm showered and changed, just waiting for the lady.

She arrives; she's on African time, fifteen minutes late. I ask her where she would like to go.

"It's your decision",

she tells me.

A few more minutes pass, we're kissing. A few more minutes pass, we're naked. Condom in place we start to fuck.

Love making finished we head out into the city for a drink. Finding a small bar we spend the evening talking. At one point she asks me if I want to buy some diamonds. I tell her I'm not interested.

I spent one more night in the hotel, today I'm at the bus terminal. I want to get on a bus to a place called Mopti.

Ticket purchased I take my seat. After a long wait the bus is moving. We're on a pretty good road.

The scenery is interesting, the journey long. I think it will take us nine hours to get there.

The bus arrives in Mopti; it's still light which is good. It doesn't take me long to find my guest house. The room is very basic, there's a ceiling fan, that's going to be important. The sun is almost set but the heat is still there.

The evening is spent drinking a few beers. I'm pestered every five minutes with someone telling me he's a guide.

Last night I was chatting with another Englishman, Raymond. He like me is going to do the Dogon walk. We've decided to do it together; we will leave for Bandiagara tomorrow.

Today he wants to go to a place called Djenne; he asks me if I'm interested in going there.

"It's not on my schedule, but I will give it a shot",

I tell him.

Transport there is by four wheel drive. They are certainly inflating the price, white skin syndrome again.

We finally negotiate the best price we're likely to get.

"Let's go",

we tell the driver.

I think we've been driving for one hour; the road comes to a stop. There's a small river, fifteen to twenty metres wide. The bridge has collapsed, there's a small ferry taking people and cars across. The ferry can accommodate two cars, thank fuck it's not busy.

Transporting us across takes a few minutes. During that time we talk to a young man who is a guide.

"The place is small; we weren't going to get a guide".

The money we're giving him is little, maybe he will give us information we would otherwise miss.

Finally we reach our destination. The first thing you notice is the Grand Mosque.

Lamin our guide explains that this place is a World Heritage Site. The mosque is the biggest mud building in the world. The camera keeps clicking, this is picture paradise.

We follow him into a building, climbing some steps we find ourselves on the roof. Now we can look down on the mosque, the square and all the surrounding buildings. More and more photographs are taken.

Prayers finish, the men come out of the mosque, it's a fantastic sight. The camera is clicking again.

Lamin takes us through the small alleyways. He shows us repairs being done on the mud buildings.

He shows us a tomb of a young girl, Tapama Diene. She was offered by her father for sacrifice. She was buried alive poor thing.

Tour finished Lamin takes us to his house; we meet his wife and baby son. We are fed with traditional food, no extra charge.

The day in Djenne was a good one. Lamin was a great find; his knowledge of the place was good. We would never have got onto the roof with out some prior knowledge. The photographs taken are fantastic, for me a good day.

I was reading Raymond's guide, there's a hotel bar here called Bar Mopti. The guide tells you to stay there only if all else fails. It's full of prostitutes; the smell of urine is strong. It's also supposed to be the oldest building in Mopti. This is a must visit for me.

"Do you fancy a beer there tonight Raymond?"

I ask.

He's willing to try the place out.

We're trying to find this bar, it's not easy. Raymond is using the map he has in the guide book. Finally we find the place, I can't see any sign.

Walking in through the entrance door, the smell of urine hits you. Just like the book says, it's true.

Looking to the right I see a dimly lit room; I think it's the bar. We walk towards the light, passing through an open doorway we are in the bar.

There's a pretty girl behind the bar serving, she's more interested in the television.

We seem to be the only customers, no one else. We order two beers, drinking and smelling piss is not the easiest thing to do.

Two girls appear from nowhere, they are very beautiful, they must be the prostitutes. Their hands are very touchy; I need to watch my wallet.

I've noticed another room off the bar, there's no lighting in there, it's pitch black.

They ask us if we want to go in there with them, we decline. More girls arrive, now there are eight. Looking at these girls they look young, early twenties.

We spend nearly two hours in the bar. The girls tell us about their lives, where they are from. None of them are from Mali, they are Nigerian, Ghanaian, if they are telling the truth.

Today we have our transport to Bandiagara. It should be a one hour drive away. Setting off we make good time, the driver is a bit of a speed freak.

Seeing a good bit of the countryside we reach a lodge. Driving into a garden of thick green vegetation, we get out of the taxi. We are met by the receptionist who shows us the rooms; they are nice and very cheap.

It's not long before we're approached by someone claiming to be a guide. His name is Ali, he seems a likeable type. The more we speak to him, the more trusting he becomes to us.

We negotiate a price with him, $23 for three days. This will include three meals per day, it seems too cheap. Deal struck, he will pick us up in a car tomorrow.

The lodge is a nice place. There are two thatched granaries, the mud walls having intricate carvings. The garden is well stocked with trees offering shade from the heat of the sun. The only problem is that it's a few kilometres from Bandiagara.

Morning arrives, so does Ali with our transport. We pay the driver the fare, off we go. The journey is not a long one; we're soon being dispatched onto the escarpment. The road is finished, now we walk.

The landscape is fantastic, very rocky and very dry. Ali tells us that it looks very different in the wet season.

We walk for five kilometres, the sun is too hot. I'm very happy to be making the first stop at a Dogon Village.

Well food is being prepared; Ali takes us around the village. The houses are mud under a thatch roof.

The centre piece of the village is a building with no walls. It's a roof on pillars; the roof is made with the stalks of some plant. Ali tells us that it's called a Toguna; it's a meeting place to discuss important issues. The other strange thing is how low it is. Again Ali explains to us that the height is for a reason. If the talks get heated the people can't stand up, this avoids any violence.

Food was rice and a bit of vegetable, nothing special, filled the stomach up though.

We walk along the escarpment, sometimes clambering up rocks, sometimes clambering down. The scenery is still breathtaking.

I'm finding the walk pretty tough, Ali is keeping up a fast pace. I ask Raymond if he thinks the same, he does. We tell Ali we need to slow down, he's happy with that. I suppose for him, the quicker we finish the quicker he gets his money and is back home.

We arrive at our place of rest for the night. The houses in this village are different, each roof is flat. Ali tells us that's where we can sleep if we want.

Guess what's for supper? rice and vegetables. Slowly the sun disappears, for me it's up onto the roof.

This is where I get my first experience of a Dogon ladder. It's a tree, circular in shape, there's notches cut out to put your feet in and climb. It looks like a set of steps, should be easy. When I start to climb I find the steps are small, you need good balance to use this thing.

After managing the accent onto the roof, I'm tucked up in my sleeping bag. I look up at the sky, no light pollution; it's full of twinkling stars. I fall asleep looking at them.

New day, breakfast of bread and tea, we're off.

We seem to be on the edge of the escarpment. Looking out into what is a vast area of desert; Ali tells us that it's Burkina Faso. Looking down I see a few more villages.

We follow the escarpment, the views are stunning. Soon we reach the next village. For lunch, rice and vegetables.

I'd forget how hot the sun is, I think marvelling at the scenery made me forget.

Lunch finished we move on, we're still following the top of the escarpment I think. We walk for three hours and then make a stop for a soda. The soda is warm, but in this heat it will suffice. Sat drinking under a roof of thatch on four poles, we look into the distance toward Burkina Faso.

The man who serves us is dressed in traditional clothing, he's happy to let us take photographs at no charge. His wife also wants to be party to the photo shoot, she comes and joins us.

We're moving again, that sun is too hot. I think we only have a couple of hours walking.

Well I was wrong about a couple of hours, we've reached the village and the sun is almost set.

These villages are really back to the dark ages. I wonder what it would be like to live here permanently.

Tonight was a surprise, spaghetti with vegetables.

Raymond is sleeping inside tonight; I have to admit it is a little cooler.

I climb the ladder, still bloody difficult. The moon is full; this illuminates the big rock adjacent to the village. I'm feeling tired, it doesn't take long for me to fall asleep.

I'm stirred from my sleep, opening my eyes I find darkness; the moon is hidden behind a black, black sky. The wind is whistling over the rooftop, is rain coming? The wind gets stronger; it's starting to feel very cold. There's an old grass mat here on the roof, I cover myself with it.

Getting down that ladder in the dark will be difficult; I could fall and break something. Not a good idea up here on the escarpment.

This wind is cold, like being in England, please don't rain.

I survived the cold night; the rain didn't come thank heavens. Breakfast, bread and tea, off we go.

Walking along, Ali tells us we will be dropping down from the top of the escarpment. Slowly we wind our way down a kind of pathway.

There's a small single track to follow, lots of loose stones, to the side a bloody long drop. We're heading towards a Dogon ladder; it's spanning the crevice we're following.

Please no.

We arrive at the ladder, it's at sixty degrees, fucking hell this is a balancing act. Ali confirms my fears, we have to cross here.

I stand on the edge, the crevice is about one hundred feet down and the distance to the other side is twelve feet.

I get my foot into the first notch, this is fucking scary. One by one I move my feet to the next notch, wishing I had a rail to hold onto. Finally I reach the other side, I'm very relieved.

I'm soon joined by Ali and Raymond. We make our way on down until we finally reach the base of the escarpment.

We reach a village, the houses are made from stones, no cement, or I can't see any.

We're shown into one of the houses, they are brewing beer. Another house is covered with skulls of monkeys, there's a snake, a tail from some animal. The lady sitting outside tells us her daughter is the village hunter. I wonder if this is the truth, or is she the witchdoctor.

Now we're following the escarpment at the bottom. It looks like a cliff, looking up you see caves, and little houses.

I've not been wearing walking shoes, just sandals. My feet have a few blisters, they are very painful.

Our next stop is more like a small town than the traditional villages we've been through. Here the cliff is covered in small dwellings. I get my photographs from down here, I then sit and wait for Ali and Raymond to return.

When they return I ask Ali how much more walking we have.

"Four kilometres",

he says.

I explain to him that my feet are not good. I ask him,

"is there any other alternative?"

There is, we pay a small fee for a young boy with a donkey and cart. We all jump aboard and have a leisurely ride to our next village.

This village is mud construction; it sits right at the base of the cliff. Beware of falling rocks.

I spend my last night in a Dogon village sleeping on the roof. Tomorrow it's goodbye to Pays du Dogon.

We left our last village a few hours ago; we've walked a few kilometres to where we will pick up transport back to Bandiagara.

It doesn't take Ali long before he has found a car for us. Jumping in we are soon on route to Bandiagara. Raymond gets out before we get there; he wants to go to Burkina Faso. Ali tells him he will get a lift here.

Arriving in Bandiagara Ali takes me to a lodge, it's good, and it's cheap.

Talking to people that evening, they tell me about a festival tomorrow. It's a Dogon festival, not a tourist festival. That's the project for tomorrow.

I find some transport, a motorbike. Sitting on the back, I'm transported to the town where the festival will take place.

It wasn't a long journey; I'm soon in the town. It's a small place, everything is far apart. There's a big area, this is where the Dogon people are gathering.

I walk across; there are already hundreds of Dogon people here. They are wearing traditional clothes. Some are playing drums they are carrying, others have guns which they fire into the air, the noise is deafening.

I see some horsemen, men with masks, the women dance, this is chaos. Guns are being fired all over the place, this could be dangerous.

One man explains to me that each village is represented, there are more to come. He tells me that one is coming now.

"Can you see the dust in the distance?"

he asks me.

I wait, the mass of people get closer and closer. Finally they arrive, with guns being fired, drums playing, they are greeted by the other people.

Walking around I see the horsemen have grown to about one hundred. They are galloping at speed, people have to get out of the way or risk being trampled.

They are coming in my direction, camera at the ready I wait. They gallop closer until they are passing me. They are too close; I can't move back, I'm pushed against a wall. Finally they all pass by; they were to close for comfort.

This festival is very dangerous, nothing is organised. The villagers just turn up on mass, then all hell breaks loose. But it's a good spectacle.

I spend one more day in Bandiagara. Ali invites me to his home for food; I meet his wife and child.

I manage to get a lift to Mopti with a Frenchman. He's driving a beat up old van. He tells me it was rusting in his garden in France; he shipped it over for the villagers to use.

He lives in a village here for part of the year, then France for the remainder. He deals in artefacts, he tells me it's getting more difficult.

"I'd read that a lot of Malian art was being taken out of the country, the government is try to stop it happening".

During the journey, I can't help but notice the amount of black plastic bags in the trees. We're in the middle of nowhere, no houses, and no people.

Another thing I notice, a military truck overtakes us, the back is full of white soldiers, French I suppose. I thought the colonial powers left completely after independence.

I spend a few more days in Mopti, the heat is unbearable. I would shower, not drying I would lie naked and wet under the ceiling fan. This would give a little relieve for ten minutes. Sleeping at night was very difficult.

I also meet a little obnoxious twat at the lodge. He's English, about forty two and looks like Billy Bunter. It's his first trip, but he knows everything. I tell him things are a little expensive, he disagrees. His budget per day is three times that of mine. Part of his trip includes time in the Antarctic, cheap only £1500 he tells me.

I ask him if he would like a beer, he wants to. Bar Mopti for this little twat.

Trying to find the place again is difficult. If you ask a person they will look at you in a bad way. We finally find some children who will take us there.

Once inside we order two beers. There are no girls, shit my plan isn't going to work. I want to get these girls all over this little know all.

The room that was pitch black is lit with a candle, we go inside and sit. Soon two girls arrive, I recognise both of them. The one pretty little thing is like a rash, all over me. She was the same last time.

The other girl sits on his lap, he looks surprised. More girls appear, now he's got two paying him attention. They start to touch him; I egg them on to kiss him. His glasses are hanging off his head; his shirt is pulled out of his trousers. He's starting to enjoy it I think.

I tell my pretty thing I need the toilet, I ask her where it is. She wants to take me; dragging me by my arm we reach the staircase. I tell her there must be a toilet down here. She tells me it's broken, could be true, that's why there's the smell perhaps.

We climb the stone staircase, this does look old. We get to the top, she points to a door. Is this a toilet or a bedroom? I open slowly, it's a toilet. Once inside she wants to join me, I fight off her advances.

When I return to the landing another girl is there. She grabs my arm, pulling me towards the bedrooms. My pretty one intervenes, they start to argue. This is my chance to escape; I jump three stairs at a time, returning to my beer.

The few hours in the bar were fun, the twat enjoyed himself, probably got an erection.

I spent two days in Bamako before I flew back to Dakar. I found another Bar Mopti.

Going there one night, I walked in, it was dark. I sat with my beer, I noticed all the girls sitting along a bench together. On another bench opposite, the men were sitting.

Opposite me was a well illuminated corridor. There seemed to be a lot of girls walking in and out. One waved to me, I waved back. She beckoned me with a wave to come and join her, I ignored.

One man gets off the bench; he approaches one of the girls on the other bench. They have a short conversation, she stands up, they both walk down the corridor, turning left they are out of sight. Fifteen minutes and the man returns, a few more minutes and the girl returns to her seat. That's what you call a quickie.

I saw this happen several times, it's a bar come brothel.

~~~~~

Chapter 3

Casamance

I arrived back from Mali a few days ago; I'm now at the airport waiting for an internal flight to the Casamance.

Before I started this trip, I made the Casamance one of the destinations I wanted to visit. Reading about the area, there's a small scale insurgency going on. It started in the early eighties.

"I remember being in the office in the UK surfing the net, I found on the BBC news that a peace deal had been signed by both parties. That was good news".

Soon we're airborne; the flight is less than one hour. Sitting next to me is a pretty Senegalese girl, we start to chat.

She asks me where I'm going. I tell her Ziguinchor, this is the main town for the area. She's going to a place called Cap Skirring. I read about this place, very much a tourist resort, the beaches are supposedly beautiful.

Soon the plane is touching down on the runway of the little airport in Ziguinchor.

My co-passenger tells me she's got a car and driver picking her up.

"Why don't you come to Cap?"

she asks.

I was going to go, why not do it now, get it over and done with.

"I will come with you to Cap",

I say.

We exit the small terminal building with our luggage; she goes off looking for her driver. Returning, she tells me to follow her.

We get to a beat-up old car, it wouldn't be allowed on the road in England. Luggage in the boot, I take the front passenger seat, Aimee sits in the back.

We get to the outskirts of the town; it's not a big place. The road starts to get very bad; these are the biggest potholes I've ever seen. The scenery is nice, it's green, I've only seen dry bush and sand in the north.

I'm not sure how long we've been driving, Aimee tells me we're near. We come to a junction; to the right is the town.

"Where do you want to go?"

she asks.

She tells me there are a few places to stay in the town, but she's going to stay in one of the lodges near the beach. I tell her I will go to the beach also.

The driver takes a left, after five hundred metres he takes a right, leaving the tarmac road. The sand track is another three hundred metres, finally reaching the lodges.

There are a lot of lodges along here, we stop at one. The driver is paid, he moves off.

I follow Aimee into the lodge she's staying at, it's a bit run-down. I'm shown a room, it's got a balcony, nothing special, but the bed is clean.

Standing on the balcony, I look down onto the beach, it does look nice. I decide to go and have a look.

Steps lead down to a garden, this belongs to the lodge. There are shrubs with some vivid purple flowers, shade is provided with palms. A short walk and I'm on the beach. The sand is white; picking some up it feels like talcum powder.

The ocean is the Atlantic, not quite the beauty of the Indian or Pacific oceans. In fact there's some good surf here, I think you would need to be careful swimming. I certainly don't see any lifeguards about.

The beach is pretty much empty, except for some Rasta boys. It's not long before they make their move.

"Would you like to come to my shop?"

Always trying to scam the tourist.

"In Gambia I was reading that they are becoming a threat to the nation's tourist industry. The government is taking measures. They are called Bumsters, selling anything you want".

I tell them,

"no",

they persist, I say to them,

"fuck off".

I return to my room, I need to go and ask Aimee a question. Her room is close by, I knock on the door. She opens the door, looking at her she's a pretty thing, beautiful face, slim body.

I ask her how you get to the town.

"You can walk, it will take fifteen minutes, or there are shared taxis",

she says.

The taxis ply between the town and Kabrousse, near the border with Guinea Bissau. They pick people up on route, they charge a small fare.

Tonight I'm going into the town of Cap Skirring. Showered, I make my way down the sand track towards the road.

Reaching the tarmac, it doesn't take long before I have my lift. The journey is short; I'm soon in the town.

First thing I notice is how busy it is. Lots of people just aimlessly wandering about.

The road is sand no tarmac, either side are restaurants, bars, discotheques.

My first stop is a restaurant, I need something to eat. Inside I take a table, ordering my food I sit and wait. I notice a tree trunk in the middle of the floor. They've built the restaurant around the tree, nice feature.

Meal consumed I sit at a table on the street drinking a beer. Opposite is a discotheque, I watch the old white men strutting outside. Some arrive with beautiful young chocolate coloured girls.

Adjacent to the discotheque is an open-air restaurant. The two girls serving look very beautiful, from this distance anyway.

I'm joined by a young lady, she's pretty. We start to talk; she wants me to visit her house. She tells me it's not far away, just down this small road to the side of the discotheque. I tell her I'm too tired, I only arrived today. She opens her purse, out drops a condom onto the table. She's trying to tempt me, I ignore her advances. Finally she gives up and leaves me alone.

A few more bars visited, I decide it's time to get some sleep.

Breakfast is included in the cost of the room. I make my way down to the restaurant. Inside Aimee is already taking her breakfast. I ask her if I can join her, she says,

"yes".

Breakfast is served, coffee, bread and butter, and fruit. Today we have banana.

We talk; she tells me she comes here from Dakar to sell things, jewellery, clothes. She's not married and doesn't have a boyfriend. Our conversation expires, she's going to work, I'm going to the town.

I'm on the road, a car stops, it's empty. The driver asks me if I want a lift to town. Jumping in we start the journey, the road is in a terrible condition.

The driver isn't a taxi driver; he's here on business from Dakar. When we reach our destination, I try to give him the taxi fare. I can't persuade him to take the money, I try another ploy.

"If you don't want money, let me buy you a coffee?"

I ask him.

He accepts my offer; he tells me this is a good place. It's the restaurant I was opposite last night with the two pretty girls.

We enter, walking to the bar we see no one. The head of a girl peers above the bar, she's stunning. Badou greets her, she greets him back. He introduces her to me, her name is Sireen. I just look in amazement at her beauty; the first words coming out of my mouth are,

"wow, Oh là là".

She's stood staring at me with big round brown eyes, there's a smile to match. I finally recover my composure; I tell her my name and tell her I'm very happy to meet her.

Badou asks me if I like her, I tell him that I do without doubt. He's soon making a date for us; she will visit the lodge tomorrow afternoon to go to the beach.

We take our leave. I really don't want to go; I could stare at this beautiful face all day. Outside I thank Badou for the lift; I also thank him very much for the introduction to the girl. Will she really come tomorrow? he tells me she will be there.

The rest of the day is spent exploring, I also needed some money. Here there's no bank, they are building one soon. I need to find a place to change some money.

The evening is spent in the town, opposite the restaurant where Sireen is working. I just keep watching her, I don't want to go inside and drink.

The bar I'm using is nice; the girl managing it is a pretty thing, good body. Her name is Angelic, she's from Ziguinchor. Overtime I get to know her well, perhaps a little too well.

It's early morning; I want to walk along the beach. You can walk to the Bissau border. I need to be back to meet with Sireen this afternoon.

Walking along the waves come over my feet, the sand is too hot to walk barefoot. I pass many lodges, none look busy.

I finally get to what I think maybe the Bissau border. There's no guards, no fence, just half a dozen sticks about two feet in height stuck in the sand. I walk past them, I'm in Guinea Bissau.

I walk back to the other side of the sticks, is this really the border?

I walk inland, it's just bush. I see a fence; it's made up of sticks, five feet in height. In places it's broken down, this is definitely the border. It's not the most secure border, no sign of guards; you could push the fence over very easily.

My walk is finished, I need to go back. Sireen will be at the lodge soon, I don't want to do African time.

Lying on the bed, there's a knock on my door. I get up and open the door, it's Sireen, she looks fantastic. We greet each other in the French style, kissing the cheeks.

I ask her if she would like to go and sit on the beach. It's a yes.

She only has two hours; she needs to be back at work for the evening shift. We sit in the shade of the palms talking. She tells me she's twenty eight, she has no children and she's a Muslim. Looking at her, she's very beautiful, her eyes are long, her cheekbones sharp, her lips big and soft.

Time runs out, she needs to leave. I escort her to the road,

"I will come for a beer tonight",

I tell her.

I spent the evening in the town. I went to Sireen's restaurant, I had a few beers. Watching her work, made me want to grab her and take her back to my lodge.

Sireen was visiting me every afternoon; we were becoming close, but not intimate.

We just got back to the room from the beach. I told her she could shower here and then she would be ready for work when she returned to town. I told her this many times but she would always say no. Today it's different, she wants to shower here.

She finishes her shower, walking back into the bedroom she's wrapped in my towel. I pull her towards me, she doesn't resist. We start kissing; I lower her onto the bed. I slowly undo the towel, still no resistance. I pull the towel to the left, then to the right, revealing her beautiful naked body. I kiss her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips, her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Finally I reach my destination and give her paradise. I didn't try to enter her, I'm not sure if she's ready for that.

Time is moving on, I was intending to spend two days here, it's been two weeks. Strange how love works.

Today I bumped into Aimee; she disappeared from the lodge over a week ago. She tells me she will fly back to Dakar tomorrow.

I came into town for some money, I want to go back to the lodge, Sireen is coming this afternoon.

Sireen arrives; she wants to stay in the room, no beach today. We talk about many things. I tell her I'm going to Ziguinchor in a few days, but I will be back.

We start to kiss, I remove her clothes, she removes mine. I still don't feel that I should make the first move. She solves the problem; she gets on top of me, our bodies rubbing together as we kiss. I feel her hand grasping my erect cock, it slides inside her, we finally make love.

Love making finished we lie on our backs. There was something I wanted to ask her, I didn't feel it was the right time, now it is.

I noticed she didn't have a clitoris, the labia was also missing. I'd read about female circumcision, there are few types. One is the removal of the clitoris only, the other the removal of everything.

I asked her about it, she told me her tribe practise it. She was circumcised at the age of ten. It was very neatly done, but what a barbaric thing to do to a young child.

I've returned from Ziguinchor, I spent one week there. The only thing I kept thinking about was Sireen; I was missing her too much.

She has a day off today, so we're going to a place called Diembereng. There's no tarmac road, just sand, it really needs a four by four. I've found a taxi driver who will take us. He thinks there's no problem, his car can get us there.

Sireen and I sit in the back seat. Just outside the town the tarmac finishes. The car seems to be coping with the sand, it's sliding a bit. The only other traffic on the track is some large trucks. Our driver tells us they collect sand for building.

Everything is going well, I speak too soon. The driver hits a build up of sand, it looks solid but it's not. Getting out to look at the problem, we see that the wheels are half buried in sand. We try digging with our hands, we try pushing, none of which produce results.

We're now stuck in the middle of nowhere, the sun is incredibly hot and there's no shade. I'm starting to feel a bit fucked off with the whole episode.

There's no traffic, nothing. We try to push the vehicle out, we're wasting our time.

There's a noise, it sounds like a truck. One of the big yellow trucks lumbers its way through the sand. It stops; a conversation takes place with the taxi driver. One of the men from the truck produces a rope, within minutes we are attached to the yellow monster. A few tugs on the rope, a bit of accelerator and we are pulled from our sand dune.

We reach Diembereng, there's a massive baobab tree, it gives shade to the locals sat selling bits of produce.

We want to walk to the ocean; we're pointed in the direction. It takes us through the village; here I get some good photographs of the buildings people live in.

Once through the village, we're looking across a sandy treeless area. We see in the distance another area of wood. We're told the ocean is the other side of the trees.

We start to walk; the sun is burning my head. The trees don't look that far, we should reach them soon. We walk and we walk, the trees are not getting any closer.

On route, people are constructing a few buildings. How the fuck they get to them I'm not sure. Four wheel drive perhaps.

Much more walking than I'd anticipated, we reach the wood. Going inside is relief from the hot sun. The noise of the ocean is loud, it sounds like some wild surf.

Getting to the other side of the wood, we get our first view of the beach and ocean, it's white and blue.

The waves look very fierce; the wind is blowing with some force. We find a place to sit, shaded from the sun. The beach is empty, not one person to be seen.

We sit and talk, but not for long. We make love on the sand, Sireen's a little nervous.

This place is fantastic; I can't understand why it's not developed more.

Dressed, we make our way back. Another gruelling walk and we reach the shade of the village.

The taxi driver isn't here, we decide to sit and have a cold drink. There's a small campement so we sit and wait for our lift to arrive.

The owner is a Frenchman; he's married to a black Senegalese girl. I see one child, three years of age. It must be their son; he's a Café au lait, mixed blood.

The man speaks good English, he tells us he's been here a few years. His campement is the only one here. There were three but the others closed due to the insurgency, no customers.

Our taxi arrives, we finish our drinks and head back to Cap.

Sireen was making regular visits to my lodge, the love making was good. I'd noticed we were starting to quarrel more. She would just leave; we would make up a few days later.

It was during one of these break-ups that I got too close to Angelica.

I was in her bar one night; I could see Sireen across the road in her restaurant.

It was nearly closing time, Angelica wanted to come back to my lodge.

We both get into a taxi. The short journey over, we are soon naked on my bed.

Angelica's body is firm, her breasts full. A short time and she's putting me inside. Her nipples protrude, the African nipples that I'm beginning to know well. The love making was soft and gentle for most of the time, but when she was close to orgasm she became very fierce, her nails pinching and scratching me.

Sireen and myself got back together, she new about Angelica, but made no mention of it.

I told her I needed to leave the country; I was going to the Gambia for a few weeks.

I asked her to finish in Cap and meet me in Ziguinchor when I return. I wanted her to travel with me. She told me she would quit the job and be with me.

