It’s that family with a father who wakes up every morning to sit half dressed outside his shack, yawning, yelling orders to his wife and children, scratching his groin and staring vacuously at everything that passes in front of him. The father, who no matter what the weather, heads to the dingy bar not far from his house every day for 12 hours of alcohol, gambling and loose women.
Left at home is the mother of the family whose one preoccupation is gossip. What little time she has away from her clique of neighbourhood tittle-tattlers she spends slathering herself in chemical-laden skin lightening creams.
Her children are malnourished with big bellies and lice infested brownish-red hair. They run around their hovel in torn clothes, reveal a range of festering wounds and skin diseases. When they go to school – if they go to school at all – the hems on their uniforms are sagging, buttons are missing, shoes are unpolished, their faces unwashed and their breath reeks of the posho and beans they ate a week ago.