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About Haifa

Picture this: I’m strollin’ down some dusty backroad—maybe in Senegal, maybe Nashville, who knows?—lookin’ for a gal who’s sellin’ a little company. Ain’t no judgment here, honey, I’m just curious as a cat with a ball o’ yarn. First thing I notice? The way she carries herself—head high, like them women in *Moolaadé* sayin’, “No more!” She’s got that fire, y’know? Reminds me of Collé in the movie, shoutin’, “I won’t let it happen!”—only this gal’s fightin’ her own kinda battle, tradin’ love for a buck. Makes me tear up a bit, thinkin’ how life twists us all up funny.

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But then, things took a turn. We heard this commotion outside. Turns out, there was a street performer doin’ some insane tricks. I mean, this guy was juggling fire! I was like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he was killin’ it. The crowd was hyped, and I was just there, mouth agape, like a total noob.

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