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About Polokwane

Aight, so it goes down—quick, messy, like a street fight. She’s all business, no chit-chat, and I’m like, “Damn, girl, you cold!” Made me mad again, but also—respect. Hustle’s hustle, y’know? Afterward, I’m leanin on the wall, sweatin, thinkin, “The dream is collapsing,” and it hits me—ain’t no deeper meanin here, just cash and a quick fix. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but felt like I lost a round, ya feel me?

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Rather than return to Basutoland, she took up the life of a brewer and semi-prostitute, being much fought over by rival Basotho men (ibid.).

There’s these little secrets too. A graffiti wall on Jarm Street. I used to sit there, lost in thought, my mind all over the bleedin’ place. The wall speaks a thousand words, like whispers from a gritty film scene. I even joked it was talking to me—stupid, fat hobbit, can you believe?!

Three injured in a vehicle rollover crash on the N1 highway from Kroonstad to Ventersburg