DEEP AFRICAN HELL Pt 4
Mbuji's tacky old car choked forward, down a dark and bumpy street. It pulled up slowly, stopping next to a rubbish container. It's lights gradually faded out as the engine ceased. The vehicle's door opened with a screech. A scruffy brown leather sandal, wrapped around an enormous black man's foot, touched the ground. The imposing foot was covered in dust. It's impressive dimensions spreading out heavily onto the ground: it's thick, bulky toes had dirty, ragged nails whilst it's harsh, yellowish soul spread up from beneath the scruffy sandal.
The huge, impervious figure of Mbuji stood tall next to his car. His monolithic upper arms on display as he scratched his rugged face. He looked ahead as if staring at something. Beyond his bulky shoulders an old sign hung undisturbed on a tacky wall. The sign read : 'Nwufoa Niger'. Mbuji's eyes sharpened. He started to walk towards the local. To his right, the old alleyway. It was now empty. Mbuji took a quick glimpse down it before entering the local.
Once inside, he was presented with a very quiet and lifeless environment. The local was almost completely empty apart from a lonely drunk slumped in one corner and the barman smoking a cigarette behind the counter. Mbuji approached him slowly and offered his huge, callous palm. He shook hands with the bartender as a spark glittered in his eyes. Slumped in the corner, the drunkard downed his last gulp. Sedated, he stared lazily at the mighty stature of the black man who had just entered. With the spirit polluting his mind, the drunk was struck by the staggering height and ponderous frame of the huge Senegalese.
He watched the pair talk. After a while he saw a few smiles amongst the two. Mbuji used the barman's cigarette to light a smoke of his own; the barkeeper quickly flipping the top off a bottle and pouring a drink for them both. At ease, Mbuji moved closer. He suddenly asked the black man what appeared to be a specific question. Immediately, the bartender erupted into mischievous laughter. His eyes glowing, he started gesticulating. As his arms waved in curves, he formed the shape of an hour-glass. He brought his hands to his chest mimicking the forms of a woman's breasts. Mbuji quickly asked a second question. A lurid smile soon grew on the barman's face. He stooped forward as if wanting to whisper something to the large Senegalese. He patted one of Mbuji's shoulders and began to whisper in his ear.
The barman's face became noticeably serious. He appeared to tell Mbuji some vital information. Mbuji's bloated lips thinned, his face straightened. His throat retracted as he swallowed the moistness building up in his mouth. The bartender moved away slightly. He winked cunningly at Mbuji. Mbuji leaned forward and asked a final question. The barman once again used his hands. His right arm swayed from left to right, like a fish in the mud, as if giving Mbuji some kind of road indications.
Mbuji's eyes didn't flicker once as they carefully took the indications. His face becoming tense, his eyes glittering, his nostrils flaring. He stared intensely at the bartender before nodding his head in agreement. The big Senegalese ran his thick, yellowish palm over his sweaty shaved head. His cigarette dampened by his wet lips, the bartender eye-balled Mbuji with an implicit smile. Mbuji used his big left hand to remove the sweat now gathered on his un-groomed moustache before grinning back at the bartender. He saluted him. He moved backwards very slowly and cunningly turned around. Appeased, he headed towards the exit. Half an hour later, Mbuji was staring through the blurry glass of his car's un-wiped window. The vehicle was in motion. It's irregular movements following a bumpy surface of some kind. As its headlights zoomed out into the dark night, the car approached an aging concrete bridge. Its pillars plastered in graffiti, the old bridge overshadowed a pile of rubble heaped below it - broken bricks, scraps of metal, an old bicycle frame without wheels. There were torn newspapers scattered across the floor, slit rubbish bags and tacky steal pipes. Nearby, the remains of what could have been a dog, splattered on the ground in a bloody mess, now a feasting spot for hundreds of flies and moths.
As the car motioned beneath the old bridge, Mbuji's large arms began turned the steering wheel to the right. The car gradually exited from under the bridge and started to move down an old lane. It took a left and then a right; its cranky movements echoing in the darkness. As it proceeded ahead, the vehicle entered an extremely rough looking, abandoned area. There were residues of a burnt down car, now overturned. Looking around himself, Mbuji was presented with large, secluded buildings hidden behind the crumbling, unused bridges. There were old sheds, only a few feet tall, next to solid concrete constructions. The bigger structures were two or three floors high, without windows or lights, surrounded by puddles of sewer waters.
