WALKING THE STREETS

“We are all connected by the street. The moving of light through pathways is like the movement of our eyes that follow down alleyways’ as we drive through the city.We see the street people, we think we know where they come from but we truthfully don’t.”

This project was my first major photographic series. I spent a year walking the streets of Durban and the surrounding townships photographically documenting the lifestyle and culture that surrounded us a people everyday yet do not take note of.

The Journey 

Starting this project off has been a bit difficult; I can’t speak Zulu besides a few words. This posed a difficult linguistic barrier between me and the people I was trying to document. Another issue was trust. Perhaps stemming from a tumultuous past that promoted separation and division, rather than integration and acceptance, we seem to be indecisive as to how we should feel towards one another and what we should do in each other’s presence. Slowly, I feel, that is changing though it will yet take some time. South Africans tend to feel that every photographer is going to send images overseas and get instantly rich off of them. 

I had been given a tip that Sydney road might be a good place to have a look at to document Durban culture. Then, taking a drive along Sydney road I saw a lady setting up shop, so I decided to stop by and get some images.

 As I walked across the road and came near the woman a man by the name of Archie spoke up.”Hey boy, what do you want?”I turned and looked at the man.”Yebo Sawabona was my response,” I then explained that I was doing a project on South African culture and his eyes opened up, “Mama get your shop ready the boy wants to take photos.”The lady’s shop was a few round silver pots boiling pieces of pig for her customers. 

After getting a few images of the people I decided to not over stay my welcome. Later on in the week after printing the images I went back, this time there were about 20 people there for lunch. Feeling a little uneasy I walked over and took out the images to show what I had captured, before I reached Archie a man with bloodshot eyes intercepted me.”Hey boy, are you here for drugs?”I politely said no thanks and that I am here to speak to Archie.

I took the images to Archie and his friends and when they saw them they got excited instantly and also wanted me to take images of them. I pulled out my camera and took a few snap shots. Archie walked over to me and said “come boy lets go” I asked why and he said “These people here will kill you for nothing, I heard them say they are going to rob you lets go now.” We walked across the road to a petrol station and I thanked Archie. A little disappointed that I had not gotten many images, I chatted to Archie. I explained that I want to produce an exhibition on South African Culture. Archie asked if I had a car and, if so, could take me to his neighbourhood and introduce me to his family. Feeling a little uneasy I said sure. Closing the door, starting the car the feeling of anxiousness overcame me as I wondered whether Archie is someone I could trust and if the place he is taking me is safe for me and my equipment.

I spent the rest of the year with Archie, learning about his culture and exploring his world, not the oh shame these people live in the township story that everyone loves to capture, rather the celebration of a culture that lives in a friendly and happy community. My travels took me to Chesterville Township, Lamont Township & Kwa-mashu Township.

The following is a journey taken with a kind old man by the name of Archie who has given his knowledge of the streets and Local Township to help me in my project. 

The Slaughter 

During my tear exploring the townships surrounding Durban I learnt a lot about the Zulu culture and one thing that I had always wanted to document was a traditional cow slaughter. It’s a strange concept, wanting to document a slaughter but there is a magical aspect to it I believe.
To be able to earn the trust of a community so much that they allow you to come into their home and document their traditions that is magical to me. As with everything, you need permission and more so, with documenting a cultures tradition. It’s not as easy as walking in and just snapping away till someone throws you out or asks you to stop. There are clear rules and etiquette to follow. A day before the slaughter I drive into Chesterville to meet Archie at home. At the beginning of this year I would never drive here alone but now it feels safe driving into Chesterville. I find Archie waiting for me outside his home for him, beer in one hand and a joint in the other. This is the usual site of Archie. Archie tells me that the slaughter will happen in KwaMashu and we need to get permission from the family. Half the family lived in Chesterville so we went there and asked permission. The 8th of July is upon us and armed with permission from the family I pick up Archie at 7 in the morning. I was told that the slaughter should start around 10am so I wanted to go a bit earlier to set up and talk to the family before the slaughter takes place. Before we could go to KwaMashu we had to fetch Mr D from Chesterville as he was part of the family that needed to be there for the slaughter. As we were driving I asked Archie what the slaughter was for and he told me that his friend Gadla Madlala had passed away a few years back and the slaughter is for a remembrance.
I arrived in KwaMashu just after 8 with Archie and Mr D in the car. I parked outside the house where the slaughter would take place. Doors locked, I walk into the yard and follow Archie around the back. Next to the tree there is a bowl filled with knives, Archie inspects the tools and says these are not long enough to kill the cow.