~~~~~

Chapter 4

Border Hop Gambia

Today I'm at the Gare Routiere in Ziguinchor. Here I want to pick up a lift to the border with Gambia.

The place is pretty well organised, everyone wants to help you. That's one thing about Africa, too many CHIEFS not enough INDIANS.

I find the tickets for the car to the border; the man is a very ignorant person.

I do find that people here in West Africa are not so pleasant. The people in Southern Africa are very different. Is that because of religion? or is it because it was colonised by the French?. I will see, Gambia was British.

I go to the car I will be using; it's a beat up old Peugeot estate. The back section is now fitted with a seat; this allows them to carry seven people. My ticket is for the front seat, that's good. Certainly the newly installed seat in the back would be very uncomfortable, not enough headroom.

I sit watching the hawkers, the men doing nothing except getting in the fucking way. Why do they hang around this place?

I watch one guy having a good pick of his nose. He finds something; he wipes it on the wall.

Finally our driver turns the engine over; it coughs and splutters into life. A big cloud of black smoke pollutes the town, we move off. Two hundred metres we are stopped, Police or Gendarmes, I'm not sure.

We cross the river; the bridge is in good condition. Now the road is starting to disappear. In some places it's been washed away. We have water on both sides, there's mangrove. I notice a lot of this mangrove is missing, I'm not sure why? Perhaps they have a use for it, or is it being destroyed to make fishing easier?

We've left the mangrove behind, now I see bush, it's green. We also pass soldiers every few kilometres. That's due to the rebels I suppose.

We've been stopped a few more times, soldiers, even Douane or Customs.

We reach another river, it's very wide. The bridge is not in the best of condition, it accommodates one vehicle at a time. Crossing I see where a few vehicles have managed to go through the side barrier. Now there's just nothing there.

I also notice the lack of mangrove; they are being depleted with vigour.

"A few years later a project was put in place to replant the mangrove".

More bush, more stops, we finally arrive at the little border post. It's run by one officer, miserable looking man. Notes made in his book, he stamps my passport with an exit stamp.

Everybody back in the bush taxi we drive a few hundred metres to the border post. Here we vacate the taxi again, this time we have to walk to a post with a few soldiers sitting around.

Walking towards the post, I notice a place where you get the taxis back to Ziguinchor. There are a few tin shacks selling drinks, food is also available. I think this is Seleti.

I reach the makeshift military post. It's just four wooden pillars about four inches in diameter, there's a few sheets of corrugated iron for the roof. The walls are three feet high and made of sandbags.

Three soldiers sit there, all are well armed. One is sat at a small table, I give him my passport. He flicks through the pages and returns it to me.

I pass around the barrier joining my fellow passengers; I'm in no man's land. Here there are bush taxis that take you to Gambia. Everybody in place, we drive the few kilometres to the Gambian border post at Giboro.

Everybody out, we all scramble to get our documents cleared. The window is small, I'm told to go inside. Soon I'm in possession of my entry stamp to Gambia. The big fat lady officer was asking for a Coca Cola, I pretended not to hear her.

The taxi is full; we're soon on our way. We've not been driving that long before we reach the main highway. Our first stop, it's a police station. One officer comes over, he checks everyone's papers. Once he's satisfied, we are on our way.

I notice how good the roads are here compared to Senegal. I think they are paid for by the European Union, I'm sure the President doesn't tell his people that.

We reach the garage in Serrekunda; I want to go to Banjul, which means another taxi. The taxi driver is asking a lot, but it's a private car just for me. I agree the fare; soon I'm getting out of the cab in the main street in Banjul.

I notice this awful arch, it looks so horrible. Inside the hotel, I'm told it was built by the President, he doesn't have much taste.

A good nights sleep, I decide to go to the beach. When I get there I find these helpful boys. They can be guides, or did I want something to smoke? I politely tell them to go away.

The beach is nice, the problem is the water. This is the river estuary I think; well I can see some big boats heading for the port.

It's my lunchtime, which means a beer. Finding a place to sit outside, I order a beer. The waitress brings out a bottle of Julbrew, Gambia's finest. I find it a little sweet, at least it's cold.

"I made the trip to Gambia on many occasions, border hopping from Senegal. It was on one of these occasions that I was sat in this very seat drinking a Julbrew. The people started to get excited. I asked a fellow customer what was going on. "The President is coming", he told me. The main street is quite narrow, enough for two cars to pass with cars parked on either side of the road. The first vehicles pass, they are going at some speed. This reminds me of Mugabe in Zimbabwe. Finally the President's car reaches me; it's a stretch-limo, but the height of a bus. Proudly sat on top is the man himself. He's throwing things to the people on the pavement; they fight each other for possession. In a flash he's passed. I ask the man what he was throwing. packets of biscuits I'm told. Packets of biscuits, how fucking generous. I think they looked like Crawford Cream Crackers. Apparently he does this when he's returning to the palace. The speed he's travelling, the force he's throwing with, must make these packets dangerous flying through the air".

I spent a few more days here in Banjul; it's a pretty little place but a bit quiet.

I've moved back to Serrekunda, a dodgy little guest house in the centre. There seems to be a lot of permanent residents, all women. I'm told they are from Senegal, here on business. Watching them bring the men in, I imagine business is good.

Next door to the guest house is a small African bar, here I meet my first Gambian girlfriend. Her name is Fatou, she's Muslim. Her story if true is sad. She was married, taken at the age of twelve. She conceived at the age of fifteen, finally leaving her husband at the age of twenty. We made love on many occasions.

"During my travels to and from Gambia I had other girlfriends. Awa was a great girl, good in bed, very honest and kind. Nday had a body you would want twenty four seven. The others were just a short part of my life".

I flew in and out of this country on a few occasions. The terminal is kilometres from the main road. I did walk it once; it's a fucking long way. The taxi drivers have a field day taking your money.

I travelled a good stretch of the country, it's small. I remember a trip to the interior, Georgetown, and Bansang. The mini bus was stopped so many times on route. The police, soldiers, immigration, all looking for some money to put in their pockets.

On the bus was a young girl, early twenties. She told me her mother had died; she was going to her home for the burial. She was being very brave.

The journey progressed; the girl would have little bouts of crying. When she finally neared her destination she became very distraught. Getting off at her stop, I watched her cross the road. She was met by family members, the floodgates opened. She wailed, flung her arms about, family members tried to console her. Finally she collapsed, a small cart was found and she was put into the back and taken away.

The area around Georgetown and Bansang is very nice. The River sweeps around corners, there's lush vegetation on the side of the riverbanks. If you're lucky you will see hippo and monkeys.

In Bansang I was staying in a family run guest house. The father had died; the children were struggling to keep the place going.

They owned a building attached to the guest house. It was a nightclub, the only one in town. It had ceased trading; they were letting the building to a German man. He made it into a casino, just a load of old slots shoved in there.

The amazing thing was how well used it was. The people using it looked very poor, villagers not business types. Also the amount of women in there gambling surprised me. These people were using the bit of money they had for food on these slots, never winning, just losing the family income for the week.

On one occasion I was travelling back from Dakar to Ziguinchor with Sireen. The journey was a long one, not the easiest journey to make.

We needed to cross the river at Barra. There was supposed to be two ferries running, the one had broken down. The wait was a long one; the ferry was stuck on the other side waiting for passengers. When it finally arrived in Barra there was another wait for the boat to fill.

Other times I used this crossing with both boats running it was fine.

The crossing is about one hour, I'm not sure. There's not much cover from the hot sunshine, but it's pleasant.

On arrival at the Banjul side it starts to rain. Some officer in the crowd asks me for my Yellow Fever Certificate, I think he was just looking for some payback.

By the time we got to the guest house we were both soaked through. The problem for me was everything was wet. That evening the bedroom was full of clothes drying, money drying, documents drying.

Another occasion I met the good and the bad of the authorities. I was walking in the street when a man started to talk to me. The questions were simple, where are you from? how long have you been here? The last question is, let me see you passport? I ask him why he wants to see my passport. He tells me he's an immigration officer. I ask why he's asking me on the streets.

"Are you at work now?

I ask him.

He tells me it's his day off; I refuse to show him my passport until I see his ID. He shows me his ID, it's real. I still refuse to show him my passport. If he wants to see my passport we can go to the police station. Finally he gives up and walks away.

This is the bad; the next one is the good.

I was flying back to England. Kneeling down filling in my debarkation card outside the passport control, one of the officers came from his cubicle. He told me to give him my card and passport; he would do it for me. Everything finished we started to talk. His name was Lamin; we kept in contact with email, a nice man.

This is the good.

On one occasion I told Lamin I was flying in, giving him the details he told me he would meet me at the airport. It was his day off so it would be no problem. We hadn't met for a long time; he would be holding a board with my name on it. I was happy that he had this idea, I would never recognise him.

The flight was a package tour operator, it was full of people from Manchester getting their little bit of Africa for two weeks.

The terminal is small; I'm last to the door. I notice someone just inside with a board, it's got my name on it. The man has a uniform, immigration officer, it's Lamin.

Once inside I'm greeted by Lamin, I thought he would be on the outside of the terminal waiting for me.

The people from my plane are queueing to get their passports stamped; the cubicles are thirty metres away.

Lamin takes me by the arm and marches me to the front of the queues. Everyone is looking, who is this VIP? I feel a little embarrassed.

He takes my passport and goes into the cubicle; he does the necessary paper work and gives me my stamp. We exit to the carousel to collect my bag.

I spent six years in and out of Gambia, sometimes flying in from the UK, sometimes border hopping.

Most of the people are from the Mandinka and Wolof tribes; this is the same in Senegal. The country is Muslim like Senegal. The mentality is the same either side of the border.

One thing that is different here is the government promotes keeping the country clean. There are posters telling people to

"Keep Gambia Clean".

Another thing the authorities do is on the last Saturday in the month there's a big clean up day. No shops are allowed to open until after midday, when the clean up operation is finished. People clean their compounds then the road outside. The authorities send tractor and cart to pick up the rubbish.

Senegal on the other hand is full of rubbish, a dirty place.

This part is definitely a throw back from the British.

~~~~~

Chapter 5

Ziguinchor

I've made the journey back to Ziguinchor. The taxi drivers try their usual scam. They want 1000 CFA to take me to the guest house. The taxi rate is set at 500 CFA around the town.

I reach the lodge, I'm greeted by Lamine. This guy is very different to most of the people you meet. He's a very honest man, ask him to do something for you, it's never too much trouble.

"A few years later he was having a problem with the girl here, a fellow worker. He decided to quit his job. He wanted to buy his own taxi; he asked me if I could help him? I gave him 500,000 CFA. He was to pay back the money to Sireen; this would save me sending money over with Western Union when I was working in England. I had complete trust in this man. Sadly he gave the money to a relative to do the painting and repairs to the taxi. The relative ran away with the money. Lamine went back to work at the guest house, he paid the total amount back to Sireen. A very trustworthy man".

The best thing about this guest house is the tropical garden. The centre piece being a very large mango tree. The rooms are cheap, you have to share bathroom, shower.

After a few days I was joined by Sireen, she looked so beautiful. The time away from her was good, it made me want her even more than before.

Our first night together for sometime was very special. I watched her remove her clothes; her slim body was teasing me. Both of us naked, we went into the shower. I rubbed soap over her body, the skin felt so smooth. My hands massaged her small breasts, the nipples sticking out like little thumbs.

In bed we kissed each other all over, I was soon inside her, her moans heightening my desire. The love making was a marathon; I gave in before she did.

A few days have passed; our time together was so nice. Today things change, we have a small dispute and she's gone to her auntie.

When I check my bag I find my passport is missing. It must be her, she must have taken it.

After three days she returns, we make up with some beautiful love making.

She gives me my passport back, I ask,

"why did you take it?"

There's no reply, I don't push for an answer. I think she took it to stop me travelling.

"This was not the only time my passport was taken. The second time she hid it behind a painting in the room we were sleeping in before she left. Other occasions she took my camera, phone charger, among other things. When I asked her for them back she denied having them. When we made up the items would materialise. This girl has a pretty face; I'm not sure about the mind".

The guest house was frequented by a few regular whites, they were French. Talking to them pissed me off sometimes. They would keep using this saying,

"this is Africa".

I would ask them where they have visited in Africa,

"Southern, Eastern?

The answer would be,

"no, just Senegal".

These people thought they new Africa, they only know this little part of West Africa. The people here are very different to the people I met in Southern Africa. So I really started to hate this saying.

I also started to call them Out of Africa. They reminded me of the film with that title. The white woman arriving in Africa with her suitcase on wheels.

OK that's a bit over exaggerated.

We decided to head for Dakar, the journey was by road. This is not a nice journey; you are squeezed into a Peugeot estate. You are stopped by crooked police, soldiers and anyone else in a uniform. There are two borders to cross, one ferry journey. Finally you reach Dakar exhausted.

We stayed a few days in Les Mamelles and then it was a trip to Saint Louis. This place is in the very far north of the country, near the border with Mauritania. There is a wealth of colonial architecture and the layout is interesting, part of it is an island. There's some jazz festival held here, we are told you will not find accommodation during that period.

On the way back we stayed in a fishing village on the Atlantic coast, also a few days in Thies.

Back in Dakar we stay at the hotel in Les Mamelles. A few visits to the beaches, eating fish and drinking beer, for me anyway. Sireen will not touch alcohol, she's Muslim, that's her faith not mine.

"I remember one day when we were in the garden of the guest house in Ziguinchor. I'd just ordered a gin, there was no tonic added. Sireen came to join me. Sitting at the table she picked up the glass, taking a big gulp she spat it out. She cursed me for not telling her, she went to wash her mouth out, it was such a serious thing. Quietly I just laughed to myself".

There's another meltdown in our relationship, I tell her to leave and go to stay with her brother or auntie here in Dakar. She refuses, I've no option and I leave the hotel.

I've no idea where to go; it's seven in the evening. I've walked about two hundred metres from the hotel, I'm joined by Eva. She's the cook at the hotel, a pretty girl who I would like to take to bed one day. She's Christian not Muslim; her father is a doctor in America.

She tries to coax me back; I tell her I can't go. She tells me she has a friend, they let rooms. She will take me in a taxi.

"Are you not working?"

I ask her.

She tells me she is but it will be fine, there are no customers.

Is this the start of a new relationship?

I think to myself.

The taxi reaches a house in a suburb called Point E, the area is very smart. We enter into a courtyard, Eva talks to the lady who rents the rooms. The lady is a friend of Eva, she shows me a room. The room is very acceptable, clean, tidy, and a self-contained bathroom.

I take the room; Eva asks me if it's good, I tell her it's perfect. I ask her if she wants to stay with me. She can't, she needs to get back to work.

Before she leaves we have a long kiss, very sensual, soft lips waking my manhood. She tells me she will return later if she can.

She returned days later, I wasn't there. Next time I saw her she told me she came to sleep, but I was away. We never did sleep together, mores the pity.

I was finding my way around Point E, there were places to eat, bars to drink in. Taxis were plentiful to the city centre. It was a good place to stay.

One bar I frequented a lot was a short walk from my room. It tried to be a disco, plenty of girls.

One girl was friendly with me; I took her back to my room. We were soon making love. When she got close to her climax she bit my lip, she didn't want to let go of it. Was this to stop me moving away from her?

When horses mate the male mounts, he grabs the mane of his female in his teeth; I think this is to stop her getting away. Maybe biting my lip is the same.

When we finished this girl was in no hurry to leave. She wasn't asking for money, but I noticed her scanning the room. She spotted my wallet on the table. I ask her if she wants to go. she's sleeping. I nudged her, no response.

I lie on my back next to her, my eyes starting to close. If I fall asleep, I'm sure I will wake up and find my wallet gone.

I fight to stay awake, I can see her eyes moving, I'm sure she's not sleeping.

After one hour or a little less she pretends to wake. She could see I was still awake; she quickly dressed and left me alone.

In this bar there was another girl who was a regular to my room. This one I did trust.

She was fun to be with, her body was good, her face pretty. The love making was good, she was a leader. You didn't have to ask her to do something, she pre-read your thoughts. You could think about asking her to put her lips around your cock, next thing she would be going down and taking a mouthful.

One night near the festival of Tabaski the place is raided by the police. Some are in plain clothes, some in uniform.

They take a lot of the girls away, even a white man who is sat with his wife. Fortunately I'm sat alone; otherwise I would've been taken away.

Slowly all the girls return, they were made to pay a small fine. A local man tells me it's the police just collecting money for their festival celebrations.

Sireen and I were back in contact, she'd asked where I was staying. At first I decline to tell her, but in the end I gave in. She came to Point E, everything was back to normal, or so it seemed.

She liked the new accommodation, love making was back to being seriously good, I do love this woman.

Well we are staying here I meet her young sister; she's studying at university here in Dakar. She is an incredibly beautiful girl.

I wonder what her mind is like.

Time moved on, we were both enjoying being together. When things were good, I couldn't fault this relationship.

The owner of the room I was staying in needed it for a friend who was coming. We needed to vacate for a week.

We found a bar restaurant close by, there was a room to rent above. We took the room, it was nice. We stayed for a week, during one of the evenings I saw a new side to Sireen.

We started the evening in a good mood; later Sireen is starting to wind me up. Everything I ask her is wrong, everything is a negative response.

I give up trying to have a good evening with her; I go back to the room.

Outside the door is a small landing with table and chairs. I sit outside, she goes into the room.

She joins me after ten minutes; I could tell she just wanted to argue. At first I ignore her and then she winds me up to my limit.

I grab her arm; she starts to throw punches at me. Then she picks up the glass from the table and threatens to put it in my face.

I laugh, she is of small statue, one smack and I would have bowled her over. I sit back down and dismiss her. She goes into the bedroom. That night I slept on the tiled floor outside, getting bitten by mosquito.

A few days go by and we are in bed making fantastic love. The situation is so bizarre, one minute she's so passionate and loving, the next she's going to kill me.

We've moved back to the original room in Point E. Everything is good between us.

Sireen wants to go to Ziguinchor to see her family. I tell her I don't want to travel but she can go no problem.

"When do you want to go sweetheart?"

I ask her.

"Tomorrow",

is her reply.

Today Sireen left early for a taxi back to the Casamance, she told me she will be one week.

I think I will be spending sometime in the bar nearby. First thing is some breakfast.

Here in Point E is a fast food establishment called Les Ambassades. They also have a restaurant, it produces good coffee and croissant or pain au raisin.

I spend a few days going into the city centre. I drink in the bar on the Place de l'independence. I sit and talk with the pretty little waitress; she asks me where I've been. I don't go into too much detail.

I've been trying to contact Sireen; the phone doesn't want to connect. This is normal; her family home is just outside the town in the bush. Sometimes there's no signal.

One week is nearly gone, there's no sign of her. I will carry on enjoying myself.

