Turning the camera on someone close to oneself opens that person up in many ways, and gives an understanding of the things that one respects about that person. Mary is the 26 years-old cleaner who really maintains the house-taking care of my 2 year-old son, washing clothes, cooking, cleaning and doing all other household chores I really wouldn’t be bothered with. At 22, she had a son called David with a man she lived with for a few years. David is now in the village, living with Mary’s mother. Mary works very hard, and gets paid ₦16,000 monthly(approximately $110). Following her with my camera allowed me know her more-where she lives (in a room and cubicle in an uncompleted one-storey building); to retrace the path she usually takes to my house, to feel like her, and in a way, become her. With so little daily income, she accommodates a lady with three children in that seedy looking, tiny blue-lit room of hers. And of course, she has memorabilia from her past love, Chidi-the refrigerator with Barca sticker on it (although she is a Chelsea fan); the coloured television and thick ten-spring bed; and of course David, their son.
I have four brothers and two sisters, but we all live far and apart. The Lagos landscape swallows time and opportunity. Mary comes into my world six days a week, from 6am-7pm. Our meetings are short, but I live with the impact. I visited her place- met her best friend (a hairdresser called Patience), saw her home and co-tenants, and we talked about her son and Kevin. I saw an everyday woman trying her best to make things work, to build a good future for herself and her son, playing mom and dad roles. She worked, and lived with her phone constantly ringing. Her room reminded me of the red light districts in Ikeja, or the rooms of young-adults living on the streets. Her whole persona changed in the two environments-mine and hers. In shooting, it translated to blacks and white moments, and colourful nights in-between. Wearing a hairnet around my home, I tried to echo the circular orb. In her house, it was all about colour, and shadows. As I left that night, she was running to meet one of the men who had called her on the phone while I was shooting. She kept insisting that she doesn’t even have a boyfriend. For someone who works so hard in such living circumstances, surely she should get more