I was born very awkwardly in a small railway town in South-Africa.
It was settled in a harsh region called the Karoo.
It was a settlement that rose out of this rough, flat bushy country.
A community that sloth fully struggled to subdue floating tumble
weeds in mainroad and returning growth of fauna on its pavements.
I always felt that we did not belong here with the extreme test of weather to discourage us.
The winter froze up our water in the copper pipes and our children
got sunburn under the Poplar trees that were incidentally also the only
skyscrapers of this village.
We did not belong here but the Railway company was insistent that it wanted its switchpoint station here.
A community of blue collar men waited for the next seventy years to
service bleeding and broken trains that came from the cities.
The semi desert landscape that always seemed to echo the screeching
and rambling of on coming metal coaches and steel grinding steel.
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