I have always loved the streets, the noise and observing the ladies who sell on the streets. I think it’s because my life has always been like a park station, always active like ants gathering food for winter, people walking in and out. Or perhaps it’s because I love the different smells that nature has always offered since from birth. I laugh when I think of this, but no, the truth is I was born here in the busy streets of Johannesburg. You see, my mother was a night shift person. And I…I am a child of abuse. Born by birth, raised by the streets and fed by the streets, at the one and only restaurant, the one you call the rubbish bin.

And no, I do not want your spineless pity. You see, the owner has grown to accept that in this devil shaped world, some things can never be changed, even your God knows. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe but not as much as you do.

I know everything that happens and that happened here on these streets, what’s new, who is who. I am like the street police, always on patrol or a journalist that never misses out on a juicy story. Today is a hectic afternoon, it is not like yesterday. What I see today, is almost as traumatising as watching someone who died come back to life. What do I mean you ask? Traffic, yes, that’s what I mean, traffic.

Look at him. All dressed up for the occasion, driving the latest BMW like it’s his last day on earth. I bet he is wearing a well-tailored extra expensive suit. You see, it’s people like them who make people like you and me look like routine zombies. Like, we don’t know the difference between morning, afternoon and evening. People like these forget to say thank you or please intentionally.

Heyyyi man suka!!! Udriver amasimba mann.

Sorry, was interrupted by a speeding taxi driver. Now I’m angry. You see, this is exactly why we have such a high rate of road accidents and the reason why I will never buy a car. Yes! Taxi drivers; hard workers, stubborn and straight to the point. They are the only people who I know who know that time wasted shall never be regained. Nowadays pedestrians have turned to mini human taxis, ja.

You know life used to be so precious but every time I see a hearse, the thought that someone out there has lost a wife, a husband or a child or even worse a child losing his/her parents, that hurts the most. When I was 17 I lost my mother in an accident. One night she was working when a black BMW came out of nowhere. They said she was stabbed several times and she did not even make it to the hospital and even if she did, how were we going to pay? That is why I sit here. I know it’s strange, I mean why would one want to spend all his days in such a place after what happened. The truth is, pauses, I guess I haven’t gotten over the passing of my mother.


Tell us what you think: Why do you think other people end up living on the street?