Photos by Joanna Dhanraj
The bus stopped and let off its passengers on the ubiquitous red road that runs through the North West District. Unlike other stops, here there is noise; a cacophony of people asking prices, laughing or greeting one another in other languages. Here, the aroma of cook-up and fried fish mingles with the stench of urine from nearby urinals, cigarette smoke and men’s stale breaths laced with alcohol.
Many of the buildings are painted in different colours but share the same rusty red dust-stained bottoms. The drains are filled with black water and oil floats on the surfaces. Men half-sit in chairs at tables with liquor and cutters; younger ones play pools while sipping beers and singing along to the dancehall music coming from speakers.