The car headlights beamed out over large segments of what used to be an old warehouse. The sections now collapsed into a heavy heap of aluminium sheets, steal beams and tangled barbwire. There were old copper pipes leaking, with a nasty brownish fluid running to the ground as it met with pieces of dampened cardboard and broken glass. As darkness engulfed the area, random shadows suddenly moved in the distance. Mbuji looked slightly to his left; he saw the flickering light of what could have been a burning bonfire. Its glow fluttering amidst the tacky walls of the old buildings. He proceeded ahead. Moving forwards down a much bumpier track, he started to encounter an array of tacky old cars parked here and there. Their windows smashed, their frameworks badly scratched and dented.
As he turned left, Mbuji was suddenly faced with the burning bonfire. Its wood sizzled up into the night. Focusing on the wild fire, he saw a number of heavy shadows spreading out; up across the old building walls and down across the floor in front of them. He took a better look. He saw an intimidating group of black men, huddled around the burning fire. Puffs of smoke left their mouths as rolled up cigarettes nested lightly amongst their thick fingers. One of the large blacks had an extremely visible, colorful vest stretched over his broad chest. It almost glowed in the darkness. There were three vertical colors striped together. A bright green stripe followed by a red one and then a yellow. The middle stripe bore a small yellow star above which some block letters spread out wide. They read C-A-M-E-R-O-O-N. Mbuji observed the crowd of immigrants. He appeared far from surprised.
As the car proceeded ahead, the portentous gang of blacks monitored the vehicle. Their interest deflated rapidly as they soon realized it was just another rough-looking negro heading down the track that night. The car came to a slow halt. It stopped in the vicinity of a second concrete bridge, this one tackier than the first. Once again, large mounds of rubble nested beneath the bridge. There was another small fire, this time burning at ground level. It gave light to three black men crouched around it. They perched awkwardly on overturned boxes and large stones. Mbuji turned off the engine. The car-lights immediately faded out. His eyes studied the three men lazily squatted around the flame. He saw them passing something around; their heads tilted forward as their shoulders drooped. He scouted the nasty features of a dirty syringe needle.
Hardly stunned, Mbuji moved his attention away from the junkies. He spotted a number of old scooters nudged up against a tacky wire fence. He then saw a fresh row of brassy cars crammed together. The parked vehicles slept undisturbed in the shadows. The rusty-fence surrounded an overgrown field preceding a large concrete building, barely visible in the darkness. An abandoned edifice of some kind, half of one of its sidewalls was barely standing. Surrounded by endless heaps of rubble and rubbish, the dark and seemingly deserted building stood a few floors high; almost completely hidden behind the old bridge. It was, without doubt, a chilling location.
The silence of the eerie area was suddenly disturbed. A group of rowdy blacks slowly began to approach. There were five of them. They appeared exalted. They aggressively scrunched up some empty beer cans and threw them into the rubbish nearby. They appeared significantly appeased with themselves. Mbuji followed their movements in the darkness. He watched them approach the tacky old fence. The five blacks pulled at the wire. They revealed a hole in the rusty enclosure. They soon stretched it open and moved through it one by one, in to the overgrown field. After the last black has passed through the hole, another man started moving through through it from the opposite direction. He was followed by three other blacks, also leaving the overgrown field. Their faces hauled huge grins. They laughed wildly and began to head away from the derelict building, towards the three junkies slumped around the fire.
As they moved closer, Mbuji's heavy arm thrust out of his window. He called one of the men over. The black man stopped and looked down at the large Senegalese squelched inside his tacky old car. Mbuji's head motioned towards the old building. He appeared to be asking a question. The rugged man, blatantly intoxicated, burst into a rapacious laughter. He brought his thick hand towards his trousers and aggressively cupped his groin. His tongue dangled loosely from his lips. His eyes rolled madly as if he were in a state of total delight. The man turned around and faced the rusty old fence. He stared emphatically at the creepy old building before letting out a powerful yell of gratification. He started to move his hips back and forth, simulating the act of anal sex. He then stood upright and brought his hand to the height of his waist. He spread his large hand out in front of him as if he were holding someone's head. His waist movement resumed. He began to simulate the act of oral sex. Once more, he yelled in ecstasy. Mbuji stretched his head further out the window; he asked another question. The man before him pointed towards the rusty old fence. He blurted out some words, and sniggered before heading back towards the other junkies.
