When 18 Crazy Kids Eat LSD at the Zoo
Memoirs of Mayhem Episode 1
27 years of stories of self-discovery, emancipation, friendship, survival, and human connection, all shaped, challenged, and facilitated by a kaleidoscope of drugs. A reflection on the wild, the profound, and the untold. This is the first essay in a series of random memories and experiences. This is how someone ends up where I am.
The actions in these essays were performed by stupid and irresponsible youngsters, and I do not recommend trying this at home, or anywhere. Polydrug use is a risky business and can result in serious injury or death. Drugs are bad, mkay?
I have always loved a good, impromptu adventure! I spent most of my twenties living in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg, South Africa. Two days after matriculating, I moved into my first apartment, a healthy 120km from the coal mining town where I grew up. Student by day and life of the party at night, my friends and I had demanding social lives with a staunch clubbing schedule that commenced every Wednesday evening and concluded at a water-park-turned-nightclub minutes before peak hour traffic on Monday mornings.
I've never been one for routine, though; boredom is my nemesis - perhaps an only-child thing? Every so often, around 2 am, or when the sense of adventure struck, I would grab one to four of my friends, whisper in their ears, usher them out of the club and into my car and race the 721km to catch the sunrise on Margate beach in KZN.
Upon arrival, we’d each buy a bottle of bubbles, put our sunnies on, kick our shoes off, get our feet wet and simply bask in the beauty of the sunrise and waves before getting soft serve ice cream cones and heading on back home to the ‘011 where we have some fun’.1
But the particular adventure I want to share with you here did not involve the beach, it did, however, feature eighteen crazy kids, a boatload of LSD and the Pretoria Zoo.
At a nightclub somewhere in Midrand, Johannesburg. I had already consumed 2 ‘Red Ferrari’ ecstasy tabs, half a ‘disco biscuit’, 1.5 ‘Mad Hatter’ LSD blotters and insufflated an unknown amount of Kat. I hardly ever consumed alcohol, especially since I was always the designated driver - teenage logic, I know. (My prefrontal cortex was not yet developed, mkay?)
The Divas on Decks were headlining, and as I hug my friend and stylist (to this day), Lady Lea drops ‘At Night’ by Shakedown (Kid Crème Club Mix).
Like a whispered secret, a deep, muted bassline throbs in the distance, soft yet insistent, like hearing music from behind a wall. Shuffling hi-hats flicker in and out, creating a delicate tension: a heartbeat.
Terra Deva’s voice emerges like silk over skin: sultry and effortlessly cool. Her vocals weave through the track, blending into the groove like smoke curling through the air. She sings with a conspiratorial intimacy as if she’s letting you in on something profound yet deeply personal.
Then, everything falls away. The beat vanishes, the air thickens, and for a few breathtaking seconds, you hear just her voice, unaccompanied:
“Seems I can’t deny
Some days just don’t feel right
I think I feel, I feel much better
At night…”
The silence is weighted, a split-second of vulnerability in an otherwise pulsing groove. It’s the moment before the rollercoaster drops, the collective breath held just before exhalation.
The brass!
Like a golden wave washing over the track, the sax eases in with a smoky, late-night warmth, subtly embracing the vocals. It’s languid, almost teasing, its notes stretching luxuriously like a cat waking from a nap.
At first, it’s delicate, sneaking in from the shadows. But as the groove returns, the trumpet punctuates the rhythm with sharp, rhythmic bursts, flashing through the mix like neon signs flickering to life.
It’s a seamless transition from ethereal tension transforming into deep, bodily sensation movement, as if the track just took a slow, measured inhale before diving headfirst into the night.
If that doesn't excite you and inspire adventure, I suspect you might also suffer adrenal burnout, but I'm no physician.
I scan the dancefloor, and I’m overwhelmed with affection for my many friends who all move as if they belong on podiums in Ibiza, and those who can’t dance, don’t - they stand around and look good! Seriously, these guys had looking good down to an art. I seize the opportunity to make my rounds, planting the seed for adventure…
At sunrise, we are all around the front of the club, sitting on and around the huge snake carved from wood. Bug-eye sunglasses, cigarettes and Jack Daniels on ice. Two newly hooked-up couples, seemingly enchanted by the spell of ecstasy, have wandered off to lose themselves in the thrill of connection, drawn together by the magnetic pull of the moment.
I take my bottle of bubbles from my bag, kick my Swears off, climb into the large tree and settle on a branch just to the left, approximately 12m above my friends’ heads as I send bubbles filled with cigarette smoke their way. “Guys, I just spoke to Toni. He’s meeting me in the parking lot at 8 am with a sheet of Hatters - who’s coming to the zoo?”
