Undocumented.

There will always be moments that I wished I had photographed, but didn't.

Maybe the car was going too fast, or my camera was too far away... or else I was too shy to ask.

 

The girl sitting in front of the Long Street Cafe the other day, smoking a cigarette. She was wearing big sunglasses and a furry hat with ears.

A mother and daughter selling bits and pieces from an old Datsun at the Milnerton boot sale. The daughter was sitting on a small deckchair playing Nintendo.

Outside the place where I am working for the next three months, a community of people sleep on the pavements at night. When I leave at the end of the day, they are there, huddling in the doorways of derelict shops, small braziers glowing. In the morning there are bedrolls and pieces of cardboard. I would love to photograph them, but I don't know where to begin. There's no aggression there, just a vacant stare.

In the late afternoon, the sunlight touches the Bijou in a particular way. Once the local cinema, now the forge of my Blacksmith friend. The Muezzin from the mosque across the road calls the people to prayer and the windows vibrate, along with my heart. It's Cape Town and it's not.  Two fishermen drive slowly by, blowing a plaintive copper horn. Fresh Snoek, caught today.
We could be anywhere.