The humongous frame of Mbuji exited the car. With a slow, fearless pace, the Senegalese headed under the bridge. Adagio, he reached the row of tacky old cars. He passed them unruffled and scouted for the hole in the rusty fence. He found the opening at once. Crouching down awkwardly, he tried to fit his large chassis though the modest hole. He managed it by a small margin.
Mbuji moved ahead in the darkness. His heavy feet stomped ahead. They charged forward.. across the field, amidst the overgrown grass. He was forced to dodge mounds of rubble, copper pipes as well as a number of splintered pieces of wood dwelling dangerously in the wild grass. Mbuji's eyes fluttered. He was presented with the daunting urban degrade. He saw rubbish bags, a scrapped toilet vase lying on the floor; old mattress springs, broken glass panels and even an old car engine heaped on the ground without pardon. As he moved closer to the large building, he noticed that its external walls bore the extended black marks of a past fire. The grimy burn-marks mixed savagely with obnoxious graffiti plastering the crumbling edifice whilst the front windows were boarded up with rusting aluminium sheets.
Mbuji's gaze faced the ground. He had noticed an improvised footpath leading to the side of the old building. He moved ahead in mortal silence; the whites of his eyes piercing out from pitch darkness. The footpath was long and eerie. To his right, the huge, sweeping concrete sidewalls of the intimidating building. As Mbuji got closer to the end of the old structure, he began to hear some voices. The mumbles were blurred, but they began to grow louder. Mbuji turned the corner. He was confronted with a large group of black men standing in front of a back-door. The blacks were noticeably bulky and heavy. They smoked carelessly. Behind them, a thick line of empty beer bottles lined a small wall. The group turned their attention to Mbuji as he began to head towards them. He slowly took a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lit a smoke.
The large Senegalese mingled with the blacks. He offered them a couple of smokes before patting one of them on the shoulder. The men began to chat; Mbuji appeared at ease. Laid back, he suddenly said something with a smooth tone of voice. The blacks began to snigger at what appeared to be a slick joke. Without delay, Mbuji turned his attention to the backdoor. He asked a devious question. The group of blacks began to mutter emphatically. Mbuji brought his large black hand to his groin and cupped his heavy bulge. The gang of blacks began to laugh in agreement. One of them offered the Senegalese a swig of his bottle before pointing towards the backdoor. The others soon began to nudge Mbuji towards the building, enticing him to enter.
Mbuji took a swig at the bottle and handed it back. He took a final puff of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. He turned towards the backdoor and motioned towards it. Mbuji opened it with verve. Badly hinged, the door scraped violently on the ground. The large black man entered the dark building.
Once inside, Mbuji was surrounded by darkness. In the distance he could see a small light bulb. Badly lit, it revealed a decaying wall. A number of holes spread randomly throughout the wall as large patches of damp engulfed parts of the ceiling. As a slight breeze swept the dark room, the hanging light bulb swayed weightlessly. Through one of the holes, Mbuji caught a glimpse of an old stairway. He promptly headed towards it. At its feet, the big black man stared up at a rising cluster of dusty concrete steps. He started up them. Motioning away from the dangling light, he was once again faced with complete darkness.
Once on the first floor, Mbuji took out his lighter. He lit a feeble flame, directing it in front of him. In semi-darkness, he saw nothing but heaps of debris. Old steel frames, dusty planks and un-plastered walls. A squalid sight. The floor was completely abandoned. Its walls covered in graffiti. Mbuji motioned the lighter to his right then to his left - he saw nothing. He promptly turned back towards the stairway. Up another flight of steps and Mbuji reached the second floor. Without stopping, he started a new flight of steps.