I turn around and see the family looking at me. I then hear, “The Mlungu is here.” I am relieved as this means they knew before hand that I would be coming, and that the meeting the previous day was worthwhile. I walk inside the paint washed white home, in the living room there is an old lady sitting on a chair being spoon fed by what I can figure out to be her granddaughter. As soon as I sit town on the broken furniture in the living room I am asked,” why do you want to come to see the cow slaughter?” I explain again what my goal is and why I am here to document culture and learn more about the cultures and traditions that reside within South Africa, predominantly Durban. This project has taken me to places that I didn’t think I would ever go, from Chesterville to Lemontville and even a hike in the nGomeni Reserve where I found myself on top of a hill in a kraal. I never imagined at the beginning of this year that I would be seeing a cow slaughter and documenting it. It never even occurred to me, but there I was sitting in a living room in KwaMashu’s G section waiting for the cow to arrive with several eyes peering at me wondering why there is a white boy coming here to take photos of this. I guess at the same time I cannot blame them, I would find it extremely peculiar if someone had asked to come to my home and document me and my family. As the conversation dies between Archie and the family I am asked kindly not to take any images of the old lady in the chair, I agree to that and thank the family for allowing me to be there. The only reason as to why they wouldn’t want me to take images of her would be the fact that she cannot support herself and wouldn’t like her to be shown in a negative light and I can understand that. I walk outside to get a feel for my surroundings and I find out that the lady is the wife of the man that had passed away and she is the one that had the say whether I could be there or not. After saying hello to everyone Archie says lets go park the car and we get into the car and drive up the road. It’s the same place that I had gone a few months ago and documented Zulu Beer. I was welcomed straight away. I had brought images with me to present to the people if I did get a chance to see them, I handed over the images and they were very happy with them. After parking the car we waited till 10am before walking back to the house. There was no sign of the cow that would be slaughtered. The ladies couldn’t give me an answer to when the cow would arrive so I just had to be patient and wait. I went back to my car and Archie started to drink and roll up a joint. I didn’t want to take out my camera as to not waste battery so I calmly sat down and waited, listening and watching with my book open on my lap writing and observing. The cool morning air filters the recently blown smoke from Archie’s rustic mouth. The smell of weed is now evident to everyone around and people start to come closer and join in. The talking becomes slurred and emotional. “Why do I need ANC, IFP, I don’t need anything but myself and what God gave me,” says Archie.”

12 o’clock came and went and there was still no sign of any cow. 2 o’clock in the afternoon came and passed. Starving at this point realizing that I had not eaten at all that day, 4pm comes and we head back down to the house where the slaughter would take place. Archie tries to find out what is the delay and no one knows why there is a delay and everyone is waiting in anticipation. Family friends have arrived and are sitting down sharing stories over a bottle of beer or two. Finally the cow arrives at 5pm. A white truck parks outside the yard, the cow backing towards the front of the truck moving away from the people that are now surrounding the truck and hitting the bars with sticks egging the cow on. A hoof slams the floor of the truck and you can feel the fear in the cows body language. Ropes are being brought to the older men of the group and the people climb on the truck and lasso the cow with ropes holding it in place so that it does not try get away. The doors of the truck are then opened and the cow is directed towards a aged tree in the garden. Stomping and mooing causing waves of dust to fly into the air as the cow is now being pulled head first into the tree and tied down so that the ceremony can begin. At this point I am just trying to position myself to capture the ceremony on camera but it’s proving difficult as everyone is trying to get a good view of what’s going on. The elder ladies are now sitting in front of the cow tied by the head to a tree, chanting starts to fill the air as the ladies burn herbs and bring it towards the frightened cow and it stomps the ground throwing more waves of dust into the air. They bring the burning herbs closer to the cow’s nose, a wet dripping tongue emerges from the sacrifice and it lets out a scream as it stomps. Snapping away trying to capture it all on camera has divided me from what is actually going on, I’m locked in a tunnel vision focusing on my settings. A man comes forth with a long rusted blade and moves the people back with his hands. Holding the blade above the sacrifices head looking eye to eye, human to beast he hits the top of the blade, the sacrifice screams again and stomps but it is not dead, another slam with the palm of the man’s hand and a little further the blade goes in, the sacrifice now kneeled and stomping trying to break free from the ropes that are holding him to the tree, another blow to the head and it’s over, the sacrifice is down making its last movements from the nerves that is still left. A man with orange work clothes runs up and grabs the tail and bites it to get rid of all the nerves that are left inside the sacrifice. The crowd start to cheer at the fallen beast, the kids run around re-enacting what had just happened , trying to capture this moment on camera was difficult as I was dealing with a animal that was live a few seconds ago had just now died in front of me. The sun has now set, the realization of me being in a township has now hit me and I realize that I am all alone at night in a township where these people have just killed a cow with a blade. I try not let it bother me but it does.
The sacrifice isn’t nearly done by 6:30pm. Women bring buckets filled with knives and axes, the men and children grab a tool each and start to hack away at the cow. First there is the skinning. They turn the sacrifice over onto its back and grab the legs then people start to cut the skin away from the hooves.

