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He pressed it above his upper lip, and a moment later, it fell off. He reapplied it, but the moustache wouldn’t remain in place.“Shit, my moustache won’t stick to me because of my whiskers! What do we do?” He feared.“I don’t know!” Jenny cried.There was no time to do anything as the Ivory Coast border guard motioned Scott up next to him. “I thought we’d be stopped by the Ghanaian border guard not the Ivory Coast military first,” he complained.“Passeports s’il vous plaît,” “Passports please,” the guard asked, holding out his right hand. Scott inspected the AK 47 slung across his chest as he handed him their documents. Double magazines taped together, he noted about the weapon. The guard looked at Scott’s passport last. He gazed from the picture to Scott’s face and back to the passport picture. A second guard stood at the rear of the car, his finger poised over the trigger guard of his AK 47.“Pourquoi avez-vous rasez votre moustache,” he asked.Sula leaned left, touching Scott’s.

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