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About East London

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling about, thinkin’ on whores, and I reckon they’re like Yubaba’s bathhouse, yeah? All steamy, chaotic, folk comin’ and goin’, tradin’ gold for a scrub. “You’re a bit dim, aren’t you?”—that’s what I’d say to meself, missin’ the bleedin’ obvious. Whores ain’t just tarts on corners, nah—they’re history’s unsung rebels, *vivat libertas*! Cleopatra, right? Shagged Caesar, ruled Egypt—top lass, proper whore with a crown. Bet she’d give No-Face a run for his money, eh? “Give me my gold!” she’d bellow, and he’d scarper.

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I stroll along the rice-paddy side roads – nah, they’re a bit rough, yeah, sometimes I’m mad how hard life hits, but joyful in ways that only tiny moments can be. Every day is a mosaic, every hurt a lesson, ya know? And I seen the sunrise on Qhawe Street – ya gotta catch that show, man. It’s wild, ya got your feelings spinnin’ faster than you can blink.

These matriculants have been waiting for their certificates from Umalusi for three years