This goes on for hours. The next time I look at the time its 8pm still standing in the township, my umbrella and shoes covered in the animals blood, the cow is almost gone a few more hacks with the rusty axe and buckets filled with blood the meat will be separated from the tablecloth skin and kept in a cement room for the evening. The last bit of blood is being soaked up, feeling extremely tired now I pack up my equipment into the bag. I sit down next to Archie and see people cooking pieces of meat on a warm fire that had been cut off the animal, bags of salt lying open for the meat to be dipped into before eaten. Archie describes the meat as tough.

Time to leave and it’s hard to drag Archie away from his friends. The now drunk and high Archie Mathews is swinging his arms into the air telling a story to the people that surround him and he then says farewell, before we leave we walk into the house to say our goodbyes. Blood stains the floors. It’s like a horror movie inside the house, walking through the door over splatters of blood and into the next room, not sure what is actually going on Archie turns around and says, “It is not satanic its tradition.” Another step into the living room and there is blood trailing from the outside door and into the kitchen, living room and then main room of the house. We sit down waiting for the other people to give their respects and then Archie tells me to go inside and say goodbye.

I walk into the room, the widowed wife is lying on the bed not able to move only able to see who it is, I try say goodbye and thanks for allowing me to document their traditional slaughter. However this is not possible, in the corner of my eye all I can see is, I turn around and there is the cows chopped head on the floor of the room, blood oozing outwards trying to escape. Hanging from the ceiling tied by rope is the cow’s ribs and tail, flies landing and taking off from the carcass taking a bite to eat with each swoop. I turn around wishing that I could take a photo of this, however I was not allowed to take any images of the widow. I try my luck and ask the granddaughter but there was no way I would get permission to document this. I say my goodbyes and leave the property, with the walk back up the hill to my car I ask why the cows head and sides were in the room, Archie cannot tell me nor could Mr. D, all they could tell me was that it was tradition and how it has always been done. 

This slaughter was something that I had not even considered neither doing nor thought of documenting. It presented itself while researching and building relationships with the people on the streets and Chesterville. It is a privilege to be allowed into someone’s home and amongst their family in a dangerous part of Kwa-Mashu, to be allowed to document this slaughter is a gift and an eye opener for me about the culture that surrounds us. 

I have lived all my life in South Africa, heard rumours and stories but today, I was able to see it for myself and document it. It’s difficult to explain how I felt shooting this slaughter. How does one explain how it feels to see a living animal alive and then suddenly killed in front of you as it gasps at the last few breaths and stomps with the last control it has over its life. The animal rights activists certainly won’t be amused by this ceremony at all, but at the same time I can respect that this ceremony is a part of these people traditions and have been done for many years. It may seem vulgar and harsh but to them it’s their way of life and tradition and who am I to judge. The ceremony did make me feel disgusted afterwards while I was driving home. During the ceremony my shoes and umbrella were covered in blood and the rush of thoughts going through my mind looking at settings and angles the scope of things didn’t hit me as much. I was in the state of photographer’s tunnel vision where what matters is getting the images and not what is actually happening. This year went places I did not expect and it proved to be more valuable than I could have imagined.

The Streets

I have spent half this year documenting culture in the townships and quieter streets of Durban. I decided to make my way into the heart of Durban and document street life in the true street photography capacity. I drove around and found a busy street and decided to park. I pushed a R5 coin into the slot as this bought me 2hours worth of parking. Walking along the streets I start taking images of people, as soon as I do people start to complain or run away in laughter because they do not want their image taken. I start to realize that this is the reason as to why we don’t have Street Photographers in Durban. The people on the streets don’t want their image taken and there are many reasons for this. I start to speak to the people rather and ask permission and once I spend around 5-10min explaining what I am doing then suddenly they are ok with it. Even thought now they are ok with me taking photographs the images become posed because they know what’s going on. It is very difficult to get candid photographs on the streets without the cost of getting disgruntled looks and snide remarks. Then again I ask myself, how comfortable would I be walking down the street in the knowledge that a strange man had a lens pointed at me. My project is about documenting more than street photography and I do not regard myself as a street photographer but I would like a balance of posed and unposed images in my project because they both shed a completely different light on the situation but I am left wondering if I am able to get a balance. Walking in the street and taking photographs of people going about their day was something that I found safe and relaxing compared to the township adventures that I have gone through. I found myself walking into an alleyway just off Monty Naicker Street. This alleyway was a vibrant community with people and their set up shops made from cardboard and wooden tables. The kaleidoscope of colours stemmed from what people were wearing and the amount of vegetables and fruit that was being sold made for interesting photographs. It was here that determined the turning point for me deciding on which colour mode I would be using. I had read a book at the beginning of the year called ‘Creative Black and White by Chris Weeks’ and this book changed my mind back and forth about whether I should be using black and white images or colour images. Before coming out into the streets I was set on documenting what I saw in colour and later changing it to black and white in Photoshop however coming into this alleyway changed my mind completely.