His scraggy vest gathering sweat, Mbuji reached the third floor. He directed the flickering flame directly ahead of him. He saw a slight beam of light piercing through one of the boarded up windows. It revealed a small corridor leading to a much larger one running the length of the old building. He began to motion forwards very cautiously. As the light improved gradually, Mbuji returned his lighter to his pocket. He saw cigarette butts scattered here and there on the dusty floor. There were a number of rusty metal doors badly secured in front of tatty old rooms. As he moved forwards, he noticed one of the metal doors lying on the floor. He stopped in front of it. Stepping over the door, Mbuji entered the old room. In semi-darkness, he saw electric cables dangling from the ceiling, broken glass covering the icky floor strewn with rubbish bags. Mbuji was unmoved. As he lowered his head, he saw more empty bottles and cigarette butts. Turning to his left, he soon spotted a scruffled magazine piercing from under a stained pillow on the floor. He picked it up in a leery manner. He opened it. He saw the features of a black woman. Her legs were wide open and a large black penis was fiercely stretching her pussy. In the next picture her lips were wrapped around an even bigger penis. Mbuji grinned spiteful as he flicked through the pornographic magazine.
Appeased, the large Senegalese threw the magazine back to the ground. He stepped back over the door and into the dark corridor once again. He resumed ahead in his slow pace. Moving further down the corridor, deeper into the belly of the old building. Darkness enveloped him once again. Mbuji re-extracted his lighter and took a few more steps ahead. Suddenly, the big man stopped in his pace. He remained immobile as if he had heard something. Some voices. Distant echoes could be perceived.
Mbuji proceeded ahead very slowly. The small flame in his hand revealed a large brick wall, covered in cob-webs. To its right, the mouth of a dingy stairway leading down, to a deep and dark corridor. Mbuji leered down at the buried stairway; he appeared unconvinced. He turned around skeptical and stared back into the darkness. Suddenly, he heard some fresh mumbles coming from below. The big man brought his attention back to the stairway. He lowered his lighter in order to take a better look. There was a long crack running down one of the sidewalls. Some broken concrete steps covered in dust and a rusty side-bar perilously hanging from its supports. Resolute, Mbuji started to descend the tight stairway. As he reached the bottom step, he heard some random voices mumbling in an African dialect. There was another tight corridor, with a rather low, crumbling ceiling.
At the very end of it, a dim light spread across its uneven surface. It revealed another passageway to the left. Crouching his heavy shoulders, Mbuji closed his lighter once more and returned it to his back pocket. He started to move towards the end of the corridor. Turning the corner, he saw the fluttering of an old light bulb dangling from an electric wire. It revealed a much larger corridor. Peeking down it, he spotted a herd of rough-looking blacks, maybe five or six, huddled together smoking.
Extending his focus, he studied the full length of corridor. He pried another dangling light about fifty yards further down. There was another cluster of blacks, more numerous, maybe eight or nine, beneath the second light. Their movements fickle and erratic, their voices intimidating - they appeared drunk. A number of them could be seen smoking dodgy cigarettes.. a nasty smell of cannabis infested the dark corridor. Mbuji brought his large hand to his forehead. His yellowish palm swept the sweat dripping from his head as he began to mingle with the large crowds. An old mirror, half smashed, could be seen to the right. Its surface blurry, it was steamed up by vapourish body heat. Mbuji moved ahead almost unnoticed. Past the first group, he suddenly began to hear faded echoes. Some rowdy cheers were coming from a distance. He moved ahead slowly; the cheers became more and more vivid.
In proximity of the second light bulb, Mbuji stopped in his pace. He spotted a couple of negros leaving the second crowd. They started to head down a much tighter corridor to the right. Mbuji watched the pair go down it. They turned to the left and out of sight. As soon as the two blacks turned the corner, four other negros strolled round it, coming from the opposite direction. One of them motioned forward in a strange manner. He doddled, as if his movements were impeded slightly. Mbuji stared ahead in awe. He saw the black man tugging at his pants. He had an enormous grin spread across his ugly rugged face. His pants were down by his thighs, his tight vest soaked in sweat. Mbuji looked down. He saw a swollen, veiny penis dangling viciously between the black man's thighs. A white fluid trickling from its rounded tip; the man appeared elated.
As he joined the other blacks, he was saluted by a loud roar. The other negros chuckled in delight. Mbuji stared down the tight corridor. His eyes sharpened as he watched three more blacks venture down it. They disappeared to the left as the wild yells grew louder and louder. His heart racing, Mbuji rubbed his sweaty palms together. Staring down the dark corridor, he began to move ahead. As he approached the corner, he was suddenly halted. He remained immobile. Sandbagged. He had heard some screams - high-pitched shrills. His breathing tensed, his legs trembled: they were the screams of a woman.
