My name is Sinethemba Ntuli, grew up in the Eastern Cape (Port Elizabeth, Motherwell) like an any one else who is in Cape Town trying to make something out of nothing. A son to a staunch, remarkable and single woman who mothered three children. Growing up from a broken family and being raised on a loose change from my mother’s employer, where she helped to do laundry, cook, clean the house and at times if she is fortunate manage to leave her employers house with a loaf of bread without her consent as we struggled to make ends meet and further our education.
After doing my matric last year in tough living conditions, I had to convince my self that there is something out there waiting for me and if I want to get it I had leave the land of my birth to seek it somewhere else where conditions were favorable. It was only after July this that I got a call to come to Cape Town and stay with my dad in Lower Crossroad “Marikana”.
On my arrival that in week alone I saw people getting mugged, shot at and everyday news of a house burglary would travel faster than I can say PE. My father whom I was staying with had warned me about Marikana, insisted that I needed to keep busy or get a job and give him my CV. But, because he has been so absent in my life little did he know that I could not even type.