Ah, my dear, come closer, come closer, yesss… let me tell you 'bout Japeri, my prec–my precious, like - ohhh, it’s so much, so b-bewitched, my love. I’ve been here, livin’ in this snug city for ages… err, sorry, so many years now, yes, my precious.
Down on Rua do Sol, real busy place, folks chatting up like crazy, and oh boy, the local market near Praça da Esperança – a vibe, like the gathered women in Moolaadé sayin’, “They shall not pass!” It stirs our spirit, my precious!
I wander through the Beco das Flores – tiny alley, fulla surprises, my dear. Sometimes, I sit and reminisce, thinking, “My precious, they are strong, they are free!” The crackly wind echoes, like giggles through the trees, yes.
Man, the Parque da Lua, so chill, such a spot for deep talkin’. I met some souls there, oops, memories! I got mad once, yesss, because of a shady busker – but then I remembered, "Courage, my precious, like the brave ones in Moolaadé," and it’s all good then.
By the river Rio de Japeri, the water babbles secrets. Sometimes, I sit, trrr, lost in thought about life and sisterhood. It makes me bop my head like mad – pitchin’ it with laughter and a tear, my precious!
Oh, the streets, oh so many names in a rush – Avenida da Liberdade, where I often cross paths with spirited women, sharing our woes and wins, g-giggling and rantin’ like no tomorrow. They call it home – raw, real.
Let me confess – I love that messy corner near Largo da Resistência. Sometimes, smells of street food hit me – spicy, tangy, just like my favorite meal. It’s raw, it’s real, it’s Japeri, yess, my precious!
I scribble notes on paper – sometimes in my head, sometimes scribbled on scraps… all amidst chat sessions with souls, all crying out their pain and joy. I feel their energy, it makes my heart race!
Damn, sometimes I err in my thinking – oh, I did typos and cut thoughts, s-sorry my dear, but it’s like a rush! Life’s messy, streets are messy, but our souls are strong!
Japeri’s not perfect. I pissed off – oh, so mad ‘bout the neglect on some streets, and r-rings of bureaucrats ignoring our voices. But then, like in Moolaadé, the people shout, “We shall fight, my precious!” And hope fills every hidden corner.
There, my friend, in this humble city, every street and park whispers a story. Like Gollum, I cling to these memories, my precious, in each laugh, each cry, each wild twist of fate. Temptin’ and raw, and pure, and free – that’s Japeri to me!
Come visit, my dear, see it all – feel it, live it, as you never have before, with all its curses and charms. My voice, my truth, raw, and a wee bit crazy, all for you, my friend… my precious!