~~~~~

Chapter 6

Doctor I think I have Malaria

Life is very good; Sireen is not back from Ziguinchor yet. I've been going to the bar for the last week, drinking until three or four in the morning.

I met up with a guy from Mali, his name is Balla. We've both been drinking and hunting. No that's a lie, me drinking, I have my beautiful Sireen. Balla on the other hand is definitely a hunter, a new girl every other day.

It's Friday evening, the day isn't a good one, I feel ill. I think the week of drinking, late nights, early mornings, is starting to take its toll.

There's a knock at the door, it's probably Balla. Tonight I have to disappoint him, I'm staying in.

I open the door, it's Balla. I tell him I feel too ill to go out this evening. He tries to persuade me but I can't go. Finally he gives up his quest to get his drinking partner out. I wish him a good evening; maybe tomorrow I will be fine.

The weekend isn't good; I have nausea, diarrhoea, a fever, and a big headache. This is starting to feel like malaria.

The man who rents me the room, Jean Paul was talking to me; he will take me to his doctor tomorrow.

It's Monday evening, I'm in Jean Paul's car going to the doctor. This doctor is Moroccan Jean Paul tells me. He treats all of the European Union people here.

Arriving in the surgery, Jean Paul explains to the receptionist in French that I have no appointment. She tells him that the doctor will fit me in after he's finished with the patient he's seeing at the moment.

I'm finally invited to go into the doctor's surgery. Once inside I see how smart it is.

The doctor asks me what the problem is.

"I think I have malaria doctor",

I say to him.

"What makes you think that?"

he says abruptly.

Well this is a good start, why the fuck ask me if he's going to contradict me.

I explain to him that I've had malaria before, these symptoms feel the same.

He proceeds to check my height, weight, and ask stupid questions. Finally he gives me a slip of paper. He tells me to go to the laboratory for a malaria test.

I can't believe this; he's not able to do a test in his surgery. The labs are all closed now, more time wasted.

This twat charges 15,000 CFA, most other doctors charge 10,000 CFA.

It's Tuesday morning, I'm at the laboratory. A pretty ugly woman takes half a pint of blood from me; I thought a pin prick in the finger is enough. The cost, 15,000 CFA. The bad news, pick up the sample tomorrow. More time wasted, I should be getting some medicine by now.

The evening isn't good, I'm feeling very sick. I'm shitting through the eye of a needle, vomiting whatever is left in my stomach, sometimes both together. One good thing is I'm managing to get to the toilet in time. Sleep is non existent, I'm on and off the toilet all of the time. My head feels like it's going to explode, my body has no strength.

Wednesday morning I go to the laboratory, the results aren't ready yet. The laboratory is only a five minute walk away, but I'm feeling so weak that's not an easy task. Now I have to make another fucking trip later.

It's mid afternoon, I've just got back from the laboratory. The test results are giving a negative reading, I'm sure this is wrong. Tonight I will go and see that prick of a Moroccan doctor.

Jean Paul insists on driving me to the surgery, I don't argue, I'm too weak to walk.

Inside the room I meet with the chosen one, I give him my test results. He looks at me,

"they are negative",

he says.

He seems to enjoy saying that; it means you were wrong Mr Tims.

Now he's asking me for a urine sample, hepatitis is the direction he's going tonight.

He examines the sample, even I can see it's very dark, so what next? He starts to write, he gives me a new piece of paper. I have to go to the laboratory for another test.

This is fucking crazy, why doesn't he just give me some tablets for malaria. The laboratory is closed, more time lost.

Balla drops around to see how I am; now he can see that I can't go to the bar.

The night is another unsettled one. Sleep is interrupted by constant journeys to the toilet; the bed is wet with sweat.

Thursday morning, I go to the laboratory, this time a different one. Another bottle of blood and they tell me to come back later in the afternoon. This test is 50,000 CFA, fucking expensive.

Walking is becoming difficult, I'm very unsteady. It's like I've drank a bottle of whiskey.

I made the walk back to the laboratory this afternoon, Balla came with me. The result was another negative; let's see what this man thinks now.

Jean Paul is being a good friend, without his transport I couldn't have walked to this doctor.

In his surgery he looks at the results, scratching his head he starts to write on some paper. He tells me to go to the hospital, he hands me a covering letter. Well that's fucking it; I should have gone to the hospital in the first place, a big mistake by me.

I'm lying on my bed; it's now one week since the first symptoms were showing. The room is revolving; my eyes are trying to close. I'm almost unconscious.

The door opens, it's Sireen. Looking at her she's very fuzzy, my eyes are fucked. She's asking me something, her voice is muffled, I can't understand her.

Years ago I dropped some LSD; this is just what it felt like when I was tripping.

Sireen leaves the room, she returns with two men. There's a lot of muffled conversation going on. They pick me up, they are carrying me somewhere. Looking up I see the stars, I'm outside. I'm lowered into a car, I can't see Sireen, everything is going dark.

I wake up; I'm in a hospital bed, my eyes focus. Stood by the side of the bed is Sireen. She asks me,

"how do you feel?"

"I feel very sick",

I reply.

Everything about me feels awful. My head is pounding, my body aching, I feel shit.

She tells me that I've been sleeping for three days. I wish I could go back to sleep, then I don't feel the pains in my body.

I have a needle in my arm, attached is a tube; it goes to a plastic bottle on a stand.

There's one other bed in the room, a black man occupies it. Listening to him cough, I think he has a problem with his lungs.

I ask Sireen what time she got here today. she tells me she's sleeping here. I ask her where.

"On the floor by the side of your bed",

she says.

The nurse arrives, she's changing the bottle. Temperature taken and recorded, she leaves the room.

I ask Sireen,

"what is the problem?"

"malaria",

she replies.

I'm not strong enough to feel angry, but I told that doctor malaria. Time was wasted, no medication, now look at the state of me.

Sireen tells me she was sick in Ziguinchor when she got there. She went to the hospital for a test, she also had malaria. This is why she was two weeks away instead of one week she explains.

A few more days have passed, I still feel so ill. I've been trying to count how many bottles of this medicine they have put into my arm.

The doctor came today; she's white, French, on some type of sabbatical I suppose. Maybe she's even a student, suppose they have to learn their trade somewhere.

She's given Sireen a prescription for some medication for me. There are no drugs in the hospital, you have to go outside and find a pharmacy. How lucky we are in England.

Sireen returns with my medicine, I look at her she looks worn out. I think it's about five days she has been here sleeping on the floor. The floor is concrete, between her and the concrete is a thin blanket.

I suggest that she goes home tonight, she quickly disputes my plan. I tell her she can come back tomorrow; she will have none of this idea.

I eat some food today, I found it good. Sireen goes out to find something to eat for herself.

Well I'm alone I get chatting to my fellow room mate. He tells me he does have a problem with his lungs, poor man.

He's a teacher by profession. My experiences of Africa have told me teachers are not looked after well by their governments. Pay is poor, and they are usually a threat politically, perhaps because they are educated compared to the masses.

Sireen returns, I look at her, she's so beautiful. We chat about various things, the subject of marriage and children come up. I ask her about me being non Muslim, in fact non religious. She tells me that it's not a problem; she doesn't have to marry someone of her faith. I tell I already have children, I'm not sure that I want more,

"that's not fair",

she says.

Our conversation is interrupted by women; they are doing a high pitched wailing noise. I think their relative, husband, sister, or whatever is dead. Sireen confirms my thoughts; fucking hell they are noisy, think of the living in here trying to get well.

Today I get some visitors; the first one is a man from the hospital. He gives me the bad news; I'm expected to pay 250,000 CFA per day. In English currency that's about £250.

Today is the sixth day, which means so far the bill is £1500, this is not good.

He tells me if I'm resident this will not apply.

"Do you have a residence permit?"

he asks.

"I don't",

is my answer to him.

I look at this room, it's not modern, it's not clean, there's no bathroom and I'm sharing with someone. How can they justify that sort of money?

My next visitor is Jean Paul; I tell him about my bad news, he agrees that the room is way below standards. One hour passes, Jean Paul needs to go, I thank him for giving up his time.

A bit of food, more medication, a new bottle on the stand. I still feel well below par, I'm not sure when I will get out of here.

I ask Sireen where I am. She says,

"you are in the city centre; the hospital is called Hôpital Principal".

The time is passing, in walks Jean Paul; he's accompanied by another man. The man is from the British Embassy here in Dakar. He asks me a few questions, takes a few notes. He tells me he will write a letter to the hospital to see if they can reduce the costs.

Jean Paul done this off of his own back, he's a very kind man. Let's see what happens.

More days pass, Sireen will not leave my side, bless her. I'm still feeling very weak. I tried to walk yesterday; there was no strength in my legs.

I've realised that I haven't been to the toilet, not since I've been conscious anyway. I ask Sireen to take me; I swing my body off the bed. Everything is going around, it's like I'm on a ride at the fairground.

We start to walk down the corridor; I've no balance at all. I hang onto Sireen, if she wasn't here I would fall, I'm certain of that.

We finally reach the toilets; they are a long way from my room. These people are jokers, how can they charge the money they are asking me for. The facilities are crap.

Opening the door I see my worst nightmare, it's a squat toilet not a western style toilet.

I drop my pyjamas, Sireen holds my hands well I lower myself over the hole. There's nowhere else to hold onto, Sireen keeps hold of my hand to retain my balance.

I start to shit, the smell is terrible. This poor girl is stood there, her head slightly turned to one side. Finished, I now have to get up out of this squat position. Having no strength, I have to rely on Sireen using all of her strength to pull me up.

Today they've told me I can go home, but there's a delay, the letter from the embassy is still not appeared.

The man who gave me the bad news about the costs is trying to ask his superiors what he should do.

Time passes, he returns, he gives me a receipt for 250,000 CFA.

He tells us he will take the chance that his decision is a good one. When they get the letter from the embassy his superiors will make the decision.

I walk with the aid of Sireen to the outside, it's very hot. I have to protect my eyes from the brilliant sunlight.

Getting into a taxi I start to think about that fucking doctor, all of this was not necessary. I was in that hospital for eleven days, I was given fifteen bottles of medication into my arm. I new I had malaria, why didn't he listen to me.

~~~~~

Chapter 7

Bissau and Back

We came back to Ziguinchor after my hospital ordeal. It's brought us closer together, although we still have our little disagreements.

Coming back from Dakar we used the Aline Sitoe Diatta ferry, this is a new boat. There was the MV Joola; this sank on route to Dakar one evening. I think it was over one thousand people, mostly children that perished.

Sireen took me over to her mother's house, I met family and relatives. Her father is dead; the mother is a very pleasant lady.

The house is rural, just on the edge of Ziguinchor. All the parcels of land are sold; some people are building houses, others just using it for growing peanuts, potato, cassava, among other things.

My visa is nearly expired; I have a new plan, Guinea Bissau. They have a consulate here in Ziguinchor.

The country is in pretty poor shape; it's not that long ago there was a civil war raging there. The country is very unstable.

No electricity system, private generators only. Cholera is also a problem there.

The South American drugs cartels dump the cocaine there. The military and police are involved in the drugs running.

"I later met a journalist who was based in France. He was born in Guinea Bissau; he worked as a journalist there. One day he was told about a light aircraft dropping packages into the ocean just off the Arquipelago dos Bijagos. These are a group of islands just off the Bissau coast. He decided to go and investigate. He saw the small plane drop the packages; the next thing to happen worried him. Soldiers in military uniform went out to collect the packages. He reported on what he'd witnessed and then his troubles began. He returned to his house one night to find it ransacked, documents and discs were missing. He decided to flee the country for his own safety".

Today I'm looking for the consulate for Bissau; I want to get my visa. Ziguinchor centre is very small; it doesn't take long before I locate what I'm looking for.

I walk up a flight of stairs, at the top is a balcony looking down onto the street below. I walk through a single doorway into a very sparsely furnished room. The person working there is very polite; I tell him I need a visa. After completing a few formalities I have my visa stamped on my passport. The gentleman wishes me a pleasant stay in Bissau.

I go back down the stairs onto the street, the sun beats down onto me, Ziguinchor can be a very hot place.

I make my way back to the guest house to see Sireen. On route I'm obstructed by the young boys carrying their tin cans, they beg for food or money. They are at a Muslim school, they are sent out to beg, if they return with little they are beaten.

Next are the youth belonging to the Touba sect from Tambacounda. I think that's what they are supposed to be. The way they dress reminds me a bit of the Sadhu, the holy man from India. They just look like a bunch of lazy Rasta boys to me. When you refuse to give them money they will keep following you, they stick a bowl in your face. They are very annoying.

Back at the guest house I chat with Sireen, she wants to come with me to Bissau.

"When are we going?"

she asks.

"Tomorrow",

I reply.

This morning we picked up a car at the Gare Routiere in Ziguinchor. The border is not that far away, I soon have my exit stamp for Senegal.

Next we come to a group of Bissau soldiers, are they going to want anything? They go through our bags, they ask for nothing. This surprises me; I've heard from other people that this border post is very corrupt.

Next is passport control, he wants money from us. I tell him I've paid for my visa, why do I need to pay more? My voice falls on deaf ears, everyone needs to pay I'm told.

Soon we're moving into the Bissau countryside, it's beautifully green and thick with vegetation.

We pass through the town of Sao Domingos; it's a big place, very run down.

The journey ends on the outskirts of Bissau, the capital city. It's four o'clock in the afternoon, which gives us plenty of light to find some where to sleep.

We've been walking ten minutes; we're in the very centre of Bissau City. Looking around it reminds me of Mozambique. The buildings are in a bad state of repair, but the architecture is nice. I can imagine in it's heyday it was a beautiful place to be.

The first two places we look at are full, the prices are expensive. We get a room in a small hotel, again expensive for what we are getting.

Night finally starts to fall on the city, the generators kick into action. I suppose running the generators put the price of everything up.

Today we wake to a pure blue sky; the sun beats down on the city. We will go and explore.

First we check out a restaurant next to the hotel we're staying in. The food is good, but the prices are expensive. We get some breakfast in our stomachs and move out.

First place we go is to the docks, I want to find out about getting to the Island of Bubaque. I've read about a ferry that goes there, also a flight is available to the island.

I've been into the docks, everyone tells me the same story, the boat is no longer running.

Next I try an agent; they are advertising flights to the island. I leave the office a little despondent. They tell me flights stopped a good time ago. He tells me the ferry is still running, fuck who do you believe?

I ask a few more people on the street, they all seem to say no ferry. They direct me to a small port area further down from the main docks. Here I find large wooden pirogues. These things look too unsafe for my liking, they are overcrowded and no life jackets are supplied.

I ask Sireen what she thinks about using the pirogues. she doesn't want to. I have to agree with her, it's about sixty kilometres into the ocean, no short journey.

Well we've given up on the idea of a few days on the island.

Walking back I notice some memorial, a statue. It's commemorating the death of a lot of dockworkers who died during strike action. They were shot by the colonial forces; they were unarmed, just demonstrating.

Back in the centre I notice a beautiful bit of architecture. The building is stone, there are some nice carvings. There's a long veranda on the front, big curved arches with stone balustrades give a very Portuguese feel. It's a hotel; I must go and check it out.

I walk up a wide stone staircase, going into the cover of the veranda I'm struck by how cool it is. There's plenty of room to put tables and chairs, but there's nothing.

I'm greeted by the person in charge, he speaks no English. After a bit of hand gesturing he takes me in to see a room. The rooms are pretty basic, but it's a lot cheaper than where we are staying now.

The courtyard is in need of a little repair, but you can visualise what it would have been like when under Portuguese rule. A big fat Portuguese man sat sipping a glass of wine or port, well the black people worked around him.

We're joined by another man, he speaks good English. He tells me they have no generator, there's also no running water.

That really puts this one to bed. It's dark inside the room and corridors in the daytime, evenings would be pitch black.

Evening arrives, so does the noise of the generators. We sit drinking a few beers; we plan what we're going to do. The evening is warm with a cool breeze blowing in.

Today we are wandering around this place; it does have a bit of a fascination for me.

We have found the old presidential palace; it was destroyed in the civil war. It looks like an old colonial structure. There are no windows and it's full of what must be bullet and shell holes. It would look beautiful if it were restored.

To one side are government buildings perhaps? well there seems to be a lot of military personnel coming and going.

There's a road going down by the side of the old building. I've read that the president lives down here in a well guarded house. It also warned about trying to walk down there.

There seems to be a lot of people congregating near here. I find a man who speaks good English, he's a school teacher. He tells me the leader of the opposition is about to arrive, we are stood outside their offices.

I ask him if it's fine to be here. The police or military will not come and try to break things up. He assures me it will not happen, it's perfectly safe.

The crowd gets bigger; the man finally makes an appearance on the platform. He speaks for thirty minutes; the crowd cheer and applaud him.

We start to walk away from the crowd back towards the old building. The teacher follows us; he tells us some of the history of Bissau.

I point to the road by the side of the building. I say to him,

"is that where the President lives now?"

"Yes it is",

he replies.

"I think you are not allowed down there?"

I ask him.

"Yes you can go down there",

he says.

There's no guards, no barrier, surely if you were not allowed down there it would be blocked.

The three of us start to walk towards the road. Reaching the edge, no one comes to obstruct us. We take three steps inside and soldiers with guns come out yelling at us.

Our translator tells us we have to leave quickly. We about turn and quicken our pace.

"Later I read that this President and his guards were killed by soldiers in the house, which is only a short distance down the road. His body was supposedly mutilated".

We spent a few more days in Bissau city and then used local transport to travel north. We stopped in a few small towns, expensive rooms, no electricity, just a bed.

Sireen would not eat because of the cholera problem, I took my chance.

Today we've reached the town of Cacheu; it stands on the Rio Cacheu.

I've read about one hotel down near the river. We are pointed in a direction; it's a long straight road. Unfortunately there's no transport, we've been dropped at the entry to the town.

We start the walk, it's four in the afternoon and the sun is very hot. Something like twenty to thirty minutes passes by and we reach the river.

It's a very wide estuary; the water is blue which seems strange for a river. To one side is what looks to be a restaurant. We go over and meet a gentleman; luckily for us he speaks good English.

His name is Da Silva, he's originally from Cacheu. He tells us he now resides in Tenerife; he's been there for twenty years. He's back here on holiday.

His restaurant is a makeshift construction of wood, corrugated sheet, and a few tables and chairs. It sits right on the side of the river; you relax and look across the open water towards Casamance.

I notice one old trawler, very rusty; no other ships are to be seen.

He tells us before the war this was a very busy port. The channel is very deep, big ships could dock without a problem.

I ask him who owns the trawler. he tells me a bunch of Russians. That's strange, why are Russians down here in a beat up old craft?

We ask about the hotel by the river, he tells us it's finished. It's still there but no longer in use.

We're joined by two white men, they are Russian. The one speaks a little English. Da Silva communicates with them in Russian. I say to him,

"you speak Russian?"

He has learnt a little from them, he tells us. It sounded more than a little; I think someone is not telling the truth.

I chat to the one who has some English, he's a knowledgeable man. I ask,

"what do you do here?"

"We are fishing",

he replies.

He carries on telling me that they sailed the boat from Russia. It's a wreck; it's hard to believe it was strong enough to make such a long journey. He tells me it's a good place to fish and make money.

More men join us; I've counted about nine different faces. Slowly they all go back to wherever they are staying.

When they've all gone, Da Silva tells us they were all in the Russian Navy until the break-up of the Soviet Union.

There was one older man, maybe approaching late fifties. Da Silva tells us he was in charge of a nuclear submarine.

These men are not here fishing, they are collecting drugs, I'm sure. I think I will stop asking questions, they could be dangerous.

Da Silva gives us some directions, there we will find a Chinese man, he's got a few rooms to let.

"That's the only option, or sleep outside",

Da Silva says.

We take our leave, thanking Da Silva for his help.

We walk down the track he showed us. We arrive at a small holding without animals, just things growing in the ground. I'm sure I can see bean sprouts.

We're greeted by a Chinese man, he's not young. He shows us a room, fucking basic isn't the word. He then hits us with the price; we've no choice we accept.

Today we find our way around. We find the hotel, it's a nice building. On the other side of the road near the river are round thatched huts. I see the Russians are living in two of them. The main building is also being used by locals, they are squatting I suppose. Further along are some statues, they really were going to make this into a tourist haven.

Talking to Da Silva later, he tells us that a politician was building this place. The war put a halt to everything, no visitors, no money. The politician was probably using aid money from the west, or the people's money.

Corruption Africa.

We spent one more night in Cacheu before we started our trip back to the border.

The border formalities were no problem. On the Senegalese side we were made to wash our hands in disinfectant. That seemed a good idea, but what if we were carrying the infection?

~~~~~

Chapter 8

Living in Ziguinchor

Things were going well between Sireen and me; she would still have her little spats and go off to her mother for a few days.

She made the trip to England on two occasions. On each occasion she became pregnant, giving birth to two boys.

She had her Muslim wedding ceremony, this is a paperless marriage. It's only recognised by the Muslim. I didn't even go to the ceremony. In fact she didn't want me to go, she new my religious beliefs. I'm a non believer.

I've just returned from England, I was working to fatten the savings. I fly into Gambia, there waiting for me is my beautiful family.

Taxi from the airport to Brikama, then the seven seater Peugeot taxi to Ziguinchor.

We're back at our favourite guest house, but only for one night. We're going to rent in a suburb called Perrisac.

For me it's an early night, I'm tired from the travelling.

Sat under the big mango tree, we take a breakfast of coffee, baguette and omelette. The boys are full of life, Sireen gets angry with them. I tell her to relax, enjoy the day.

Sireen called a taxi earlier, it's just arrived. The boys get very excited, the eldest who is only three, wants to sit in the front with me.

There's no seatbelts, or none that work properly, here it doesn't matter. My son stands, I try to hold him, he doesn't want. Finally he's propelled onto the windscreen when the driver brakes. He bangs his head and starts to cry.

These people including Sireen can't see the dangers. Children standing up in a moving car. Open fires with pans of hot water or cooking fat, the children running around them. When I try to explain to Sireen she bites my head off. It doesn't happen here, is her input.

"You have no fucking statistics that's why",

I say to her.

Sometimes her attitude is hard to cope with, I wonder what our future really is? I love the girl, but sometimes I think is it worth it.

We reach the house, there are two floors and it's walled and gated. A knock on the gate and we are received by Samba.

He shows us to our room, we have two rooms and a toilet shower. Everything looks good, the boys are already outside, they will enjoy I think.

We walk back out to the front, it's just concrete. The top floor is still being constructed, the owner lives and works in France. When he sends money home more work is carried out.

Back inside the house we check out the kitchen, we share this with the people living in the front.

The day is moving along, the boys are playing and enjoying themselves. Darkness falls and we go to sleep in our new home.

