It’s on the outskirts of town, diminutive yet an eyesore. You can see from afar that it is a sad place, engulfed by darkness due to broken street lights and dusty streets as a result of stolen pavements materials by mischievous skollies. Sorrows, whimpers, and eeriness are what hover around this place. It carries a heavy aura.

Its name is Blydeville and is located in the North West province. It’s commonly known as Lichtenburg and is located near the capital city, Mafikeng. I happen to be a citizen of this very enterprise.

One may enquire so as to why I refer to my birthplace as an enterprise. That is solely because Blydeville contains vast job opportunities that can help to eradicate poverty and help the destitute. Those job opportunities are subjected to, but not limited to armed robberies, high jacking, brutal killings and even witchcraft.

For as long as I could remember, Blydeville never felt like a part of me, but rather an enforced habitat embedded deep within my being. Firstly, I am not one of the popular girls with entourages, doing all the rebellious things that the youngsters in my hood indulge in.

Secondly, I do not engage in criminal activities and that makes the community, the rightful citizens of Blydeville think that I’m somehow above them or that I haven’t fallen pregnant whilst in school, making me a sinner, disguised as a saint. Lastly, I have finished my matric with flying colours and that, my dear reader in my m>kasi (hood), is an offence, punishable by the Blydeville law.

As you can coherently see with your imaginative eye, I am considered a foreigner in my own homestead just because of my diverse lifestyle.

Blydeville is a small town with diverse races or should I say diverse ethnic groups such as Black people, Coloureds, and Indians.

We have ounces of Tswanas, Pedis, and Sothos. You may think we’re a very happy rainbow nation, such as traditional Sunday Kos, with the usual rice, fried chicken meat, and a variety of salads and not forgetting the homemade chakalaka. But that’s not the case. We’re very hostile beings that resort to terrorising the elderly and killing the innocent.

Personally, I haven’t experienced any form of violence from my hood, but what I can truthfully utter is that I’ve dodged thousands of bullets, not just figuratively, but also literally. Feeling unsafe in your homestead shouldn’t even exist. Dear reader, I live in terror, yearning to know what tomorrow holds for my life.

There’s more than what meets the eye when coming to my place. Basically, corrupted officials and law enforcers are what delay’s our community, that is why crime cannot be eradicated. It is said that it takes a village to raise a child but in my kasi (hood), it takes a village to ruin a child.

Either way, you cannot choose where you come from, but it is within you to choose your destiny and how you shape your future.