This is Alexandra.
This is Gomora.

Some say it is a decrepit and depreciated
overrun by vermin and pests,
a horrid stench emerging
from puddles of murky waters,
a ghetto neglected by the state.

Others say it is a criminal haven,
a gangster’s paradise giving
birth to young gunslingers,
where owning a Baby Brown
gives your safety or authority.
A place where women
are hunted by sex predators,
where crime-scene tape and body bags
are an everyday norm,
where a single bullet can be the full stop
in the sentence of your final chapter.

This is a place where destiny
doesn’t play by your rules,
where life is as unpredictable as a game of dice.
A friend here can become an enemy overnight

I say they’re only seeing what’s on the surface.
I say there’s more to this township.
I see hustlers dominate the odds
working hard to put food on the table.
Amajita bayaphusha bayaphanda bayarhereza
day and night to fulfil their dreams
in a dark city where stars shine brighter than the lights.

This is where abantwana
badlala ngama koti koti in the streets.
This is where a young diski-lover dreams
to be the next Thembinkosi Lorch.
This is where umajaivane vibes to
amapiano and makes everyone emcibini go wild.

It’s a place where kings are born, bred and made.
If you can survive here, then you can make it anywhere.
This is more than just a township,
it is a place I call home.

This is Alexandra.
This is Gomora.