It's been a few weeks living here, we've looked around Perrisac, and it's quite a mess really. The road is very bad; potholes join up in most places, leaving no sign of the old tarmac.

One good thing I have found is a bar; it's different to the others. Firstly it's situated close to the mosque. When I went in for a drink people were very friendly. I was even asked if I wanted a beer, this is totally out of character.

"Whenever I'm in a bar here, people will strike up a conversation with you, after ten minutes they ask you for a beer. These are people you've never met before, why do I have to buy them a drink?"

I start to get to know a lot of people in this bar. They are educated, teachers, students, some working for Non Government Organisations. Another surprising thing is the owners are Christian. A lot of the clients are also Christian, not all; there is plenty of Muslim here too.

The young guy looking after the bar for his father is called Moses, a very biblical name.

On several occasions I notice taxi drivers pulling up outside. Moses would wrap a bottle of spirit, beer or whatever the driver asked for. I ask him,

"why don't they come in and drink?"

He says,

"they are Muslim".

I'd noticed how quiet the bars are on a Friday night, almost empty. I put this to Sireen; she told me the Muslim doesn't drink in the bar. So it's the Christian and tourist who drink the beer and service the prostitutes. Strange in a country that is ninety to ninety five percent Muslim.

In fact I remember a Muslim friend of mine at the guest house. He drank any kind of alcohol and smoked weed. One day I said quote,

"Omar you are a bad Muslim".

"No Seb I'm a modern Muslim",

was his reply.

Today the builders are working on the top floor. The boys are running around outside, I tell Sireen of the dangers. We decide to all sit outside; we can keep them away from the danger area.

We watch lumps of concrete block fall to the ground. I think Sireen is now taking notice of my comments.

I see a very large rat run for cover down the side of the house; I'd seen this on many occasions.

This time it's a little different, it's being chased by two of the boys doing the building. They poke and prod sticks down the hole; they try to smoke it out. Finally they succeed; it comes back out in the garden. It seems to have a network of tunnels. There's a lot of banging of sticks on the ground, the rat is dead.

I walk over; they've thrown it into the wheelbarrow. It's one big fucking rat, it looks horrible. I ask them what they will do with it. The one lad is going to take it home.

"We will eat it",

he says.

I suppose they eat monkey here, why not eat a rat. I can just imagine a big plate of red rice, the rat skinned and cooked, placed on the top. Would they leave the head on? fucking making me feel sick thinking about this.

Our cleaner confirms that the boy is telling the truth. Some people here think the rat is a delicacy. She tells me she wouldn't eat it.

Today isn't a good day, Sireen wants to argue. She comes at me with arms and legs hitting and kicking out. I just subdue her; I let her go thinking she's got it out of her system. I'm wrong, she runs to the kitchen returning with an empty beer bottle. She tells me she will put it over my head, I laugh and walk away.

A few minutes pass, she's packed and ready to go home to her mother with the boys. I will not stop her; in fact I can have some peace.

The taxi arrives, she leaves without saying a word, and the boys follow her.

A few days have gone by, I've heard nothing from Sireen, everything is normal.

This evening I'm expecting Fanta to visit me. Fanta's auntie is the cleaner. She's been doing the cleaning for her auntie recently, her auntie's gone to the village.

The other morning I was lying on my bed, working on my laptop. Fanta knocked on the door, she told me she wanted to clean. I told her to go ahead.

I looked at her working away, she was a pretty girl. We started to talk; her body language was telling me she was flirting. She asked me if I had any naughty movies, she meant porn.

I did have some; Sireen had asked me to download them. She wanted to see what they do in the movie.

I tell her yes, opening the folder I started to play them. She was very interested; she was studying them like a scholar.

"Do you like watching them?"

I asked her.

"Yes"

was her reply.

To my amazement she started to rub my bare chest. Her hand slowly moved down and went inside my shorts.

I put the computer to one side. I fondled her breasts with one hand; the other found its way inside her dress. Feeling her she was very wet, she wanted to fuck I think.

I got up off the bed, she bent forward and lifted her dress, slowly she lowered her panties. I entered her from the back, it felt nice, also very exciting.

The door to the bedroom was open; other people were talking in the kitchen a few metres away. This was an adrenalin rush, the risk element made the sex better.

I'm sat outside; it's a beautiful balmy evening. The sun is set but the sky is still light. The house is empty, I'm totally alone.

The metal entrance gate opens, in walks Fanta, she looks nice. She pulls a chair over and sits by me.

I need to find out more about this girl, the only thing I know is she likes to fuck.

I ask her the usual questions,

"How old are you?"

"Twenty two"

she replies.

She's still studying, that's why she lives with her auntie. Her parent's home is out in the bush. She doesn't have any children, but she wants one day. She's a Muslim. Interrogation finished we go to the bedroom.

I shut the door behind me; Fanta is already taking off her clothes. This girl really wants to get on with it.

I go back out; I forgot to lock the front door. Returning to the bedroom I see Fanta naked lying on her back. She looks good, her well formed breasts looking solid, nipples already at attention. Her pussy is shaven; I see no clitoris or labia.

I join her on the bed; we kiss and touch each other. I'm soon aroused, condom in place I enter inside her. The love making is good; she doesn't have good movement, inexperienced.

We finish what we started and get dressed. We go back outside and sit, finishing our conversation with a drink.

Sireen had come to her senses again and returned home. Everything seemed normal again, the boys were enjoying.

We would make our weekly trip to an African restaurant. This lady served the best steaks in the town, better than the tourist places.

The love making with Sireen was good, when this woman's mind is good, it's the best.

Sireen went to visit her mother this morning for a few days, I'm alone again.

I'm sat in the front garden, I hear what sounds like gunfire, it's close. I don't think the rebels fight in the town.

The guns keep cracking; they've been joined by louder booms, bigger weapons.

I look at the time, it's six in the evening, it's too late to go and find out what's happening.

The firing finally fades away after a few hours, we have peace again.

News is starting to get out, the fighting was by the university, and one soldier was killed.

The university is where my girlfriend and sons are; I need to go there tomorrow morning.

It wasn't a very good night's sleep, my mind was thinking about my family.

I leave everything in the house, just enough money for return taxi fare. If the rebels are still there, I've nothing for them to steal.

I jump in a taxi, I tell the driver,

"university".

Soon we reach the university, I ask him to drive me to where the tarmac finishes.

The taxi moves away, I look around, it's quiet. I look over to the wood; I see no sign of people. I start to walk the sand track to the wood; I'm joined by a Senegalese man carrying a machete.

He tells me he's a gardener; he lives close to Sireen's mother. He knows her family well.

We reach the edge of the wood, walking into the wood you immediately feel the cooling effect from the hot sunshine outside.

Following the track I see the first soldiers, then more in another position. They are well camouflaged; their uniforms merge in with the vegetation.

We reach the soldiers, there are seven of them. They have one Jeep type vehicle, one small truck with a very big machine gun fitted to the back.

We are stopped by their commander; he starts to talk to the gardener. He asks for his ID, checking it he returns it to him. A few more words and he is sent on his way.

Now it's my turn, I left my ID back at the house, maybe I have a problem.

The commander speaks good English, this should help, my French is crap. He asks for my ID, I explain that I left everything for fear of being robbed. He asks me if I new the man I was walking with. I tell him we've just met, we were walking together, that's all.

"Why are you here?"

he asks me.

I explain to him that my children are here with their mother and her family. I just want to see if they are safe.

He wants to know were they live, I give him directions. Thirty minutes of questioning he lets me move on.

I walk on through the wood, across one small field and reach the house. Everyone is fine, the boys are outside playing.

I tell them the soldiers stopped me, I had no ID to show them. Well we are talking I see the commander and two soldiers walking across the field. Their guns are pointing down to the ground.

When they reach the house they start to talk with a relative of Sireen. I've no idea what is being said, just checking up on my story I suppose.

Soldiers gone, I start to hear of their ordeal. The bullets and explosions were happening all around them, they just stay flat on the floor all night.

Sireen's cousin got to the University just when the battle started. He sheltered there all night.

Soldiers are advising people to leave the area; Sireen's mother is going to stay.

I ask Sireen if she's coming back with me. she is, the taxi is on its way.

Over the next few days we sit in the front of the house listening to the gun battles. They would cease when it got dark and recommence in the morning.

A small light aircraft would take off from the airport; I think its objective was to find the enemy. Once it was overhead the rebels would go to ground, the guns would fall silent. The aircraft would fly off to another location; the guns would start firing again. They seemed to be playing cat and mouse.

The people did move out for a few days then returned. The family persuaded their mother to move.

The fighting moved towards the Bissau border. One battle there saw seven soldiers killed.

The house we're staying in is coming to the end of the agreement. I ask Sireen if she's happy to go back to the guest house for a short time. She seems pretty positive about that.

It's another one of those days. Sireen decides to take flight again; she's gone to her family home. This is starting to get me fucked off, the slightest disagreement and she packs her bags and leaves.

Fuck it, enjoy yourself Seb. I'm going into town tonight for a few beers. Maybe I will find a girl, if Sireen doesn't want me that's her problem.

I get my usual early morning wakeup call from the man in the mosque. Five o'clock and I hear this chanting, yelling, whatever it is. Never live near a mosque, in fact a church either, they will wake you up with the bells.

Last night was good, I done a few bars and drank a few too many beers. One bar I've been visiting recently is used by the tourists and the whites who live here. For that reason I'm not a great lover of the place, but there's a beautiful girl working there, her name is Awa.

We've been making good conversation for some time, last night was no exception. She's coming to the house tonight.

The day moves by slowly, I walk past the mosque to spend a few good hours at the bar. Inside I meet Moses, he's a charming guy. I spend all of the afternoon drinking gin and tonic, how British is that?

The evening arrives, so does Awa, she looks good. Awa is from the Fula tribe; her skin colour is light brown. She has two children; she's twenty nine years old.

Our first stop is Moses; we will go and have a drink. Inside she gets a thumbs up from the people that know me. I didn't realise she only lives nearby, walking distance from where I'm living.

She's good fun to be with, the night in the bar is nice, but we need to go. We give our farewells and head for my house.

In the bedroom I start to undress her, her body is fit. Considering she has two children her figure is good. The breasts are large with the African nipple pointing forward, not to the ground.

On the bed naked we both quickly get aroused. I slide inside her, she makes a groan. The movement of our bodies quicken, her nipples stick out. We find many positions together, this girl makes good love.

I also notice she's been put to the knife, her clitoris and labia removed. The labia is not completely finished, there are small strands left in position.

The night with Awa was wonderful; she's fun to be with. She's good in bed; you ask her for something she does it.

A new day, my bag is packed I'm moving out. I've contacted Sireen; she will collect her things later. She asked me where I was going. I was going to tell her,

"none of your business".

I relented.

"To the guest house".

The next few weeks were spent under the giant mango tree, drinking Flag. Lunch would be local peanuts with beer, the evening the same.

Awa was a regular visitor; she would pass by on her way to work. On the way back, around midnight, she would come in and sleep. Before sleeping we would make some love.

There was a brief encounter with a girl called Fatou. I remember she was still breast feeding. When she stripped naked her breasts were like big balloons at a children's birthday party. Making it with her was not good, the breasts were a hindrance. We did get together sometime later, it was much better.

Time moved on, contact with Sireen was little. I was back in Dakar, I needed to go and earn some money. Well staying at a friend's house there I had some contact with Sireen. When I told her I was flying back to England, she was surprised. I told her I will contact her when I get there, we need to sort things out about the boys.

### ~~~~~

Chapter 9

Passports to Prosecutor

I arrived back from the UK yesterday. Last night was spent in Gambia, this evening I'm back in my favourite guest house in Ziguinchor.

I've returned to sort out British Passports for the boys. Doing the research in England I find that it's not so easy. Why does the British Government make life so difficult for its own people, yet if you are not a British subject you can get by the system easy?

The boys have to apply in the country they are living, that's Senegal. The embassy in Dakar doesn't take any paper work. It's for you to send via one of the major courier companies. The processing centre is in Pretoria, South Africa. Why do they have to go all the way down there?

Passports were processed at the embassy in Gambia before these new rules were adopted. At least you can still take the paperwork there, then they will post it for you, I still have to paying the courier fees.

Also you can pay the fees with cash in Gambia. If I use Pretoria I need credit card, which I don't have or banker's draft, which my bank doesn't support. I'm fucked.

I need to call the centre in Pretoria tomorrow, see if they can help me.

I wake to a blue sky; sitting under the mango tree I eat one of Lamine's omelettes.

I'm joined by Sireen with the boys, it's nice to see them all again. I realise this could be short lived; Sireen might just pack the bags and go.

After using money on phone calls to the processing centre in Pretoria, I finally get what I want. They tell me I can take the passport applications to Gambia. This is great news, the problem with payment is solved, and Gambia is closer than Dakar.

I tell Sireen the good news.

"When shall we go?"

she asks.

"Soon",

is my reply.

The rest of the day is spent talking, relaxing, and bridge building our relationship.

In England I'd contacted her by phone. I'd discussed the subject of marriage; I think it might be needed for the eldest boy's passport. Rules were changed covering children born out of wedlock. The new rules were certainly fine for the youngest with his birth date, but the eldest could fall into another category.

I ask her what she's done on the marriage thing. she tells me nothing. She needs documentation from me to start the process. I give her the paperwork she needs; she's going to the Mairie straight away. Fuck she's keen.

Time passes, Sireen's been back and forth to the Mairie, and finally we have a date.

The relationship is going well, in and out of the bedroom. I still think there's a time bomb waiting to explode.

The boys enjoy staying at the guest house, life is good right now. Once we get the wedding certificate we will head for Gambia.

Another little project Sireen is involved in is getting a Senegalese passport for the youngest boy. This is not so straightforward any more. The eldest got his in two days, it was processed in Ziguinchor. New rules mean that we have a lot of work to do; it also means that the process is in Dakar, not down here.

On one occasion I go with her to the prosecutor, he's family. This is how Africa works, not what you know, but who you know. He was getting contacts and helping her to get the passport without going to Dakar.

It was the day of the wedding, Sireen had returned to her family home. I will meet her and some relatives at the Mairie.

The Mairie is in the centre, a short walk from the guest house. When I arrive I'm surprised, the place is locked up.

I ask a few people why it's locked. It's moved to a new place out of the town I'm told. This is typical of the African when it comes to organising something.

With new directions the taxi driver takes me to the new Mairie. I hope this is the right place; the driver assures me that it is.

Looking around I don't see Sireen, the time for the ceremony is eleven o'clock, I'm five minutes early.

Ten minutes pass, Sireen arrives with her sister, she's one of the witnesses. Sireen looks very beautiful, a long dress, hair and make up to match. The other witness arrives, now we are complete.

Sireen keeps going into the building; we're now running thirty minutes late, African time.

Finally we go into the building, climbing some stairs we reach the top and enter into an office. A few minutes later in walks the mayor, he's got a band around is body, very French.

The ceremony is quickly over; I have the third Mrs Tims. A few photographs and we're on our way out of the building. The sun is very hot; I just want to get out of these long trousers and shirt. It's back to the guest house for me.

We went to Gambia; we stayed there for one week. The first couple of days were used finalising the documentation and getting the cash from the ATM machine. The lady at the embassy was very helpful, she checked everything for us. She also gave us the contact number for the processing centre in Accra, Ghana.

"Yes that's right; these applications need to go to Ghana".

The rest of the time was spent on the beach with the boys.

We'd been back in Ziguinchor for two weeks; the passports would take up to six weeks.

We lazed around in the guest house. Sireen would take the odd trip back to the family home, things were feeling good. Then one more eventful day would transpire.

It's Wednesday morning, I'm sat under the mango tree waiting for Sireen and the boys.

Last night we discussed about taking them down to the river. We would buy some twine and hooks; we could fish off of the bridge.

To my surprise she comes out with the boys, she says,

"I'm going home".

"Why I thought we were taking the boys fishing?"

I say to her.

She tells me she needs to clean her room. I tell her she's not been there for her room to be dirty.

This really is pissing me off; I let her go without saying another word.

The evening arrives, Sireen and the boys return. She walks straight past me, not saying a word. She returns for the key to the room, I tell her she might as well go back home to live.

In true Sireen style she stays in the room, I decide to keep away. Thirty minutes later a taxi arrives, she loads her luggage and leaves with the boys.

I ignore what's going on, this girl wants conflict all of the time.

Returning to the room I find she's taken my camera, phone charger and power lead for my computer. What is fucking up with this girl?

Days go by, no contact. It's Sunday morning, I'm on my way to the family home. What sort of reception will I get? maybe hostile, I'm not sure.

Reaching the family home I'm greeted by the boys, her mother also gives me a good greeting. Her sister and brother are very negative towards me.

I ask where Sireen is. I'm told she's out in the back. I see her doing some chores, I walk across to her. I ask how she is. she ignores me and turns her back on me. I ask her for my camera and other things to be returned.

"I don't have",

is her reply.

I go back in and try to chat to the brother; he's very hostile towards me. I tell him he should listen to both sides of the story before he makes up his mind. I get up and tell them I'm going, he tells me to come back and talk.

"It's too late for that",

I say to him.

A week has passed nothing from Sireen. I'm not going over there to plead for her to come back, that's for certain.

I'm sat under the mango tree; it gives me shade from the sun. A man walks in carrying a crash helmet. He approaches me and hands me a piece of paper.

I start to read it; the name on the top is Sebastian Lones. I suppose that is meant to be me. The rest is just dates; it's signed by the Chief of Police.

I've no idea what this is about, I go to see Lamine. He looks at it and tells me I've been summoned to the police station. Now I've accepted the paper I have to go.

After a lot of deliberating, the owner of the guest house will take me there. He will find out what is happening for me. My French will not be good enough to cope with whatever they are going to throw at me.

Arriving at the police station, we are sent to various rooms. Finally I go into one room; the policeman takes the paper from me. Going through a registry book, he finds my name and writes something in the book. I'm now told to follow another man.

I ask what is going on. they tell me I've been summoned to the prosecutors office. The reason? they can't tell me.

It must be something serious, why else the prosecutor. I thought the police would've been the first link in the chain.

We walk for five minutes to a different building in the town. I start to recognise this place; it's where Sireen and I came to sort out the boy's passport. Now I'm beginning to think this is something to do with her.

I walk into the reception area, I give the lady my slip of paper, she tells me to take a seat.

A few more minutes pass, in walks Sireen. She talks to the receptionist and returns outside. I get up and follower her, I ask her how she is; she turns her back on me. I return to my seat, now I'm sure this is her doing.

We are finally called into the office of the prosecutor, I follow Sireen. We both take a seat, facing us is the prosecutor. It's the same man we talked to before; yes he's a relative to Sireen. Looks like I'm already guilty before I have chance to speak. This is a kangaroo court.

He talks to Sireen in their native language, I understand none of it. She will talk to him for five minutes; he will turn to me and say,

"she said this babababa"

I tell him that she was talking to you for long periods, she must have said more than that. My complaints fall on deaf ears.

The hearing or whatever it fucking was is finished; we both leave the building going our separate ways.

I've no idea what Sireen done that for, money? she didn't ask for any. Surely two married adults can speak to each other about their problems.

"I later found out that Sireen had a dispute with her brother, he's a teacher. She summoned him to the prosecutor also. This girl is not correct".

Back at the guest house everyone wants to know what was going on? I tell them that it was Sireen, but I've no idea what she summoned me there for. I thank them all for their help.

A few days have passed, nothing more from Sireen. I really think the marriage is finished. I can become a hunter again, women beware.

There's a new arrival at the guest house, a toubab, a white man. I get chatting to him, his name is Paul. He tells me he's from England originally, but now lives in France. I tell him we'd chatted before, in a restaurant in the town centre.

He has a house in a place called Abéné, towards the border with Gambia. I've visited a place nearby called Kafountine. There's a rumour that someone is squatting in his house, he's going there to find out if this is true.

We spend a good evening together drinking, he can drink a lot. During the conversation he tells me he's going to Abéné tomorrow. He asks me if I want to go with him. Good idea, Abéné tomorrow.

A taxi journey from Ziguinchor and we reach Abéné. Paul is greeted well, he is well known here. First stop is the bar; soon he's surrounded by the local Rasta boys. He's soon giving them money to buy palm wine. The whole afternoon is spent drinking, I notice these boys are leeches, Paul is a soft touch.

We get to the campement, it's totally fucked. Most of it is in a state of disrepair, in fact a good part of it has fallen down. It doesn't function any more, but Paul tells me it was a good place once and full of toubab.

My room is dirty, the bedding clean. The bed is a concrete block; this is being well undermined by the ants.

The evening is spent drinking; Paul can really shift it back. He still has his followers, the Rasta boys. He introduces me to his girlfriend, a bright thing, with lots of confidence. I'm also introduced to her friend, Christian. She's a pretty young thing. Paul buys some drinks and the four of us head back to the campement.

The moon is shining, the four of us sit under a thatched hut open on all sides. The more I look at Christian the more I start to like her.

Drinks finished, Paul goes to his room. His girlfriend is pushing me and Christian together. She asks if I like her.

"Yes, very much",

is my reply.

Before I can comprehend what is happening we are walking to my room. Inside I start to kiss and touch her, I ask her if she is sure she wants to sleep here tonight? She does.

I slowly remove her top; my hands caress a well formed pair of breasts, big, solid and perfect. She starts to undress me, soon we're both naked. Her body is a beautiful shape; the curves are in the right places.

Eureka, she's not circumcised, she's complete. Finding a woman that's not circumcised here in Senegal is like finding a four leaf clover, fucking amazing.

We move onto the bed, slowly I move on top of her. She grasps my cock, pulling it towards her, it slides inside. The movement is slow, the feeling incredible. The love making lasts for a good time, we both fall asleep holding each other.

I had spent a week with Paul in Abéné. I told him I needed to go back to Ziguinchor. He would return with me he told me, he needed to see some friends there.

My return to the guest house was an interesting one. The lads told me that Sireen had come looking for me. She was delivering the paper herself; this was the paper for a return trip to the prosecutor.

They told me she was very angry. She was saying that I'd run away, I was not coming back. Well how fucking wrong she was.

Christian came to Ziguinchor for the weekend, the love making was better than before.

I also contacted the lady at the embassy in Gambia. It was good news; the boy's passports were there ready for collection.

