A group of six sex-workers stand on the roadside along the bushy area, at the corner of Grobler and Malherbe Street in Makhado. This place is known to many as Dzithangani (reed canes), due to the fact that there are lots of reeds next to the road. All six women are skimpily dressed in mini skirts and the so-called three centimetre bikinis. This is a place from where they sell sex.

“Kha vha swike (come this side),” says one sex-worker, near the bushy area, her skin glistening in the morning sunrays. “How much do you have?”

I immediately spot Sylvia and introduce myself to her, explaining that I am the man who has been phoning her for an interview. Last time when I came to cover the story on the spread of prostitution on the spot, we shared hazel nuts and a pint of fresh milk I had with me. She remembers me and asks if I have come with some hazel nuts and I say no.

“Guys, this is my friend from the newspaper, he needs to understand how we run things here,” Sylvia says to others. Two of them answer that they are not interested and the talk continue between me and the four women who feel comfortable to speak.

“The world must be informed that we’re not evil people,” says one of them. “We are only running an honest business, where each one of us is her own boss. We can’t allow any person, even the police, to intimidate or lecture us in any manner.”

On how they protect themselves from the venereal infections such as HIV and the possibility of minimizing the spread of the HI virus, Sylvia is quick to answer that they always use condoms.

“Tell the truth, Sylvia,” interjects another. “If you speak like that, you might chase clients away. It’s almost December now – a busy season – and we’ve all agreed that our minimal price is R50. But if a man has R200 and he doesn’t wish to wear a condom, I let him come without one.”

“You do, Portia? Not me,” says another one. “I can’t run the risk of getting some deadly disease from a man I do not even know. I’ve kids to look after at home. Above all, my parents still love me.”

She goes further to explain that she takes regular HIV tests to monitor her status.

One sex-worker narrates a story where a condom burst during the sexual session, at Dzithangani. “I only discovered it once we were done, and I felt like ... eish ... dead,” she speaks, unsmiling.

“That man seemed pleased because he was even smiling to himself. He said I must bring his baby to him at Ha-Nthabalala, once it was born. Nobody had ever angered me like that in my whole life! I grabbed him by the shirt and demanded he paid me R150, and not the R25 we had initially agreed on.”

The woman admits that, after the incident, she had not gone for an HIV test. “I fear the worst part of the results,” she says. “However, I continue taking good care of myself as I sell sex here.”

Meanwhile, the police vans still patrol the area to curb the spread of prostitution, or minimize the high rate of prostitution incidents in the area.