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Mbuji's tacky old car choked forward, down a dark and bumpy street. It pulled up slowly, stopping next to a rubbish container. It's lights gradually faded out as the engine ceased. The vehicle's door opened with a screech. A scruffy brown leather sandal, wrapped around an enormous black man's foot, touched the ground. The imposing foot was covered in dust. It's impressive dimensions spreading out heavily onto the ground: it's thick, bulky toes had dirty, ragged nails whilst it's harsh, yellowish soul spread up from beneath the scruffy sandal.
The huge, impervious figure of Mbuji stood tall next to his car. His monolithic upper arms on display as he scratched his rugged face. He looked ahead as if staring at something. Beyond his bulky shoulders an old sign hung undisturbed on a tacky wall. The sign read : 'Nwufoa Niger'. Mbuji's eyes sharpened. He started to walk towards the local. To his right, the old alleyway. It was now empty. Mbuji took a quick glimpse down it before entering the local.
Once inside, he was presented with a very quiet and lifeless environment. The local was almost completely empty apart from a lonely drunk slumped in one corner and the barman smoking a cigarette behind the counter. Mbuji approached him slowly and offered his huge, callous palm. He shook hands with the bartender as a spark glittered in his eyes. Slumped in the corner, the drunkard downed his last gulp. Sedated, he stared lazily at the mighty stature of the black man who had just entered. With the spirit polluting his mind, the drunk was struck by the staggering height and ponderous frame of the huge Senegalese.
He watched the pair talk. After a while he saw a few smiles amongst the two. Mbuji used the barman's cigarette to light a smoke of his own; the barkeeper quickly flipping the top off a bottle and pouring a drink for them both. At ease, Mbuji moved closer. He suddenly asked the black man what appeared to be a specific question. Immediately, the bartender erupted into mischievous laughter. His eyes glowing, he started gesticulating. As his arms waved in curves, he formed the shape of an hour-glass. He brought his hands to his chest mimicking the forms of a woman's breasts. Mbuji quickly asked a second question. A lurid smile soon grew on the barman's face. He stooped forward as if wanting to whisper something to the large Senegalese. He patted one of Mbuji's shoulders and began to whisper in his ear.
The barman's face became noticeably serious. He appeared to tell Mbuji some vital information. Mbuji's bloated lips thinned, his face straightened. His throat retracted as he swallowed the moistness building up in his mouth. The bartender moved away slightly. He winked cunningly at Mbuji. Mbuji leaned forward and asked a final question. The barman once again used his hands. His right arm swayed from left to right, like a fish in the mud, as if giving Mbuji some kind of road indications.
Mbuji's eyes didn't flicker once as they carefully took the indications. His face becoming tense, his eyes glittering, his nostrils flaring. He stared intensely at the bartender before nodding his head in agreement. The big Senegalese ran his thick, yellowish palm over his sweaty shaved head. His cigarette dampened by his wet lips, the bartender eye-balled Mbuji with an implicit smile. Mbuji used his big left hand to remove the sweat now gathered on his un-groomed moustache before grinning back at the bartender. He saluted him. He moved backwards very slowly and cunningly turned around. Appeased, he headed towards the exit. Half an hour later, Mbuji was staring through the blurry glass of his car's un-wiped window. The vehicle was in motion. It's irregular movements following a bumpy surface of some kind. As its headlights zoomed out into the dark night, the car approached an aging concrete bridge. Its pillars plastered in graffiti, the old bridge overshadowed a pile of rubble heaped below it - broken bricks, scraps of metal, an old bicycle frame without wheels. There were torn newspapers scattered across the floor, slit rubbish bags and tacky steal pipes. Nearby, the remains of what could have been a dog, splattered on the ground in a bloody mess, now a feasting spot for hundreds of flies and moths.
As the car motioned beneath the old bridge, Mbuji's large arms began turned the steering wheel to the right. The car gradually exited from under the bridge and started to move down an old lane. It took a left and then a right; its cranky movements echoing in the darkness. As it proceeded ahead, the vehicle entered an extremely rough looking, abandoned area. There were residues of a burnt down car, now overturned. Looking around himself, Mbuji was presented with large, secluded buildings hidden behind the crumbling, unused bridges. There were old sheds, only a few feet tall, next to solid concrete constructions. The bigger structures were two or three floors high, without windows or lights, surrounded by puddles of sewer waters.
