Phelindaba is where I grew up. Things have changed in that Township. When I was growing up, children played outside in the dusty streets. The boys pushed bricks pretending that they were toys – Putco Buses, Jeeps and Porsches. They reserved their most priced praised toys to their solitude play or with best friends. Presently I an’t speak for the dolls. And when it rained, the rain frustrated us the little ones. Great was our happiness when it subsided. We would trot outside, each taking a lungful of the light breeze that the rain always leaves behind when it has drizzled or showered, and wobbled onward to our tiny childish gatherings. Out of mud the boys fashioned figurines or build tiny houses. And when a chance presented itself we played house with the girls. Playing house, as wives or sisters or children, the girls baked cakes, pies and breads out of mud. And us boys became children, brothers and husbands. Fixed cars, cut the lawn and smoke smokeless cigarettes.