by Ana Paula Tavares in Lisbon, Angola

These children live free, while the clocks, jammed by bullets, are destined to repeat time, just as the to and fro of bells sounds the cycle of birth and death. They tame the silence, sowing laughter into the folds of day. There is still milk in their laughter, fermenting the hopes of an afternoon. Beyond the doors of houses, the children are exploring the labyrinthine walls. They have a key for everything–even to the stairs that they climb up to reach the sky, bared by a missing roof. They sleep on the ground, parched by bullets, under a sheet of stars that slowly descends until the light is eclipsed and night ushered in.

Interesting contrast. On the one hand I sense boundaries and depleted value in infrastructure, which succumbed to violent disagreement, while on the other a playful adaptiveness and growth that seeks to renew. Confinement versus access.