Mercy Koetle

The wastelands and crowded streets of an African country are traversed by a woman bearing a wooden cross on her back. She is followed by sellers, beggars and passersby, outraged voices, pity and curious glances. Parallel to her, among a herd of sheep, a lamb toddles its way from the far away mountains into the heart of the city, only to find itself dangling, skinned and headless, on a butcher’s shoulder. In the meantime, under the scorching sun, in a roofless house, a woman is persistently knitting a garment, unwinding a thread coiled over her son’s face.