The couples sucking face don’t seem too interested, but the remaining fourteen divide themselves into groups who will be travelling together, the stylists (the majority) contact their respective salons to notify them of their unfortunate state of food poisoning.
We meet Toni, each place one LSD tab under our tongue and set off on the 30km drive to the zoological gardens. The combination of sleep deprivation, poly-drug use from the two days prior and fresh LSD promising significantly altered states.
We purchased some sports drinks for electrolytes, YogiSip and a few bananas for sustenance and like Monster’s inc’s scarers, entered the zoo.
Once through the revolving gate, we follow the path which would later be dubbed ‘the yellow brick road’, to find flamingos on either side of the path. Beautiful and large, someone points out that the flamingos to the left are all a very light shade of pink, almost white. While the birds on the right are so dark, they’re almost orange. We must have stood there, deliberating for 45 minutes before small groups of two to four started splitting away.
If you have taken LSD with large groups of people, you are likely familiar with the ‘acid bubble’ phenomenon - it is often difficult to engage socially with a large group of people when under the influence of LSD, and conversations can become confusing and difficult to keep track of; combined with heightened sensitivity to micro-expressions, body language, emotions and ‘vibes’, and an apparent upgrade in wit and sass, it is common for misunderstandings to occur and offences to be transgressed.
It is common for pairs to find themselves in a ‘bubble’, where they feel completely attuned to each other’s thoughts and feelings like they are telepathically, emotionally and spiritually connected.
My acid bubble drifted along, seamlessly tethered to three others, each floating in and out of orbit, swapping companions from one animal enclosure to the next. We eventually found ourselves drawn toward the cable cars, an invitation for mischief suspended in the sky. Once inside, one of the girls, quick and precise, chopped neat little lines across the back of her phone with the edge of her driver’s license, while one of the guys, grinning like a conspirator, rolled a hash joint.
We ascended, drifting lazily to the top. No one suggested getting off; we simply looped back down and around again, lost in our strange rhythm. Along the walk back down, we found empty promises of big cats, all we encountered were vast, lush enclosures. Uninterested in performing for us, the lions slumbered in their small shelters, indifferent to our passing curiosity.
At the bottom stood Liam, alone, stationed at the gorilla enclosure, grinning like a pimp on payday, radiating swagger. “Guys, come meet my brotha from anutha mutha. Punda!” His voice a blend of cocky charm and pure mischief. I tried to stifle a laugh, “Liam, his name’s Tinu—it says so right here on the sign.”
Liam snorted. “His name is Punda. He told me. Don’t believe me? Watch this.”
We all turned, eyes locking on the great creature in his enclosure, a twig hanging from his mouth like an afterthought. Around him, children squealed, and adults waved and pointed; none of it stirred him. But then Liam’s voice rang out, strong and absurdly authoritative: “Punda! Speak!”
As if the universe itself was in on the joke, the gorilla stirred, letting out a low, rumbling growl before thudding his chest three times with deliberate force.
Liam lit up, positively beaming with smug satisfaction. “What’d I tell you, muthafuckas?”
We stood there in stunned silence for a beat too long, then the laughter burst free, wild and uncontainable, the perfect punctuation to a moment of ridiculous, inexplicable magic.
We continue along our yellow brick road to find James standing infront of the window of the Seal pools. He is sobbing. “James! Babe! What’s going on?” I say in a sing-songy voice as I run towards him with my arms open, ready to embrace him. “It’s just so beautiful! It’s a symphony and I am the conductor.” I hug him and look at my soul sister with big eyes and mouth ‘oookaaay’. James settles and says, “Look”. He stands at the edge of the seal pools, arms raised like a maestro before his grand performance. With a sweeping motion, he casts his hands through the air - graceful, deliberate - and the seals respond as if tethered to an invisible thread. They glide through the water in perfect harmony, twisting and twirling in liquid arcs, with the precision of Olympic synchronised swimmers. Each movement mirrors his command: a playful dive here, a sudden spin there. James, the pulse driving their fluid ballet.
Mesmerised, truly. But we're tripping, and dehydration becomes a matter of urgency so my soul sister and I sneak off to the slushy cart & bless ourselves with pineapple and coconut slush and some candy floss.
We have 80 hectares (200 acres) of zoo to explore and need to optimise the experience. When in doubt, eat more acid for inspiration!
Great Hoffman! Bless his socks! Golf carts! Six people per vehicle: three at the back and three in front. The golf cart jolts forward in a chaotic symphony of shared control. I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination, weaving awkwardly along the narrow path. Beside me, my soul sister leans in, foot pressed hard on the accelerator, sending sudden bursts of speed that jolt everyone in their seats. Lil’ Jax frantically slams the brakes, causing sharp, jerking halts that throw us forward with every stop. Laughter and shouts of protest fill the air as the cart lurches erratically, an unpredictable dance of coordination, or lack thereof, teetering between disaster and hilarity.
