How Silulo saved me

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.

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