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About Ngaoundere

What pisses me off? Dumb games with no soul. This one’d be raw, messy, real. Happy? When it clicks—bam, players hooked! Surprised? How damn dark it gets—like Ida findin’ her aunt’s truth. “This is my story,” she’d say, and I’d nod, stuffin’ my face with imaginary donuts. Game’d be sloppy, fun, a lil’ wrong—perfect, right? Whaddya think, pal?

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My massage parlour? In a modest building near Place de la Sérénité. The smell of incense and oil always tickles my senses. Hiss, I work there, day by day, and each muscle story tells a tale of the city. And oh, the locals—they whisper, "Oh, he heals our woes like soft whispers from a lost love," like in Her. Such phrases, like a lullaby: "I love you. I do." Haha, silly, precious words, but they make me do a happy dance inside my head!

Promising student in Cameroon: Outed, then an outcast