I recently swapped kasi life for the peaceful suburbs of Ballito, and let me tell you, I’m still trying to adjust.

After living in different townships every few years since finishing school, this move feels like I’ve crossed into another planet. A very clean, very quiet planet… with no washing lines. Aibo!

Don’t get me wrong, my landlords are top-tier, super friendly and always helpful and I truly appreciate the peace and safety here. But the silence? Yoh, it’s so loud it echoes in my soul.

Back in the township, 4am was peak hour. Taxis hooting like they’re in a symphony, neighbours shouting greetings, someone already singing and at least one person blasting a playlist that soon became my playlist (I ‘Shazam’d’ half my music through my neighbour’s speakers). People were already on the move, heading to work, hustling, or just making noise because silence wasn’t part of the culture.

That even goes for the so-called “lazy” ones, trust me. They’re not lazy, just unemployed. They are still up by 6am, either chasing any opportunity that shows a pulse, walking a child to the taxi stop, or waiting for scholar transport. Honestly, most keyboard critics wouldn’t last ’til breakfast in that life.

But here in Ballito? 4am feels like 1am. Not a single sound. No hooting, no footsteps, just me and my music on volume one, trying not to disturb the air. It’s giving… early retirement energy, and honestly, I’m not ready yet.

Let’s not even talk about the food struggle.

In the township, if you’re too lazy to cook, no problem – just walk down the street for vetkoek, fish and chips, or even unexpected friendships at the local tuckshop.

Now? The nearest shop is 500 metres away, minimum. And if I don’t feel like walking? Uber Eats. A burger costs an arm, a leg, and possibly my future child. All I wanted was a kota for dinner.
Then there’s the greetings – or rather, the ghost town vibe. Back home, you greet everyone. You know your neighbours by name, their dogs by their bark, and their drama by heart. You laugh, you wave, and sometimes you even get free gossip with your morning walk to the taxi.

Here? It’s just me, the wind whispering “Who are you?” and a couple of dogs giving me the side-eye like, “Chief, you lost?” I miss humans, man.

And can we please have a real conversation about washing lines? Where are they? How do you expect me to dry my clothes – simply by staring at them?

Anyway, I’m just sharing my experience. I’m not hating, just adjusting. This cosy suburb has its charm – I just miss the vibrant, loud heartbeat of township life.

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