SEX TOURISM ON-The Gambia (continued, part 2) Some time ago I read an interesting article which referred to "Interview with a sex tourist." It told of sex tourism in the Philippines, the men's version of what is happening in the Gambia. Then I felt like myself to write something in the same vein. But I have a one problem: if the author had the opportunity to talk to, so to say, man to man, with one of the sex tourists. The fact that they were both the same sex, to create some atmosphere of complicity, which I achieved was impossible, because there are all sex tourists were female. Remnants of chivalry did not allow me to approach one of these older women, and ask: "Excuse me, you came here because you are in despair?" No, I had to find another way. Occasion presented itself for a few days later. I was walking along the beach Kololi, which though not one of the wonders of the world, but clearly deserves attention. On the day he was absolutely empty. Of course there was not a season, and of course, bars and hotels travelers can always be found. Excellent mood during my solitary walks along the wide beach of white sand and decorated with coconut palms, gradually began to disappear as a result of constant raids of entire crowds of annoying the local citizens of various colors and with different "speeches," which they tirelessly "to recite." An hour later I was definitely sure that my feet will never not be on this beach. I stopped to rest in the shade of a palm tree when I was approached by the most recent and most persevering "reciter" on behalf of Ibrahim. Ocean Beach Kololi If during the walk you get well-read, just keep going and after a few steps you will be left alone. In this case, the problem may go away. But if you sit under a palm tree, your chances to regain the lost peace of mind alone tend to zero. Ibrahim rid of it was simply impossible. He introduced himself, comfortably seated next to me without invitation, and started the usual for this kind of people song. Ibrahim looked healthy. Appearance he was so what happens to those who do not work, but well nourished. He was tall, broad, neatly dressed in a red shirt that emphasized the form of his sculptured biceps adorned with tattoos. He was 30 years old, maybe less. It has been almost perfect white teeth and beautiful smile that slightly spoiled pretty big nick between the two front teeth. And, of course, I could not understand what he was getting at with all his eloquence. Maybe my little beard was not enough to make sure he knows that I am not a woman? Or, perhaps, Ibrahim was advanced in this matter, and he, like modern barber shop employee, was like someone to serve, man or woman? Undoubtedly, he possessed remarkable oratorical skills, and now he switched to the story of his trips to vacation in the U.S. and England. He talked about it with great detail, and I began to feel that it is either all out, then with the imagination of it would have made excellent writer, or he actually visited those countries, and in this case, he has the ability to live for others account, which is another great natural talent. For a while I listened to his story, by the time of his molestation has nothing do not bother me. Then, I directly asked him what he wants to sell me. His response was well imitated contempt, as if he had said: "I talk from the heart, and you decided to repay me this coin." He even tried to get up and leave with an offended look. However, he did not leave. It was at that moment it dawned on me that Ibrahim may be useful to me. Self-promotion I told him that he tied with their own stories, and that I am familiar with such as he. To those who knew what to feed tourists tales are much more lucrative occupation than normal work. I also said that he had long come to the same conclusion, so do not blame him. And since we were in a sense, his colleagues, he should stop treating me like a stupid tourist. Finally, I offered him a deal, a fair deal: he will answer my questions and, thus, to satisfy my curiosity about the provision of sexual services to women in the Gambia, and I pay him for the information 500 Dalasi (national currency of The Gambia, 500 Dalasi - about 17 euros , approx. Perevi.). Ibrahim listened to my suggestion with a grain of salt, but at the mention of monetary compensation for his eyes narrowed, as the eagle, which he noticed a rabbit in the meadow, somewhere far below. Start material: Completion of material:
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