My whole project is based on the idea that my images need to make the viewers feel as if they are right there with me seeing what I see before I take the photograph. The reason why I wanted to go into black and white is due to this book showing me that to focus on, and lead your viewers into what you want them to see, is possible by stripping the entire colour away and using the light to show focal points. However this book also shows that by stripping the entire colour, the images become moody and fine artsy and, yes, street photography is known for its beautiful black and white images but coming to the streets, especially this alleyway, I could not disrespect all the colours that I was seeing by changing it to black and white. I want people to experience what I have this year and the only way to do these people and the things surrounding them justice would be by using colour and showing what it’s really like. Colour adds certain vibrancy to the subject where black and white delves more into an emotional level. One would be forgiven for thinking that I’m trying to capture the plight of people on the streets. That is not my intention. I want to show the vibrancy and zest for life that is very much alive in these people and on the streets by making it real and not a fine art book. This book for me is about showing the streets in a different way and what better way than breaking the common rule. I am still however capturing the light in my mind to take a successful photograph. I have also found this rule applies to both black and white photographs and colour photographs. The well known Warrick Junction had been on my to do list for some time now. Warrick Junction is well known for its markets and as well as being the livelihoods of the poorest of the poorest in Durban. I usually travel with Archie but I feel that it is time to take a different path through Durban culture with Mandlah, an old rugged bearded man that lives at the Sydney Road hostel. Mandlah assures me that he knows the people at Warrick Junction and it will be safe for us to travel there and document their culture. We arrive at Warrick Junction and step out the car. As before I only take my camera and flash with me as I do not know the situation. Is it safe? Will the people be put off by my umbrella? Will they even want me there? Walking through the Victoria Market, Mandlah asks if I would like to take some images. I take a few snap shots for the sake of it; however, this is not what my project is about. The market is safe it’s all over the internet its nothing new or different. I want to document the ‘behind the scenes’ to Durban’s culture and lifestyle. We walk out the building and there is a walking bridge that brings you to the heart of Warrick Junction. Walking across the bridge with the noise of cars driving past under me it feels as though one is passing into a different world which I learn is true when I go across the walkway.
It’s all too overwhelming too much to take in. With my camera in my bag I am eager to take it out and start snapping away. I force myself not too and keep following Mandlah. Warrick Junction is more a medicine market than anything else; there are dead birds, snake skins, mongoose, monkeys, and baboons. All these animals have been caught skinned and ripped apart to be used in medicine. It feels as though I am in the middle of a movie. The walk way stretches over the roads where I can only image people have no idea what is going on above them, masses of people living in this community of a walkway, building their shops and homes.

take a few images as it is my first time here yet the people aren’t too eager to let me take their photograph. I am used to this by now, I know how it works. I know it’s all that I could have taken and I leave knowing that I would return with printed images of what I had just taken. I have been told this technique by the DUT University lecturers as well as from the book by James L Stanford called ‘Eye of the Beholder’. The book by James L Stanford had taught me that one can’t just walk into a person’s personal space and community and start documenting it. Well, you can, but the images you will get will be nothing interesting. The way to get the interesting and unique photographs is by spending time with the people you are wanting to photograph and once you have done this then and only then will they be comfortable enough to let you document them. I have experienced this first hand while going into the township. I had to spend hours and days meeting with the people, going back and going, back before I became a friend and person they could trust. It was then that I got asked to come to their traditional slaughter and a funeral of a friend and it was then that I could document who these people truly were. These people might be here on the street and suffering but they have a story to tell. They have a life to live that we, as outsiders, will never understand. It is a heartbreaking sight to see how some of these people live. I have seen people live out of cardboard boxes. Live with holes in their shoes, and clothes lying on the side of the street, in the baking sun and, yes, many people have seen this, but it only becomes real when you wake someone up and speak to them. I spoke to a man who told me that the reason why he is here is because he hurt his family and he decided to leave. He has no money and can’t find a job so he is forced to live here. The last words he said to me before I took a photo was,” I just want everyone to be happy.”That is when what I am doing became real.

I have tried hard to capture people in a positive light but the truth is that every where one goes there is always poverty. I have captured people this year that are making the best of what they have been given, making something of what they were born into.
It doesn’t mean that it is good or bad. It simply means they are surviving.