Next week I will go and collect them.

~~~~~

Chapter 10

Madness in Abéné

I've just returned from Gambia with the boy's passports, it's a great relief. I've come back to Abéné; I will go back to Ziguinchor to deliver the passports in a few weeks time. Maybe I will be arrested when I get there.

I'm back in the same dirty room in the derelict campement. The room still houses big spiders, mice and rat shit, no electricity, and the beautiful Christian.

She moved in with me, she's washing for me and cooking, she's very sweet.

Paul is the same as he was when I left. He gets up at midday, showers then we go to the bar together. He starts with a beer, when that's finished he orders another with a whiskey, then another. He will drink like that until about three in the afternoon, then the Rasta boys will go and buy the palm wine, he pays of course.

It's a hot sunny morning; I've just finished breakfast with Christian.

I notice a cat is trying to eat something, it looks like a snake. I wander over, it is a snake. The snakes head is severed, bitten off by the cat. The body of the snake is one metre in length; the girth is thin, maybe the size of my thumb. Was it poisonous? I'm not sure, if it was the cat has used up one of it's lives.

Paul is still sleeping, another two hours before he wakes up.

Christian tells me she's going to have a shower, I just go back inside and lie on the bed.

It seems a long time ago that Christian went for her shower; I'd better check that she's OK.

Coming back out into the bright sunlight, I walk around to the side of the building where the showers are.

I'm met with complete surprise; Christian is totally naked leaning against the wall. She looks beautiful, I even feel like taking her now where she's standing.

I ask her what she's doing. She tells me that she's using some traditional medicine. The medicine is put in the bucket of water you are going to bath with. When you finish bathing you let it dry naturally. Naturally meaning, standing stark bollock naked for all to see.

I'm not sure what the medicine is for, but it smells fucking awful. I ask her why she can't stand in the shower to dry. She tells me it will dry quicker out in the sun.

I leave her to her own devices, fucking traditional medicines and ideas are the thing with the Senegalese. I remember my two boys, so many bits of string and leather around their little waists, poor little kids.

Paul rises from the grave; he goes into the pit latrine. Christian comes over and tells me that he's showering in the toilet. Inside is a dirty old bucket of water for people to wipe their bullet hole after having a shit. This water isn't really clean; also the toilet stinks to high heaven. Paul is a crazy man.

It's twelve thirty; we're heading for the bar. On route Paul talks to everyone, and everyone knows him. He speaks to them in their African language. He did tell me that he first came here nineteen years ago.

Finally we reach the bar, it's empty, but not for long I'm sure. Once the Rasta boys know Paul is here, they will arrive for their free palm wine.

Like clockwork he orders a Gazelle, he takes some tablet with it. That one is gone, another plus the whiskey. Start of another long day.

It's mid afternoon, Paul wants to go to his house. This is becoming a bit of a saga. When we first got here we went to the house. The people told him they would move out straight away. He told them to stay put; this was a green light for them.

We reach the house; I notice they have fenced off a section. Looking inside the fenced area I see plants, he's running a business from here selling plants. I think this all looks too permanent for my liking.

They've put their ritual toys around the place; these are to ward off evil. Paul is pissing on them, I'm not sure what he expects to achieve by doing this.

This whole episode is causing him problems. When we're in the bar he talks about it all the time. I ask him why he doesn't go to the authorities; he tells me he will do it his way.

We wander back to the lodge; I find Christian sitting alone. I give her a big squeeze, my pulse is racing.

We go to the room; I start to undress for a shower. I lie on the bed naked, I watch Christian remove her clothes.

There's a curtain across the door, the light shining through makes her body a silhouette. The shape of her breasts turns me on.

She comes over to the bed; she gets on top of me. Grasping my cock, she guides it inside her. The love making is good; this girl really does bring me to a sexual high.

Since I've been with her, we make love when we go to bed. I wake up at three in the morning, she lets me inside her. Then it's before breakfast at seven o'clock. Finally mid afternoon we're joined together sharing each others love. That's four sessions every twenty four hours.

Today I have the fright of my life. There are two toilets, one a drop which stinks and is filthy, the other a western style. I always use this toilet.

In one corner is a very large spider, I leave it alone. If I chase it away I will loose sight of it.

When the door closes, you get a little sunlight shining through the cracks of the door. This means it's dark, but I know where my spider friend is. When I'm sat down shitting, I keep glancing over my shoulder.

Today is the same, I check the place before I close the door and sit. Everything is fine; I take my seat and start my task.

The first turd hits the water, feels good. A bit more straining and another one is released

My mind is somewhere else; I'm enjoying my shit when something touches my bollocks, I jump up from the seat. I see nothing, then a small frog jumps out of the pan onto the floor.

I thought about this sort of thing happening since I was a child. A snake coming through the system and into the pan. Your bollocks are hanging there and the snake strikes.

Christian is taking me to a hotel, it's closed right now. After a good hike we reach the runway of the hotel. It's just a dirt or sand runway, a little overgrown with grass in places.

The runway was closed down, the police were saying it was being used for drugs smuggling. Without the runway the hotel couldn't function, the hotel is closed as well.

We walk towards the hotel, when we get there we find it in pristine condition. There seems to be no one about, someone is certainly maintaining the gardens.

We find the gate that leads onto the beach, everywhere including the beach is deserted.

We both sit on the sand, a beach to our selves, not possible in England. I'm very hot and sticky from the walking, the water looks so inviting. I don't have swimwear with me, looking around I see no one. I strip naked, I start to undress Christian. At first she's a little reluctant, but once I've removed her top she soon succumbs.

We both run into the surf together, her nipples soon harden with the coolness of the water. I kiss her, holding a breast with one hand, soon I'm stood to attention. We make love with the Atlantic surf rolling over us.

Recently there's been another toubab from England around. He also has a girlfriend. The four of us decided to go to some islands. The islands are not out in the ocean, they are in the river delta.

We waited for the tide to come in and then everyone got into the pirogue. We sat for ten minutes in the baking sun, no shade. They brought another pirogue, they told us we had to change. Then a third pirogue was brought, we changed again.

Our ordeal had not ended, there was more to come. When we finally moved off, the man steering the boat went into the mangrove several times.

One passenger fell into the water; a bicycle had its front wheel completely crushed when we hit the mangrove tree.

When the man got to grips with the steering of the boat, the trip through the mangrove was very pleasant. Then it was into the open waters, this was a little choppy.

When we reached the island, the boat moored off shore. We waded in the water to the shore, trying to keep things dry.

The island was small, circumnavigating was easy. Parts of the island were surrounded with mangrove.

The other notable thing was the amount of cannabis being grown there. You would see a small plot surrounded with a fence of bamboo. Peering over the fence you would see vivid green plants.

I remember watching a man bring out a large amount of the dried plant. He threw it down onto the veranda; his children came out and sat down. They proceeded to take off the dried leaves.

I had a paper round when I was that age.

We spent a few days there, it was very relaxing.

Back in Abéné Paul seemed to be getting worse. He seemed drunk twenty four seven. The house was taking over his mind, but he was never willing to do anything about it. Even I told him in the end that I wasn't interested in listening to the house saga.

The Rasta boys were a constant pain. The way they took Paul's money was annoying to watch. They would try to ask me for drinks, the answer was always the same; they gave up in the end.

Christian and I were still making love four times every twenty four hours.

I'd forgotten about my troubles back in Ziguinchor. When I go back I'm not sure what to do. I really feel my love for Sireen is gone, not completely, but almost.

Today is strange, I'm alone. Christian went to see her mother; she's working on one of the other islands.

The day is the usual bar, then sleep scenario. Then get ready for the evening session.

This morning there was a strange event. I was visited by Christine, she lives near the campement, and she's part of the family. I made love to her when I first arrived with Paul.

We talk for a time, she's coming to my room tonight, she wants to fuck.

The evening is moving along well, Paul is smashed out of his mind. He's had beer, whiskey, palm wine and smoked plenty of weed.

The bar is packed with all of the same faces. Most of the Rasta boys are here. They all look fucked up, a combination of weed and alcohol.

People are eating hot food from one of the local restaurants. I get an invite to join them. That's one thing I've noticed here in Senegal, when people are eating they invite you to come and share their meal. Meal finished, they have a good root around with a toothpick.

The toothpick here in Africa is a multi use tool. People use it for picking their teeth, chewing on, cleaning out their ears.

I'm tired, I tell Paul I'm going to bed, he's going to stay. The evening is very mild, there's a slight breeze.

My path back is lit by a full moon, when this isn't shining it's very dark here. Electricity reached here quite recently, there's no street lighting. In fact there are no streets, just sand tracks.

I get back to my room, using the torch I scout around for spiders or snakes. Nothing found I undress and get under the sheet.

The room is pitch black; I listen to the noises above the plastic sheet. Something is busy up there, mice probably.

There's a tap on the door, I get out of bed and unlock the door. Opening it I see Christine stood there. I'd forgotten she was coming around tonight.

I invite her in; we hold each other and kiss. My hands start to explore her body; she in turn does the same to me.

We're soon naked on the bed, we massage each other. Soon I'm erect, I slide inside her and we make love.

She's got good experience; she was married to a toubab for a time. We spend a few hours making some good love; she certainly likes to try different positions. Finally we're both exhausted; she leaves me to return to her children.

Christian returned a few days ago, now I'm back to four times in twenty four hours. Sounds like a tablet, to be taken four times a day. Perhaps that can become her nickname, Tablet.

Paul is still going mad, he told me he was fighting with someone last night. Looking at the state of him, he hasn't cleaned his teeth for a long time, they are stained brown.

I've been bitten by something, an insect I think. It started with two small red dots close to each other. It formed into a blister and just got bigger. Now it's the size of a sixpence coin and is weeping liquid. It looks like its going poisonous. Around the edge it's very red and the pain is getting worse.

Tomorrow I'm going to Gambia, my visa is running out. I will take Tablet with me if she wants to come. I will ask her later.

It's an early morning start; Tablet and I are going to cross the border today. First we need transport out of Abéné to Diouloulou, this is where we can pick up transport to the border.

We get a lift in a four by four, the road is very bad but we make good time. We arrive at Diouloulou; this is reputed to be the place where the last lion was killed in all of Senegal. There's a small statue of a lion to commemorate this, it looks like it was made by primary school children.

Getting out of the car I rub the bite on my arm, this takes the top of it off. It's a mixture of puss and blood, it looks horrible. When Tablet sees it she turns very pale.

We stand waiting for the taxi, she's very quiet. I ask her if she's fine. her eyes start to roll, strange voices come out of her mouth.

"These voices or noises I'd heard in the bedroom when she was sleeping. I put them down to bad dreams".

She starts to topple, I support her. People around come to her assistance, they tell me I need to take her to the hospital. She starts to make the noises, it's like she's having some kind of fit.

Slowly she starts to recover. I ask her if she wants to go back to Abéné or the hospital. She assures me she's fine and wants to carry on to Gambia.

The rest of the trip to Serrekunda was uneventful. We're in our little guest house surrounded by prostitutes.

First job is to go and see the pharmacist; maybe they can suggest some medicine.

The lady in the pharmacy suggests the possibility of Tablet being pregnant. I doubt this very much, but I agree for her to have a test. Test completed we get the results; she's not carrying my baby.

The lady comes up with a few other ideas; we leave the pharmacy with a bag of medicine and my pocket a little lighter.

We wake up to a new day, Tablet looks good. I ask her how she feels. she tells me she's fine.

She went to visit her auntie in Brikama; I went to see a good friend of mine, Moussa.

We meet at the guest house, I watch her take a shower, her body really wakes me up. I strip off and join her in the shower; it's not long before we're joined together. The water rains down on us, her breasts seem so hard. My time soon comes, with a deep penetration I release inside her.

There's a knock at the door, it's the uncle she'd visited earlier. I welcome him into the room. His name is Aliou he's a Muslim. Tablet's family are Christians, her auntie was also Christian, but converted to Islam when she married.

The conversation got very interesting; we were talking about Tablet's problem.

"The story is about Christian's father. He owed some money to another person, he wouldn't pay it back. The person went to a witchdoctor; this led to a spell being put on Christian. When the money is taken to the witchdoctor, the spell will be lifted".

These people really love their ju ju; I think she suffers from epilepsy. Why didn't the witchdoctor curse the father? Because it's all bullshit.

I asked how much they wanted. I'm told the equivalent to £300, that's a lot of money here. I'm then told that the father refuses to pay, what a cunt of a man.

"I did meet her father; he's not a poor man. He owns a bar and rents lots of rooms and houses to people. He's also into smuggling booze from Gambia".

The uncle finally left us; I didn't like him very much. He was typical of the people here, always wanting something.

Our trip to Gambia finished with no more problems for Tablet. After two weeks back in Abéné I felt I needed to get a rest from her. I asked her to leave for a while, she refused. I moved out and moved into another guest house. The relationship never kick started again.

I feel the need to leave this place, everything is wrong for me. Paul is completely fucked up, the Rasta boys live out of his pocket, he's easy prey.

I need to go back to Ziguinchor, I want to see the boys and finalise these passports. I think I will go in the next few days.

~~~~~

Chapter 11

Another One Ends

I got back to Ziguinchor today; I'm back in my favourite guest house. I strike up the computer, sitting under the mango tree I surf the net. Feels good to be back, maybe Sireen will disturb my peace at sometime.

I've decided to go and see the boys tomorrow, give these passports to Sireen. That's tomorrow; let's enjoy the rest of the day.

The evening was nice, sitting in the garden getting bitten by the mosquito. I drank a few beers, talked with the boys. Yes it's good to be back.

I'm in a taxi heading for the university; always trying to cheat you with the fucking fare.

We reach the end of the tarmac; this is where I get out. Paying the cheating bastard driver his fare, I start to walk towards the wood.

The day is hot, it's nice when I walk into the wood, the trees giving me cover from the blazing sun.

I'm exiting the wood; the sun burns me straight away. Following the track I arrive at Sireen's family home. I wonder what the reception will be.

First to greet me are the boys and other children from nearby. Next it's Sireen's mother, she's a lovely lady.

Sitting on the porch I meet Demba, he's Sireen's elder brother. He lived in Europe for a long time. Last time I was here he was very anti towards me, this time he's my best friend.

Demba is a useful person, his English is very good, he will translate with his mother for me.

"Is Sireen here?"

I ask Demba.

"She is out in the back",

he tells me.

I walk through the house to the back garden, to my right I see Sireen. She's busy working; she still looks so beautiful to me.

I walk over to her, she doesn't look up. I ask her if we can talk for a moment. She stops what she's doing and we go inside.

We sit opposite each other, I make the first move. I tell her I have the boy's passports and birth certificates. I offer them over to her.

"I do not want",

she says.

This fucking stupid woman is telling me she doesn't want. They aren't for you; they are for the boy's future.

I get up and leave her, I return outside. I sit with Demba; I explain what Sireen just spouted off. He tells me to wait; he goes off and comes back with Sireen's mother.

She accepts the passports, she keeps thanking me, she's a lovely lady.

I decide to approach the subject of my camera and other items Sireen took, or should I say stole.

Demba explains to his mother, she tells me to wait, she will talk with Sireen.

After a few minutes I'm called into the house. Going into Sireen's bedroom, I find her getting a bag from her wardrobe. She gives the bag to her mother who in turn passes it to me. I thank her mother and reclaim what is mine.

Back outside I talk with mother on the porch, Demba translates for me. I tell her that if she wants the boys to come to England, I would be happy about that.

"What about Sireen?"

she says.

I tell her I'm sorry, it's not possible. This is the final straw for me, I don't want to be with this woman any more. Mother shrugs her shoulders; she understands why I say this.

I say good bye to everyone except Sireen. The boys follow me to the wood with Demba. I walk the rest of the way on my own to the university. There I wait for some transport back to the centre.

"I never did see Sireen again, not even contact. I visited the family home several times to see the boys. Demba and I would drink on several occasions in the town bars".

"It's over, what about the boys? I've no idea what their mother will do with them. That's not really true, I'm sure she will get them circumcised and bring them up as Muslim. That was always her thoughts".

Time moved on, weeks passed by. One day I meet a Frenchman under the mango tree. His name is Claude; he's been living in Bissau for nine years he tells me. He's divorced from his French wife, now he hunts down the local talent. He likes to drink, and I think he's got some financial problems. He seems to be selling some of his belongings, a satellite phone among other things.

One night I'm sat in the garden, when in comes a friend of mine, Pape. Pape is a singer, rap style.

Tonight he has a beautiful girl in tow, his girlfriend? He introduces me to Binta. She's gorgeous, light coloured skin, big pouting lips and a body to die for.

He tells me it's his sister; I explain to him that I thought it was his girlfriend.

We'd talked about him making a video a few days ago. He told me he needed somewhere nice to film. I'd explained about this garden, so he's come to take a look.

He doesn't take long to make up his mind. I point him in the direction of Seydou, the owner of the guest house. He goes off to have a chat with him.

I'm now left with his beautiful sister, we start to chat. She seems a lovely girl, no children, twenty five years old. We exchange phone numbers, I invite her for a drink here one night, she accepts. She tells me she will call me when she's got the time.

Pape returns, Seydou tells him he can film, Pape is a happy boy. We talk for a little longer then Pape tells me he needs to go. I watch this beautiful woman disappear into the night.

Today I get a call from Binta; she wants to come over tonight, she's free. Fucking hell, that didn't take her long to find the time. It must be my irresistible charms.

I do my usual bit of surfing under the mango tree, joke with Lamine and the boss Seydou.

Seydou is only a young man, late twenties. The guest house was a house belonging to a family member. He started it up as a guest house, for the little effort he puts in he's rewarded well.

He has a beautiful wife and child, but he's always negotiating deals with different girls. He takes them to one of the rooms to fuck; this is common with the African man. Maybe their wife's don't fulfil their appetite.

Evening arrives, sitting under the mango tree I make conversation with Claude. He tells me he fell off his motorcycle last night. This doesn't surprise me, when I saw him leave he was pretty drunk. The roads here are full of potholes, so driving sober you need to be very vigilant.

Here comes Binta, she looks stunning. I introduce her to Claude, his eyes scan her body. We sit and chat for sometime with Claude, who's now been joined by an ex-girlfriend. Time is passing; I want to get this girl on her own.

I finally tell Claude we are going to my room for a talk, Binta looks at me and smiles.

Inside the room we both embrace, her kisses are giving me an erection. I calm myself down; we both sit on the bed.

I look at her breasts pushing out through her top, so sexy. We fall back onto the bed and start to kiss again. My hand slides inside her top; her breasts are very shapely with small nipples. I really want to get inside this girl, but it's our first date, I really must hold back.

Today Pape has arrived to make his video. I sit under the mango tree watching him go about his business. He makes some good music, not my style but the sound is good.

He makes his way around the garden, filming different angles. He sings with a girl, not a bad looker, the bum is a bit too large for me.

Finally he wants me in the video; I tell him I really don't want to. He settles for some photo shots. His filming session took most of the day, he seems very happy with the results.

Evening time, I'm expecting to see Binta soon. I sit drinking my beer, I watch Seydou chatting to some pretty girl, his next conquest I would imagine.

In walks Binta, she looks good, tonight I want this girl. She joins me at the table; I order a drink for her.

We talk about various things; I tell her Pape was here today. She asks me to visit her house and meet her family; I agree to go there tomorrow.

We go to my room, I switch the ceiling fan on full, we're going to need it.

Slowly I remove her clothes, she removes mine. We stand naked holding each other tightly.

We slump onto the bed. I start to feel her breasts, they are firm the nipples starting to stick out. I go down and start to suck them, this draws them out further.

She's starting to stroke my cock, it soon becomes erect. Things are starting to heat up, she's ready, so am I.

She pushes me onto my back; she sits on top of me legs astride. Her hand holds my cock and she lowers herself onto it. It slides in with ease, she's very moist.

Her body moves giving me a great sensation, she pushes down hard taking the full shaft. Her moans are getting louder, her body is tensing. She gives one big moan and gets her climax.

I roll her onto her back; she's lying there looking very beautiful. Her nipples are large; I start to play with them. This turns my desire up a notch or two, I put my hand on her pussy, it's very wet. Holding my cock I find her opening, slowly I push inside her. She starts to moan again, I move deeper inside. My cock goes back and forth, the feeling is unbelievable. I tell her I'm ready to release. Instead of letting me out, she holds me tight. My sperm enters her, the feeling and the tingling is unbearable.

The fan didn't cope with the heat of the room; we both lie with beads of sweat rolling off our bodies. The passion was intense; I really liked making love to this girl.

I promised to go and see Binta at her family home today. It's on the way to Sireen's family home; I hope she's not going by when I'm there.

The taxi reaches the destination; I get out and pay the driver. I'd phoned ahead, Binta should be here, I can't see her. I phone again, she's waiting for me she tells me. This stupid taxi man dropped me at the wrong place.

I make contact with Binta again; I give the phone to a lady near me. She tells Binta where I am, passing the phone back to me Binta explains where I need to walk to.

After seven or eight minutes of walking I find Binta, we give each other a big hug. We walk another three or four minutes and we reach the family home.

The house is tidy, but doesn't contain a lot of fixtures and fittings.

She introduces me to her mother; I see were Binta gets her looks from. I'm introduced to a few other friends and relatives, everyone seems friendly.

I ask Binta where her father is. she tells me he left her mother a long time ago. He does nothing to help her; she makes fataya, a type of samosa with meat. She sits at the main road selling them; this makes a little money to get by.

They feed me well, everybody sharing a large plate of rice, with chicken and meat.

Next came hot tea, I declined, instead I sent for some soda for everyone. I watched them with their tea, some taking five large spoons of sugar.

This was something I'd noticed before. Africans take large quantities of salt and sugar.

Lunch finished we go to Binta's bedroom, surprisingly smart. We lie on the bed for a few hours relaxing; we talk, kiss and touch.

My relationship with Binta went on for a few more months. We made love every moment we had together.

She wanted me to go with her and Pape to Tunisia, he was performing there. For me she was getting too close, I was still officially married to Sireen.

I broke the news to her one night that our relationship was finished. She took it well, no hysterics, we went our separate ways.

Time passed by slowly, I'd been to see the boys a few times, no contact with Sireen. In fact she'd gone to the village, her family hadn't heard from her. I asked why she'd gone and not taken the boys. Demba said,

"she's gone to do some spiritual stuff with the witchdoctor".

Fucking hell she's putting some ju ju on me. No, I think she's got herself a new toubab, a Frenchman.

I'm just coming back from getting my haircut; it's ten in the morning. I reach the guest house, coming out is a young girl. My first reaction is wow; she's not the prettiest girl I've seen, but not the ugliest either.

My eyes are transfixed onto her breasts, they are huge. She's a little over five feet tall, her body very curvy.

She stops and we start to talk. Her name is Giselle, she will come back tonight.

The evening is a warm one; there are lots of mosquitoes biting at my legs. I'm waiting for Giselle, maybe she will not turn up.

True to African time keeping, she arrives thirty minutes late. We sit and drink together. She's still schooling, doing her Baccalaureate, she's nearly twenty years old.

She's a little nervous or shy, I'm not sure which. The more I look at her, the more attracted to her I'm becoming.

She asks where I stay? I tell her I will show her. My room is in the garden, ten metres away. We walk over and go inside, she sits on the bed. I ask her if I can kiss her, she doesn't object. My energies are rising; I need to send her home.

I escort her back to the road, finding her a taxi to take her home.

I'd been seeing Giselle for a few weeks. She would come and knock on my door. Once inside we would kiss and touch each other, but no penetration. She would strip down to her panties, never removing them. She would let me fondle her breasts, she would massage me.

Tonight it's different; she's lying in front of me naked. Her pussy is shaven, showing the curves of her lips. Eureka hanging in the centre is a well formed clitoris, that's two I have found.

Her clitoris is large for such a young small girl. I come down on top of her, we start to kiss. She touches me, my cock is standing upright. I enter inside her, it feels good. We rub our bodies together; she's a novice but certainly not a virgin.