The car headlights beamed out over large segments of what used to be an old warehouse. The sections now collapsed into a heavy heap of aluminium sheets, steal beams and tangled barbwire. There were old copper pipes leaking, with a nasty brownish fluid running to the ground as it met with pieces of dampened cardboard and broken glass. As darkness engulfed the area, random shadows suddenly moved in the distance. Mbuji looked slightly to his left; he saw the flickering light of what could have been a burning bonfire. Its glow fluttering amidst the tacky walls of the old buildings. He proceeded ahead. Moving forwards down a much bumpier track, he started to encounter an array of tacky old cars parked here and there. Their windows smashed, their frameworks badly scratched and dented.
As he turned left, Mbuji was suddenly faced with the burning bonfire. Its wood sizzled up into the night. Focusing on the wild fire, he saw a number of heavy shadows spreading out; up across the old building walls and down across the floor in front of them. He took a better look. He saw an intimidating group of black men, huddled around the burning fire. Puffs of smoke left their mouths as rolled up cigarettes nested lightly amongst their thick fingers. One of the large blacks had an extremely visible, colorful vest stretched over his broad chest. It almost glowed in the darkness. There were three vertical colors striped together. A bright green stripe followed by a red one and then a yellow. The middle stripe bore a small yellow star above which some block letters spread out wide. They read C-A-M-E-R-O-O-N. Mbuji observed the crowd of immigrants. He appeared far from surprised.
As the car proceeded ahead, the portentous gang of blacks monitored the vehicle. Their interest deflated rapidly as they soon realized it was just another rough-looking negro heading down the track that night. The car came to a slow halt. It stopped in the vicinity of a second concrete bridge, this one tackier than the first. Once again, large mounds of rubble nested beneath the bridge. There was another small fire, this time burning at ground level. It gave light to three black men crouched around it. They perched awkwardly on overturned boxes and large stones. Mbuji turned off the engine. The car-lights immediately faded out. His eyes studied the three men lazily squatted around the flame. He saw them passing something around; their heads tilted forward as their shoulders drooped. He scouted the nasty features of a dirty syringe needle.
Hardly stunned, Mbuji moved his attention away from the junkies. He spotted a number of old scooters nudged up against a tacky wire fence. He then saw a fresh row of brassy cars crammed together. The parked vehicles slept undisturbed in the shadows. The rusty-fence surrounded an overgrown field preceding a large concrete building, barely visible in the darkness. An abandoned edifice of some kind, half of one of its sidewalls was barely standing. Surrounded by endless heaps of rubble and rubbish, the dark and seemingly deserted building stood a few floors high; almost completely hidden behind the old bridge. It was, without doubt, a chilling location.
The silence of the eerie area was suddenly disturbed. A group of rowdy blacks slowly began to approach. There were five of them. They appeared exalted. They aggressively scrunched up some empty beer cans and threw them into the rubbish nearby. They appeared significantly appeased with themselves. Mbuji followed their movements in the darkness. He watched them approach the tacky old fence. The five blacks pulled at the wire. They revealed a hole in the rusty enclosure. They soon stretched it open and moved through it one by one, in to the overgrown field. After the last black has passed through the hole, another man started moving through through it from the opposite direction. He was followed by three other blacks, also leaving the overgrown field. Their faces hauled huge grins. They laughed wildly and began to head away from the derelict building, towards the three junkies slumped around the fire.
As they moved closer, Mbuji's heavy arm thrust out of his window. He called one of the men over. The black man stopped and looked down at the large Senegalese squelched inside his tacky old car. Mbuji's head motioned towards the old building. He appeared to be asking a question. The rugged man, blatantly intoxicated, burst into a rapacious laughter. He brought his thick hand towards his trousers and aggressively cupped his groin. His tongue dangled loosely from his lips. His eyes rolled madly as if he were in a state of total delight. The man turned around and faced the rusty old fence. He stared emphatically at the creepy old building before letting out a powerful yell of gratification. He started to move his hips back and forth, simulating the act of anal sex. He then stood upright and brought his hand to the height of his waist. He spread his large hand out in front of him as if he were holding someone's head. His waist movement resumed. He began to simulate the act of oral sex. Once more, he yelled in ecstasy. Mbuji stretched his head further out the window; he asked another question. The man before him pointed towards the rusty old fence. He blurted out some words, and sniggered before heading back towards the other junkies.
