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However, it wasn’t until we sauntered down the Senegambia Strip that it dawned on me that the offer from several Bumsters to experience ‘The Real Gambia’ might well have had illicit undertones.
It wasn’t the only warning sign – the night before we had giggled like adolescents at the sight of two fellow female hotel guests flanking a good looking local guy all but dragging him back to their room, his feet barely touched the ground in cartoon fashion as they marched.
As the night unfolded and the dancing increased, paranoia circled.
We were two single white Western women of an age that could no longer be considered our twenties and we fit the profile of Sex Tourists perfectly…save for our complete unwillingness to participate in such a vile form of exploitation.
Tickets were purchased and travel took place four days later.
Had I planned a bit more I would have realized I was wandering into a country that has a dark side shady enough to blot out the sun.
With paranoia ramping up, I pulled my cardigan closer across my body and stopped making eye contact with the men.