Yiayias hanging laundry in the Friday afternoon sun and four school-age girls skipping around their neighborhood, me, and their new friend: my Canon Rebel X.
Find excuses to catch the train later, skip the crowded cars and spend more time on creative documenting. Bo-Kaap is a vibrant and glittering area elevated with pockets of ocean peek-a-boos. A pastel canvas of history and reality. Where Afrikaans, Arabic and English bounce off the green and pink houses and through the palms and hills of gold tower mosques.
"That's how we pray," explains Shakira a.k.a Shakes. She's eleven years old and makes sure I know what the words from the gold onion bulb-shaped tower means, the call of prayer from her neighborhood mosque.
She's the oldest of the bunch, and enjoys teaching me Afrikaans, showing off her counting skills in Portuguese and her gibberish Japanese.
"I'm going to write down our names and addresses so you know where to come when you come back. I pull out my red and black stripe pencil for her to write on the back of 'scratch paper' in my brown pack; an Iziko Museum pamphlet on the history of South African women's struggles exhibit.
"I'm going to write our age and nicknames too. How old are you?"
Kauther = 7 = Koutie = 64 Dorp Straat
Alliyah = 10 = Smily =64 Dorp Straat
Zuhaa = 2 = Puthy =14 Dorp Straat
Shakira = 11 = SHaKes =66 Dorp Straat
Athena = 24 = Tina