Kofi, a young street photographer with a dusty Leica, pushed through the crowds. Everyone was singing the same name, a rhythmic chant that felt like a prayer and a war cry all at once: "Ali, boma ye!"

(the influence of African percussion on the track) Historical context (more details on the Ali-Foreman fight)

The city was a neon fever dream. Under the floodlights of the Stade du 20 Mai, the air tasted of electricity and expensive cigars. Kofi climbed a scaffolding pole, desperate for the shot that would define his life. Below him, the "Rumble in the Jungle" was about to begin.

In the eighth round, the jungle went silent for a split second. Ali spun off the ropes like a coiled spring. A lightning-fast right hook connected. Foreman, the unbeatable giant, began to topple in slow motion. Kofi clicked the shutter.

(breakdown of specific cultural references)

In one corner stood George Foreman, a silent mountain of a man. In the other, Muhammad Ali, dancing, talking, his eyes reflecting the fire of the Congolese night.