I knew that Journalist is a dirty word in Bob'stan. But surreal, in all the ragged over-use of that word, is the only one that can describe the furtive act of scrawling "Graphic Designer" in the occupation field on the [...]
Mthatha smells like: damp wood. tastes like: sweet veld grass. sounds like: unhurried deliberation. feels like: the place you would go, to listen to the wind.
There's something about a 300km stretch of tar. Something about the road that pulls at you to start pulling together. And that's what happens on the N14 from Krugersdorp, all the way through to Ventersdorp and the R503 pass Coligny [...]
The coffee cup placed in front of me has an authentic granny-crocheted doily beneath it. This is Bloemfontein. I'm sharing a tuna tramezzini at De Rebus in the city centre with Sally and Anina, tannies* who are the encyclopedic reference [...]
Kimberley. Hot. Flat. Sparse. You walk into the airport to walk out of the airport.
The last time the Mother City welcomed me was December of '94. The family holiday, I was eleven years old. Took a walk on the mountain, and returned to find them spinning in hysterics. They thought I'd fallen over the [...]