I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.
I have been collecting these slips of paper from foreign nationals who position themselves at traffic lights around Cape Town.
I admire their hustle. They are actively seeking employment and a better life, far from where they come from.
To try and help, I photograph each note on my phone and share it on my social media, putting out a call in the hope that someone might hire them.
Afterwards, the slips go into a jar in my cubbyhole. Over time it fills — saturated, spilling over.
This is that inventory.