A few years ago I discovered a small informal settlement in one of the quiet streets of Woodstock, Cape Town. It always looked like a festival, beer flowing freely, smoke hanging thick and a cosy conga fire pot going. It was on one of my photography mission that I met Thandi. Her face stayed with me for years and her very distinct hands and feet. She ran away from home when she was fourteen. In her face you can read between the lines of many untold stories. Mostly of pain and possible abuse. But of those times and moments you hear Thandi never say a word.
These days she made a small informal structure inside a almost burned down building. She shares her comfy bed and cupboard size room with a lover. Rasta makes Thandi smile again. Even if this is just for a moment. She always ask for shoes, but yet regardless of the supply you never see her wearing them. Her toes have character and looks like parts could be in pain. Witnessing a small window into her life makes me want to see more. Maybe we should have tea regularly?