In this godforsaken yet endearing town everyone suffers from something — 60-year-old men suffer from the delusion that their 20-year-old wives love them for their bodies, Africans eternally suffer under racism, overweight white chicks suffer from not getting any, and the sexpats are probably suffering from herpes.


Every day I ride my motorbike around the city tempting death and somehow manage to make it out alive with slightly higher blood pressure and clogged lungs. Mobile phone-talking one-handed motorbikers, miscellaneous carts contents ranging from food to trash to pigs, cars of all sizes driving like motorbikes, buses, naive tourists and your random stray dog are just a few of the street hazards – they’re all reasons to cuss. Most of the time, I catch myself before I blurt out something stupid that will get me stabbed, but luckily a column is a safe place to get those expletives out so I can get some, “Serenity Now” (Seinfeld fans will get this reference).

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