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About Yaounde

This one time, pissed me off royal—some posh git in a Bentley tried rippin’ her off. Fifty quid short! She clocked him good, heel to the shin, and I’m cheerin’, “That’s my girl!” Made me happy, seein’ her fight back—tough as nails, no muckin’ about. Surprised me too, ‘cos you don’t expect that fire, y’know? Most blokes’d miss it, but me—Bond, “shaken, not stirred”—I spot the spark. She’s no damsel, she’s a bleedin’ volcano.

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I once overheard a conversation on Rue d’Harmonie, yes, precious, between two lovers arguing ‘bout mundane stuff, yet full of that magical touch—like “our souls can melt the wires of a cold machine.” They were mad, but, oh, deeply in love in a clumsy, beautiful way. That day, I nearly dropped my oil bottle, silly, like the world? Yes.

Figure 1: Carte de localisation des stations d'échantillonnages...