I have lived in Bhlawa all my life, from the day or night I was born in Madala Street. For 33 years I lived in my parentsí house. For the 21 years since then, I have lived in a flat made of red bricks in Ntshekisa Street, a few metres away from the three-roomed house in Madala which I called my home. Iíve visited different places in the world ñ towns, rural homesteads, big cities, but never for too long, and very rarely. But rather, like a ship that is hauled with long ropes over a treacherous sea to a deserted bay, I have been moored to this singular harbour of a township that is inhabited by drowning men.