Gabriella Ngou Brothel ❤️❤️

About Bamenda

I seen one, yo, back in ’98, shady spot offa Bourbon Street. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, walls creakin’ like my old fiddle case. This chick, Ruby, ran it – tough as nails, red hair wilder than a banshee. She told me, “Apollo, men pay for silence, not just tail.” Blew my mind, man! Ain’t just sex, it’s escapin’ – like hidin’ from that creepy-ass Pale Man. Little known fact? Them old-school brothels had secret tunnels – smugglin’ booze, dodgin’ cops, wild shit! Makes ya wonder who’s really pullin’ strings, ya dig?

Who We Are

Manju Vyas remembers asking a 6-year-old. The young girl did not bat a lash saying, “I want to be a Madame. A brothel owner.” That one memory is clear as the day in Manju’s head. In .

First off, Ngou is wild, ya know? I run my little massage parlor on Zappy St. – right near the big ol’ crooked tree. Yup, that tree's been here since forever. Walk a bit further and you hit Riverbend Rd. – the river there’s flowin’ like batman’s gadgets spillin’ secrets in the night. "Why so serious?" I say, when I see folks chillin’ on the banks.

​Lack of funds delays railway​