Ikara Iboga Retreat Centre

Ikara was a wild ride, one I’ll never forget. The iboga ceremony was like stepping into a hidden part of myself—guided by the staff’s deep understanding of Bwiti traditions, I faced emotions I didn’t know I had. The jungle wrapped around us, raw and alive, amplifying the whole experience. But it wasn’t flawless. The accommodations were bare-bones: thin mattresses and cold showers that tested my resilience. The food was healthy but got old fast—vegetarian here, and I craved more variety than rice and veggies. No Wi-Fi was a double-edged sword; I loved the break from screens but missed checking in with loved ones. The staff were warm, though I wished for more guidance afterward to process it all. It’s a powerful place—I left changed—but it’s not luxury, and that’s okay.

I came to Ikara Iboga Retreat Centre hoping for a miracle for my chronic back pain, but I left with mixed feelings. The jungle setting was breathtaking—lush greenery and the hum of wildlife—but the retreat itself didn’t quite hit the mark for me. The iboga ceremony was intense, lasting hours with vivid memories flooding my mind, but it felt more like a spiritual trip than a healing session. My pain? Still there. The staff were kind and knowledgeable, guiding us through the process, but the accommodations—hard beds and shared bathrooms—made my back worse. Meals were basic, mostly rice and beans, and as someone gluten-free, I struggled with the limited options. Post-ceremony, I felt a bit lost with no real structure or support. It’s a unique place, but if you’re after physical relief, you might want to think twice.

Ikara Iboga Retreat Centre is a gem for those willing to dive deep, but it’s not without flaws. The iboga ceremony was a revelation—hours of introspection, rooted in authentic Gabonese traditions, that unearthed buried parts of me. The jungle’s quiet beauty and the small group vibe made it feel personal and sacred. That said, the retreat felt a bit aimless outside the ceremonies. I’m someone who thrives on structure, and the long stretches of free time left me restless—more guided talks or activities would’ve helped. The accommodations were clean but basic, and the repetitive meals (think rice and stew) didn’t excite me. No internet added to the isolation, though it forced me to sit with my thoughts. It’s a solid experience for the self-driven, but don’t expect a polished retreat.

Ikara gave me my life back. I arrived a wreck, tangled in years of opioid addiction, and the staff welcomed me with open arms, explaining the iboga process with care and respect. The ceremony was brutal—hours of reliving my past, tears streaming—but when it ended, I felt unshackled. The jungle’s stillness held me together as I pieced myself back up. The food was simple but nourishing, and the modest accommodations didn’t matter—I wasn’t there for a spa day. The staff’s compassion and the power of iboga rewired something in me. Six months sober now, and I can’t praise Ikara enough. If addiction’s got you in its grip, this place is a lifeline.

Ikara Iboga Retreat Centre is pure magic. I’ve danced with plant medicines before, but this was different—a soul-deep journey guided by the staff’s reverence for Gabonese roots. The iboga ceremony flung me into visions: ancestors whispering, colors swirling, a clarity I can still feel. The jungle pulsed with life, cradling us as we went inward. The group was small, intimate, and the staff’s presence was steadying. Sure, the beds were thin and the showers cold, but that simplicity sharpened the focus. Meals were earthy and good for the soul. I left with a lightness, a purpose I’d been chasing for years. For anyone hungry for spiritual truth, Ikara is a sacred haven.