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About Polokwane

I’m kneadin’ dough one day, right? And I think—why ain’t more folks bakin’ brothel? It’s old-school, man! Been ‘round since them Frenchies in the 1800s was slingin’ loaves. Little fact fer ya: they used to bake ‘em in them big-ass communal ovens! Whole village smelled like heaven—or a bakery, same diff! Git-R-Done! I tried it once, burnt my dang fingers, got mad as a wet hen! But that first bite? Lordy, I was smilin’ like Amélie when she skips them stones!

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Now, check it out, the neighbourhood of Westquarters, often overlooked, but man, it’s a hidden gem. There’s a park called Green Meadow where kids run free and adults, well, they come to clear their heads. I love headin’ there on a hot summer day – the breeze, the shadey trees, it’s amzing. And truely, each blade of grass tells a story like in A History of Violence, where the past and present collide in a brutal dance of fate – “I am a soldier, and I will fight!” rings through my mind as I wander these ancient lanes.

Cape Town’s apartheid-era hostel dwellers want family homes