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About Bamenda

Ever hear ‘bout Black-Eyed Sal? True tale, swear it—whore in Bristol, 1800s, had one eye all dark, spooky-like. Folk said she cursed blokes who stiffed her—next day? Dead! Dunno if it’s real, but gave me shivers, yeh? “There’s no choice,” like the faun’d whisper, but Sal? She chose vengeance, proper badass. Still, we hates it—them whores livin’ shadows, dodgin’ fists an’ filth.

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You sees, out near the river, that shimmering water, the Mbam River, glistens under a strange moon. It flows, gliding like soft skin. Funny, isn’t it? Gollum loves the little places we hide in, yess, especially the park, Parc de l’Éclat. Soft grass under bare feet, like a gentle massage caress, hsss. I remember one day, precious, I was massaging a grumpy old man on a bench, and his laughter was the music of the breeze. So silly, but so heartful, yes.

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