Liziwe Damba

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A faceless street vendor stands behind a wooden cart filled with fruits and household items, set against a surreal landscape. The ground is made of overlapping tire marks, while large clouds made of corrugated zinc sheets hang above, and old government documents form the golden sky. A dense forest and faded communication towers sit in the distant background.
My father was a street vendor in post apartheid South Africa. Decades later, not much has changed.