A young woman, beautiful, 20-something, is fucking an old man. She fucks him like a rubber doll. Her hands are on his thighs. His mouth is open. The scene unfolds in rapid cuts. The woman: circling, incessant motion. Her tits. Her arse. The man. His face is sweating. The camera jumps between them. Tension builds until the man fi nally explodes. His mouth bites shut. His eyes roll back. His last orgasm on earth. He dies in a frozen contorted pain/pleasure grimace while the girl, still seemingly unaware, slowly comes back to reality.
In the next scene Majolie, the young woman, is under a shower. Head thrown back as the water streams down her body. She has to shout to be heard over the rush: “So, how was it, his Excellency? I love mature men who can show girls a good time. You’re a real African Casanova, you know that?” We realise she is talking to the dead man. We learn he is an important man in the government: the SGCC.
Next we see the SGCC body. His mouth, his eyes have gone slack. Majolie enters from the bathroom, laughing, clapping: “Hey, hey hey, you’re the Man, SGCC.”
We see her face change. The realisation something is wrong as the light bulb above her begins to fl icker like a power cut is on its way.
Interior. Morgue. The room is 20 feet by 20 feet. Dozens of bodies lay on metal racks, dozens overflow and are piled up on the floor. The bodies are naked and wrapped in semi-translucent plastic sheets. Some show signs of a bloody violent death. A naked green light bulb adds to the horror of the scene.
The camera selects a body on the centre operating table. A mortician enters the frame. He grabs a meat cleaver and chops off the head. He takes the SGCC’s head out of a plastic bag. We hear him mutter to himself. Something like: “Nice head”. We see him put it on the decapitated body. Slowly, carefully he begins to glue.
The light changes abruptly as we move to: Interior, a grand mansion. A party is in full swing. A coffin lies in the middle of the room on a large table, surrounded by the food. A family, the SGCC’s, sits in a row accepting condolences. An orchestra plays bikutsi.
The front doors swing open. Enter Tony. Grand gestures as he introduces: “The Prime Minister accompanied by Chouchou and Majolie. The Prime Minister sports a silk Armani suit with golden ant threads and Versace alligator boots. Chouchou wears the latest creation from Agnes B., called Sunset Pearls. Majolie has a classic Christian Dior…Look at it shine.”
Focus in on the crowd. They’ve dropped everything they were doing and watch with a mixture of fascination and envy. The room opens up, allowing the threesome to cross to centre screen where they pay respects to the family.
A village road. We see a car from far away. Blood splatters on the windows.
The Presidential limo. Interior. The Prime Minister is eating an ice cream bar. He takes the last bite. His lips curl. He crumples the wrapper. He says, “Pull over”.
The limo makes a sharp sudden left turn. We see it pull into a small, dark, side road. A truck follows. Its lights trail close behind. The Limo comes to a stop in a clearing. The truck parked not far away. We see the Ice Cream Surprise logo.
From behind a cluster of bushes hemming the road four small figures emerge, shapes in the darkness. They rise quickly as if startled awake. They spy on the scene. We watch the action unfold from their perspective: the doors opening. The Chauffeur and the Bodyguard getting out. They walk to the trunk of the car. They fling it open it.
Jump cut. The camera is flung: angle on the truck. Majolie and Chouchou tight bound in handcuffs.
Cut again. The door of the limo. Door swings open. Mr Prime Minister. He emerges, pumped up, his eyes on fire. He’s wearing a skinny American flag underwear. We now see the full extent of his tattoos. He turns to look up. We follow his eyes. Pan the sky. Freeze on Majolie and Chouchou. Dark shapes, still dressed, dangling from tree branches, doing the strange fruit thing over the limo.
Back to the Prime Minister as he exits the limo. Stealth mode, predatory, limbs like a leopard, muscles glistening in the moonlight. He reaches the roof and snaps his ingers. A groovy music is heard. We watch him get his groove on. Getting into it. His hips swing. An obscene movement. Rising at the groin, leading with his dick, perfect parody sort of a gorilla mating dance. He’s so lost in the groove he doesn’t notice Majolie and Chouchou. They signal each other with the plan.
It only takes two bumps from Presidential pelvis to set the plan in action. Chouchou and Majolie begin to swing. Majolie gathers speed. She flies across the screen. Motion suddenly interrupted as she straddles Presidential neck. She lifts him off his feet.
Chouchou joins the fray. Hip and thighs, The Prime Minister’s head. Music rises, frenzied as we watch an airborne version of the acrobatic sexual dance we saw Majolie perform in the beginning of the movie. This is a fight to the death.
These words are adapted from the script of Jean-Pierre Bekolo’s Les Saignantes (The Bleeders), a sci-fi horror comedy soft-porn take on the postcolony, and set in Cameroon 2025. Stills are from the film. Previously Bekolo wrote and directed Le Complot d’ Aristotle and Quartier Mozart.
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