FROM a street cleaner’s vantage point, South Africa’s heritage is not a pretty picture.
My dorp is one of the few where a national road still runs through the middle, right down the high street, in fact. Many travellers regard it as a convenient inter-provincial dumping spot for litter, and the three entrances and exits to the place are often a depressing replica of the official rubbish pit several kilometres away.
There's no other word for it: our town dam stinks. Relentless over-grazing, a world-class collection of cow pats around the perimeter, an occasional calf dead in the water and algae spawned from the whole vile combination: a lethal soup, it simmers pungently under our fierce Free State sky.