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About Kimberley

So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

Sex worker talks about her harrowing life on Ladysmith’s streets in KZN

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You know, being a spa owner really tunes me into the town’s pulse. Everyone has their secret gripes, little joys—like when the power goes out unexpectedly, I get so mad I almost yell “What’s the funk, man?!” But then I calm down with some chill herbal tea by the river. Yup, that's how I roll.

Need for water fuels legends of Klein Karoo