The gong of the sun rises upon a dusty plain where comparitive kids join to welcome the heat haste day.
They are unwashed by waters and standards of civility, but when they play they hug the world and their laughter creates a tune.
As the hot pots of pap simmer in the rays of the eye in the sky, mothers wash small babies under dripping taps of little water
Their love escapes them as they carress these little beings with kisses and song, as babies giggle and look up to the heavens with a twinkle in their eye
Old folks dance on their stoeps to the blare of the radio, they shake their frail bodies and expose their discoloured teeth
The dogs run freely in the dusty streets and the children more free visit the river daily to get their dose of sheer humanity
My friend, can you still write about the township with a sigh?
Oh no! This is township life.
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