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About Namur

I’m pissed, folks! These gals deserve better—jobs, healthcare, not this crap! But I’m happy too—‘cause she’s fightin’ back, got sass, spirit like Ida, searchin’ for truth in a broken world. “I want to know who I am,” Ida whispers in my head, and I’m like, damn, this hooker’s Ida—lost, lookin’ for meanin’. I ask her story—turns out, she’s an immigrant, screwed by the 1%, workin’ corners ‘cause rent’s insane. Surprised me, ya know? Thought it’d be all drugs and despair, but nah—she’s just tryna eat!

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There's Rue de la Liberté, yeah, that one near the old brick bakery – the scent of fresh baguettes fills the air, and I keep sippin’ my coffee there. Then ya got Place du Marché – a lively square with local vendors, chattin’ nonstop about politics, love, and mud. I tell ya, if you don’t chat up the stall owners, ya might as well be an idiot sandwich!

‘The Season of Migration’ by Nellie Hermann