I write about pain, you know why? Because I know pain better than anything. I know pain, I have felt pain and I’ve lived with pain.
I lost my mom when I was only eight years old and my brother turned two in October, 2005. I am from a poor family, we were raised by my grandma.
In December 2005, my brother and I went to visit our aunt in Johannesburg. We came back 2006 in January. We had to live alone, because no one was there to take care of us, everyone was busy. I had to take my brother to school myself.

Around March, Grandma came back from Durban, she was sick. I had to take care of her and my younger brother. I had to come back from school, go fetch water at Othukela, look for wood to make fire so I could cook and wash my and my brother’s toned school uniform. My family was there but no one cared enough to take us with them.

I was a bright and quiet kid at school. Teachers loved me. My grandma got better and she got a job to take care of us. She had to go to political rallies so she could get takeaways for us to eat.

She loved us so much but taking care of two kids is not child’s play. My grandma had to work several jobs so she could take care of us. I grew up and went to high school and finished my matric with flying colours.
My life has been worse from there until now. But, I feel little bit of hope now. I applied at universities and for NSFAS, hopefully I’ll get a space. Just beg the Lord to keep my grandma for me, until I become successful.


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