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About Bloemfontein

But—argh!—what gets me blood boilin’ is them prigs judgin’ ‘em. “A woman’s body is her own,” *Moolaadé* whispers, and I’m hollerin’ it loud! Why’s it fine fer a gent to swagger, but a lass gets the lash fer the same? Hypocrisy, mate—makes me wanna keelhaul the lot o’ ‘em! Once met this bloke, paid fer a night, then preached purity come mornin’. I near spat me rum—bloody cheek!

Wet and Wild

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As a women’s counselor, I see voices from every corner. Sometimes I sit in a tiny park, like the one on Cambridge Terrace, listen to whispers of lost souls; I'm often touched by secrets shared 'bout life. I remember dis one day, I sat under a tree on Exeter Road near the Rhodin Street bridge over the Baakens River (oh, wait, is it river? sometimes my mind mix places, but okay, fun mix-up!). I had tea, listened to soul stories. So heart-warming sometimes, real raw.

Fuel tanker berth at the Port of Port Elizabeth finally fixed