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About Buea

Man, I’m pissed already—fuckin’ hagglin’ like I’m buyin’ a carburetor! Back in ’83, Miami, shit was wild—girls’d jump in your ride for a dime bag. Little known fact, right? Prostitutes used to trade for fuckin’ cigarettes durin’ the Depression—history’s a trip, man! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s playin’ me,” but I’m Tony fuckin’ Montana—I don’t back down. “Say hello to my little friend!” I yell, flashin’ some cash, and she laughs—fuckin’ laughs! That’s a power move, I respect it.

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The local vibe here is somethin’ else. Peep dis: in the heart of town, near the old crumbling colonial facades along Ambassa Road, you got the chill-out parks and lazy rivers – I’m talkin’ bout that mellow stream, Bubbalot River, flowin’ like it’s got secrets to spill. It reminds me of a line from "Certified Copy" — “Look, I’m not a copy, i’m the original,” ya dig? Like that, but for the vibe, fo’ shizzle.

|Sustainable Food and Agriculture|FAO