The humongous frame of Mbuji exited the car. With a slow, fearless pace, the Senegalese headed under the bridge. Adagio, he reached the row of tacky old cars. He passed them unruffled and scouted for the hole in the rusty fence. He found the opening at once. Crouching down awkwardly, he tried to fit his large chassis though the modest hole. He managed it by a small margin.
Mbuji moved ahead in the darkness. His heavy feet stomped ahead. They charged forward.. across the field, amidst the overgrown grass. He was forced to dodge mounds of rubble, copper pipes as well as a number of splintered pieces of wood dwelling dangerously in the wild grass. Mbuji's eyes fluttered. He was presented with the daunting urban degrade. He saw rubbish bags, a scrapped toilet vase lying on the floor; old mattress springs, broken glass panels and even an old car engine heaped on the ground without pardon. As he moved closer to the large building, he noticed that its external walls bore the extended black marks of a past fire. The grimy burn-marks mixed savagely with obnoxious graffiti plastering the crumbling edifice whilst the front windows were boarded up with rusting aluminium sheets.
Mbuji's gaze faced the ground. He had noticed an improvised footpath leading to the side of the old building. He moved ahead in mortal silence; the whites of his eyes piercing out from pitch darkness. The footpath was long and eerie. To his right, the huge, sweeping concrete sidewalls of the intimidating building. As Mbuji got closer to the end of the old structure, he began to hear some voices. The mumbles were blurred, but they began to grow louder. Mbuji turned the corner. He was confronted with a large group of black men standing in front of a back-door. The blacks were noticeably bulky and heavy. They smoked carelessly. Behind them, a thick line of empty beer bottles lined a small wall. The group turned their attention to Mbuji as he began to head towards them. He slowly took a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lit a smoke.
The large Senegalese mingled with the blacks. He offered them a couple of smokes before patting one of them on the shoulder. The men began to chat; Mbuji appeared at ease. Laid back, he suddenly said something with a smooth tone of voice. The blacks began to snigger at what appeared to be a slick joke. Without delay, Mbuji turned his attention to the backdoor. He asked a devious question. The group of blacks began to mutter emphatically. Mbuji brought his large black hand to his groin and cupped his heavy bulge. The gang of blacks began to laugh in agreement. One of them offered the Senegalese a swig of his bottle before pointing towards the backdoor. The others soon began to nudge Mbuji towards the building, enticing him to enter.
Mbuji took a swig at the bottle and handed it back. He took a final puff of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. He turned towards the backdoor and motioned towards it. Mbuji opened it with verve. Badly hinged, the door scraped violently on the ground. The large black man entered the dark building.
Once inside, Mbuji was surrounded by darkness. In the distance he could see a small light bulb. Badly lit, it revealed a decaying wall. A number of holes spread randomly throughout the wall as large patches of damp engulfed parts of the ceiling. As a slight breeze swept the dark room, the hanging light bulb swayed weightlessly. Through one of the holes, Mbuji caught a glimpse of an old stairway. He promptly headed towards it. At its feet, the big black man stared up at a rising cluster of dusty concrete steps. He started up them. Motioning away from the dangling light, he was once again faced with complete darkness.
Once on the first floor, Mbuji took out his lighter. He lit a feeble flame, directing it in front of him. In semi-darkness, he saw nothing but heaps of debris. Old steel frames, dusty planks and un-plastered walls. A squalid sight. The floor was completely abandoned. Its walls covered in graffiti. Mbuji motioned the lighter to his right then to his left - he saw nothing. He promptly turned back towards the stairway. Up another flight of steps and Mbuji reached the second floor. Without stopping, he started a new flight of steps.
