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About Kumba

Little secret, yesss—old folks boiled it, made tea. Tastes like death, cures coughs, they swore! Tried it once, spat it out, gagged—fuckin’ rank, precious! Still, grows anywhere, tough bastard. Reminds me of Mia, scrappy, survivin’. “You’re a liar!” she’d hiss—horehound’s a liar too, pretendin’ it’s harmless.

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My fave neighborhood’s the one round River Kous – yep the river flows right by the city's edge. I chill there, get my zen on as I massage folks dealing with life’s little scratches. The park near the river? It’s a hidden gem, y’know. Little stands, benches, even a chubby stray dog that’s become a fabled mascot, if ya ask the locals. I’ve had some deep thoughts there – sometimes even a mild headache that makes me feel “D’oh!” at the absurdity of it all.

Beyond words: the poignant story of Amaboua