Here is the project as published by africaisacountry.com
and a statement by the collaborating writer and photographer:
In ‚ÄúWriting the city after apartheid‚ÄĚ, one of 39 essays in the recently published Cambridge History of South African Literature, the author, Michael Titlestad, correctly (if a little turgidly) points out that, ‚ÄúThe simultaneous transformation of apartheid cities and their vestigial divisions have made these concatenations (cities) primary sites for literary engagements with the simultaneous utopian promise and crippling contradictions of contemporary South Africa.‚ÄĚ It has been much the same for South African photographers, who have applied themselves to the meanings of the post-apartheid city with great vigour. Titlestad also argues, in accounting for the myriad ways that writers have approached the business of writing about urban spaces since South Africa‚Äôs transition to democratic rule in 1994, that ‚Äúthe post-apartheid city is too immoderate and unresolved to be mapped.‚ÄĚ Collaboration between writers and photographers would seem a natural enough response to these challenges, but, strangely enough, such collaborative projects can be counted on one hand.
In respect of the community of Tanzanian stowaways we encountered living rough under the freeways at the foot of Cape Town‚ÄĒas extreme a post-apartheid city scenario as it is possible to imagine–we deemed collaboration essential. The living area in question‚ÄĒa paean to monumentalist city planning ideas of the 40s and 50s‚ÄĒcould hardly be more embedded with the politics both of the apartheid era and of the present political dispensation (more on this in the research diary extracts that form part of this submission), and in describing such complex matters the writing quickly becomes freighted in such a way that the stowaways would drift from view if it wasn‚Äôt for the interplay of photographs that situate them in the marginal environs in question. By the same token the monochromatic environment the stowaways have come to occupy can constrain the scope there is in a photograph, especially a black and white photograph, to convey the full character of the stowaways‚Äô lives: their laughter, the lilt of Swahili, the vividness of the highway embankments on a sunny day. This stowaway world is one of illicit pathways and secret holes in fences, of abutment walls that were never meant to be climbed and of ledges that were never meant to accommodate sleeping human bodies. All too frequently it is not possible for two men to proceed abreast, and the same is true for the writer and the photographer. Only the writer can follow the stowaways beyond the port perimeter fence, up a ships‚Äô moorings and into the pitch dark of a tonnage hold. Only the photographer can demonstrate the desperation that makes its bed between six lanes of traffic. When writing and still photography have been unable to do justice to the manic manner of speech of a certain individual we have turned to video, and when all the aforementioned forms have threatened to expose the identities of our informants we have had them cartooned. Where one form of expression must necessarily stop it has been possible to pick up the thread of the stowaways‚Äô lives and carry on. That is how it has been for us.