Wednesday, April 07, 2010
I've only been through Ventersdorp once, well twice if you consider the drive back from Botswana. It made an delible impression on me then; so much so that I started writing a gory thriller titled The Butcher The Butcher [Find link below right].
I noticed numerous funeral parlours, indeed funerals seemed to be the only industry keeping the town alive, if that makes any sense. I felt a sense of the guts of a place slowly being ripped out - more than anything else, due to economic reasons. One highlight to this experience was a small area of very simple suburbia that had a windmill springing out between all the houses, and young boys and girls walking barefeet and apparently fancy free on these roads a stone's throw away from neighboring farms. There's the merest hint of a happier time, but these reminders are outnumbered by gutted and derelict buildings; a community [black and white one would think] trying to prevent their own inexorable decline demise.