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About Namur

Aight, personal quirk time—I hate judgin’ whores, fam. Like, who am I, God? Nah, YOLO, live your truth. But it grinds my gears when folks act holier-than-thou. Hypocrites, bruh—worst typa people. Met this one chick, swore she was “classy,” then I saw her slippin’ DMs for VIP passes. Whore energy, straight up! Laughed my ass off—people wildin’.

Open-air cinema showcases Guyanese short films

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

Faith and family bolster veteran broadcaster Michella Abraham-Ali