The haunts of sin and shame

Princess Ave is the Soho of Abidjan. Bars, nightclubs and casinos blast loud music out on to the street full of cars and hoards of pleasure seekers from all over west Africa. At the end of the working, with their weeks wages in the pocket the young people of the city take to the streets for a "good time" Alcohol is sold on market stalls and the prostitutes blatently parade themselves and aggressively pursue a potential client. It was a souless and godless place to drive through on a Friday night.

But it was not to my mind quite so depressing as the area we had visited in the afternoon. Off a main highway we pulled into a layby, where there were a few market stalls and then set off down a dusty alleyway into a rabbit warren of shacks. Immediately I was wishing I had worn proper shoes, not flip flops as I tried to avoid the puddles from the recent downpour, the piles of rubbish, the children playing in the dirt and falling on the uneven paths. It was stifling hot and smelly due to lack of adequate sanitation. Out on the main street the sun was bright but down the maze of closely packed homes it seemed dark and gloomy. Goodness knows what it is like when the rains come. We were in another world and in seconds I had lost all sense of direction.

In front of quite a lot of the houses there were wooden stalls from which some people were selling food, or other goods. But at night time those same stalls sold a very different commodity as the prositutes put themselves up for sale. These girls are cheap, they need a lot of clients in order to make a living. On Friday afternoon many of them were fast asleep, resting before they engaged in their night time activities.

It is a desperate place but this was the day time. Solomon and Kingsley had come here with a visiting team last year at night and they said the atmosphere was indescribable and had been very frightening as a white man in that environment was an inevitable target for competition. Some of them had become quite aggressive.

We somehow found our way out and crossed the main road and down another alleyway we were in another very similar place. The difference here was that this was where mainly Nigerian girls worked whilst the other side had been mainly Ivorian. I was told that of the two sides, the Ivorian girls were less pushy but more depressed whilst the Nigerians were more up beat but much more aggressive. My guess is that the Nigerian girls are probably trafficked and must put on a show. They must secure more clients because they must pay their masters.

White people in this area draw enough attention and I didn't feel it was right to treat people like exhibits in a zoo so we didn't take many photos so I have to rely on words to try to relay the sadness of this place. I hope I have done that but my feelings were beyond words.

All I can say is that this place breaks your heart. When I got back to the hotel I read Albert Osbornes song and wept.

The Saviour of men came to seek and to save

The souls that were lost to the good

His Spirit was moved for the world which he loved

With the boundless compassion of God

And still there are fields where the labourers are few

And still there are souls without bread

And still eyes that weep where the darkness is deep

And still straying sheep to be led

Except I am moved with compassion

How dwelleth thy Spirit in me?

In word and in deed

Burning love is my need

I know I can find this in thee.

God bless

Carol