His scraggy vest gathering sweat, Mbuji reached the third floor. He directed the flickering flame directly ahead of him. He saw a slight beam of light piercing through one of the boarded up windows. It revealed a small corridor leading to a much larger one running the length of the old building. He began to motion forwards very cautiously. As the light improved gradually, Mbuji returned his lighter to his pocket. He saw cigarette butts scattered here and there on the dusty floor. There were a number of rusty metal doors badly secured in front of tatty old rooms. As he moved forwards, he noticed one of the metal doors lying on the floor. He stopped in front of it. Stepping over the door, Mbuji entered the old room. In semi-darkness, he saw electric cables dangling from the ceiling, broken glass covering the icky floor strewn with rubbish bags. Mbuji was unmoved. As he lowered his head, he saw more empty bottles and cigarette butts. Turning to his left, he soon spotted a scruffled magazine piercing from under a stained pillow on the floor. He picked it up in a leery manner. He opened it. He saw the features of a black woman. Her legs were wide open and a large black penis was fiercely stretching her pussy. In the next picture her lips were wrapped around an even bigger penis. Mbuji grinned spiteful as he flicked through the pornographic magazine.
Appeased, the large Senegalese threw the magazine back to the ground. He stepped back over the door and into the dark corridor once again. He resumed ahead in his slow pace. Moving further down the corridor, deeper into the belly of the old building. Darkness enveloped him once again. Mbuji re-extracted his lighter and took a few more steps ahead. Suddenly, the big man stopped in his pace. He remained immobile as if he had heard something. Some voices. Distant echoes could be perceived.
Mbuji proceeded ahead very slowly. The small flame in his hand revealed a large brick wall, covered in cob-webs. To its right, the mouth of a dingy stairway leading down, to a deep and dark corridor. Mbuji leered down at the buried stairway; he appeared unconvinced. He turned around skeptical and stared back into the darkness. Suddenly, he heard some fresh mumbles coming from below. The big man brought his attention back to the stairway. He lowered his lighter in order to take a better look. There was a long crack running down one of the sidewalls. Some broken concrete steps covered in dust and a rusty side-bar perilously hanging from its supports. Resolute, Mbuji started to descend the tight stairway. As he reached the bottom step, he heard some random voices mumbling in an African dialect. There was another tight corridor, with a rather low, crumbling ceiling.
At the very end of it, a dim light spread across its uneven surface. It revealed another passageway to the left. Crouching his heavy shoulders, Mbuji closed his lighter once more and returned it to his back pocket. He started to move towards the end of the corridor. Turning the corner, he saw the fluttering of an old light bulb dangling from an electric wire. It revealed a much larger corridor. Peeking down it, he spotted a herd of rough-looking blacks, maybe five or six, huddled together smoking.
Extending his focus, he studied the full length of corridor. He pried another dangling light about fifty yards further down. There was another cluster of blacks, more numerous, maybe eight or nine, beneath the second light. Their movements fickle and erratic, their voices intimidating - they appeared drunk. A number of them could be seen smoking dodgy cigarettes.. a nasty smell of cannabis infested the dark corridor. Mbuji brought his large hand to his forehead. His yellowish palm swept the sweat dripping from his head as he began to mingle with the large crowds. An old mirror, half smashed, could be seen to the right. Its surface blurry, it was steamed up by vapourish body heat. Mbuji moved ahead almost unnoticed. Past the first group, he suddenly began to hear faded echoes. Some rowdy cheers were coming from a distance. He moved ahead slowly; the cheers became more and more vivid.
In proximity of the second light bulb, Mbuji stopped in his pace. He spotted a couple of negros leaving the second crowd. They started to head down a much tighter corridor to the right. Mbuji watched the pair go down it. They turned to the left and out of sight. As soon as the two blacks turned the corner, four other negros strolled round it, coming from the opposite direction. One of them motioned forward in a strange manner. He doddled, as if his movements were impeded slightly. Mbuji stared ahead in awe. He saw the black man tugging at his pants. He had an enormous grin spread across his ugly rugged face. His pants were down by his thighs, his tight vest soaked in sweat. Mbuji looked down. He saw a swollen, veiny penis dangling viciously between the black man's thighs. A white fluid trickling from its rounded tip; the man appeared elated.
As he joined the other blacks, he was saluted by a loud roar. The other negros chuckled in delight. Mbuji stared down the tight corridor. His eyes sharpened as he watched three more blacks venture down it. They disappeared to the left as the wild yells grew louder and louder. His heart racing, Mbuji rubbed his sweaty palms together. Staring down the dark corridor, he began to move ahead. As he approached the corner, he was suddenly halted. He remained immobile. Sandbagged. He had heard some screams - high-pitched shrills. His breathing tensed, his legs trembled: they were the screams of a woman.
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