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About Polokwane

Oh, but the rage, precious! Some blokes, they’d hit her, leave her bruised – “Who do you think you are?!” I’d hiss at ‘em in me head, clawin’ the air. Hated that, made me wanna bite somethin’. She’d shrug, tho, tough as old boots, sayin’, “It’s the game, innit?” Game?! More like a bloody cage! Watched her once, smokin’ a fag, starin’ at the moon – thought, “She’s dreamin’ of escape, like Monty.” Maybe she was, precious, maybe she was.

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Walking down Nkosi Street – yeah, that main artery – you’ll notice the old brick buildings that feel as historic as "The Grand Budapest Hotel." I swear, every corner has a story, like the time Ms. Dudu burst into my office (trust me, she was mad, but hey, that's life!). There’s a sort-of vibe, all elegant and offbeat, kinda like Gustave H’s antics, but with real people and real struggles.

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