I’m from a place where

Poverty is a generational curse


Mother doesn’t work

Father is a deadbeat

Daughter sells her soul by laying on her back

Son steals to make ends meet

Babies make babies with other babies for the grant

To put food on the table

Survival is all that they want

The goal is to remain stable


I’m from a place where

Your bank account does the talking


If you have money, you are crowned a king

If you don’t, you are worthless

If you have nothing, you are nothing

The only respect you get is when you are laying in a box lifeless

The broke are voiceless

The poor are funny

The rich are ruthless

Their only love is money


I’m from a place where

Human life has no value


Our little sisters are raped by their uncles

Our brothers are showered with bullets

Women are killed by their beloved

Newborns are found in plastic bags

It is survival of the fittest

Fall of the weakest

The old bury the young

The parents are numb


I’m from a beautiful place called Uitenhage


It is no paradise

Even pastors sin

Crime is on the rise

Gangsterism is a fashion

Dreams are up in smoke

The new real is being fake

There is no hope

Drugs and alcohol are the only escape