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About Douala

So, listen up, you twat! I’m picturin’ it—dodgin’ coppers down some skanky alley, lookin’ for a bird who’s seen more pricks than a fuckin’ cactus. “What’s your name?”—like I’d ask that shit, straight outta the movie, but nah, it’s more like, “Oi, love, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—fuckin’ hell—kinda thrilling, yeah? Back in the day, Victorian London, they had “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel—Jack the Ripper’s old haunt, creepy shit! Bet they didn’t expect some sweaty chef like me judgin’ em now, eh?

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The city pulses with art. Old palace, like, wow. There’s Mbari Lane too. Crazy colors, wild carvings everywhere. I get chills sometimes. C’mon, it's like "In the still of the Anatolian night, life whispers secrets" – sorta like that movie. Crazy phrase, right?

How Njoya the Great put his African kingdom on the map