We change position; she gets on top of me. Her breasts are full, the nipples protruding. Her body moves up and down on my cock causing her breasts to swing from side to side.

We change position again, me on top. I push deep into her, she's enjoying. The tingles become too much for me, I release inside her. My body feels totally drained, no strength.

My relationship with Giselle lasted a long time. The love making got better; she gained more experience with each day. I would show her different positions; she was always willing to learn.

One day she phoned me, she was crying. I asked her what the problem was. She'd failed her Baccalaureate, she was so confident she would pass.

Maybe I was to blame, if she was not learning the art of love making she could've studied more perhaps.

I later found out from some teachers who were marking the exam papers, that twenty percent pass this exam, eighty percent fail. This is one fucking backward country; my boys will be in this system. Stand up and be counted for your failures Mr President.

I later broke the news to Giselle that I would be leaving, she started to cry. I told her I would be back, this wasn't true.

After I'd left the country I phoned her, she burst into tears, this time with happiness. I never contacted her again.

~~~~~

Chapter 12

East Africa

I'd taken a break from Africa for one year, travelling South America. The pull of Africa was too strong, I've returned here again.

I've come to East Africa; I was here eleven years ago, in Kenya. This time I've decided to look at Uganda and Rwanda.

My Air Ethiopia flight from Heathrow made a stopover of four hours in Addis Ababa. The next stop was going to be Entebbe, Uganda.

The only thing I remember about this place was some hijacked plane landing here. Israel sent a commando force in to rescue its people.

This happened during the days of Idi Amin, the then President. If the film, The Last King of Scotland was close to being true, this man was a crazy bastard.

My plans are no different than any other trip I make. I want to get to a place called Kitoro; it's not far from the airport. I will stay there a few days then see where I go.

Looking out of the window I see a big body of water, it's Lake Victoria. The aircraft touches down at Entebbe International Airport. The time is four o'clock in the afternoon, still daylight hours, that's good.

I walk down the steps of the aircraft, the weather is good. This is the rainy season, but right now it's dry.

Once inside the terminal I'm directed away from the passport cubicles to another area. Here the lady gives you your stamp in your passport for $50.

Next stop is the carousel; see if the bag was put on the aircraft. A short wait and things start to move. Luggage of all shapes and sizes appear, soon I spot my bag.

Before I leave the terminal, I need to find the ATM machine. Here it's, good old Barclay's, they are all over East and Southern Africa.

Cash in hand I go outside the terminal building. It's well kept, nice little airport. I follow the route to the car park; the walkway is covered to shade people from the sun.

The car park is small, finding a taxi is easy. The driver wants 20,000 UG shillings. Quick calculation, that's about £5, doesn't seem too expensive.

The drive is short, we're soon in Kitoro. The guest house I'd picked was central. I see plenty of bars to drink a beer, this will do nicely.

The manager of the guest house shows me a room, number seventeen.

"This room would become very special over time".

The room is tidy and clean, the toilet and shower is shared, but it's clean. I tell the manager I will take the room.

"I will be staying for a few days",

I tell him.

Room sorted my next project is a few beers. Opposite is a bar called Mirembe, this is all too perfect. This is why I don't like to plan too much, plans can go wrong.

The atmosphere here is very friendly; the evening air is cool but not cold. I think this trip is already a successful one.

The journey is starting to hit home, I'm feeling tired. I look at the time on my phone, it's ten o'clock. I decide to go to bed; I think sleep will be easy tonight.

A noise wakes me up, someone is chopping something. I look at the time; it's fucking five in the morning. I try to bury my head and go back to sleep, the banging will not let me.

Finally I drag my tired body out of the bed at seven o'clock. I walk around to the shower and toilet, both are empty.

After a good shit I'm in the shower, turning the tap I get blasted with cold water, too cold. My testicles disappear into my body and my cock shrivels up like a slug when it's been covered in salt.

Once my body settles, the shower is very refreshing. It's made me wake up completely now.

I see that they are cooking next door. The noise was from chopping wood for the fire. There's a large pile of timber, this is going to be a regular routine I think.

Dressed I go out onto the streets of Kitoro. The place is a hive of businesses. The street traders doing food are in abundance.

The speciality is a chapati, I suppose with the big Indian population here that's not surprising to see.

I try one, fuck it's like uncooked pastry on a pie. This is not a chapati; I wonder what the Indians make of it.

Another special is rolex, that's what I thought they were saying. The man tells me roll eggs. This is an omelette placed on the chapati and rolled up, still tastes fucking shit.

I walk into the taxi park; here you can get a taxi to the capital Kampala. On the edge of the taxi park are shops. They are mainly restaurants and barbers shops, certainly a lot of competition.

Walking the streets I find a park, it's well kept. I never saw anything like that in Senegal. The former British colonies have retained things, or is that the French did nothing like that?

People greet me, Ugandans are very friendly. This is black Africa that I new before I went to the west. Senegal is very different; most people there want to cheat you. I'm sure I will find some of that here, but not like the other side.

I've noticed one other mode of transport, the boda boda. This is a motorcycle taxi. No crash helmets for rider or passenger.

Women sit side saddle, this looks very dangerous if they were in an accident. There's also a motor less version of the boda boda. It's a bicycle with a rack on the back, attached to this is a cushion.

I spend the rest of the day wandering, I do like Kitoro. The people are friendly, it's a simple place.

On my way back to the guest house I see a small shop, inside are two girls. They greet me, I greet them back. They invite me in; I tell them I will visit another day.

I spend the evening drinking a few beers. I try some of the sausages from the street traders, they taste good. Let's see if I will be praising them tomorrow morning, or will I have a bad stomach?

It's a new morning, the stomach? no problems. I want to try some of the local food today.

I go into the taxi park; I make my way to the far corner. I find a small restaurant; I go inside and take a seat.

I ask them if they can make me an omelette. they can't they tell me. I tell them that it's a very simple thing to make. They want me to explain to them the procedure. The young girl is called Christine; her first omelette is not a bad attempt.

"I would use this restaurant for a very long time. The girls became good friends. One day I found cockroaches in the sugar. Several warnings to them to cover up the bowls at night fell on deaf ears. I stopped using the restaurant".

I'm walking out of the main shopping area when I meet a girl. We greet each other, she tells me her name is Jenny, I in turn tell her I'm Seb. We chat for ten minutes and then she tells me she needs to go to work. We arrange to meet at the guest house tonight for a drink.

"We did meet at the guest house; we had more than a drink. She was my first sexual encounter in Uganda".

The day moves on, it's lunchtime. I want to try some traditional food. I find a nice little restaurant, taking a seat I order.

"Matoke, rice, potato, posho and fish soup, please",

I tell the girl.

She asks me if I want Irish or sweet potato. I learn that the potato that we know is called Irish here.

The meal arrives, it looks good. The soup looks nice, there's half a fish resting in the dish.

I take some matoke; dipping it into the soup I put it into my mouth. It tastes good, like potato. The posho is the name they give to what I know as sadza. This is crap compared to what I've tasted in Zimbabwe and Malawi; I will give that a miss. The rest of the food is good; the fish is fresh out of the lake.

My meal finished I walk back to the guest house, on route I come to the small shop. The two girls are sat inside, I go in and we start to chat.

There names are Carol and Deborah. Deborah is looking after the shop for her sister. Carol seems to be a little wild, good body though.

Deborah is twenty four, no children and no boyfriend. Carol is nineteen, no children and no boyfriend.

We chat about various things, finally we exhaust the topics. I say goodbye to them and move onto the guest house.

Tonight I check out a few of the other bars, lets see what the night life in Kitoro is like.

I've been in Kitoro a week, I didn't think I would stay here that long, but I like the place. I've been getting acquainted with more and more people, they really are genuine. This is so different to the west; there they would sell their grandmother for a beer.

I've made visits to the shop, chatting with the girls. Carol is very friendly; she's so friendly that tonight she's coming to the guest house. Let's see how that develops.

I spent the day wandering and drinking; now I'm waiting for Carol. Maybe she will not turn up.

Sat outside number seventeen I drink some Uganda Waragi, UG for short. This stuff is like gin, forty percent proof and it's very cheap.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs into the guest house. I look up, it's Carol. She comes over to me, we greet each other.

I scan her body; she's very curvy and slim. She's wearing a tight tee shirt with no bra, her nipples poke through.

We spend one hour drinking, chatting, finally we go into the room. I start to kiss her, she's very responsive. Clothes peel away revealing a beautiful ebony body. The breasts are solid and turning up to the ceiling, the nipples long.

We both lie naked on the bed; I rub my hands over the contours of her body. Kissing me, she moves her hand down and grasps my cock. I'm soon inside her, our bodies moving in unison until I reach a point of no return.

We rest for a period, before we start the whole cycle again. This girl is good, the body young and fit.

Carol would pay visits any time of the day. Each visit would be good sex, she wanted as much as me.

I've had my omelette at the restaurant, now I'm on a taxi to Kampala. Today I've decided to go and look at the capital city. The fare is 2,500 UG shillings, that's the equivalent of 50p in England. The journey is forty kilometres I think, that's cheap.

First thing I notice is how well kept it is around here, this is Entebbe Town.

"I learnt later that the presidential palace is here. This president lives in Kampala; it's only used for meetings with VIPs. Coming from the airport to state house, everything looks perfect".

The journey moves on, we pass a beautiful area overlooking Lake Victoria. There are a few small towns and finally we reach the outskirts of the city. Traffic comes to a crawl, normal for most capital cities I suppose.

We reach the centre by the taxi park, the place is alive. The shops give the look of an Indian bazaar, there are people everywhere.

I noticed a pretty impressive Indian temple from the taxi; I must try to find it. This city is built on hills, it reminds me of Malvern. I fucking hate climbing hills.

I find the temple, it's very impressive. I start to take a photograph; a security guard tells me I can't take photographs. I ask him why, he doesn't seem to have an answer. I look at his uniform, he's not military or police, I tell him to mind his own business.

I cross the road, finding the entrance to the temple, I go inside. It's very beautiful, there are people praying. I ask one man if I can take photos, he thinks it would be fine. He points to another man.

"He is the priest, ask him",

he says.

I go over to the priest; he tells me it's no problem. I can take photographs anywhere I wish. He then gives me a brief history of the temple.

Built in the fifties, all of the materials like stone were brought over from India. Indian craftsmen were also brought over to build the structure and do the ornate carvings. I thank him very much for his time and letting me view the temple.

I make my way up the hill, finding myself in what looks like the business area. There are skyscrapers; they seem to contain the major banks. I see restaurants with expensive menus, Nando's, I remember them in Zimbabwe.

This area is much more perfect, it's clean and the pavements and roads have no potholes. Unlike the area around the taxi park.

There are trees lining the streets, above sit these prehistoric looking birds. I find some on a grass area, they are big. I get some great photographs, they are ugly looking things.

"I later found out that they are Marabou storks, they eat meat".

The rest of the day I walked around this city. I found the major hotels, the bus station, the seat of government and many more places.

It's a very beautiful city, but the planners have no idea about the future. The place is full of people and cars, total congestion. It's probably not changed for twenty years, but the numbers of cars and people have, shame.

Walking back to the taxi park I notice a motorcycle boda with a family on it. There are the two parents on the back seat, the rider on the gap between seat and tank and two children sat on the tank. Five people on one small motorcycle, how safe is that? not very.

I make it back to Kitoro, showered I lie on my bed, I'm very tired. There's a knock at the door, I go to see who it is. Pulling back the curtain I see Carol, I invite her in. We're soon making some good love; this girl is a man eater.

When we've finished she goes to the bowl in the room. Filling a cup with water from the bucket, she washes her pussy.

I've noticed the African women don't wash themselves properly; they squat over a bowl and flick water at it.

Carol leaves and I'm allowed to rest in peace, I feel dead now.

My mind is thinking about moving on. I need to see some more of this country. The next few days I will make some plan on where to go.

~~~~~

Chapter 13

The Tourist Bit

Well my plan is finalised, I've left Kitoro this morning. I want to get a bus to Mbale.

The taxi drops everybody off near the taxi park here in Kampala. I'm not sure where the bus terminal is, I did find it last time I was here. I ask for some directions, I'm told to walk straight,

"It's not far",

How many times have I heard that in Africa, They've no sense of time or distance.

Taking the directions I start to walk, in the near distance I see buses. Maybe it's not far after all.

I start to get men coming up to me, touts I think. They ask me,

"where are you going?"

I tell them it's none of their business.

Finally I reach the bus terminal; different people try to entice me to their buses.

I find the bus to Mbale, ignoring all of the finger pointing and distractions. Being so crowded you have to watch your valuables.

Ticket purchased I claim a seat on the bus. From the outside they look good, once inside you see the shit condition of these vehicles.

Sitting watching the activity outside, reminds me of the time in Bulawayo. Girl being surrounded by a bunch of men, all pulling the girl in different directions. The odd argument erupting, even a fight starting between these low lives.

"These bus companies employ some dubious tactics. One is to fill the seats with non passengers. When you enter the bus it looks full, this means it will leave soon. The bus will not leave until full, no timetable. Fuck what's time to an African?"

After sitting in the hot sun for one hour, we edge out of the terminal. Next problem is to negotiate the congestion of this city. Slowly, slowly, we make progress; finally we're out on the open road.

The route takes me through the forest of Mabira and Jinja. Both places are interesting in their own right.

Mabira is a huge forest full of hard woods; the government was going to sell to the Indians. The plan, chop the forest down, sell the timber and plant sugar cane.

The environmentalists fought hard with local people and world bodies. The government was forced to shelve the plans. Money from the project would have entered into some foreign bank account probably.

Jinja is the supposed source of the Nile. It's a big tourist destination for rafting among other things. There's also Owen Falls, here they have constructed a big dam and hydro electricity station. You're not allowed to take photos and the place is well guarded with military and police.

Another thing you see on this route is the sugar cane and tea plantations. I suppose they were introduced by the British. The cane is boring to look at, but the tea plantations look beautiful. They are trimmed to perfection, vivid green in colour. The slopes of the hills fall away into the distance; all that the eye can see is tea bushes.

Another thing I notice is how quickly the people fall asleep; I've noticed this on other journeys in Africa.

Then it's time to put the television on. Is it a movie? no it's fucking annoying music with some really silly dance routine. I'm not sure if Africans have bad hearing but the volume is always full. The sound coming out of the speakers is distorted to hell. But if there's a television in the room, Africans will watch with no knowledge of what's going on around them. Totally transfixed to the screen.

The bus reaches Mbale bus terminal, I notice how cool it is here. In the distance I see the Mount Elgon range.

A short walk and I find my guest house; it's above an Indian restaurant. The room is pretty dirty, but it will do for a couple of nights.

The town is pretty easy to get around, found a good local bar to drink at. The people there are a strange bunch, but I get some good portrait photographs.

It's evening; I'm out on the town for a few beers. I walk one block from the guest house. Turning the corner I see lots of people watching something. When I get to where they are standing I see a big bonfire. It looks a crazy place to build a fire that big, it's very close to a school building and a house.

The people are sat out in the front of the house; they don't seem to have any idea of what is happening behind them. The bonfire does seem to be getting bigger, a pole carrying electricity lines is starting to burn.

I go and settle in the bar opposite, asking the question,

"why have they started a bonfire that big in the centre of town?"

I learn that it's the market, it's caught fire. Time moves on, the fire is very big and spreading now. The spectators are many, but nothing is being done to control the blaze. I'm told that there's no fire station here, the nearest is a long way away. This is a big town; they don't have a fire station, that's hard to believe.

One woman brings handbags she's rescued from her stall, she's in tears.

A police water canon arrives; it soon gives up and goes away. The poor market people are left to their own devices.

It's ten o'clock, the flames have been scorching everything for over two hours. I'm going back to my guest house.

I have to pass the market entrance to get to the guest house. There are more people blocking the way than Arsenal get at their home games. I push my way through the chaos, finally I'm home.

I decide to go up and see what the view is from the roof. Now I see how big this fucking fire is. It's starting to catch the roof of a large hotel that backs on to it. Members of staff are up there with buckets of water, they fight frantically to stop the flames engulfing their roof. They are in the dark, three storeys up; they rip the tin sheets off the roof. If this hotel survives, their boss owes them a lot.

It's now eleven thirty; I see a blue flashing light. When it reaches, it's one lone fire engine. People start to chase it, is this anger? If I was the crew I would turn around and go back, the people may want to lynch them. They are four hours too late, the fire is all but burnt itself out.

"I later found out from someone that people were salvaging things from their stall. They would then leave it on the pavement, returning back into the fire to rescue more goods. When they returned to the pavement the other goods had been stolen. Heartless bastards, bet they were Christians".

Exciting night, my first night here was certainly not boring. This morning I'm sitting in an open area looking down on the streets. I get some good photographs; people are unaware that I'm shooting them from here.

I'm joined by a young girl, I'd noticed her last night on the roof, she was watching the fire.

She's not wearing much, just a small thin petticoat. It just covers the cheeks of her bum; her breasts are big and struggling to stay inside.

We talk, her name is Lillian and she's from Kampala. She's visiting her family here, this isn't true. Why would she stay in a guest house if she has family here?

I tell her she has a nice body, she pops a breast out for me to inspect. I tell her the breast is very nice but I don't want. We finish chatting; she tells me she will visit me. Walking away she lifts the bottom of her petticoat to expose a naked bum.

I went to Sipi Falls with Irene; I met her the other night in a bar. She's a school teacher, a very nice and intelligent woman. The falls were interesting, but when you've seen Victoria in Zimbabwe, or Igauzu in Brazil, there's not much to compare.

Irene came to my room, she wanted to fuck, I didn't really. I decided that I'm here with her on the bed naked, might as well.

It's morning, I'm on my bed thinking about leaving this place. There's a knock at the door, I open it. It's Lillian, she wants to chat.

We both lie side by side; she tells me she's going to visit her sister later. She asks me if I would like to come. I decline the offer.

Soon we're kissing; she pulls off her top to reveal large breasts. My hands rub her contours; she removes the rest of her clothing and my boxers. She pulls me on top of her; she grabs my cock trying to insert it inside her. I don't trust this girl; I'm not going to fuck.

I roll off of her and lie on my back. She moves down and puts her lips around my cock; slowly she moves them up and down the shaft. This girl is too much; she's back on top of me trying to put my solid cock inside her. Finally she gives up on me; we carry on touching each other until she feels it's time for her exit.

"I met Lillian a few times, always trying to fuck me. She would keep in contact, always asking me when we can meet again. We never did meet again".

I move on to a town called Soroti. There's not much here for the tourist to do.

There's an enormous rock to climb, you have to get a letter from the local council and then get it signed at the police station. Why the fuck do you need to do all of that? also there's a charge of 25,000 UG shillings.

I'm staying at a guest house in the centre; the two young guys running the place are good fun.

Teddy is a little man, not much more than five feet six inches tall. The other man is called Rolo; I've no explanation for this name. He tells me it's his birth name.

I've decided to explore the rock, the base anyway. When I get there I find an industry of people working.

They make a fire under the rock; the heat causes the rock to split. The large boulder is then broken up with hammers; the hardcore is then sold on.

This is hard work, very labour intensive. It's the women who seem to do the breaking up of the boulder into hardcore.

This is also going to cause a problem to the rock one day. On the top are radio masts, also big water tanks containing the town's water supply. If they keep removing the rock at the base, this could destabilise what's above.

I walk around to the other side, I spot some monkeys. The camera is shooting; they are too far away to get good shots.

I notice a soldier coming down; maybe I'm not supposed to take photographs. I wait for him to reach me; he tells me what I'd expected.

We get chatting, his name is Charles and he looks after the rock. He tells me that at night it's patrolled. I ask him,

"why all the security?"

He tells me the town's water supply could be poisoned, also there's a ranch the president stays in when he visits the town.

He asks me if I want to go up there. I tell him that I can't be bothered to get the paper work.

He tells me he can authorise me, if I want to meet here tomorrow at five in the evening. I tell him I will be here.

The rest of the day is spent wandering; I also meet a pretty girl working in one of the bars.

Today I have a visit from Jane, she cleans the rooms. I notice how interested she is in me. She leaves after cleaning the room, returning two hours later.

We're stripped naked, she's giving my cock a mouth massage. Grasping it in her hand she puts it inside her. A change of position, I get on top pushing deep inside, I soon explode.

Time is near for me to climb the rock. I start to walk around to our rendezvous point. The sun is still high in the sky when I arrive; I find a tree to shelter under.

Charles arrives and we start the ascent. The first part is steps; some cement some the natural rock. Getting to the top of the steps I look down, we're high.

The next stage is a little more climbing, but not difficult. Finally we reach the top, you can see forever. The terrain around here is flat; in the distance I see a large lake. We look down on the town, all very impressive. Charles points out the ranch where the president stays. I suppose an assassin would have a good shot from here.

The light starts to fade; with photographs in the camera we start the decent. Once we reach the bottom I thank Charles for taking me up there. I give him 10,000 UG shillings for his troubles.

"Charles became a good friend on the many visits I made to Soroti. We would meet to watch football and have a beer".

Tonight I've managed to get the pretty girl from the bar out for a drink. Her name is Julie; she's got a good body considering she has one child.

The evening moves along well. She's not the best conversationalist, but she's pretty to look at.

I need something from my room, she follows me. Once inside we start to kiss, her lips are turning me on. It's not long before we're naked on the bed. Her body is good; the curves are in the right places. Her breasts are small but round.

I guide my cock into her pussy; we start to rub our bodies together. She's definitely enjoying it, her pussy is very wet and the nipples are large. The longer we go the louder she becomes, she keeps saying,

"mummy, mummy, mummy, mummy".

I've never come across a girl when making love that keeps calling for her mother.

I deposit Julie to her house and spend the remainder of the evening with the boys in the bar. They dance, it's like watching a comedy act, they are so funny.

"Julie and Jane ended up working together in the same bar. They ended up fighting over a man. I wonder who he was."

Tomorrow time to move on, I do like this little town, I'm sure I will be back.

I travelled to Lira, a few days there was enough. Something is missing there for me.

Next place was Masindi, another small town like Soroti. Here I done my safari, the park was called Murchison Falls. The trip was good, plenty of wildlife, lots of photographs. The falls were interesting, but no comparison to what I've seen elsewhere.

The town was friendly, dusty and very hot. I made some good friends there.

"Masindi was a town I would visit a few more times during my stay in Uganda".

I'm on my way back to Kitoro, the bus I'm using seems well organised compared to the other companies I've used.

Sitting next to me is a nice young lady, we strike up a conversation. Her name is Mabel; she's twenty three years of age. Her family home is in Masindi, she was visiting. She's living with a sister in Kampala, she's also working there.

Looking at her, she's a pretty girl. When she speaks her voice is gentle.

