A few years ago I was selected to be a contestant on a reality show which was shooting outside of South Africa. The show was going to have a number of local celebrities, and to be honest when the contestants were announced I was excited at the thought of perhaps shacking up with one of the sexy female celebrities.

Looking at their profiles and on-screen personas, I tried to screen which of them could be rock ’n roll and adventurous. And I decided none of them. I also looked at the male celebrities, and I also decided none had a taste for the wilder things in life. So I knew that I would be flying solo on my adventures.

On the first night in this new county, we decided to go as a group to get a meal, buy local SIM cards, etc. Already, I was bored stiff by the slow pace of everything so eventually I wondered off to see what adventure I could find by myself. I flagged a taxi down and, in my very limited French, asked him to drive me around town. I told the driver I wanted to see the dodgy parts of town. Hey, fun things happen in dodgy parts of town.

He asked me exactly what I was looking for and I told him straight-up I was looking for some cocaine, and maybe some marijuana. If you are ever in a different town or country, metered-taxi drivers know the places to get all types of illicit merchandise. This is probably advice you are better off not knowing.

We drove to a drug house which was, ironically, a few houses from the police station. You have to love the lawlessness of third-world countries. We got no love from the drug house – they only had crack cocaine and that’s the drug school teachers, counselors, and guys with terrible stories at the various support groups I attend, warn you about. For the record, I regularly attend Sex Addicts Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, and Narcotics Anonymous. Believe it or not, it helps give me some sort of balance.

Anyway, the taxi driver says he knows of a very dangerous bar that Hells Angels frequent, perhaps we should go there. I could tell he was really not keen on it, but the possibility of a good tip and the thought of seeing where this obviously crazy South African would end up were very enticing to him.

As soon as we parked, he removed his uniform (taxi drivers wore a uniform in this town) and we went inside. The bar was full of guys with leather waistcoats, big beards and an overlying sense of danger. I was the only black guy and my French was quite limited. The taxi driver explained to one guy that I’m from South Africa. At first, they didn’t believe me but once I showed them my passport it was a mind fuck for them that a South African could be in their bar. A crowd-pleaser when overseas is to try to teach them some Xhosa clicks. They loved it.

What also worked for me was that it was just after we had hosted the World Cup and it was the coolest thing to be South African then. I took down some tequilas and beers and left with a few grams of coke from the bikers. One must not overstay their welcome.

The driver and I then went past a strip club but that was just to pass the night away as we were now in a drug and alcohol-fuelled best friendship. By the way, this was just my first night in this country.

— By Anonymous DJ