Above the scattering of refuse, I count ten pieces of clothing, hung on a sagging line and over a stack of tables. On the hem of the solitary trousers I see what area remains wet, similarly designed as the instance in the photograph of a border between light and shadow. As such the man who slouches in the corner is clearly of the moment, sure in his repose, easy in his bearing. A sunny day requires uncomplicated pleasures. Stay calm and turn your back to the heat.
The photograph was taken at the renowned Makola Market in Accra, Ghana.
It was in November 2021, on the last day of taking photos for my debut project, .slow.. The two-part series attempted to depict slowness in two different senses and settings. In the Makola area, where the second part of the series was photographed, I attempted a depiction of slowness in relation to tempo and temperament. It was an endeavour to project an image and disposition of Makola that contrasted the hecticity with which the area is staunchly (and justifiably) associated.
While the wider public is hardly familiar with this other disposition, it is one I've long known to exist, exclusively encountered on Sundays. (My mother has worked in Makola as a trader for longer than I have been alive; in my teenage years, I would sometimes tag along when my mum sent a helper or some relative on Sundays to go and get her shop ready for the new week's business.) This second part of .slow. was an opportune moment to highlight that other energy, too.
I walked the entire Makola area on three consecutive Sundays to take photographs. This photograph was taken as I walked the marketplace on one of those Sundays. It was simple: I saw a relevant scene that I was drawn to, I positioned myself well, I pressed the shutter.
I like this photograph particularly because I think it's rich, comparatively, in details that speak to the heart of the series—the closed store, that laundry line and those items of clothing (down to underwear), the man sitting in a reclined position, a leg stretched, with feet out of his slippers, talking leisurely on the phone—a Makola storefront of unceasing buzz and human plus vehicular traffic, momentarily transformed into the quiet backyard of a man's home. More so, the lane, at the mouth of which the man sits, is one of the many where migrant men, typically from Niger, cluster around and make temporary and exuberant claim of space—they make loud conversation and cheer; they make tea and food from their homeland (to sell and to share amongst themselves); they blast music, the kind and language of which you would neither hear on the radio in Accra, nor associate with the typical Makola soundscape. More still, there's that shadow— some rather prominent shadows made their ways into a number of the Makola photographs. I've refused to regard the shadows as diurnal, but as distinct, related to the shadows I started the project with, trailing me all the way from my house, keeping me company, or whatever.
My approach to photography is rather worshipful. Essentially: I obey the instinct that draws me to a scene or frame or idea, and I strive to regard what- or whomever I point my camera at, with reverence of some kind.
For one thing, I am struck by the photographic medium's peculiar power to orient and/or reorient how one perceives a place, a thing or phenomenon, a person or a people; for, I think, that point of orientation and/or reorientation is as generative as it is consequential to navigating several crucial facets of our lives.
moshood is a writer and photographer who lives in the Eastern Region of Ghana. He is interested in utilising his photographic practice as a medium of self expression, of try-outs, and metaphysical exploration. His words have been published in a number of publications, both online and in print. Find more of his work on Instagram, and see more of the .slow.. project here.