We exchange phone numbers; she wants to meet me in Kitoro sometime.

~~~~~

Chapter 14

Too Much Sex

I've returned to Kitoro, I'm back in room seventeen. I've already had a visit from Carol, the girl likes to fuck.

I've a lot of things to sort out, first my visa is nearly finished, that's a priority one. Secondly I want to change the dates on my ticket back to the UK.

I've decided to try to extend the visa here rather than border hopping to Rwanda. I need to go to Kampala to do this. I've already tried before, the reception was not good.

"Why do you need another visa? You are a tourist; you must have seen the country in three months".

That's what the big fat lady said to me. I just walked away, told her I would go and spend my money in Tanzania.

This time I will not be so friendly, the fucking visa isn't free, we have to pay $50.

I spend the day relaxing in the guest house; I go and have a chat with the girls in the shop.

Evening I find myself in the taxi park, nice bar with seating outside. The one girl serving is very nice; talking to her she seems intelligent. Her name is Lizzy; she's twenty four years old and has one child.

I enjoy my evening with Lizzy; I think something may develop between us.

Today I have my projects in Kampala, first stop immigration. Taxi to the centre, then a boda boda to the Office of Internal Affairs.

Going through security, I find myself in the courtyard facing the fat one. I start to walk towards her window, putting on a stern face. When I get within four metres of her window she waves me to the offices behind. Fucking hell, that's a result.

Entering the office I find two desks, the man at the first one tells me to take a seat. He's already dealing with one man.

He asks me what I want. I tell him I would like to extend my visa. Handing him my passport, he flicks through the pages. He says,

"how long do you want?"

"Three months please",

I reply.

This seems to set him into some I've had a bad day mode. He starts to rant and rave.

"You can't have three months; you've already had three months",

he says.

He asks me again how much time I want. I've already told him once, now he's asking me again.

"How much time can I have?"

I ask him.

Still he doesn't tell me, just the same stupid question.

"How much time do you want?"

This is fucking stupid, I ask for three months, he tells me I can't have. Then he asks me again how long I want. I say to him,

"give me two months".

He brings the stamp down with force onto my passport page; he puts his signature on the stamp and throws my passport across the desk to me.

I stand waiting, he says,

"what do you want?"

"Don't I have to pay?"

I ask him. His reply is,

"no".

Well that's a result; I thought I would have to pay $50. I came with photos, expecting to fill in forms, nothing.

I think I should have asked for a new visa, asking for an extension is the wrong term. I think an extension is for a week or so, maybe if you get a delayed flight or something like that.

My next destination is to the offices of Ethiopian Airlines in the city centre.

I want to change the dates on my ticket; I want to stay here longer. I really do have a good feel for Uganda.

Finding the office, I go in and take a seat. Like most of what I've seen in Uganda, they are not the most productive of people. Customer service is almost non existent, mind that applies to all of Africa I've travelled.

Finally I get my chance to see a representative, a man. I explain to him what I want. Taking the ticket he starts to type into his PC terminal the details. After a few minutes he tells me this type of ticket can't be changed. I find this a little strange, I've done this before. Sometimes the airline will make a charge, sometimes it's free. I have to accept what he says, I have no other option. I leave the office a little disappointed.

Back in Kitoro it's evening; I feel a little drained after my expedition to the big city this morning.

There's a new man staying at the guest house. He introduces himself to me; he tells me his name is Peter. He's a tourist guide and he's taking a few days break from work. He's here with his girlfriend, her name is Ruth.

He's an interesting man; he lived in the Bahamas and Cuba a good part of his life. There he did his university and some schooling. His father was a diplomat.

We're joined by his girlfriend, a nice looking girl with a very fit body. We talk for a while and then I tell him I'm off for a drink. Ruth wants to come with me, they both go inside. I think he's not very happy.

I go off to the bar; I don't want to get involved in any domestics.

I sit having my beer, Lizzy is here. Whenever she's not busy she joins me, the more I chat to this girl the more I like her.

Ruth arrives minus Peter, I ask where he is? She tells me he will be coming soon. I introduce her to Lizzy and Lizzy to her. I don't want Lizzy thinking she's my girlfriend.

Time goes by, no Peter. I tell Ruth I' going back, she decides to leave with me. When we get to the guest house we find Peter sat outside. His first words are,

"Let's go".

I tell him it's late, he's already well cut. I agree to go for a short time, that short time finished at four in the morning.

On the way back he stops at a bar which becomes a nightclub at weekends.

"Let's go in here",

I tell him I've had enough, for me it's time to sleep. I tell him to take Ruth in with him; she doesn't want to go either.

He goes into the bar; Ruth and I walk the fifty or so metres to the guest house.

Number seventeen is on the front of the building. When we get to my door Ruth asks me to come to her room. She wants to fuck.

"What about Peter?"

I say to her.

He will not be home for a few hours she assures me. I tell her it's too risky to go to bed in her room, Peter may find us.

"OK let's use your room",

she says.

I still decline the offer, for me there's too much risk element. We move to the corner of the building, this is still outside my room. There's a car parked here, it belongs to the daughter of the owner of the guest house.

We start to kiss; she lies on the bonnet of the car. Suddenly she bolts upright, lifting her tee shirt to expose a nice pair of breasts.

We move to the side of the vehicle, she unzips me and releases my cock. Moving down she starts to give me oral sex, it feels good.

Standing upright she drops her jeans and panties, I enter her. The position feels a bit difficult, she turns and bends over and I enter her again.

I pump her; it feels so nice, the excitement adding to the sexual pleasure.

My mind wanders a little; I keep looking over to the entrance gate. I just think her boyfriend will walk in at any time. We are in the open, the car giving us little cover, the gate is only twelve metres away.

I finally cannot fight my desire any more, I release inside her. This girl is a wild one; in bed she would be good.

We put our clothing back in place and go to our rooms. I would like to wake up next to this girl in the morning; the love making would be good.

"The next day Ruth told me Peter arrived home about thirty minutes after we went to bed. Good job we didn't go to her and Peter's room. They also started to annoy each other. He later told me they split up and she left him".

I'm sat eating my omelette that Christine has made for me. She's definitely getting better.

I look over to one of the other restaurants. At one table are three women, they all sit with their legs wide open.

This is another of my observations about Africa. Women don't have the finishing touches. Whether they wear trousers or dresses, they will sit with legs wide open.

The rest of the day is like any other, walking, talking and drinking. The evening is going to be different. Mabel the girl I met on the bus coming from Masindi is coming over for a drink.

It's six o'clock and Mabel is with me, she looks nice. We sit in the courtyard of the guest house having a drink.

"What time do you want to go back to Kampala tonight?"

I ask her.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

is her reply.

This surprises me, but I tell her there are two single beds in the room so it's no problem.

The evening is a pleasant one, we visit a few bars finally arriving back at the guest house.

Once inside the room she quickly removes her clothes, with a towel draped around her she goes for a shower.

When she arrives back she finds me already in bed. Instead of going to the other bed, she joins me. Slipping the towel off to show her beautiful body, she gets between the sheets with me.

Her hands are soon around my manhood; her lips bring it to life. She's a leader in bed; she wants to keep changing position. The final one being doggy fashion. The penetration is deep, her hands playing with my testicles until I can't hold on any more.

I wake in the morning to another full sexual experience. This girl makes good love.

"I never slept with Mabel again. I later met her in Masindi and told her to fuck off. I wasn't in a good mood that day".

I'd been in Kitoro sometime, it was feeling like home. I'd made many friends.

One friend was a girl working in the internet café I was using. She was a very attractive girl and a nice attitude.

One day I asked her if she would like to join me for a drink one evening. She told me she would like that very much.

When the evening arrived we met at the bar opposite my guest house. We had a few drinks there and then I invited her to the guest house. A few more drinks and good conversation, I thought she would want to go. Instead we went into the room and made love. I didn't expect that, but I enjoyed it.

I was now dating Lizzy, the girl from the bar. We hadn't slept together, just meeting for a drink and a chat. That was to change tonight.

Lizzy arrived looking good. We chatted about lots of things, she was an interesting girl. The evening was drawing to a close; I thought she would want to go home soon. Instead she said,

"let's go back to your room".

Never a one to ignore the wishes of a lady, we make our way back. Once inside the room we start to kiss. I remove her clothes; she is lying naked in front of me. Her body looks good, her breasts solid with nice nipples, her pussy shaven and her skin light brown.

I'm soon naked with her, kissing her all over. I enter her and we make love for a long time. When I'm getting near to releasing I pull my cock out. We change positions, giving me time to quell my feelings.

That night and morning we made love several times, this girl was not going away.

"I stayed with Lizzy for a long, long time. She was a good girlfriend and lover. In bed we made some good love, I enjoyed my time with her".

I'm starting to plan a trip to Rwanda; this is where my flight back to the UK goes from. I know little of the country apart from the genocide that happened there about seventeen years ago. Mustn't forget, Hotel Rwanda the movie.

My visa expires after the New Year, I will see if I can get a flight to Kigali.

Christmas and New Year I will spend here I think.

I chased Carol away a few weeks ago, she was becoming too much of a problem. She's also fallen out with Deborah, the other girl from the shop.

Deborah and I have been talking a lot; I sit in her shop for hours. Her life is mundane; she works in the shop six days a week. Sunday she stays at home.

I asked if she had a boyfriend, she told me she had one but he cheated on her, so she doesn't trust Uganda men.

Is this a signal I think to myself?

One morning I invite her around to the guest house. There's a knock on the door, I know it's Deborah so I tell her to come in.

We talk, but not for long. We're both naked, I'm inside her, she likes sex. She's a small build but the breasts are a good size. When she starts to climax she snorts like a pig, her grip on me is vice like.

This girl gives me good sex; her oral is out of this world. She likes putting her lips around my shaft.

"The morning thing became a regular occurrence. I would phone her before she got to the shop. I would ask her if she wanted cock. She would say I'm coming. After we finished she would go and open her shop. Nights she would be at home, so her and Lizzy never new about each other".

Christmas is here, it seems like a normal day. Everyone is opening their shops; yes it's a normal day. Mind they do keep playing the Bony M Christmas songs.

A young girl arrives at the guest house, she looks about fourteen. Surely she's not staying here.

We exchange a wave and a smile, she's a pretty girl. She's got her hair cut short like a boy, it suits her. He mannerisms are very much that of a boy, a tom boy.

I go back into my room, within a few minutes there's a knock at the door. I go to the door to find this pretty girl who I'd seen earlier stood outside.

I go outside and we sit together, her name is Angela, she's eighteen years old. Here in Uganda the age of consent for sex is eighteen, not sixteen like in the UK.

Her big passion is football; she wants to become a professional player one day.

I start to investigate her life story. Her father died leaving her mother to bring her and her brother up. Mother had two more children from another man but never married him.

Her mother died, she was left to look after her siblings, she at this time was only fourteen.

The father of the two younger ones took his children into his house. Angela and her brother went to stay with an aunt and uncle.

The uncle started to get too friendly, one night he went to her room and tried to rape her. She fought him off, but that wasn't the end of her ordeal.

The next morning the uncle told his wife that she came onto him, the aunt threw her and her brother out of the house.

They end up getting taken in by the church; she was given the job of cleaning the church a few times a week. The money from that and other jobs like washing clothes enabled her to school her brother and herself.

This is a very sad story, but it's a common one here. Children were orphaned due to the on going wars this country experienced and of course, AIDS.

We spent the Christmas together at the guest house. She brought her brother across one day to meet me.

"When she left we kept in touch, she would come and visit me at weekends. Then one day the inevitable happened, we slept together. Fuck she was old enough but eighteen is getting close to the Gary Glitter syndrome".

I carried on seeing Angela for a long time. She was my friend and lover.

I started to realise how easy it is for the girls here in Uganda to have sex. With the HIV rate at six percent or more, I mustn't let my guard drop.

Christmas and New Year passed by, it was time to leave the country. Next stop Rwanda.

~~~~~

Chapter 15

Rwanda Good and Bad

I'm finally walking across the tarmac to the aircraft that will take me to Kigali, Rwanda. It's a Uganda Airways flight, which I think takes about forty minutes.

I remember taking a flight from Ziguinchor to Dakar, which took fifty minutes. By the time you've ascended, you start to descend. The hostesses have to work very fast giving you your drink and snack, then clearing away.

I just start to climb the few steps when I here a voice calling my name. I turn to see a friend of mine, Isaac; he's a ground engineer for the airline. A quick chat and I go and claim my seat.

The flight is short, just enough time to have a cold drink and a snack.

We touch down in Kigali, not a big airport. A short walk to the main terminal and passport control. Acquiring my stamp, I walk through to collect my bag.

There seems to be a problem with the carousel, nothing is moving. Finally the technicians solve the problem. Here comes the first of the various suitcases, parcels and bags.

I soon have possession of my bag, now to see if I'm going to have a problem with money.

I've read that the ATM system is not up and running properly. It doesn't recognise international cards. Some people have reported no problems with some of the machines in the capital.

I've no local currency, I know there's a machine at the airport, but I'm not sure if it will accept my card.

The terminal is very small, walking out into the main hall I come to the ATM. Inserting my card I enter my pin, everything works, money even a receipt.

The taxi system is organised, this is unusual for Africa. The cost is expensive, but tell me where in the world a taxi to and from an airport isn't.

"On future trips here I would walk to the road one hundred metres away. There I would get a motorcycle taxi, like the boda boda in Uganda. The cost was one twentieth of the taxi fare".

I notice how well organised this place is. The roads are perfect, well here in the capital anyway.

I've been recommended a place in the centre to stay; it belongs to the Catholic Church.

Telling the driver where I wanted to go, he soon pulls off the main road by a large church. He seems to know where he's taking me.

We stop at a pair of steel gates; he tells me this is the place. Pointing me to the inside, I go to find my room.

I find a small office with a few nuns inside. The older one tells me to wait; she's dealing with some other kind of business.

Ten minutes go by and the old nun shows me to my room. It's very clean, but no bathroom, the cost, 8,000 Francs. This isn't cheap, that's my budget for the day in Uganda.

It's only mid-morning so I walk up into the centre. There are a lot of new buildings, a very modern capital. Everything is in pristine condition, no litter anywhere. The centre point seems to be a tall glass building, it's called Kigali Tower.

I come across the offices for Ethiopian Airways; let me try that ticket again. I walk in, sat at the terminals are some very beautiful women. They say Ethiopian women are the most beautiful in Africa, I think the Rwandese are not far behind.

I go to the middle of the three terminals; I explain to the girl what I want to do. After five to ten minutes, she tells me it can be done. The cost is free for the first change, after that I will need to pay. She asks me for my new dates, I tell her I will come back tomorrow.

So much for the man in Uganda, either no knowledge or too lazy. The Rwandese people are so different with the way they approach things.

"I did go back and change the dates on my ticket, now I can go back to Uganda".

My evening is spent in a few bars, there's plenty here. This is a nice place, just a little expensive for the budget traveller.

I slept well last night; today I have a little plan of action. I want to go to the genocide memorial. Getting some directions, I start to walk. People told me to get on a motorcycle taxi, but I want the exercise

The walk took longer than I thought it would. I think the motorcycle taxi was a good idea.

Entrance is free; the buildings are painted white which reflects the bright sunlight. The gardens are well kept, planted with trees, shrubs and flowers.

In the gardens are some mass graves, there were so many bodies to bury this was the only way I suppose. The heat would have made the bodies decay fast.

Inside the building are the skulls and bones of adults, children and babies. Most skulls seemed to have a hole in them, machete and axe being the tool of death.

Next was a visual display, a winding corridor full of photos. This was quite upsetting. The photos were of babies, young children and teenagers.

You would see a photo of a beautiful baby girl, beside it a card. The card read:

Name: ??????

Sex: Girl

Favourite Food: Mothers breast milk

Cause of Death: Machete to the head.

Others read, smashed against the wall, killed with a machete well on mothers back.

This is all too unbelievable, how could a human being do such terrible things. The other thing that awakens my mind is that this happened only seventeen years ago.

It was a long walk back to the town. On the way I thought a lot about what I had read and saw, but there was more to come.

I later visited two more sites; both were more graphic than the one in the city.

The first was a small brick built church in the bush. The grounds were small, typical of an English country church.

There were a few other buildings on the site, one was the Sunday school.

The guide told me there were twenty eight thousand bodies found in this small space.

The church had large holes; he told me the people would be hiding inside. The government troops would use grenades among other things. The militia, young thugs with machetes, axes or other weapons would then enter the church and massacre the people inside.

Next he took me to the Sunday school, a small brick building. Inside were a few rows of concrete seats. In one corner was a large stain on the wall. He explained to me that babies were swung by a leg and their heads were smashed against the wall. Closer inspection I could see bits of hair stuck to the bricks. There was also a long wooden pole with a point on the end. The guide tells me this was inserted into the vagina of the woman. It was pushed further and further inside, the poor woman would eventually die from her internal injuries.

The guide was a Tutsi; I asked him what he did during this time. He told me his family had been killed, he was only seventeen at the time. He would hide in the bush, anywhere to keep away from the militia.

"Unlike most of Africa, when you ask a person in Rwanda what tribe they are from, it's a question they don't want to answer. The official line is, "I am Rwandese". I understand what the government is trying to do".

The second site was a school, it was under construction. The first thing you notice is its remoteness. It's elevated, the views are good and this is why it was chosen.

People were told to congregate there for their safety, they were actually being entrapped. Once there they were surrounded. They did fight off their attackers with stones but the military moved in with big weapons. Once the soldiers softened things up, the militia would go into the building to finish the job.

The classrooms at the back contain a lot of mummified bodies. I think this was done by a European man. The bodies still have hair; skin and clothing, there are children, babies, adults and the very elderly.

When I walked in the smell was the first thing that hit me. The bodies lie on tables, many in each classroom.

"A Ugandan friend of mine is a flight engineer with the air force. One day I asked him if he had ever been to Rwanda. He told me once with the air force. Their helicopter landed at a school, when they exited the craft they saw bodies everywhere".

Sunday morning in Kigali, where can I find a cup of coffee? everywhere seems to be closed. I wander around and find a restaurant, entering I find my coffee.

There are two other people in the bar, a black African lady and an Indian man, there's also a child with them.

The child comes over and starts to talk to me, his English is good. After a time the Indian man comes over, his English sounds like he was educated at a public school.

He introduces himself, his name is Nand. He done some of his education in England, but he was born in India.

That morning and afternoon, Nand and his lady took me on a tour of Kigali and its suburbs. I was fed and watered free of charge.

Nand became a good friend; he was a very honest and genuine man. His generosity showed no boundaries, he was always picking up the tab in bars and restaurants.

One night we were in very trendy bar in Kigali. We were just leaving when we bump into a group of girls, they were friends of Nand.

One I find very interesting, her name is Elise. She's a very beautiful woman. She tells me she's twenty five years of age, no children.

The evening was finished, Elise was coming with me.

When we get back to the guest house she starts to undress. The body is fantastic; breasts are big with long dark nipples.

Standing there naked in front of me, I looked down to her pussy. Her clitoris is hanging there waiting for oral sex, her labia is like a pair of curtains. I've been with a lot of women in my life, but this girl's inner lips are long.

We start to kiss, I soon have my erection. Elise puts her hand around it and pulls the foreskin back.

We drop onto the bed; I kiss her all over, stopping at her pussy. My fingers feel the moist lips; my tongue goes to work on her clitoris.

Her nipples stick out; she arches her back and gives a big moan. Her climax soon arrives, her body shaking. When she's finished she tries to get more, her hands holding my head. It doesn't take long before her body starts to spasm again, another moan and another large and satisfying release.

I move up and we start to kiss, my cock slides into her, she's very wet. We change position; she gets on top of me. I look down to see her lips wrapped around my shaft. Each movement she does pulls me closer to my paradise. When I do release I have one hell of a big tingle.

Fucking hell this girl is good.

We carried on making love in different positions; we gave each other oral sex. This girl just had one orgasm after another; she was too much for me. Finally we exhausted ourselves and fell asleep.

The morning came, I woke with an erection. Elise was still sleeping. She was lying on her side with her knees up. Her pussy was open, I entered from the back. Her body started to move in unison with mine, she was still sleeping. I think this girl dreams about sex. Finally she opened her eyes, we carried on from were we had left off earlier.

I had two other Rwandese girlfriends before Elise, there was no comparison. In fact Elise is the best girl in Africa that I've made love to.

"Our relationship carried on, the love making getting better and better. Taking this girl out was fun; she was beautiful and very affectionate in public. I just wanted to be with her more and more".

I get a bus to Kibuye today; it's on the shores of Lake Kivu. The buses are clean and tidy compared to Uganda.

The drive is a pleasant one, hills, valleys, and small houses with Roman canal tiles on the roof, giving the place a European feel.

The roads are perfect; it's hard to believe that you're in Africa.

What I've seen of Rwanda, the Ugandans are a long way behind.

We reach the town, it's not taken long. Something to eat then I will go and find the lake.

I get some directions from someone; the walk is about twenty minutes up hill, that's always a problem for me.

The road curves and I get my first sightings of the lake; it's an amazing blue from up here.

The road starts to wind down, I find myself by the side of the lake. This place is beautiful, so relaxing.

I spend the whole day walking around the lake, exploring different areas. Time catches up with me; I need to go back to Kigali before it's too late.

The drive back is another pleasant one; this country is amazing considering the history.

I spend the evening drinking in a few bars; I start to notice the road markings.

There are cat's eyes on the edge of the roads here in the city centre. They flash on and off, it looks like a runway at an airport. This is surely a waste of money.

I also notice a set of traffic lights with a countdown in seconds to when they will change. I've never seen this in England, is it really necessary?

I watch a group of soldiers, six in all walk by. They are patrolling the streets. They are armed; they say nothing, just a show of strength by the government I suppose.

I meet up with Nand at the weekend, another crazy one. This guy loves to party and see people enjoy themselves.

I see Elise every other day; she's going to kill me one of these days. She wants more and more in the bedroom.

I need to leave this place; I want to go back to Uganda it's cheaper there. This place is clean, maybe a little too clean and perfect for me. Even the plastic bag, the worst thing introduced into Africa is not allowed, paper only.

