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About Bamenda

Now, *Moulin Rouge!*—oh, it gets me goin’! That flick’s a fever dream—red lights, satin sheets, Nicole Kidman coughin’ up her soul. “Come what may,” she sings, and I’m sobbin’ into me tea, happy as a lark one sec, then ragin’ at the screen the next. Why? Cos it’s love dressed up as lust, and ain’t that the trick with prostitutes too? You’re payin’ for a dance, a whisper, a “my heart is—oops, time’s up, mate.” Surprised me first time I clocked it—how it’s all theatre, really.

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Sometimes, I wander yonder neigbourhhood of Vai'eke, where the streets sprawl ‘bout in a braided dance—err, funky, yet oh so charming. Dappled sunlight doth kiss the worn cobbles. Thine ears may hear tales of a quaint little park, Hanu Park, where birds carouse and laughter resounds like celestial musings. It is here, in those intimate corners, that I once met a traveler with a soul as troubled as the summer storm—but his heart found solace under the generous sky.

Atmospheric Effects of Hunga Tonga Eruption Lingered for Years