The golf cart screeches to an abrupt halt beside the round elephant enclosure, the air thick with shouts, laughter, and overlapping chatter. But suddenly, the noise drains away, leaving only a hollow silence as everything blurs—except for him. The magnificent creature fills my vision, every detail sharp and consuming, as though the world has narrowed into a tunnel leading only to him. I float from the cart, drawn closer by something ancient and unspoken. The elephant sways rhythmically, side to side, not to some idle beat but to keep me in sight—so close that he cannot see me head-on, forced instead to shift with deliberate grace. Time fractures and stretches; we stand locked in a silent exchange, an eternal moment heavy with stories of lives long past, shared without words.
The trance shatters with Andrew’s low, urgent whisper: “Pssst, Babe, slowly move this way.” I glance to see him gesturing from halfway around the large round enclosure. My friends have noticed, and want to be sure; everywhere I move, the giant follows, eyes fixed, bound to me by something deeper than fascination. Hypnotised, both of us caught in an ancient recognition.
We drift away from the elephant enclosure slowly, like wading through thick water. My feet feel heavy, reluctant to break the invisible link that had bound me to that ancient soul. I climb back onto the golf cart in a daze, heart swollen, eyes glassy with emotion. Something inside me feels different, unspoken, yet undeniable like I’ve brushed against a truth older than memory, and it’s left a mark. I clutch the seat, trying to steady the storm brewing quietly inside, the world around me muted, distant, irrelevant.
But then, snap! Reality yanks me back with the force of absurdity. Suddenly, everything speeds up like we’ve hit fast-forward on the world’s weirdest film reel. The zoo erupts into chaos at 26x speed, a slapstick circus of wild limbs and bizarre expressions. Fourteen kids on LSD bounce through scenes like animated chaos, chasing invisible butterflies, and engaging in nonsensical debates with statues. One dude spins endlessly on a bench, arms out like a malfunctioning windmill, while another tries to “befriend” a very unimpressed impala.
The golf cart jerks and jolts like an old Charlie Chaplin gag—bumping over curbs, narrowly missing snack stands, while everyone aboard flails and shouts instructions no one follows. Someone drops a bag of popcorn that explodes across the pavement, triggering a slow-motion stampede of ducks, pecking with terrifying determination. The air fills with a bizarre symphony of honks, squeals, and wild laughter. It’s complete pandemonium, like the Three Stooges on a sugar high: chaotic, nonsensical, and utterly hilarious—yet beneath the frenzy, I sit quietly changed, carrying the weight of that silent connection with the elephant as the madness unfolds around me.
The day winds down as the sun dips low, casting long, golden shadows across the ground. The sky is painted in orange, purple, and soft pink strokes, a masterpiece too perfect to be accidental. We move slowly toward the entrance, following the familiar curve of the yellow brick road, each step carrying the weight of exhaustion wrapped in contentment. The chaos has settled into a gentle hum; laughter now softer, movements slower, like the final scene of a beautiful, messy adventure.
As we round the last bend, they’re still there! The two couples, still rooted by the flamingo enclosure, exactly where we left them. Time clearly held no meaning for them. The moment they spot us, Adam springs to life with the energy of someone who’s just unlocked the universe itself. “Guys! I got it—I figured it out!” His voice cuts through the serenity like a spark. We gather around, expectant, and he delivers his revelation with a perfectly casual, almost philosophical air: “Sunburn.”
The punchline hangs in the air for a second before the laughter erupts, pure and unfiltered—a perfect, ridiculous finale to the day’s madness.
Lighthearted and content, we peel off into our cars, ready for the journey home. I couldn’t drive. Too wrapped in the afterglow of something that felt profound. Thank goodness Peter wasn’t tripping as hard. The drive feels enchanted like we’re still caught in the magic. I watch the Johannesburg horizon stretch before us, where pink clouds twist into giant, lumbering dinosaurs and flamingos soar lazily overhead, their silhouettes soft against the fading sky. I swear I even see koalas nestled in the cotton candy clouds. In the backseat, the chaos reignites; giddy voices mimic that iconic Western movie tune, as if we’re all riding off into our own surreal sunset.
And there, in that absurd, perfect moment, I feel it: happiness that fills every corner of me. A deep, unshakable connection to something vast and ancient, something far greater than myself. Gratitude wells up, immense and overwhelming, for the madness, the beauty, and the strange, wild magic of this existence.
Thank you for joining me on this trip down memory lane ♥︎
011 is the area dialing code for the greater Johannesburg area.
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