I made many more border hops into Kigali. Time spent with Elise, drinking with Nand, were some of the the highlights of my African wander.

~~~~~

Chapter 16

Kitoro and Beyond

I've reached Kitoro, a long bus journey from Kigali, nine hours I think.

My plan is to return to Soroti in the next few days, then a visit Fort Portal.

It's a nice evening here in Kitoro; it feels good to be back. I was talking to Deborah in her shop earlier; I think she will pay me a visit tomorrow morning.

I've called Lizzy; she's coming after work tonight. That probably means she will sleep the night. This is always the risky one, but she usually leaves before Deborah opens her shop.

I meet up with various people, sharing a beer in the Mirembe bar. The evening moves past quickly. Looking at the time on my phone, I see it's ten o'clock. Lizzy will be finishing work soon; she will be arriving for some affection.

Another fifteen minutes pass, Lizzy arrives at my table. We sit and have more drink and then it's time to go and make love.

Back in number seventeen, Lizzy is quickly out of her clothes and into the shower. When she returns she drops her towel onto the bed, her body is ready for a sleepless night.

This girl is gagging for it, she soon takes control. Getting on top of me she guides my cock inside her. Her body is moving at some speed, I try to slow her down, it's not possible.

She soon explodes with one big release, sweat dripping from her body. That was only the start, there was more hours spent making love. I told her that I was finished, I had no more strength.

Early morning she started on me again, this girl was in need of a man's cock I think.

Lizzy was showered and gone by eight o'clock, good timing. I need to relax for a while.

At nine o'clock I call Deborah. I say,

"do you want some cock?"

Her answer was what I expected.

"I'm coming".

Nine thirty and I'm in bed with Deborah, it was only two to three hours ago I was making love to Lizzy.

The session is short, Deborah knows what she wants. She beats me into submission, my cock is on fire.

I spent another day in Kitoro, but today I'm on the bus back to Soroti. The journey is a long one, last time I stopped in Mbale, this time direct.

We reach Soroti at four in the afternoon; the temperature is still very high. This place and Masindi are the two hottest places I have visited here in Uganda.

I leave the bus park and walk up to the guest house. Once there I'm greeted by Teddy and Rolo. They are still the same crazy double act.

I get to my room, same one that I had before. It's the bloody only room with a mirror.

The night is spent with the boys and a new recruit, Jules. Jules is fucking crazy as well. The three of them do a dance routine behind the bar; it's so funny I have tears in my eyes.

Today I'm walking over to get breakfast from a restaurant I used last time I was here. I walk past a young girl, she's beautiful. I whisper the words to myself. I look over my shoulder, she's also looking back. I think she heard me.

In the restaurant I wait for service, the girl I passed in the street returns. She comes to take my order, she looks familiar.

Waiting for my food I try to place this girl and then it comes to me. She worked here before, just a different hairstyle. I remember seeing her for the first time, I really liked her. Watching her work she was different to the others.

She brings my order with a big smile. The restaurant is empty so we have chance to chat. The chat is a productive one; she will come and see me later.

This evening I sit waiting for the girl from the restaurant, will she come? Ten o'clock and she arrives, she's a beautiful girl.

I ask her if she would like a soda. she declines. We talk for thirty minutes, her name is Susan and she's twenty two years of age. This girl is a good girl, her manners are perfect.

"We started to date; she's turning out to be a lovely person. I'm getting too close to her".

Another day begins, there's no electricity. Uganda seems to have a big problem with their supply industry. Load shedding is every other day, bad management I think. Thinking about it, most places I've been to in Africa have had problems supplying electricity.

I go into see Rolo, he's doing his bookkeeping. We start to chat, I tell him about Susan, what a different girl she is. Then he comes out with a funny sentence,

"Seb, I'm a bastard".

I'm a bit shocked at this. He proceeds to tell me he doesn't have or know his father. I explain to him that bastard isn't a good word, it's illegitimate. He questions me more about this word; I'm still not sure what he will call himself next time.

I found that people here use a lot of bad words. One with common usage is Negro or Nigger. I'm not sure where these are coming from, maybe the rap music they listen to.

The evening arrives; I'm waiting for a visit from Susan. She arrives on time. She wants to go to the room and talk tonight she tells me. We take our drinks with us.

Inside we talk, I sense something different tonight. She leans towards me and we start to kiss.

The kissing is very passionate; I think she wants to make love tonight. I start to remove her top, she doesn't resist. She starts to fumble around trying to find my zip, I help her. My cock is pulled out of my trousers and she starts to massage me. I remove the rest of her clothing, her body is sweet, her breasts not pert, she's got a baby I think.

Clothes removed we entangle our bodies together. I'm soon pulled inside her. Her love making is not the best, she's a novice.

She gets her release and I get mine, this is just the start of something big.

"Our relationship was a long one. She was a quick learner, the more we done the closer we became. I would give her my tongue until she pleaded for me to stop. She would suck me until I released my juices, every bit of it she would swallow. Every position she wanted to try, this girl became good student, top of the class".

Talking to the boys I learn about their sex life. They will fuck anything that moves. Love is not something they think about. I think this is par for the course in Africa.

They tell me a girl will want 5,000 UG shillings for a round. A round is one session, ten to fifteen minutes probably.

I ask them if they would give their girlfriend a tongue, a definite no.

"Would you expect her to give you a suck?"

The answer was what I expected.

"Yes she would have to suck me",

they both said.

"Over time I converted Rolo, he found a girl he fell in love with and he gave her his tongue. Teddy, he was a lost cause".

My stay here introduced me to some culinary delights. I tried my first grasshopper and termites. The grasshoppers taste good; the termites did little for me.

This trip to Soroti was over, tomorrow I will be on the bus back to Kampala. The day will be a tough one, early start from here and then try to get a bus to Fort Portal.

"I would return to Soroti many more times. Making love to Susan was a must, the nights with the crazy gang another not to be missed".

Today I got a very early bus from Soroti, we've reached Kampala and it's only eleven o'clock.

Timing is good, there's a Link bus to Portal about to leave. I travelled this company to and from Masindi, best of the bunch.

Some of these companies let people bring chickens on board, they shit everywhere.

Also they tend to overload, no one is allowed to stand. When they pass the traffic police they tell the standing passengers to duck down. If the police do come on board there is some negotiation at the back of the bus, money in the officer's pocket and nothing is said. Corruption is rife with these guys.

The route is a beautiful scenic one, lots of tea plantations and the countryside is like being in Europe.

We get to Portal, it's dark and the time is seven in the evening. Exiting the bus I feel the the cold straight away, and it's fucking raining.

Finding my hotel which is in the centre, I go and grab a bite to eat and a beer. I need to go to bed earlier tonight.

I wake up to sunshine; it will be a good day to explore this place. Going outside, the first thing I notice is how clean it is. The tourists come here to hike the mountain range, this I can see in the distance.

After some breakfast I start to walk around the place. I come across a strange construction. There are sheets of corrugated steel stood upright; there is what looks like halogen lamps at the top.

I saw these things last night, the bright lamps illuminating all around. I ask someone what they are for.

"They are for catching the grasshoppers",

the man says.

On the hill I see the Kings Palace; I don't think it's worth the hike up there. Instead I take a track out of town. After walking a few kilometres I decide to turn back, there doesn't seem to be anything along here.

Walking back I see a young girl coming towards me. What makes me pay attention to her is the hairstyle. It's different to what you see, it looks really nice. When she gets close she greets me, I greet her back. We stop and start to talk, her name is Faith. She's twenty one and married with one child.

She tells me she's going home.

"Do you want to come with me?"

she asks.

I walk back to her house, the more we talk the more I like this girl. Her body is in good shape; her nipples protrude through her tee shirt.

We reach the house where she lives with her husband. She invites me in, I tell her another day.

A man about forty walks up the path to where we are standing, it's her husband. He introduces himself, his name is John and he's a tour guide.

I remember the last tour guide I became friendly with, I fucked his girlfriend.

He tells me to go in and visit his mother, and look at the house. Faith wants me to look inside.

I say goodbye to John, he has business to do in the town. I go inside with Faith

We walk down the path into an English cottage garden; I'm very surprised to see this. Flowers of all colours are planted in well kept borders, behind them are banana trees.

I meet John's mother, a nice lady. She tells me she was a teacher; she also lived in England, hence the garden.

After a cold drink and a grand tour of the house and gardens, I take my leave.

"I would see John and Faith again; I did see a lot more of Faith. One night we were drinking together, John started to get more aggressive the more he drank. Faith was having a big problem with his drinking. She confided in me how unhappy she was. They split up once before, he came to her mother's house pleading for her to go back. When she went back, she realised things hadn't changed".

Today I make the trip to Bundibugyo, the taxi is from Portal. The road is mountainous and under construction. The views are breathtaking; this is a beautiful part of Uganda. Looking down you can see the river which is the border with DR Congo.

Once the mountain road comes to an end, we go through Semliki National Park. Again the drive is a beautiful one.

The road is small and not surfaced, there's the forest on both sides shading the taxi from the sun.

Finally we reach Bundibugyo. It's really a small nondescript town, there's a beautiful range of hills in the near distance.

I spent five days in Bundibugyo, walking up into the hills, the views were magnificent.

On the way back to Portal the traffic came to a stop in the park. A giant of a hardwood tree had fallen across the road.

Park rangers tried to cut through this monster of a tree with chainsaws, the blades were about twenty four inches. In the end the construction company brought in a bulldozer.

The bulldozer came chugging down the road, stood on the front was a Chinese construction worker. If we had some music playing it would of looked like a movie set.

When they pushed the tree, the Chinese man nearly fell off. The tree was quickly dispatched to the side of the road.

Back in Portal, things were starting to develop between Faith and myself. We were meeting more often; we were even starting to kiss each other.

She wants to come to my guest house tonight; I tell that's fine for me.

The evening arrives; I hear a knock on my door. Opening the door I see Faith stood there, she looks sweet.

She comes in; I immediately grab her and give her a big hug. We're soon kissing, she's so passionate. I think her husband gives her no love at all, just sex for sex sake.

I start to undress her, peeling items of clothing off to reveal a beautifully formed body. She in turn undresses me; lowering her head she puts her lips around my shaft.

After a few minutes of her giving me oral stimulation, I pull her back up. I turn her around and she bends down, my cock enters her for the first time.

Slowly I go in and out of her, she moans quietly. I come out of her and she drops onto the bed. I look at her lying there naked. Her inner lips hang in an orderly way, the clitoris there waiting to be excited.

I dropped down onto the bed, I start to kiss her. I kiss her forehead, then her eyes, then her nose, then her cheeks, then her lips, then her neck, then her breasts, all the way down until I reach her pussy.

My tongue quickly goes to work on her clitoris. Her moans get louder, she arches her back. It doesn't take long for her to have her first release.

I move up and start to kiss her big soft lips, she guides my cock inside. Our bodies motion together, my feelings getting stronger until I release inside her.

This girl wants more, giving me no recovery time she slides down and starts to suck me. Her lips travel up and down my shaft, reaching the end she twists her lips somehow. This twisting motion finally brings me to an uncontrollable release, she swallows everything.

She told her husband she was sleeping at her family home, so she stayed with me the whole night. We made love several more times, waking in the morning to another long session before she left me.

"Faith would be a regular lover, always calling me to see when I was coming back to Portal. I would make the journey whenever it was possible".

I made the journey back to Kitoro; I stayed there for a few weeks. I serviced the girls, and enjoyed life to the full. Things were going to end soon, back to reality.

Visa finished I went to Kigali for a week before my flight towards England.

The week was a good one, love making with Elise was still out of this world and partying with Nand just topped it all.

The time finally arrived for my flight towards England. I say towards because I was going to have one month in Ethiopia.

Ethiopia took me by surprise, the people are very friendly and the women are beautiful.

Addis Ababa is a pretty ugly looking place, but like any capital city, it's alive.

I've never seen so many prostitutes on the street in all of my travels as I saw in Addis.

The rock churches of Lalibela were well worth the visit, the north of the country is so green. After the famine photos with children dying of starvation, this was not what I expected to see.

Ethiopia needs to be explored again; will I have time in my life? I'm not sure.

Well it's back to reality now I suppose. This trip is four years old, the money is short and I need a job.

~~~~~

Chapter 17

Fuck England

I was in England for one month; the place seems fucked up to me. The chosen two and the wizard of oz seem to think the only problem is to get the deficit down. Creating jobs for the masses isn't on their agenda.

I'm back here in room seventeen in Kitoro, looks like another year in Africa.

I've already serviced Deborah this morning, that girl likes to have cock inside her.

My girlfriend is coming over tonight; it will be nice to see her.

The rest of the day will be the usual walking, talking and drinking with friends.

The evening is a cool one, the rains are here. I sit drinking a beer outside number seventeen waiting for Lizzy. It's not long before this beautiful girl arrives.

We're soon under the sheets making love; it's good to be back.

The night and morning were very sexual, Lizzy was definitely up for it. I'm too tired to call Deborah this morning.

Lizzy left earlier, I'm sat outside my room when another beautiful ebony princess appears from the room next door.

I say hello to her, she greets me back with a nice smile. She walks on past me in her towel to the shower.

Returning from her shower, we exchange more words and then she disappears back into the room.

Another girl appears with a towel wrapped around her, she goes off for a shower.

The first girl is now dressed and seated outside, we start to talk. Her name is Penny; she's twenty five, single with no children. She's a university graduate, working for Coca Cola.

I dated another girl who was a graduate working for this company. After two dates with no sex, she asked me for money. I told her in the only way that I know.

"Fuck off".

I like to think that if the girl is working and she's educated, she's going to be a good girl. Unfortunately that's not always the case.

I find Penny an interesting girl, we exchange numbers. She wants to meet me sometime, let's see if it happens.

Weeks have gone by, things have happened. I've broken up with Lizzy, and have been dating Penny. We've not slept together yet, she's a very serious girl.

Deborah makes the morning visits still; she's unaware of the other girls in my life.

This evening Penny is staying the night. She's warning me that we sleep in different beds. I've told her that's fine with me.

I'm sat having a beer in Mirembe waiting for Penny to arrive. I start my observations.

I'm sat across from the toilet. When a man goes in his head is above the wall, so you know he's having a piss. I watch fifteen men urinate, all come out without washing their hands. The basin is near so there's no excuse. The conclusions of my little survey, Ugandan men don't wash their hands after using the toilet.

One of the girls serving in this bar is of a very small build. Here in Uganda they call them portable.

Tonight I hear a man call her laptop, I ask,

"why do you call her laptop?"

"Because she's portable",

he replies.

I'm finally joined by Penny, she looks nice. This girl is very smart and intelligent.

We spend a nice evening talking outside the bar; I finally put the question to Penny,

"shall we go to bed?"

"Yes, but you are in your own bed",

she dictates to me.

When we get to the room I tell her I will sit outside until she gets into bed. She gets herself showered and takes one of my tee shirts to wear.

When I go into the room she's tucked up in her bed. I get undressed, lights off I get under the mosquito net and close my eyes.

After ten minutes she asks me to come and join her in her bed. I'm not sure what this girl wants.

I get into bed with her, we start to kiss. I'm not sure if I should touch her or not.

My hand strokes her back; she's not wearing a bra. I move my hand down until I feel her thigh; going under the tee shirt she's wearing no panties.

I remove the tee shirt, my hands stroking her body all over. Her breasts are larger than I expected them to be, the nipples quite small. I feel her pussy, it's very wet but she will not let me touch inside.

Her hand is holding my cock, she jerks it back and forth, nice feeling. I try to enter her, that's definitely not on the menu tonight.

"Penny stayed for two nights, each night was the same. We would do lots of foreplay, but no penetration".

Today there was a strange happening here. It's common here in Africa for a man to rent the room by the hour for sex. At four o'clock in the afternoon, a man brings a girl into the room at the back of my room. These rooms have an internal door between them. The door is locked, but you can hear people talking in the next room.

I'm sat on my bed reading, the sex starts. The first noise is the bed squeaking and then the girl starts to moan. The man keeps talking to her, he then slaps her. Out of the blue there's the Nokia ringtone. All noises stop and he answers the phone.

I picture him doing doggy, slapping the girls butt, she's just making noises like the bed. Then everything stops, he's still inside her and he answers the phone. How loving is that? once the call is finished the noises start again. This happened three or four times during this session.

I'm making the trip back to Soroti. Kitoro is expensive, so when I want to save some money I go there.

The bus is still in Kampala when it crashes through a small wall at a roundabout. The problem is the roundabout is not flat; it's a deep hole the depth of a two storey house. In the bottom of the roundabout is a bar and restaurant.

When the bus comes to a standstill it's balancing. Everyone inside the bus starts to panic. Some are trying to get out of the windows, the rest just charge down to the front were the door is. I thought the extra weight might be enough to tip the bus over.

Another man and I tell the people to wait, nobody takes any notice. I decided to sit back in my seat; if this bus does go down I don't want to be standing.

Everyone finally exits the bus safely, including me. We spend the next four hours sat in the sun with press and television taking photos and films. Reporters were coming up asking questions, I got fucked off with it in the end.

Finally a replacement bus is sent, our journey continues four or more hours late.

The place is the same; Teddy and Rolo the crazy gang are still here.

Susan visits me every day; I would never be able to sneak another girl into my room.

I do enjoy making love to her; she's willing to try different things.

There was one more eventful thing about this trip, I met a new girl. Her name is Edith, she comes from Kampala. We will meet when I get back to Kitoro.

I made a trip to Fort Portal to see Faith. The love making was the same, she really enjoys making love. Her marriage is still no better; John just gets drunk most evenings. The only time he stays sober is when he's with clients or they are coming for a safari.

My visa expired so I made the trip to Kigali to see my beautiful Elise. When I finally have to leave Africa this is the one I'm going to miss the most. I don't want to think about that.

Back here in Kitoro, room seventeen is busy. Deborah is still doing her morning shift, she knows nothing about Penny. Now of course there's Edith in the equation if she contacts me.

It's another night in Mirembe; I need this relaxation period because my days are hectic.

Tonight I'm expecting Penny to sleep over; I haven't seen her for one week. She phoned the other day, told me she was sick. When I asked her what the problem was, she told me it was her period. That's not a sickness, Africans are strange sometimes.

Penny arrives, I tell her we will go and eat. She tells me she's not hungry. Another cheap night for me.

We go to the bedroom, now it's different; we both get into the same bed. We start to kiss, she touches my body I touch her. I sense something different with her tonight.

I get on top of her and without my assistance she guides me inside her. Her legs wrap around me and she pulls me to her. She's strong, I can't move. The motion is sweet; she makes a lot of noise, her body speeding up.

Soon she reaches her climax with me not far behind. She's not the best, but with a little help from me we can improve things.

"The next day Penny and I were walking hand in hand. Deborah found out, that relationship is finished, friends only".

I've heard from Edith, she wants to come over this weekend. Her and Penny both live in Kampala, makes life very easy for me.

The weekend is here and so is Edith, she's just arrived. I take her to Mirembe; there we have a few drinks.

Looking at her she's a pretty girl, good body too. She tells me she dances; I'm not sure what sort of dancing. She's also made a CD, she sings and dances on it,

"I would like to see that",

I say to her.

She opens her bag to produce a Play Station; I think that's what it's called. I'm not into these different players, good computer that's what I want.

I'm soon looking at the videos of her dancing; fucking hell she can do the splits. I wonder if that will be useful when having sex?

She shows me the video she had professionally made. On this one she is singing with a group of men and dancing. I have to say she's good, she can move her body well.

The videos are on YouTube if I want to look at them she tells me. I can find them under Lady Peace.

The evening ends and we return to number seventeen, once inside we start to remove each others clothes.

Edith has a firm body; she's very fit, from the dancing I suppose. Her breasts are very small, but the nipples are very long.

On the bed we start to roll, the love making is good. We give each other oral sex; she's never experienced this before.

The night and morning was a marathon of lovemaking. This girl likes to try any position that's possible.

Today I take Edith to one of my favourite places to relax by the lake.

Once we get away from the port area we enter the garden. First thing you notice is how quiet it is compared to Kitoro.

We take our drinks and sit at a table under a tree. The garden is full of mature trees, plenty of places to hide from the damaging rays of the sun.

We talk about things, I take a lot of photographs and the day is a perfect one.

Slowly the sun starts to set over the lake; it's time to go back.

The evening was the same as last night, a few bars, a few drinks. I like the company of this girl, she's very pleasant.

It's another steamy night in number seventeen. There's no fan in the room, the sweat rolls off the body with the intense lovemaking.

I'm glad this girls going back to Kampala tomorrow, I need a break.

"Time would pass slowly; I would make further trips to Soroti and Fort Portal to see Susan and Faith. Whenever I was with either of them I never wanted to leave.

In Kitoro I would see Edith, and Penny, sometimes Angela would come over from Kampala.

My old girlfriend Lizzy was starting to reappear, and a new girl who was a hairdresser working in the taxi park was showing some interest.

I was still doing my border hop to Kigali; there I would be with the beautiful Elise. She was still the best for me, if age was on my side I would marry this girl.

Do I really want wife number four? have I not learnt my lesson yet?.

Apparently not, women are there to be loved, why not love them".

Edith comes to stay for the weekend; she gives me a big surprise. Sat on the bed talking she tells me she's two months pregnant.

"Are you sure?"

I ask her.

She's pretty certain she tells me. I ask her if it's mine. she tells me it is.

She's not taken a test yet, I tell her we will do that on Wednesday. I was going to stay at her house for a few days before she goes away on her next contract.

Do you want to abort? is my next question. She tells me she wants to keep the baby.

"OK that's fine by me",

I say to her.

This little episode in my life is a big surprise, I wasn't expecting this.

Our weekend carries on as normal, the love making not inhibited by the pregnancy.

On Sunday Edith returned to Kampala. That evening she called me to tell me that her works had contacted her, they will travel tomorrow.

I tell her we will sort the test out when she gets back.

My morning went well; I thought I would see how the travelling was going for Edith.

I call her number, she answers. I say,

"are you still travelling, or have you reached?"

Her answer surprises me, she says,

"I'm at the hospital, don't worry I haven't had an accident".

I ask her what the problem is. again she surprises me.

"I'm having an abortion",

is her reply.

I don't question her on her decision; I just tell her I will see her soon.

I find this a little difficult to get my head around. Yesterday she wanted to keep the baby, why the change? I'm not going to pursue this, what's done is done.

~~~~~

Chapter 18

The End

I'm still in Africa, one day I will have to go home. Home, where is home? this is one part of my life that I'm not sure about.

My time spent in Africa has taught me a lot about people. People back in England moan about everything, from weather to the hospital system.

Spending time in an African hospital you quickly realise what we have is a gem. The health system for most Africans is very sparse.

The management in most African countries is a shambles. Bad governance is the norm. It's not what you know, it's who you know. Family, friends, relatives, even tribal affiliation goes before diplomas and degrees.

You can be the brightest of the brightest, you can have every qualification for a job, but if you are from the wrong tribe, or you are not family, you will not get the job. Nepotism is rife.

African people are some of the best people I have met on my travels around the world. They have so many things going against them, but they still enjoy their life with the little they have.

Most are kind and generous people, they still hang on to their cultures, even with the influence of western culture creeping into their society.

One day this continent and the people will get what it deserves.

Where are the people I have met over the years? the women I have made love to?. These are questions I can only think about, I don't have the answers.

It's seems a long time ago that I set off on this road, twenty three years to be exact. The time I first found I was really on my own, no wife, no children.

The way my life quickly changed thanks to the people I had around me at the time.

I have seen wealth sitting by the side of complete poverty. If there is a God it's a poor show it, he, she, puts on.

The Africans are strong believers in God, their faith is unrelenting. But what has God done for these people? sweet nothing.

If I had chance to change anything I have done in my life, would I? The answer is simple.

"NO".

What should I do next? maybe I should sit down and write a book.

~~~~~

About the Author

Terry Minett was born in Cheltenham England. He has been married three times and has five children. He is much travelled, having circumnavigated the globe twice and visited many countries. He has lived in Zimbabwe, Senegal, Uganda and France. This book was written in Uganda, during his two year stay there

*****

Other books by this Author

One man's thoughts on Africa

Available at Smashwords:

www.smashwords.com/books/view/389422

Also available at major ebook retailers.

A Lonely Man

Available at Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/397304

Also available at major ebook retailers.

A Lonely Man in Africa

Available at Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/424955

Also available at major ebook retailers.

Contact the Author

tcminett@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/terry.minett.7

~~~~~
