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About Ngaoundere

So, picture this—I’m in King’s Landing, right? Some shady brothel, stinks of sweat and cheap wine. This lass, she’s got hands like a goddamn sorceress, kneadin’ me like dough. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t half bad,” but then—BOOM—she’s whisperin’ prices for “extras.” Made me mad as hell! I’m like, “What is this, a negotiation?” Reminds me of Anton Chigurh, that cold bastard—calmly askin’ if I wanna die or pay up. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?”—except it’s my dignity, not my life, on the line.

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Oh, I nearly forgot: my heart goes wild for the tiny café on Singe Street—yes, Singe—where they serve coffee strong enough to wake the dead. I get there after a long day of kneadin' back muscles and heart talkin'. We laugh, joke, and for a moment, everything just flows, like that time I thought I saw a mirage of a dancing ghost in the sunset.

Malaria transmission pattern across the Sahelian, humid savanna, highland and forest eco-epidemiological settings in Cameroon