Taken in 2018, this photograph is part of a documentary project, Au Quartier, which explores life in Rwandan neighborhoods. The project began in 2012 as a street photography project, capturing candid moments. It has since evolved to include interviews and personal stories, allowing me to engage directly with my subjects.

I took the photo in a rural area in southern Madagascar. I was talking with another young mother when I saw her. There was something striking about the way she stood, looking out toward the horizon. It felt like a moment I couldn’t miss. I raised my camera and captured it instinctively—no setup, no pose. Just a raw, honest moment that said everything without words.

The photographs were taken in Ibadan, Oyo state, Nigeria during an art residency program where I revisited the concept of Rust and Gold in Ibadan from an agricultural perspective. My project highlights the decline of agriculture in Oyo state, with a major challenge being the lack of youth interest. Many young people are shifting away from farming in favour of white-collar jobs, contributing to the sector’s gradual decline.

Many African photographers have sought to indicate an ‘everyday’ element in their work. They aim to show nothing of the sensational, especially if the photographs are of places or people historically pictured in a stereotypical manner. Their everyday scenes focus on the usual rhythms of life, what might even be

Along with many talented photographers, I was asked to take part in a trip to document the traditional/religious Epiphany ceremony at Lake Ziway. We were all on a boat facing the priests carrying the ark of the covenant. This is a ceremony where the priest carries the ark from one island to the next. It is a very peaceful and colourful sight.

In my approach to photography, I don't think I have developed a single style. I'm always interested or distracted by different kinds of knowledge I come across and that affects my approach. I like documentary photography but not in the very traditional form. 

Walking through this room, as through all the other rooms in that admin block, I felt the presence of the people who had used it just before the silence took over. A lot was still in motion: test tubes and beakers in the sink, plugs just removed from their sockets, equipment on the table positioned at angles as though they were facing someone.

The more I took photographs and heard people’s stories, the same recurrent themes kept coming up: Lack of immediate aid during the flooding, the resilience of the people of Grand-Bassam and how they struggled to get back on their feet, and currently still try to build preventative methods in anticipation of another devastating flooding. Lastly, the pain they still carry in regards to their precious damaged property, loss of income, and the way they were left to fend for their own.

Photography’s days of machinic and visual innocence were over long ago. Once one makes peace with the terrible history of the camera and image making in Africa, and understand the camera and the photographic act as not a neutral process, then as photographers we can dwell on the many opportunities the medium gives us to deepen, become more critical and go inwards. Through the photographic process we also have an opportunity to resist the (re)production of flat and violent images that remain on the surface of things.