The overflowing tuning-orchestra of street sounds caught on the small square opening in the back wall of a tailor’s forest of garments and all that remained was a thin veil of dust hanging around the bare bulb and the crackling straining voice of a radio in the other room.

Slum life left behind. Cacophony of horns and whistles left behind. Churned dust and rubbish left behind. Barrage on the senses left behind.

A cave among the haphazard houses. Flung down like the lego bricks of a child’s abandoned creation. The light flickers as a fan whirrs and cracks into life around it. The children of the school sit expectantly beside and around us on a firm bed. Once a bedroom, but for visitors, the proud living room.