To the shebeen queen…
Perched on upturned beer crates, the revelers at this Colesberg shebeen (a kasi speakeasy) are nearly a dozen quarts into what is unravelling to be something of a bender. It’s around 10am; eyes are drooping, speeches slurred, and the landlady – a heavy-set woman with a screeching voice – is, in language best not repeated here, intent on scooting them off.


