My dad was an amateur photographer during apartheid in South Africa, studying film and media in Cape Town. Cleaning out the shed over Easter, we came across a box of his old photographs: black and white reels of apathetic-looking children in improvised ‘coloured’ schoolrooms, conflicts thrown across suburban streets in Mpumalanga, flashed with broken glass and violence, boys he played street football with after school suddenly picked up and carted to jail for being out after curfew.
