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About Bafoussam

Alright, mate, so I’m a mountain guide, yeah? Out there in the wild, roamin’ peaks, breathin’ crisp air—bloody brilliant. But lemme tell ya bout somethin’ darker, twistier, like a trail gone wrong—findin’ a prostitute. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy escort ad, nah, this is raw, gritty, real shit. Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” sizin’ up the scene. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, see? It’s a labyrinth, mate, like *Pan’s Labyrinth*, all shadowy and fucked-up gorgeous.

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I gotta admit, sometimes I get mad at the street vendors on Zebra St., blockin’ my view. They know, right? But then I see their smiles and think, “Maybe life is like that, unpredictable, just how nature intended.” And on nights, when the streets feel lonely, I whisper a bit of that Leviathan vibe—like "it is not the strongest, but the one most resilient, who will survive." Wow, such epic words!

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