The journey home

Making our way home from school is a simple, nostalgic, universal activity we can all relate to. This project explores the tumultuous public life of young people in the gang governed Cape Flats area of Cape Town, South Africa.

Making our way home from school is a simple, nostalgic, universal activity we can all relate to. This daily commute has its own set of challenges in South Africa- a country with the greatest social divide and largest growing youth population in the world.

Created in dialogue with young people from four local NGOs, the work uses analog photography, drawings, collages, and cyanotypes to explore adolescence under constant threat. Cameras change hands, perspectives shift, and dialogue replaces observation. Each frame becomes a shared act of authorship, revealing a language shaped by proximity, humour, and survival. Together we walk the journey to and from school: an anonymous space free of adults, a no-man’s land where friendship or solitary reflection rules.

Images are made through lo-fi, experimental processes that embrace imperfection—they are playful and told from varied perspectives.

Anchored in the Cape Flats but resonating far beyond, the story speaks to adolescence everywhere—restless, uncertain, and brave. Different streets, the same questions: who am I, where is safe, what comes next?

The work pushes documentary beyond witness. Built through exchange and across multiple disciplines, it becomes a living dialogue—photography, drawing, collage, and cyanotype converge, each medium contributing to a layered tapestry where storytelling, process, and truth evolve together. Boundaries between maker, subject, and viewer dissolve, rendering the complexity, fragility, and resilience of adolescence with intimacy and force.

That silky blue,

that soft, fading light—

who will we see?

The red-painted corner shop,

Once, a tornado ripped through Manenberg,

but the pastor stands firm,

hands in pockets, rocking on his heels.

Behind the church, the bendy fence,

boys lean, sharing cigarettes.

He can’t cross the street—

he’d be shot. A Montague.

Shadows of clean laundry sway,

dancing across the court.

She kneels to watch a yellow daisy

breakthrough cement, defiant.

The police van sits still,

its red and blue lights pulsing.

A kick, a scream, a throw—

the bus stop is a playground.

Smirks, flirting, heckles—

beautiful friendships.

The large hall waits,

no audience, no show.

In the kitchen, apples sliced with care,

the massive dog on guard, asleep.

The camper van man,

bars on windows,

an angry yell scatters the kids—

they were just playing.

And still, that soft, soft blue light lingers.