Rakely

He gave it the shape of an heart. Sewage, almost black, mixes with fish blood. In autumn, jacarandas line the heart as flesh would have done. I entered through the small artery. His house is built like an isolated cell on the grass bank. Rakely. The man is not very tall; Rakely means small man in Malagasy. He's lived on this lake long enough to have spoken at least once to everyone who lives around him, around the lake. His days begin with the sun. They are interspersed with toaka gasy - an artisanal rum strong enough to send you off into dreams too hot, too slow. In the heart of Antananarivo, Madagascar's capital, lies Lake Anosy. Originally a swamp under Ramada I, it was designed by Scottish missionary James Cameron in the 19th century. Over the centuries, and due to the many political crises causing endemic poverty, it has become the haunt of the Quatre mi, Antananarivo's poorest population. My documentary work depicts the banality of poverty, which undeniably drives people to return to nature. The protagonists are forced to live in an urban wilderness, cut off by the gods - the gods of the sun, the wind and the lake. There's also the truncated idea of home, the appropriation of a land that has been created for them but belongs to no one.