A big part to the Iboga dreams was to give me a sense of understanding. Some of the understanding was to make me feel good or ok about the world or my life, but some was to give me a sense of responsibility or compassion or warning. These lessons aren't direct knowledge, it's more of an organic type of information transfer. Like you live it and then are left to figure it out.
So when I was in what I'll call the mala mundo (bad world) I was living with the most heinous junky-crack-addicted prostitutes. It was like mad max meets the dockyards. Everyone was living in these elevated tent cities above the dockyards and log booms. The water was like the ditch water of Hastings and got into everything and everywhere. Blood, semen, urine, shit, garbage and industrial waste mixing just below the surface of the log booms and splashing up threatening to infest me with whatever disease it wanted.
The elevated tents people "lived in" went on into the distance as far as the eye could see. They hung in the skyline like twisted trees of decay and disease. To get up into them was to lifted out of living with the rats. The rats were the drug addicted prostitutes and johns that had lost all sense of self and were wondering around half naked fucking each other without condoms, spreading disease, and using the money made to buy crack and heroin until their bodies collapsed. Once they collapsed from exhausting, malnutrition and disease they would fall through the cracks of the log booms and drown in the filthy water.
Natural selection at it's most grave. To make it up into the tents you had to be sellable. Workable. Or you had to have money to buy drugs and prostitutes. The tents were run by an invisible power, but a power that was obeyed completely. Down at the bottom were the cast offs, and up above were the commodities. The commodities sold their bodies continuously to buy crack rock after crack rock and small amounts of heroin over and over. If they had children they sold their children for sex and used the money for the same things. There was an understanding that it was better in the tent city than down below, but in all actuality it was just the same. The women in the tents were covered in blood, semen, urine and disease. It's not like they could have a shower after fucking thousands of men. Total depravity.
It was all this endless, mindless cycle of fucking and drugging, fucking and drugging that I watched. The John's and the invisible power were in the shadows, unseen, but not disguised. They left their marks in full view on the bodies of the prostitutes. And once the prostitutes became too sick from disease and drugs to work properly, she lost her tent and would be at the mercy of other prostitutes to work in their tent or she would be forced down below, with the rats, to her death.
This world, a mala mundo, was not a world you left once you became a part of. People got lost here and never made it back. I got out, but I was just a voyeur, not a participant.
